#but he has already done half the work of emancipation

[forkaround]

Nothing Ramil does gives me any confidence that he can protect Paytai. But that's on the writers.

[blu3-ja3]

Hi! More context for my Cursed Gotham au! More specifically I was thinking of context for Jason and eventually the LoA and Talia. Eventually it led to all of this and I added more details to the Batfam timeline. There have been some changes to quite a few things like certain backstories and ages of certain characters.

So I was thinking that Thomas and Martha knew the Al Ghuls and were friends for a bit, Bruce and Talia both weren't born yet, maybe Martha and Mrs Al Ghul are pregnant together. Anyways during that time they make each other the godparents of their child, skip to them having a falling out because the Wayne's find out about Ra's hobby (League of Assassins).

So because there's paper work when the Wayne's are murdered little Bruce is sent to live with the Al Ghuls for a bit, like I'm thinking a year and a half because Gotham's justice systems are slow and Alfred is having trouble proving that the paperwork stating the Al Ghuls are the godparents of Bruce was nullified. So lil Bruce is trained to be Ras next in line, man's crazy and obsessed with immortality. Anyways lil Bruce just thinks he's being trained for self defense, so he can save people. Because if he could've done the thing he's seen the instructors do then maybe he could've saved his parents.

Alfred gets custody of lil Bruce and sees the kid really enjoys his martial arts. Alfred also sees how much lil Bruce hates being in the Wayne Manor and decides to take Bruce traveling to learn cool ass martial arts from different masters. Eventually when Bruce is a teen he goes back to Ras to finish his training, Bruce doesn't know that Ras is making him into a weapon. Mrs. Al Ghul is dead and Bruce doesn't know how. Talia and Bruce have a bit of a romance, nothing serious but the building bricks for their later relationship that leads to Damien's existence.

Bruce gets curious about Mrs Al Ghul's death and puts his detective skills to work and learns about some of Ras's plans. He learns of Ras making him into a weapon not the part of taking over Bruce's body. He also learns that Ras killed Talia's mother. Anyways Bruce gets pissed and is like nope I'm out, he tries to convince Talia to come with him. Talia refuses and they get into a big argument, they both say some hateful and horrible things before Bruce reveals Ras's hand in killing Talia's mom. Talia tells him she already knew and Bruce says that Talia is just like Ras before leaving.

When he's back in Gotham he's sad loner Bruce Wayne see Robert Patterson's Bats and becomes the vigilante. He gains a bit of a reputation for being extremely brutal and violent. Like I said originally Bruce didn't name himself, Gotham's people named him Batman. I'm thinking of a new reporter who writes articles talking about the local cryptid like being whose fighting crime. Like all the pictures are blurry as hell and all you can see are the squinting whites of his cowl or really blurry Batman shaped pictures of him flying across Gotham and kicking ass. Eventually as an off hand comment the writer calls him a bat man and the name sticks.

Bruce at like 16 is emancipated which officially makes him the CEO of Wayne Enterprise's and the owner of all his father's previous projects and money. Corruption has a chokehold in the business ranks due to a power vacuum. Bruce immediately starts rooting out corruption from Wayne Enterprises, initially wanting to fire everyone and start over completely. Alfred points out that if he does that he'll also fire the innocent people who had nothing to do with the corruption.

So begins Bruce's investigation of his own company, he notices that everyone is underestimating him. They think he's a stupid kid so he uses that to his advantage, he plays dumb for everyone including the media. 'I had no idea Mr. Kendall was embezzling from the company, I was going to give him a raise because if he needed more money then I'd like to pay him more but then Ms. Penelope told me where the money was going and showed me the ledgers, yes exactly... Hmm? Oh I found out because I was in his office looking for a pen, I saw the papers and didn't recognize them. Oh Ms. Sullen's front information just kinda showed up on my desk I hadn't a clue what she was doing!'

Bruce also set up the Wayne foundation to help with Gotham as much as possible; public housing, roads and parks, funding for schools, helping with health care. If Bruce can throw money to help fix a problem in Gotham he's doing it. Gotham loves their Loner, Emo, Socially Awkward Teenager, Golden Boy, Bruce Wayne and they'll defend him till the end. Like the one time a Metropolis reporter who had a live interview with a newly 17 years old Bruce and asked a rude as hell question that caused Bruce to freeze up a bit. The Daily Plant had to make a public apology to Bruce and fire the reporter.

Bruce also helps build and fund Arkham Asylum, in official interviews and outside of official interviews Bruce always has the same stance when keeping the Asylum up and running. That stance is that people deserve a chance to change, no matter how corrupt they think they are. Bruce makes a joke about Batman needing to go to Arkham, not for the vigilantism but for the fashion choices. I love the idea that Bruce Wayne has a bit of beef with Batman.

Bruce went to the Hailey's Circus and witnessed the death of the Flying Graysons, there's video of 18 year old Bruce Wayne running from his seat, jumping a barrier at the front, and quickly scooping up a little Dick Grayson from where he sat next to his parents bodies. In the video it shows Bruce holding the small boy and quickly making his way out of the tent with his butler/caretaker quickly following behind them. Gotham isn't at all surprised when the young man adopts Dick.

I think initially Bruce doesn't tell Dick about being Batman, like he's training Dick because it's a relatively healthy way of getting rid of all the anger the kid has. Bruce also takes the kid to therapy cause Bruce goes to therapy. I think little Dick knows Bruce has social anxiety and is immediately like Take me to all your public events! And Bruce does but is incredibly confused???

But it works well, when Dick feels Bruce getting too anxious about the crowd and attention Dick starts performing circus tricks. It takes all the attention away from Bruce and Dick is used to it, he loves the attention it reminds him of his parents in a way. It's their normal for a bit until one night Bruce as Batman is badly injured and stumbles back home only to collapse in a very visible place for little Dick to see. A Dick who's supposed to be in bed hours ago but couldn't find Bruce after a particularly bad nightmare. A Dick who sees his father figure bleeding out in front of him.

After Alfred saves him, Bruce has to explain to Dick why he kept it a secret for two years. Dick immediately is like I'm going with you, I'm helping you catch bad guys. Bruce is reluctant but concedes for only one case, that case being bringing in the killer of Dick's parents. A case that Bruce had been working on since that night, a crime lord by the name Tony Zuko came to the circus demanding protection money from the ring master who refused. As punishment Dick's parents were killed.

Que Dick making the Robin costume and demands no pants, he's a master manipulator and gets his way. Bruce is very hesitant about all the bright colors as well but Dick reassures him that if he can hide wearing this he can hide wearing anything. Bat doesn't immediately take Robin to find Tony, they kinda have a trial run for like a week. Bat sees that Robin is capable and proves himself to be able to hide well.

They eventually bring Tony to justice. Robin is a little menace that Gotham falls in love with and goons fear. Like I said Dick was the feral murderous Robin, goons can't hear a child's laughter without flinching and getting twitchy. Like Robin is as much as cryptid as Batman because no child can do the absolutely impossible stunts Robin performs on the regular. Not even Gotham's beloved Dick Greyson-Wayne, which starts Dick's public feud with Robin. Dick constantly "tries" to perform Robins tricks and fails, he even goes so far as to fake a broken bone after trying to do a trick at a Gala.

When Dick's like 11 Bruce helps form the Justice League, he begs to meet Superman. When Dick becomes 13 he finally gets to meet Superman, Dick also becomes the leader of the Teen Titans; Cyborg, Raven, Starfire, and Beast Boy. 3 years later Bruce stumbles across Jason Todd stealing the tires off the Batmobile (Dick called everything in the cave bat- as a joke which Bruce joined in on. It was a joke until Bats said Batcomputer in front of the JL and he just committed to the bit.) at first Bruce wasn't going to bring Jason into the vigilante side of everything.

Bruce didn't keep the secret as long as he did with Dick, after a month Dick let it slip accidentally. All three had a serious discussion that night at dinner. Dick wanted to become his own hero but didn't know who just yet. Bruce and Dick came up with the mantle of Red Robin as a temporary mantle until Dick figured out his path. Dick would stay as Robin during the months it would take to train Jason and then once Jason was ready they would exchange mantles.

They make a new robin suit for Jason because Jason is tiny, like he's severely malnourished. The new suit has shorts because Jason likes shorts and more pockets for snacks, Bruce also brings more snacks for patrols. Because Jason is smaller than Dick, Bruce gives Jason a boe staff. At 19 Red Robin helps Superman and Supes tells Dick about the Kryptonian superheroes. Dick becomes Nightwing in honor of Superman and Batman.

Robin at 12 saves a 5 year old Tim Drake from something minor, like baby genius Tim is trying to take pictures of the different species of nocturnal birds in Gotham. Baby Tim is on a roof trying to get closer to the edge with his camera and almost falls but Jason saves the kid. Que a very smart small child becoming absolutely obsessed with Robin and sneaks out to capture pictures of him, Nightwing and Batman. Jason helps form the Young Justice League; Mrs. Martian, Speedy, Kid Flash, and Aqua-Lad.

Two years later when Robin is 14 he's killed by the Joker, who beat the boy nearly to death before blowing up the building Jason was in. Before this Joker was getting increasingly deranged with his laughing gas and traps. Batman didn't notice mostly because he'd been able to cure the joker toxin and escape any trap before it was set off. Superman was off world when Bats called for him so it took a while to get back to earth.

When Superman arrived in Gotham he found Batman beating a nearly dead Joker on a live broadcast. After he had killed Robin, Joker decided to taunt Batman and try to lead him into a trap. Unbeknownst to Joker Batman was fully ready to kill him, Bruce was ready to break his one rule and then turn himself in. But Superman stopped him, he pulled the man away from the unconscious body. The last thing Gotham heard was the broken wail of Batman before the broadcast was cut off.

Joker was taken into custody and placed at Arkham until deemed mentally well. Gotham mourned the loss of the young Robin and kinda turned a blind eye to Batman's sudden increase in violence. A month later Bruce Wayne holds a closed casket funeral for his son Jason who died fighting illness. Jason is buried in the private Wayne plot at the graveyard next to Martha and Thomas Wayne. There is a memorial statue of Robin in the park.

A young Tim Drake tracks down Dick Grayson to Jump City and Titans towers. Tim begs the man to go back to being Robin. Dick refuses to go back, he's mourning his little brother and can't go back to vigilantism. Starfire has to remove Tim from the tower, Tim decides to become Robin himself. Tim sneaks into the batcave and is found by a very confused Alfred. Tim tells Alfred everything including knowing the secret identities of Batman.

Tim at 7 takes the mantle of Robin and does his best to prevent Bruce from killing criminals. Barbra Gordon becomes Batgirl to hopefully prevent Batman from accidentally killing someone in his violence. After a few months of Tim as Robin, Dick holds an intervention for Bruce with Alfred and Tim. They all managed to convince Bruce to take some time away from Gotham and go traveling. Dick promises to take on the mantle of Batman temporarily while Barbra continues being Batgirl and Tim continues being Robin.

Bruce first goes to travel around parts of India while there he meets with Talia again, they're both untrusting of each other until they realize it's a coincidence. They decided to travel India together and in the process have a relationship picking up where they left off as teens. They travel together for 3 months until they have another falling out, less intense as their last one and they both mutually agree to just be friends. Bruce learns Talia is trying to disassemble the LoA from the inside and he isn't happy about all the risks she's taking.

They split up and travel separately, Bruce continues his backpacking across the Eurasian continent. After another 3 months he returns to Gotham having figured his shit out and isn't violent. Dick is happy to give back the mantle of Batman back to Bruce and he becomes Nightwing again. Dick goes to Bludhaven and becomes their vigilante. Bruce and Tim run around and prevent crime until Joker breaks out of Arkham and kidnaps Robin.

Bruce is quick to notice Tim missing because Barbara is his babysitter and the Drake's had to leave for a business trip. Both Barbra and Bruce find Tim within two weeks of him being in Joker's and Harley's capture. Harley snaps a bit from all of Joker's torture and attacks Joker when he tries to harm Tim again. In the fight Joker throws an explosive at Batgirl that catches her off guard and paralyzed her. After Joker is placed in cuffs, Harley reveals that Joker was using Tim as a test experiment for his newest Joker Toxin.

The Drake's are contacted and told it would take time to create an antidote for the young boys. They relinquish their parental rights and vanish from the public eye, Bruce steps in and takes in Tim. It takes 4 months to find an antidote for Tim but there are still lingering effects on Tim from his time with Joker and Harley. So Tim is benched and helps Barbra create the Oracle system to help Batman while he's patrolling alone. Jim is only told the Barbra was Batgirl none of the others reveal themselves.

Stephanie Brown becomes Robin at 10 after she helps Batman take down her father. She stays in Gotham with her aunt and mom after convincing her mother to stay because she has friends here. Steph helps Cassandra and the two become inseparable, Bruce later adopts Cass who becomes Black Bat. Stephanie and Cass ran around together for a few years and attended school together.

Scarecrow releases a batch of fear toxin that was mixed with Joker's Laughing Gas, Duke's parents have an adverse reaction to the conditions and the current antidote doesn't work. Bruce takes in the young boy and covers all expenses to keep the Thomas parents safe until they can find a cure. When Duke was exposed to the Toxin his powers manifested, he and Bruce talked about Duke becoming the Signal.

Bruce and Selina begin their relationship as civilians, Harley and Ivy are released from Arkham and live normal lives in Gotham. Harley becomes a therapist for the Gotham vigilantes, Tim has recovered enough that he requested to become Robin again at 13. Stephanie gives the mantle to Tim and she becomes Spoiler.

Tim starts a new team of Teen Titans with Impulse and Wondergirl, their first mission causes them to accidentally stumble across the cloning facilities where Superboy Prime was being created. They release Kon and they form their team under the instruction of Nightwing and Starfire. Tim leads this team for multiple years and ends up in a relationship with Kon.

Talia is on the run from her father with Damien ending up in Gotham and comes across a freshly revived Jason, she doesn't know how he's back but she takes him in. She finds a second Lazarus pit under Gotham and puts Jason in for a short time. She continues with her plan and takes both Damien and Jason to Bruce. Talia explains to Bruce everything she knows including Ras's plans to steal Damien's body, she explains what she knows about Jason and how to help the catatonic man. She doesn't know how he came back but decided to help him by placing him into the pit.

Bruce takes in both boys and offers refuge for Talia which she denies. It takes months for Jason to have some semblance of normal again, not enough for him to go out patrolling but enough that he's helping Oracle from the Batcomputer. He's still dealing with a little bit of pit madness but not as severe, he's being helped by Roy and his daughter.

After a few months Tim passes the mantle of Robin to Damien and becomes Red Robin until he figures out his own vigilante name. Damien meets Jonathan Kent and they become the superson together, Jon helping curve some of Damien's awkwardness from being raised by multiple assassins. Cassandra also helps because she gets what Damien went through.

Damien is the first introduced to the public and when Jason is ready Bruce makes a story claiming Jason was in witness protection services because he saw the death of Robin. Gotham is so excited to have the boy back as well as the newest Wayne.

So the current Wayne Family is Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Duke, and Damien. Steph has her own family and so does Barbara.

The romantic relationships for everyone are as follows:

Bruce and Selina

Dick and Kori

Jason and Roy

Tim and Kon

Cass and Steph

[auroraescritora]

THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME - PERCY/NICO AU HIGH SCHOOL - CHAPTER XIX

Hello, how's it going? Thank you to everyone who voted in the poll. In fact, I didn't even know that so many people read the story in English; 49 votes, only two or three negative. So I'm glad to know I'm not writing for the walls. I've been thinking, it seems that polls are a good way of communicating. I'll use them from time to time to check if the plot is still going well. The chapters are short, but we'll get there slowly. I hope you enjoy it.

CHAPTER I / CHAPTER II / CHAPTER III / CHAPTER IV / CHAPTER V / CHAPTER VI / CHAPTER VII / CHAPTER VIII / CHAPTER IX / CHAPTER X / CHAPTER XI / CHAPTER XII / CHAPTER XIII / CHAPTER XIV / CHAPTER XV / CHAPTER XVI / CHAPTER XVII / CHAPTER XVIII

"Thank you. "Nico finally said when the Jackson family hugged him together, Sally almost crying while Grover and Tyson had a serious, neutral expression on their faces, reminding him of when Percy was trying to control himself so that he wouldn't destroy everything he saw along the way.

He liked that too, knowing he could count on the whole family. And since he was being honest, why not  carry on?

"You know? I haven't seen Hades in years. Is really necessary to work so hard because of him? I was thinking of something more effective.”

"Whatever you need, dear." This time, it was Sally who said it, already composing herself; the mother giving space to the businesswoman.

"I was thinking about emancipation." When no one said anything, Nico decided to close his eyes and keep on talking. "Hades has control of my mother's possessions and, as an only child, I won't have access to them until I'm twenty-one. If I speed up things, I can try to recover what is mine before Hades destroys everything.”

"I don't understand, Hades can't touch that money without the court's permission." Tyson said, confused.

"That's the problem. My mother had stocks and other assets that Hades has access to. Most of what he has comes from my mother.”

"Are you telling us that it was your mother who was rich and not Hades?"

Now it was Percy who seemed unhappy.

"Hades used to be a bank manager. Mama fell in love with him and I was born. In fact, Bianca is my half-sister, like you already know. My grandfather is a big farmer, you know? Mama used to help him before Hades showed up.”

"Wow. No, I did not know that." Grover muttered. "And your father is a son of a bitch.”

"He is. I didn't feel safe telling anyone this, but now that he can't hurt me, it's time to get back everything he took from me.”

"We're going to help. Tyson is going to start the preparations.”

"Can we take him by surprise? Try to get my mother's inheritance back and do the emancipation together? I don't want to give him time to fight back.”

"Of course. It's a great idea," Tyson said with a strange glint in his eyes. "He won't even notice when we catch him. I promise." 

"Okay. I trust you. If emancipation doesn't work, can you be my guardians? I never want to go back to that house again." 

"You have our word." Sally touched his shoulder, smiling at him with tears in her eyes. "We will destroy this man, even if it’s by force." 

"You don't have to promise me. I just... I don't want to be under his control anymore. I don't know what might happen."

"Is Bianca okay living with him?" 

"He's never treated Bianca the way he treats me." 

"Oh, honey." Sally said and hugged him tightly, with Percy still holding him by the waist. 

He refused to cry, refused to give Hades this pleasure, refused to continue under that man's control. While he was in Verona with his grandparents, cousins, and uncles, Hades hadn't had the courage to approach him. But now that no other adult was responsible for him, Hades thought he could boss him around. Well, Nico would prove it to that man and give him back a taste of what Hades had done to him.

"I'm fine. Is all in the past. I just want what's mine."

"We know," Percy finally said, coming out of his stupor. "I'll take care of you."

Nico knew that, Percy was saying those words so often that he was starting to believe it. Maybe they really did have a chance to get married in the future and build a family of their own, away from all this confusion and pain. Maybe if he behaved and did everything the right way, he would free himself from this nightmare, from these people who seemed determined to torture him.

***

After that, things seemed to calm down, but in a delicate way.

He said he should have kept quiet from the beginning, didn't he? Nico didn't understand exactly what was happening, but he did suspected something was going on.

Nico felt like Percy was distancing himself from him, as though he was loosening the leash of his collar to see how far Nico would go without supervision. Or maybe, that was just how he felt. Maybe Percy was giving him some space, some time for Nico to understand what was happening and take the next step with precaution. 

Where Percy used to be by his side at every moment of the day, now someone else would replace him without Nico even realizing it. It was strange, the few times he found himself alone and was able to think, the effect of what Percy wanted became the opposite. This time alone made him think about life and the possibilities that the future held for him. It scared him, the uncertainty, seeing that he would have to take the reins of his own life if he wanted to live comfortably, when, in reality, all he wanted was for someone to come and tell him what was the right path to take. 

That afternoon would be no different, making him lose himself in the succession of days, pleasant days with people who cared about him, but without the pleasure that Nico had become accustomed to receiving. Would a few days be enough for Percy to convince himself? Was he behaving as expected of him?

Nico was so tired of all that. He just got out of bed and walked around the house. He found Sally in the kitchen and declined the invitation to cook with her. He found Tyson in the study who offered to update him on the Hades case, and once again declined, passing Grover who was in the living room, going straight to the outside area of ​​the house, the only place Percy could be.

There Nico found him, watching Percy swimming at fast speed in the pool, up and down, incessant and frantic, Nico having the impression that Percy was trying to punish himself and for something he should never be blamed for. When Nico finally got close enough to get a better look at Percy's profile, he remained silent, wondering if it was a good idea to break Percy's self-imposed routine. What if this was their future and Nico was just delaying and fighting against what was hopeless? Finding himself at a dead end, Nico sat down in one of the lounge chairs and carried on watching Percy swim furiously, looking like he was trying to take out all his frustration in the water.

It wouldn't be long now. 

If Nico was still following their script, in a few minutes Percy would get out of the pool and go after him. Percy would hug him and smile at him, being all affectionate and they would spend the rest of the afternoon and part of the evening doing anything other than what they wanted to be doing. He was so tired of all this that Nico wasn't even surprised when Percy came out of the pool like someone was chasing after him, almost  walking straight past him. 

Nico felt like laughing, this was so ridiculous; Percy was ridiculous and he was ridiculous too. What were they waiting for? The trauma and the sadness to disappear so they could move on with their lives? That maybe with time and patience Nico would be a normal and mentally balanced person? The funniest thing was seeing Percy backing up and stopping next to his chair, smiling sheepishly at him. And what did Nico did? He smiled back, it was the only rational thing to do in a situation that made no sense at all.

"Hey, handsome. What are you doing here all alone?" Percy asked and crouched down, getting to his height and staring at him closely.

"I missed you." 

"Yeah?"

"I wanted to know where you were." 

"I'm here, like always." 

Nico wanted to say it was a lie. Percy might be there, but he wasn't by his side anymore.

"What's happening to us?" He asked, feeling more tired with each passing moment.

"Nothing's happening." Percy said and smiled at him, gently touching his face. And that was the problem, nothing was happening and he needed something to happen immediately, or he would go completely crazy.

Nico almost let himself be carried away by the platonic caress, almost let Percy's calm smile fool him.

"Did I... did I do something wrong?"

"That would never be possible." 

"You don't like me anymore?"

"Nico." Percy said in the calmest voice he had ever heard. "I think we should slow down.”

“More than this?”

“I…” Then the calm mask on Percy’s face broke. "I abused you. I never asked why you wouldn’t talk to your father. I never questioned why you cried and shook when you thought no one was watching. I need space. I thought it would be good for you too.”

“I don’t need space. I need you.”

Nico didn’t hesitate, he threw himself into Percy’s lap and hugged him tightly, feeling a lump form in his throat.

“Nico. I… I feel guilty. I’m just another one who wants to abuse you.” The important thing was that Percy hugged him back, tightly, holding him by the back of his neck and whispered in his ear. "I want to see you at my feet and I want to see you obeying everything I tell you to do. I want you to look only at me and think only about me. Do you think this is any different from what Hades was doing to you?”

“I don’t care.” There, he said it. “I want to do all of this for you.”

“Nico, please.”

“I’m tired. Why can’t I have what I want? Why is it so wrong to be under someone else’s control?”

He heard Percy groan and before he could react, Percy pulled him by the hair and made him face Percy, his green eyes blazing, as if Percy was about to devour him right there.

“You’re going to kill me. You know that? I’m trying to take care of you. I’m doing what’s best for you.”

“I don’t want the best, I just want to not feel so miserable all the time.”

Percy stared at him for a long moment, looking like he was going to break down at any moment, but finally his wish was granted; Percy pressed his lips against his and stayed like that for a few moments, allowing him to feel the warmth and touch that he had missed so much. And suddenly, it was enough for Nico. It wasn't the sex he missed, it was the warmth of Percy's body on his, the affection, the caring touch, the release of tension, the connection he hadn't found anywhere else.

Unfortunately, the moment was broken some time later. Percy's hands were still on his skin and he was still sitting on Percy's lap, they were still staring at each other as if the other would disappear if they looked away.

"I never wanted you to feel this way," Percy finally said, swallowing hard. "I feel like a monster. I'll-- I'll get over this, I just need some time." 

"Do we need to stay apart? I don't want to learn about law from Tyson or about sports from Grover, I don't even want to learn new recipes from Sally. I promise I won't bother you." 

"How can you say this to me?" That was all Percy said before he buried his face in his neck and Nico felt tears hit his skin, Percy's arms tightening around his waist.

"Oh." Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to corner Percy after all. 

Nico was convinced of that when he heard the first sob. Why did everything he did go wrong? With a tight chest, Nico pulled Percy up and lay down with him on the lounger. He would obey Percy's wishes and give him the space he needed.

Suggestions or comments? Thank you for reading!

[morgana-von-avalon]

Emancipated

Arriving at the door of the apartment, the first thing I see is a Christmas wreath hanging from the doorknob. I’m confused, because I know Tom has always loved Christmas, but it’s already past Valentines at this point. I open the door with the key he gave me, and the living room is wrecked. A pile of clothes, mostly work pants, sit in the corner of the room, still covered in mud, and I can see the footprints of his boots lead into the kitchen. The TV is on, tuned to Adult Swim. Regular Show is playing. 

Walking past the living room, I see the kitchen, which is littered with monster cans, frozen food, and takeout containers. The pots and pans out in the open look like they haven’t been touched in months. I guess Tom always did rely on his mom to cook for him, before things went sour between them.

I walk into the bedroom of the cramped apartment. The bed isn’t made, and there are more clothes on the floor. A mix of graphic t-shirts, jeans, and hoodies. A rainbow flag hangs in his window, casting the room in a technicolor light. I go up to the desk to try and find what I was supposed to be looking for. A nice computer sits on the desk, with LED lights, but the keyboard has dust in between the cracks off to the side, instead the desk being taken up by a pile of papers. Homework, emancipation paperwork, some drawings that are only half done. I knew Tom was struggling to find the balance, but I wasn’t expecting to see all these D’s and F’s. Before I snoop further, I grab the money from the shoebox hidden under his desk, marked COLLEGE FUNDS, before leaving through the front door.

[morganamusing]

Emancipated

Arriving at the door of the apartment, the first thing I see is a Christmas wreath hanging from the doorknob. I’m confused, because I know Tom has always loved Christmas, but it’s already past Valentines at this point. I open the door with the key he gave me, and the living room is wrecked. A pile of clothes, mostly work pants, sit in the corner of the room, still covered in mud, and I can see the footprints of his boots lead into the kitchen. The TV is on, tuned to Adult Swim. Regular Show is playing. 

Walking past the living room, I see the kitchen, which is littered with monster cans, frozen food, and takeout containers. The pots and pans out in the open look like they haven’t been touched in months. I guess Tom always did rely on his mom to cook for him, before things went sour between them.

I walk into the bedroom of the cramped apartment. The bed isn’t made, and there are more clothes on the floor. A mix of graphic t-shirts, jeans, and hoodies. A rainbow flag hangs in his window, casting the room in a technicolor light. I go up to the desk to try and find what I was supposed to be looking for. A nice computer sits on the desk, with LED lights, but the keyboard has dust in between the cracks off to the side, instead the desk being taken up by a pile of papers. Homework, emancipation paperwork, some drawings that are only half done. I knew Tom was struggling to find the balance, but I wasn’t expecting to see all these D’s and F’s. Before I snoop further, I grab the money from the shoebox hidden under his desk, marked COLLEGE FUNDS, before leaving through the front door.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Social Anarchism, Class Struggle and Centre-Periphery Relations

[...] because anarchism is an ideology which refuses to create new central systems with new peripheral areas. Rudolf de Jong

Anarchism is, for us, an ideology; this being a set of ideas, motivations, aspirations, values, a structure or system of concepts that has a direct connection with action – that which we call political practice. Ideology requires the formulation of final objectives (long term, future perspectives), the interpretation of the reality in which we live and a more or less approximate prognosis about the transformation of this reality. From this analysis ideology is not a set of abstract values and ideas, dissociated from practice with a purely reflective character, but rather a system of concepts that exist in the way in which it is conceived together with practice and returns to it. Thus, ideology requires voluntary and conscious action with the objective of imprinting the desire for social transformation on society.

We understand anarchism as an ideology that provides orientation for action to replace capitalism, the state and its institutions with libertarian socialism – a system based on self-management and federalism – without any scientific or prophetic pretensions.

Like other ideologies, anarchism has a history and specific context. It does not arise from intellectuals or thinkers detached from practice, who pursued only abstract reflection. Anarchism has a history which developed within the great class struggles of the nineteenth century, when it was theorised by Proudhon and took shape in the midst of the International Workers Association (IWA), with the work of Bakunin, Guillaume, Reclus and others who advocated revolutionary socialism in opposition to reformist, legalist or statist socialism. This tendency of the IWA was later known as “federalist” or “anti-authoritarian” and found its continuity in the militancy of Kropotkin, Malatesta and others.

Thus it was within the IWA that anarchism took shape, “in the direct struggle of the workers against capitalism, from the needs of the workers, from their aspirations to freedom and equality that lived, particularly, in the masses of workers in the most heroic times” [1]. The work of theorising anarchism was done by thinkers and workers who were directly involved in social struggles and who helped to formalise and disseminate the sentiment that was latent in what they called the “mass movement”. Thus Over the years anarchism developed theoretically and practically. One the one hand it contributed in a unique way to episodes of social transformation, maintaining its ideological character such as, for example, in the Mexican Revolution, the Russian Revolution, the Spanish Revolution or even in Brazilian episodes, like the General Strike of 1917 and the Insurrection of 1918. On the other hand in certain contexts anarchism assumed certain characteristics that retreated from the ideological character, transforming it into an abstract concept which became merely a form of critical observation of society. Over the years this model of anarchism assumed its own identity, finding references in history and at the same time losing its character of the struggle for social transformation. This was more strikingly evident in the second half of the twentieth century. Thought of from this perspective anarchism ceases to be a tool of the exploited in their struggle for emancipation and functions as a hobby, a curiosity, a theme for intellectual debate, an academic niche, an identity, a group of friends, etc. For us, this view seriously threatens the very meaning of anarchism.

This disastrous influence on anarchism was noted and criticised by various anarchists from Malatesta, when he polemicised with the individualists that were against organisation,[2] to Luigi Fabbri, who made his critique of the bourgeois influences on anarchism already in the early twentieth century [3], up to Murray Bookchin who, in the mid-1990s, noted this phenomenon and tried to warn:

Unless I am very wrong – and I hope to be – the social and revolutionary objectives of anarchism are suffering the attrition of reaching a point where the word anarchy becomes part of the elegant bourgeois vocabulary of the next century – disobedient, rebellious, carefree, but delightfully harmless [4].

We advocate that anarchism recaptures its original ideological character, or as we previously defined it, a “system of concepts that has a direct connection with action, [...] of political practice”. Seeking to recapture this ideological character and to differentiate ourselves from other currents in the broad camp of contemporary anarchism, we advocate social anarchism and therefore corroborate the criticisms of Malatesta and Fabbri and affirm the dichotomy identified by Bookchin; that there is today a social anarchism returning to struggles with the objective of social transformation, and a lifestyle anarchism that renounces the proposal for social transformation and involvement in the social struggles of our time.

For us social anarchism is a type of anarchism that, as an ideology, seeks to be a tool of social movements and the popular organisation with the objective of overthrowing capitalism and the state and of building libertarian socialism – self-managed and federalist. To this end it promotes the organised return of anarchists to the class struggle, with the goal of recapturing what we call the social vector of anarchism. We believe that it is among the exploited classes – the main victims of capitalism – that anarchism is able to flourish. If, as Neno Vasco put it, we have to throw the seeds of anarchism on the most fertile terrain, this terrain is for us the class struggle that takes place in popular mobilisations and in social struggles. Seeking to oppose social anarchism with lifestyle anarchism, Bookchin asserted that

social anarchism is radically at odds with an anarchism which focuses on lifestyle, the neo-situationist invocation of ecstasy and the increasingly contradictory sovereignty of the petty bourgeois ego. The two diverge completely in their defining principles – socialism or individualism. [5]

Commenting on the title of his book Anarquismo Social (Social Anarchism) Frank Mintz, another contemporary militant and thinker emphasised: “this title should be useless, because the two terms are implicitly linked. It is likewise misleading because it suggests that there may be a non-social anarchism, outside of struggles” [6]. In this way we understand that social anarchism is necessarily implicated in the class struggle.

Within our vision of social anarchism, as “a fundamental tool for the support of daily struggles” [7], we also need to clarify our definition of class. While considering the class struggle as central and absolutely relevant in society today we understand that the Marxists, by choosing the factory worker as the unique and historic subject of the revolution, despise all other categories of the exploited classes, while also potentially revolutionary subjects. The authoritarians’ conception of the working class, which is restricted only to the category of industrial workers, does not cover the reality of the relations of domination and exploitation that have occurred throughout history and even the relationships that occur in this society. Just as it does not cover the identification of revolutionary subjects of the past and present.

Starting from the need to clarify this conception of class, we include in the camp of the exploited classes – which can and should contribute to the process of social transformation by means of class struggle – other categories that have in large part received the attention of anarchists throughout history. This definition of the conception of class does not change the class struggle as the main terrain for the action of social anarchism, but offers a different way of seeing our goal: the transformation of centre-periphery relations, or more specifically, the transformation of the relations of domination of the peripheries by the centres. Based on the classification of Rudolf de Jong [8] and on our own recent history of struggle, we conceptualise all the exploited classes starting from the centre-periphery relations. Thus, taking part in this group are:

Cultures and societies completely estranged and distanced from the centre; not at all “integrated”, and “savage” in the eyes of the centre. For example, the Indians of the Amazon.

Peripheral areas related to the centre and belonging to its socio-economic and political structures that attempt, at the same time, to maintain their identities. They are dominated by the centre, threatened in their existence by the economic expansion thereof. By the standards of the centre they are “backwards” and underdeveloped. For example, the indigenous communities of Mexico and the Andean countries. Other examples in this category – perhaps we should talk of a subgroup b.1 – are small farmers, skilled workers and peasants threatened in their social and economic existence by the progress of the centre and who still struggle for their independence.

Economic classes or socio-economic systems that used to belong to the centre, but returned to a peripheral position after technological innovations and socio-economic developments in the centre. For example, the lumpen proletariat, precarious informal workers and the permanent army of the unemployed.

Social classes and groups that take part in the centre in an economic sense, but that are peripheral in a social, cultural and/ or political sense: the working classes, the proletariat in emerging industrial societies, women, blacks, homosexuals.

Centre-periphery relations of a political nature, whether between states or within them: colonial or imperialist relations, capital versus provincial relations etc. Such relations in the capitalist system are developed in parallel with the economic relations mentioned above – or, group e.1: neo-capitalist domination, internal colonisation and exploitation.

Accepting this classification, and being conscious of its limitations, we define the category of exploited classes as the peripheral areas that are dominated by the centre. It is important to stress that we do not consider as part of this set of exploited classes individuals who are in theory in peripheral areas, but that in practice establish relations of domination over others, thus becoming new centres. Hence the need for all the struggles of the exploited classes to have a revolutionary perspective, in order that they do not seek simply to make parts of the peripheral areas constituted into new centres.

Proceeding from this definition, there are two ways of thinking about social transformation: one, authoritarian, historically used by the heirs of Marxism (revolutionary or reformist) and another, libertarian, used by the anarchists.

Authoritarians, including some who call themselves anarchists, think of the centre as a means, and orientate their politics towards it. For them, the centre – considering this to be the state, the party, the army, the position of control – is an instrument for the emancipation of society, and “the revolution means in first place the capturing of the centre and its power structure, or the creation of a new centre” [9]. The authoritarians’ very conception of class is based on the centre, when defining the industrial proletariat as a historical subject – which is described in the letter “d” in the definition cited above – and excludes and marginalises other categories of the exploited classes that are in the periphery like, for example, the peasantry.

Libertarians do not think of the centre as a means, and struggle permanently against it, building their revolutionary model and their strategy of struggle in the direction of all the peripheries – explained by the letters that go from “a” to “e” in the definition above. That is, in its activity in the class struggle anarchism considers as elements of the exploited classes traditional communities, peasants, unemployed, underemployed, homeless and other categories frequently overlooked by the authoritarians. “Thus the struggle would be taken up by someone who really [feels] the effects of the system, and therefore [needs] urgently to abolish it” [10]. Anarchists stimulate social movements in the periphery from the grassroots and seek to build a popular organisation in order to combat – in solidarity – the existing order and create a new society that would be based on equality and freedom, and in which classes would no longer make sense. In this struggle anarchists utilise the means that contain, within themselves, the germs of the future society.

The anarchist conception of the social forces behind social change is much more general [...] than the Marxist formula. Unlike Marxism, it does not afford a specific role to the industrialised proletariat. In anarchist writings we find all kinds of workers and poor, all the oppressed, all those that somehow belong to peripheral groups or areas and are therefore potential factors in the revolutionary struggle for social change [11].

With this conception of revolutionary forces, we affirm that “everything indicates that it is in the periphery, in the ‘margins’, that the revolution keeps its flame alight” [12]. Therefore, our conclusion is that anarchism has to be in permanent contact with the peripheries in order to seek out its project of social transformation.

[helliontherapscallion]

Magnum Opus (Adrenaline Junkie Part 7)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 12     Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing

Word count: 2,451

(A/N): our dear little (y/n) needed a break from the angst, so I gave them one : )

You were finally done with the prototype for your prosthetic. It took blood, sweat, and tears and hours upon hours to get the measurements precisely right, but you were finally done. You were one step closer to freedom and you were ecstatic. You were practically vibrating with excitement.

Sprinting up the stairs with your pride and joy closed and wrapped in a sheet, you made a beeline for the front door passing Philza in the process. You heard him ask you something, but you were already darting past him through the door and outside. Before long, you were at the top of the cliff you designated as your test site. 

The cliff was perfect for gliding. It towered over the ground at a perfect height for you to gain air resistance in time and overlooked a vast, empty field that stretched as far as the eye could see. A few herds of chickens and cows were scattered here and there, but if you were careful you could probably steer away. Probably. If you hit a cow, it wouldn’t hurt that much, right? 

Sliding on the prosthetic was a little bit of a struggle. You had to awkwardly twist your body around and uncomfortably reach for your upper back to fasten the leather belts securely around your nub, but you would get faster at it once you put it on more. Smiling in satisfaction when it was on, you tested out the abduction and adduction capabilities of the iron joints by pulling on the string you attached to the ends of each joint. The wing opened and closed with ease.

Now, the only thing you had to test out was if it worked or not. You backed up to the point of the cliff where it started to slope down and took a few deep breaths. Here goes nothing.

You broke into a sprint towards the edge of the cliff. The precipice was coming nearer and nearer, there’s no backing out now, you had to follow through if you wanted a successful flight. If you killed yourself in the name of innovation, then so be it. 

When you bunched up the muscles in your legs to jump out as far as you could, you pulled the rope that extends your wing and firmly pulled it taut. You wobbled in the air slightly before you stabilized yourself. The air was flowing freely past you as you glide through the warm summer air. 

You started to laugh loudly in triumph as you soared through the air. For the first time in almost one and a half years, you felt truly free. You felt infinite even like nothing could drag you down. Time around you seemed to slow down as you relished the feeling of freedom and being emancipated from your life on the ground. The warm air rustling through the base of your feathers on your left wing felt like heaven. 

Unfortunately, what goes up must come down. You were getting closer and closer to the ground, so you had to land. You extended your legs under you and your feet made contact with the grass below you. Your momentum made you take a few swift steps forward, but overall, you landed safely. 

Cackling, you jumped up and down in place and repeatedly punched the air. Your wing fluttered happily rustling the strands of grass around you with strong gusts of air.

“YES YES YES YES I FUCKING DID IT!”

“I’M BRILLIANT!”

“HOLY SHIT!”

The nearby herds of animals scurried away from you, their peaceful grazing interrupted by your excited shouting. Normally you would’ve felt bad for them, but you didn’t care; your invention worked! You had to show your family, they had to see this.

Philza was startled by the front door bursting open and banging against the wall. Your loud voice booming through the silence of the house. There goes his quiet day.

“DAADDDDD, WILBUR, TECHNO, TOMMY COME HERE I FUCKING DID IT! I! FUCKING! FIGURED! IT! OUUUUTTTT!”

You heard footsteps running towards you as Philza ran down the hallways and into your field of vision. His startled wide eyes scanned your form. Your face was split in a wide grin and your eyes were impossibly wide as they regarded him. Your entire body was practically vibrating like you were barely keeping your excitement and elation at bay. Your wing was flittering rapidly behind you.

But what caught his eye was the leather attached to your back where your other wing was supposed to be. It was the exact same size as your left wing.

“I-Is that…?”

You giggled uncontrollably in glee. “Yes! Oh, I need to show you how it works!”

You grabbed his hand and drug him to the couch with a surprising amount of strength. Plopping him down, you began spewing and gesturing wildly towards your newest invention.

“Ok ok ok, so this is just a prototype of course, but I was inspired by a bat’s wings with the leather and the general structure. I made the joints and the structural support rods out of thin iron so that it doesn’t weigh it down or make any drag. I can open and close it with this,” you pulled the rope and the wing opened, “and I have a hole for my wing to go into and it’s secured by belts and it even lets me glide and ohmygoddadisntitamazing?”

Philza looked at you with disbelief as you rattled on about how your invention works. How exactly did you make this without him noticing that you were making it? Where did you learn how to work with leather? When you were done, he looked at you with a smile.

“It’s fantastic hun. But how do you know that it lets you glide?”

You paused and gave him a sheepish smile. “About that… I may have, kinda… sorta, jumpedoffacliff.”

“You what? Do you understand how dangerous that was?”

You felt a burning anger flare up from deep inside of you. You just found out that you could somewhat fly again and he has the audacity to not care. “Yes, but how was I supposed to know if it worked or not? It’s not like I have anyone with the same sized wing as I do. The measurements had to be exact. One wrong measurement would make you crash! But that’s not the important part, I can fly again! Don’t you care about that?”

His eyes softened. “Of course I do, (y/n). It’s amazing that you can fly again but I’m just worried about how you tested it out. What if it didn’t work? You could’ve died again, (y/n).”

You felt your eye twitch. “Dad, life is all about risk. If you don’t take a risk every now and then, you’re just… standing still! What kind of life is that?”

He held your heated glare with sad, desperate eyes. “I… I just can’t lose you again, (y/n). Promise me that I won’t lose you again. That you won’t do reckless things like this anymore.”

Oh.

You let your stance relax and your left wing tucked itself back in. Walking over to him, you sat next to him, wrapping your left wing around him in an awkward kind of side hug. Fiddling with your thumbs, you replied softly. “You aren’t going to lose me again anytime soon, that I can promise you, but I can’t promise that I won’t do reckless things. Like I said, life is all about risks. You have to take them if you wanna move on. I wanna move on with my life, I’m sick of being stuck in one place.”

He rubbed at his eyes tiredly as he sighed. There was no convincing you when you were like this. He’s learned that trying to steer you in another direction is like Sisyphus finally reaching the top of the mountain only to have the massive stone roll back down again. Getting you to agree was something that went against your motives just wasn’t going to happen. 

“...Do you want to move out?”

“What? Nonononono, I don’t want to move out yet. I just meant that I was tired of not moving on with life after that thing took my wing.”

He gave a watery chuckle. “Good, I wouldn’t have anybody to make me breakfast in the mornings or split wood with me if you moved out.” 

He twisted his upper body towards you and pulled you into a warm hug. “I’m not leaving anytime soon. You don’t need to worry about me anymore.”

You two stayed like that for a while before he pulled back and gestured for you to turn around. You obliged and he got a closer look at your prosthetic, opening and closing it with the rope.

“...This is just a prototype. I’m still trying to figure out a way to automatically move the wing without having to pull the rope.”

He hummed in thought. “Have you thought about using redstone?”

“Yeah, but everything’s just too… bulky. I might have to make a tiny sensor so that it receives impulses from my muscles and moves when I want it to. That’s gonna take me a long time.”

“I’m sure that you’ll figure it out soon, you’re creative. Probably the most innovative of your generation… I’m proud of you, ya know. You’ve grown up and overcome so much in such a short amount of time.” He said genuinely.

You felt your face heat up and a small smile shaped your lips. You loved it when people praised you for your achievements, especially your dad. It warmed your heart to hear that he’s still proud of you, even if you’re almost an adult now. 

He clapped a hand on your shoulder and started to walk to the door.

“...Where are you going?”

He looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “We are gonna go find your brothers so we can show them how amazing you are.”

Your eyes lit up and your previous excitement returned tenfold. Laughing boisterously, you grabbed his hand and started sprinting, dragging him behind you. He laughed with you as he kept up with you with ease. 

You two ran until you hit the forest where Tommy was with Tubbo at the goat hybrid’s bee farm. They looked at you with alarm as you both almost crashed into one of the hives. Bees buzzed around peacefully, completely contradicting the energy you and Philza had. 

“Tommy, Tubbo, you have to follow us!”

They glanced at each other. “Why-”

You shushed them. “No questions! I have something to show you!”

You turned on your heel and started to sprint towards the woods where you can hear the soft strumming of a guitar. 

“WIILLBURRRRR”

His head poked out from behind a large tree trunk. “What could you possibly want? I’m practicing.”

“No time to explain, follow me.”

You once again ran away towards the shooting range Techno was in. Currently, he was working on his aim with a crossbow. 

“Techno!”

He jumped and accidentally pressed the trigger, making the arrow completely miss the target by several feet. He lightly glared at you. “(Y/n), don’t do that. I could’ve sho-”

“Sorry Tech, but you’re coming with me. I have something to show you.”

Like you did with Tommy and Wilbur, you darted off without letting him respond. In no time, you and your family reached the cliff. At the top, you turned towards them with a slightly crazed grin and sparkling eyes. They looked extremely confused as to why they were up there.

“I bet you’re all wondering why I’ve brought you here today. Well boys, I present to you,” you paused for dramatic effect, “my magnum opus!”

You yanked the rope and your leather wing extended with a glorious fwoosh. You watched as their jaws dropped and they looked at you with differing expressions. Philza looked at you with beaming pride, Techno and Wilbur looked at you with complete surprise, Tubbo smiled widely at you, and Tommy was speechless.

Grinning wider, you pointed out all the intricacies of your invention. They all listened attentively, absorbing every single detail you explained. They were fascinated with the idea of using prosthetics. 

You smirked. “Now, I’m sure you all would like a live demonstration. Step aside.”

You turned around and started walking towards where you started your take off earlier. You steeled your nerves and broke into a sprint. Once again jumping off the cliff and pulling your wing open, you heard your family gasp as you wobbled in the air slightly before you steadied yourself and began gliding. Their horrified gasps and shouts quickly turned into cheering as you glided away from them. 

As you were midair, you heard the flutter of feathers behind you as Philza appeared in your peripheral vision. He was grinning widely at you as his giant wings flapped to keep him next to you. You grinned back and in that moment, everything felt right. You would always have your family to support you.

You landed safely on the ground with a few steps and Philza followed suit, pulling you into a soft winged hug. You squeezed him back with vigor.

“(Y/n),” he whispered. “I am so, so proud of you, my little inventor.”

You felt tears sting your eyes as you hugged him tighter. You could hear your brothers and Tubbo (whom you considered your pseudo brother at this point with how often he hangs around the house) running towards you two. It would be a minute or two until they reached you. Until then, you just wanted to stay in your dad’s loving embrace. 

“OI DAD DON’T HOG THEM!”

You were ripped away from Philza’s comforting embrace and pulled into Tommy’s chest. He squeezed you in a bone crushing hug and started to spin you around.

“(Y/N) THAT WAS SO FUCKING COOL! THE WAY YOU FLEW WITHOUT BOTH WINGS HOLY SHIT THAT WAS POG!”

He let you go and you were given a congratulatory pat on the back and wide smile from Tubbo, who wasn’t quite accustomed to you yet. Techno smiled at you with pride and rustled your hair and Wilbur swung his arm around your shoulders, leading you back towards the house. “Well, I say this calls for a celebration.”

The feathers on your wing fluffed up proudly at the praise. “I’m down, but first could one of you help me take this off? It hurts after a while of wearing it.”

The rest of the night was illuminated with laughter and joy, the house booming with life. This was another moment where you felt infinite in the universe, surrounded by the people you hold dearest.

Taglist (comment if you want to be added):

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[smolfailure]

FUCK IT, DREAM SMP HOMESTUCK AU

but it's only half shitposts and there are actual Thoughts in there.

You don't need to have read the comic to understand because I tried not to spoil anything major, but it'd help if you knew basic stuff about classpects, SBURB and the hemospectrum.

disclaimer: i'm not a good pixel artist and this is my first actual sprites ever so please be kind to my weird pixels

The Kids:

Tommy

Fundy

Techno

Tubbo

tommy, tubbo and fundy one of the kids because they're the kids in dream smp canon (with fundy being son of wilbur)

techno's there because i want to make a dave strider reference (haha get it because techno's name is also da-- *gets shot) and also because they are both coolguys except instead of using irony, techno has adhd

The Trolls:

Wilbur Soohte (fuschia)

?????? Ehrret (violet)

J????? Shlatt (purple)

Nihacu Niikki (indigo)

Skeppy Diamon (cerulean)

Quacki Tthiey (teal)

Philza Myncra (jade)

Dreame Wastkn (lime disguising as olive)

George Notfou (gold)

Sapphe Nahfpe (bronze)

Badboy Haelow (burgundy)

don't come at me saying only females are allowed to be jades and fuschias; gender is fake and this is an au

more of the AU and the talksprites are under the cut:

Tommy

Lunar sway: Derse. Types in: Red

chaotic. the first person to be introduced.

when he gets introduced instead of the “Zoosmell Pooplord” bit, Tommy is initially going to be the name inputted but then backspaced it and decided that Tommyinnit was better and he was fuming until he’s named Tommy.

Gives me big Blood/Hope vibes. Blood because a lot of the conflict of the dream smp connected to someone breaking his trust or harming the things he cares about, Hope because a lot of the plot of the dream smp stems from Tommy starting shit based on his ideals and what he thinks is right.

the first to instigate fighting against the trolls

bbh contacts him once and tommy keeps cursing until he disconnects from frustration rip

wields Gunkind and his only strife weapon at the beginning is the Vlog gun. He has Gunkind as his strife specibus mainly because he looked up at schlatt and he imitates him.

Fundy

Lunar sway: Prospit. Types in: Orange

it was his idea to play SBURB but only through Dream.

he talks to dream the most among the other trolls fwt stans getcha juice this is the rosemary of the session

dream’s the one giving him exposition about the game so that’s how he knows how to play SBURB.

wilbur trolls fundy once and instantly adopts him.

“You’re my son.” “How does that even work??” “I was one of the people who created your universe. It’s basically the same thing.”

Fundy relents anyway.

Techno

Lunar sway: Derse. Types in: Pink

dave strider but dead-inside voice + rose lalonde english major vibes

he slices the text box when you try to name him "Dave " like in

techno gives me time player vibes (contantly on the move. his skyblock series, his “stays in the pit” monologue,) but also rage vibes (anarchy,  the “theseus” monologue, political alignment is Chaos) alas i am not sure what class

uses Tridentkind and claims "it came from god"

 it was dream, he accidentally transportalized one of wilbur’s weapon while he testing the transportalizer.

Tubbo

Lunar sway: Prospit. Types in: Green

the jade harley of this session. the only thing keeping them from going apeshit. where would they be without him.

but also jade harley in a sense that he seems nice and wholesome but also don’t fuck with them they can mess you up

Heart/Life vibes??? someone good at classpecting help

i put them in prospit bc of the "tubbo third eye" instead of tubbo having a sixth sense or smth, they see the future from the clouds of skaia when they sleep

wields Stress-relieverKind at some point

bonus: everyone’s actual hair colors

Ideas about the Trolls

no i haven’t done their sprites yet bc it would take so much time and i’m not even sure if people wanna see more of this au skjdkdsakdfkl,, but i have Design Ideas.

events of the dsmp revolution are just a FLARP session drawing parallels to how the homestuck trolls had a FLARP session that spoiler alert: destroyed friendships. dtrio, eret, will are involved. eret betrays will's faction and wilbur's still Bitter over that.

on the context of alternia (highbloods and lowbloods) lmanburg and dreamsmp have their roles SWAPPED.  the emancipation theme thing is completely gone since highbloods are in more power than the lowbloods (the dream team) . 

wilbur made a faction called l’manburg because he wants a place where he and his fellow highbloods could make drugs vibe.they take a piece of land that was owned by the dream team. in normal circumstances, they shouldve stood down because lowbloods aren't supposed to start shit with highbloods (especially a group of highbloods that has the alternian heir among them)  but dream turned it into an activism thing about lowblood rights. the story plays as close as possible without tommy or tubbo in it (which is pretty hard ik but this is the best can do).

like in the dreamsmp revolution, dream kinda let wilbur do what he wants but this time he has more reason to because he’s in a lower caste. dream really only fought back when wilbur announced that he’d be building lmanburg on their land and calling it theirs.

eret betrays wilbur by supporting the lowbloods and wilbur and co. technically won but only because he finally called the drones in, as a reference to how lmanburg absolutely got crushed by the dream team in the smp but technically won. l’manburg keeps the piece of land and the dream team scatter away to find a new home.

wilbur soot's a fuschia because a) he's in a position that has a lot of power, b) yknow how he wrote a song about squids and his thing with sally… yeah.

eret's a violet because nobility!! dream looks down on him because he's ambivalent on fighting for lowblood rights when he's in a power to do so "you just sit there, and you look pretty that's it"

also like eridan he has a minor aesthetic mutation (herobrine eyes) that won't classify him as a mutant.

jschlatt is purple because it makes sense thematically because of the gamzee parallels (a. substance abuse b. if you know what happens in act 6, you know this already but spoiler alert, he ruins the main protagonists' lives) also he's a funnyman he deserves the clown caste

 quackity's a teal because he’s a law student. moving on--

 ok but for real it also makes sense thematically because he's the one who wrote the thing that tricked schlatt into agreeing also he gets manipulated by schlatt which also draws parallels to certain events in the comic

skeppy and bbh are BEST FRIENDS despite being highblood and lowblood respectively. initially, skeppy just wanted to bother bbh but they grew to be good friends in time. y’know like how they actually becane friends :D

philza minecraft is a jade because dad friend. also works thematically, because spoiler alert he gets to murder a seadweller for going batshit crazy. 

he also god tiers early. he dies fighting his quick undead denizen (haha baby zombie) but the consorts of his land carry him to his quest bed because he’s treated them all so well.

dream was initially going to be another caste but then i realized that means i have to make his hoodie something other than green which is unacceptable so its a good thing the fact that he's a lime works out

dream was the one who thought of playing sgrub in the first place- initially only planned to have gogy, sap, and bbh in the session but then realized that they four won't be enough so he invited more into his session

he’s also the first to go godtier ez clap blind speedrun not sure what classpect tho

the only reason why dream avoided being culled at birth for being a limeblood is because his rng is That Good. he quickly picked up the fact that he’s not supposed to exist and masqueraded as an oliveblood and kept mostly to himself to avoid suspicion.

george is still colorblind but he has lazer eyes along with it instead. dream lives with him in the same hive since being a mutant means dream doesn’t get a lusus of his own (dnf fans getcha juice “and they were roommates”) 

despite living in the same hive, he never really figures out that dream is a limeblood. possibly because a) he’s colorblind and when he sees dream bleeding he just sees yellow b) he’s just that fucking oblivious and it’s so valid of him.

sapnap’s a bronzeblood mainly because i know he’s the instigator of the pet war with tommy also because i associate him with the color orang in my mind so bronze it is

that’s the end of this long-ass post!! if you have other ideas PLEASE i want to hear them. i don’t know the other streamers i mentioned in here very well so if you have ideas that would be fitting to them like with classpect or lunar sway that would be GREAT. 

the only thing i’m confident about in here are the kids’ lunar sways. i’m not an expert in classpects and homestuck lore so there’s that too!! i just wanted to make this post because adhd means that the idea wouldn’t shut up until i finished it. This initially started as a single shitpost edit of tommyinnit talksprite but then the hiveswap 2 trailer came out and that means i have to combine my two hyperfixations.

also i have ideas about potential quadrants but idk how much of that is breaking some streamers’ boundaries about shipping (even the non romantic quads such as kismesistude, morallegiance and auspisticism) so i decided not to include it.

edit: apparently people want more so i made a discord server as a place to brainstorm!! please pm me to join!

[whirlybirbs]

✧   —   SHIFTING TIDES.

summary: as the crimson dawn grows, you become a spearhead within the organization. a tie in with my other fic of emancipation and trust, set a year after — around s7. 

pairing: maul x ex-servant!reader

a/n: it’s been a minute since i’ve written, so here’s some casual dialogue work with maul since his latest appearance in tcw has my knees quaking. it’s soft. if you’re confused, give of emancipation and trust a read to catch up on these two’s relationship. 

“Oh, do forgive me then, Prime Minister —”

The room drops ten degrees in temperature before it falls so stiffly silent that Maul is sure a pin could drop half-way across the Sundari Royal Palace and everyone in the room would be able to hear it...

Had it not been for the rather pointed tone you’d taken up when verbally undressing a certain Prime Minister Almec — robbing him of his pride and assumptions right then and there with your words alone.

“— If I’m not overly fond of a clan who kept me enslaved for eight years of my life.”

Maul, posed on the stiff-backed loveseat, plucks at a stray string from his tunic pants — he flicks it as he uncrosses his legs and leans forward. His mask betrays him. He seems uninterested; however, pride is the feeling that fills his lungs and makes his words float a bit softer through the parlor’s air. 

Pride in you.

You’ve become a wicked little thing; smart, beautiful, cunning... All things that were there before but... Given the chance to grow? 

You've blossomed into quite the Syran plant.

“Almec.”

The Prime Minister in question is left to tear his dumbfounded look from you and your regal posture in the far corner of the room. You’re pouring Coruscanti brandy into a glass for yourself. Maul can feel the anger rolling off the politician —being upstaged by you, no doubt, has put a sour taste in the greying man’s mouth.

It’s entertaining.

“Yes, Mandalore.”

“I believe it best for you to leave us.”

There’s almost a snarl upon Almec’s lips. Almost. But, then you turn, sip your brandy, and bore a hole into the man’s skull with your fed-up glare. Adorable, really, if Maul may say so.

“Right,” a short bow is spared towards Maul. Almec’s voice is wound tight, “Do consider the... finer points to this argument, will you, Maul?”

“I said,” Maul sharpens his tone now, shooting down Almec’s clear attempts to undermine your advice and discredit your view with a wave of his hand, “To leave us.”

If you weren’t so irritated, maybe you’d laugh.

The doors to the parlor slam shut as the politician skirts from the room in a flash of embroidered petticoats. 

You move then, finally given the space to move about the small room. You cross the plush carpet and step down from the raised area that is home to a small bar and another set of couches. The curtains are drawn, making the room look smaller thanks to the cast of the warm lights running along the underside of the shelves around the room. They bear trophies of war — relics of Mandalore’s past.

Your fingers find the lock keypad on the gilded door handle. 

Ice cubes tinker as you turn around and eye Maul.

He’s leaned back, legs spread wide, as he worries his bottom lip with his index finger. 

When you speak, your tone is icy.

“It’s all a show, you know.”

A crimson brow ridge quirks. His eyes follow after, ghosting along your face as you move to settle in the loveseat across from him. You plop down and ditch the heels you’d worn to dinner before pulling your legs up to your chest. Your thin, satin dress swims around the cushions as you muss a hand along your scalp and sigh.

“It irritates you,” he mumbles. The sound is smooth and low, “Why?”

Your brows raise. You fuss your lip and play with the glass in your hand.

“I thought it was obvious. They think they can get the upper hand — destablizing and reorganizing. It’s insulting. Especially coming from The Hutts.”

“Insulting to you?”

You scoff at the idea. “No. It irritates me to think they believe they can get away with it.”

“Ah. So it’s pride, then.”

You make a face. His gilded eyes narrow for a dash of a moment.

“Pride in me?” Maul rumbles as his words gain a new color of amusement, “Perhaps you believe I cannot be bested? Is that why you attempt to fight my battles for me, sweet one?”

“I don’t want you to be bested,” you correct lightly with the sort of sternness he’s come to appreciate, fingers ghosting the patterning stitched into the arm of the loveseat as you watch him carefully.

“For your own sake?”

You blow a raspberry at the thought. You answer honestly. Maul can tell. You don’t lie to him — even the small things. He’d know. You may or may not know that, but it doesn’t matter. The trust between you both runs deep. Uncompromised.

"Never for my own sake. I care about you. I only ever want to see you succeed.”

His eyes fall; scrutiny lost.

Maul makes a sound that you’ve come to understand as contemplative. A small hum, one that only hangs in the air for a moment or two while he parses the information given — and now, he parses the way you’re feeling.

You can feel the gentle prodding through the force. You shoot him a look.

“Do you trust me?” it’s nearly joking. You swat at the imaginary hands probing the air around your head. 

“Always,” Maul mumbles, “But there’s something else bothering you.”

“Almec, to start.”

That earns a laugh. Dry and short. 

The two of you sit there for a moment, eyes falling along the other. It’s Maul — finally, after a minute of silence — who pulls himself upwards and crosses the space of the parlor to find himself by your side. His weight shifts the loveseat as he sits and you turn to eye the Zabrak’s pointed frown.

You reach and ghost your fingers along his jaw.

His hand falls to the bare curve of your knee.

It’s a tender moment, overshadowed by the increasing difficulties the Crimson Dawn is beginning to face. These next few weeks will not be easy. If the whispers at dinner were any indication...

“You believe The Hutts are going to attempt to gain additional territory in the capital as a distraction, then. Correct?”

You hum, thumb running along his cheek. “Jabba is not stupid, despite his looks. The Desilijic Clan are masterful. They’ve done this before. It’s how they’ve stayed in power for so long. They do not want to owe anything to the Crimson Dawn.”

You trace the thick, inky black lines alone his jaw. 

The Mandalore exhales as he thinks. 

“But,” you say softly, turning his face so you can see his eyes, “Perhaps I am simply worrying over nothing.”

“Don’t discredit your intuition,” Maul offers gently, “You have an uncanny sense of these things.”

“As do you,” you chide, “But the point is, unlike Almec, I don’t get off on pretending I know more than I truly do.”

A scoff. The Zabrak shakes his head. You grin.

It’s now, after a day’s worth of politics and a long dinner with the heads of the Clans that you can see the exhaustion settling into his face. The Sith usually holds a cunning amount of vigor, but... recently, with nearly a year of power established, things have begun to grow unsteady. Clans getting restless. Powers shifting around. 

You sigh. 

“There’s something else.”

He’s watching you. 

You sweep your thumb over his cheek as you speak. Tender. Loving.

“Yes. You haven’t been sleeping.”

The idea that you’re worried about something as small as that is almost laughable to Maul. Almost. If it wasn’t so true... Perhaps, three months ago, the Sith would have chided you for twaddling over something so trivial. But, in recent weeks, he’d hardly been able to keep himself still for more than an hour’s time. Meditation and sleep have been nearly impossible and... 

Here he is, leaning into your touch and grumbling out a low apology.

“Have I been keeping you up?”

The answer is yes — though you don’t see the need in saying it. He knows, already, but he knows that’s not the reason you’ve brought it up. It’s worry, again, that does it. Just as worry had brought your pointed words with Almec to ahead.

You stay quiet. Maul frowns. This time, it’s his turn to shift and watch you with care. His gaze, usually cold, softens considerably. 

“I have, haven’t I.”

You offer a light laugh and press a gentle touch to the ridge of his horn on his temple. “That isn’t why I brought it up.”

He gives a huff. “I know.”

You tilt your head, hair falling along your back and shoulders as you do. The corners of his mouth pull downwards, accentuating the ever-present malice etched into his features from years of hatred fueling his survival instinct. 

Now, with you... Things are different. 

“Perhaps,” you croon with innuendo, lifting his face, “I just need to be tiring you out more.”

He’s smirking when you kiss him; his hands wind around your waist tightly, thumbs crawling up the curves of your ribs. The warmth of his hands nearly burns a hole through your dress — and with your chest to his, you’re left to admire the way the Zabrak melts against you. 

“...You already do enough for me.”

A quiet confession. His nose brushes yours. Maul speaks slowly and quietly, hands falling along your jaw to cradle your face. 

“I am proud of you, sweet one,” he mumbles, dashing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You’ve grown.”

The compliments sit neatly in the homes of your heart. Warm and lovely. Especially so coming from the Zabrak before you.

“I love you.”

You don’t mind that you always say it first. 

“And I, you.”

[stawscweam]

A New Golden Age | MegaStar

Hello! This is my first ever fanfic! I’ve loved MegaStar since I was a kid, so this just feels like fate, you know? 

I dedicate this jumble of words to my darling friend @sivictis uwu 💜💜💜

Here it is on AO3! 

A new dawn settled on the recently rebuilt city of Kaon. Citizens stirred online as rays of light flooded their berth-chambers. As they awoke one-by-one, excitement coursed through all of their circuits for this day was of great importance; it was the coronation of Megatron and Starscream as the supreme rulers of Cybertron.

The official ceremony had been put on hold for quite some time after the resolution of the Great War. The restoration of their war-torn planet held upmost precedent after the execution and imprisonment of the defeated Autobots.

Justice was dealt swiftly to their high command and the helm of Optimus Prime decorated the entrance to the grand capitol. The remaining Autobots were used as prison labour to bolster the ranks of the reconstruction effort.

Cybertronians that had fled when the civil war destroyed their world returned upon news of the war’s end and were challenged with two choices: assist their new Decepticon brethren in rejuvenation or face the consequences. Most chose the former.

The damage dealt upon their planet was great, but the mechs of Cybertron were determined to make their leaders’ dream of renewal a reality. Unity and hope flowed through their processors as they tirelessly worked to birth a new Golden Age.

As their work bore fruit, Kaon surpassed the prestige of Iacon of old. Its streets bustled with activity and purpose as pubs, medical centres, cultural hubs, and businesses of all kinds blossomed into fruition. Emancipated from the archaic nonsense of Functionism, bots from all walks of life were free to choose their vocation and hobbies.

At the epicentre of the great city-state stood Kolkular, the headquarters of the Decepticons and now proud capital of Cybertron. The metallic walls of the fortress shone brightly as the sun continued to rise. Its residents already up and about to prepare for the big day. The grand hall needed to be pristine and magnificent for nothing but perfection was acceptable in the optics of a certain Seeker.

----

In his shared berth-chamber with Megatron, Starscream fussed in annoyance as his aides fumbled in polishing him, their servos teeming with nervousness and joy at being chosen to assist one of their leaders. However, the prime reason for their joint clumsiness was due to them ogling the new frame of the jet.

Sleek, aerodynamic lines of gold and scarlet graced their vision, causing their cooling fans to awkwardly hum in the spacious room. A rush of apologies left their mouths as they quickly calmed their anxieties, submerged their amorous thoughts, and properly applied the polish to his body.  

Megatron shook his helm in amusement at the antics of his Conjunx as he overheard the commotion from the balcony of their room. With his arms clasped behind his back, he peered across the waking city and mulled over the state of his own body.

He still possessed the Ore-13 empowered frame that assisted in their victory over Optimus Prime and his accursed Autobots. The peace he had dreamed of in Towards Peace would soon be achieved and then and only then would he rid himself of the rail gun currently attached to his right servo.

The scars and dents that littered his body were a grim reminder of the pain and loss his Decepticons endured during the long course of the war. This battered frame of his would be a living symbol to represent an era of hostility and strife that will never ravage their world and his people again.

Cybertron would flourish under the combined rule of Starscream and himself.  After all, it was their mediation that had led to the destruction of their steady rivals. Optimus Prime and his cohorts could not have foreseen the both of them working together in perfect unison and that was their fatal mistake.

Megatron knew long ago that with Starscream at his side, no goal was out of their reach and that the universe would be theirs to conquer.

“Are you finished brooding or should I come back?”

Megatron’s helm turned slightly to the beautiful sight of Starscream glistening in the sunlight as the jet strutted up to smirk at his beloved bondmate. Dainty claws grasped the balcony’s railing as he settled beside Megatron.

By the unmasked hunger in those piercing optics, Starscream figured the bumbling fools must have done a somewhat decent job at polishing his frame. He might have even thanked them if he had not already dismissed them.

“I wasn’t brooding,” Megatron clarified. “I was thinking.”

“About?”

“You.”

“Oh, really?” Starscream raised an optic ridge. “And what about me? Do tell.”

“It was your brilliance and cunning that secured our victory, our future. Look, Starscream,” Megatron gestured to their view of the city. “Look at our world. Cybertron has never experienced true freedom of this magnitude. We did this and we will crush all those that stand before us. Together.”

“You big sap.” Starscream snorted with a roll of his optics but could not suppress the smile forming on his face. Megatron leaned down as a silent request, tilting the Seeker’s chin up with his servo. Starscream obliged him by lifting himself up on his heel struts and locked their lips in a passionate kiss.

Their EM fields intertwined in a swirl of fierce love as they parted slightly, helms resting comfortably on each other. Their optics shut as their sparks pulsed in tandem, their bond strengthening with each beat.

Despite his lover’s affinity for the dramatics, the jet could not object to the results of their reconciliation. How comical it was for the war to end simply when they ceased their incessant bickering and acknowledged each other’s faults and strengths.

They both came to understand the other’s solution to their four million stellar cycles old problem and devised a devilish plan that utilised their shared prowess in deception. Their union produced a harmonic serenity that washed over their troops and solidified the complete annihilation of the Autobots.

A give and take entity slowly formed between them that burst into a cohesion they had not experienced since the beginning of the war. Their mutual commitment to the Decepticon cause culminated into the Cybertron that laid before them.

No want, no unhappiness, no dissent.

Peace through tyranny.

“My Lords, it is time.”

A humble Decepticon scout bowed in reverence to the now reluctantly parting couple. Megatron reached down to grasp Starscream’s servo and placed a gentle kiss upon it. The jet huffed in faux indignation, still unaccustomed to such blatant expressions of affection. However, he could not deny how it warmed his spark to immeasurable degrees.

Servos clasped; the two leaders followed the scout to the grand hall of Kolkular. It was clear to Megatron—much to his chagrin—that no expense was spared to lavishly decorate the hall to the specific demands of his Conjunx. The subtle grin resting on the face of Starscream was proof enough that their aides had satisfied the exceptionally picky Seeker.

As they walked to their designated positions by their thrones, Megatron and Starscream waved to their subjects still servo in servo. The hall was packed to the brim for no mech of Kaon was barred from witnessing the crowning of their beloved rulers, the roar of their cheers deafening all in attendance.

Starscream had mused that after their long and arduous effort to reconstruct a portion of their planet, the mechs of Cybertron deserved a lively respite. Megatron steeled himself for the inevitable boasting of his mate after the event transpired.

Arriving at their destination, the two lovers stood before their thrones and faced the crowd. The previous thunderous cacophony settled to a hush of whispers and soon complete silence. Those who could not physically attend the ceremony also muted their conversations as they watched the televised proceedings.

“Citizens of Cybertron and the Constellate,” Megatron began. “This past stellar cycle has been a gruelling journey to restore what was once lost. Today, we commemorate your valiant efforts in rebuilding Kaon!”

“Though there is still much work to be done,” Starscream added gently with a practised smile. “The full revival of Cybertron is well within our grasp now!”

“Hone this fervour, this drive and Cybertron will be the shining beacon of our glorious Decepticon Empire! We will continue our dominion over the lesser species and take our rightful place as masters of the known universe and beyond!”

“Under our united might and brilliance, we will lead you all to a new galactic order that will crush the anti-mechanical prejudice that has swept across the cosmos. Stand with us for it has never been a better time to be a Decepticon!”

“All hail Cybertron!” They declared as one.

A wave of applause and hollers rumbled across the masses in the grand hall and all of Kaon. Pride and determination charged their frames as they repeated the final message of their lords with ecstatic zeal. No longer subjugated to a cruel caste system that oppressed their liberties, they were free to usher in a new era of Cybertronian supremacy and they owed their full gratitude to Megatron and Starscream.  

The cheers and adulation of the crowd continued as the rulers of Cybertron seated themselves on their thrones. The two assistants that had polished the radiant Seeker, returned on each side of Megatron and Starscream, both holding a bejewelled crown resting on a tasselled pillow. The duo’s shaking servos successfully crowned their lords and the persistent ovation erupted into a booming uproar.

With a deep bow, the twin mechs left the stage. As they departed, Megatron shifted his discerning gaze to his Conjunx. A buzz of electricity surged through Starscream as he felt the heated attention of his beloved once again and lessened his posturing for the crowd and cameras to address his other half.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re stunning.”

“Would you quit that!?” The jet hissed, failing to stop energon from tinting his cheeks. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Only for you, my dear Starscream.”

“Is that so? Well, two can play at that game, dear Megatron.” Leaning over and up to the much larger mech, Starscream cupped Megatron’s face between his claws and kissed him. Hoots and whistles reverberated everywhere as the corulers of Cybertron shamelessly canoodled.

The bonded pair separated slightly, crowned helms mere centimetres from each other.

“I love you, you sentimental oaf.”

“I love you, too.”

[troop-scoop]

Youth III

Chapter Three -  Brawford

Word count: 2.3k

Series Summary: On a family trip to your dad’s home town of Hawkins, Indiana, you make a series of decisions that result in you ending up in the year 1983 with more questions than there are answers presently available.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female Reader ( slow burn )

Chapter Summary: Some semblance of trust with Jonathan is built. Steve shows what you’d consider his ���good side’ and you remember things from your early childhood and before you ended up in 1983.  

⟛⟛

“Where do you need to be dropped off?” Jonathan questioned quietly, turning down the music on the radio. The rain had let up a half-hour ago, and the sign welcoming drivers into Hawkins had been passed five minutes ago.

“Oh, the um – the motel. . . on Brawford.” You answered just as quietly. It was beginning to get dark. It always got dark quicker in the fall. You forgot why, but it always added to the feeling of fall. Dark orange sunsets and pink sunrises, leaves falling onto the concrete pavement for little kids to jump on while walking to school. At least that’s what you were reminded of in the early days of November.

But November always made your dad anxious when you were growing up. He’d always be tense throughout the first part of the month like he was ready for something bad to happen that he could focus all his attention on. But now, maybe you were actually beginning to understand why he got so uptight. Now that you thought about it, he really began to get nervous in late October as well, and in July was when he’d take a week or so off of work completely. Those were the days that worried you. He’d be held up in his office going through old things of his that he kept hidden away in the closet until that time of year.

November made sense to you now. But October and early July? Those were odd.

“The motel? Like, Linda’s motel? The lady who’s daughter used to babysit me?”

“Well, the owner is named Linda, I didn’t know her daughter used to babysit you.” You responded, shifting in your seat to cross your legs and bring your arms to tighten around yourself. “But yeah. You know, the only motel in Hawkins.”

Jonathan nodded, taking a right turn onto an unmarked street. But it was the way to the motel, you knew that.

“You’re emancipated, right? That’s the word around school.” The attempt at small talk was genuine, and it was obvious by how he gave you a quick glance before looking back to the road.

“Yeah.” Was your only answer. You didn’t know how to elaborate on that. You didn’t have papers. Just a load of cash you’d saved for over a year from doing chores, random bets with friends that you’d won. It allowed you to pay for a room and cheap food. But Linda had offered to let you stay there for free if you helped her around the motel. You’d agreed. So you washed sheets, made sure appliances were still working in rooms, cleaned rooms when people checked out, and went about their business.

The motel came into view when Jonathan turned onto Brawford, and the first thing you’d noticed was the red BMW parked near the front office, with a familiar brunette leaning against the trunk of the car. There was only one person in all of Hawkins you knew who had such an expensive car.

“Harrington knows you’re staying here?” Jonathan asked, pulling into the parking lot and into a spot a few spaces away from Steve’s car.

“I never told him.” You responded, reaching into the backseat, grabbing his shoulder bag, and pulling it into your lap. Counting out the number of posters, you took half of the stack and a random pen from the bag. Tearing off a corner from a poster you wrote down the number for your motel room and handed it to him. “If you need help with anything, call me. I’m serious.”

Jonathan nodded, taking the small piece of paper as you got out of the car. The sound of distant cars driving by against the set street could be heard, as well as drops of water sliding off the roof of the motel and hitting the metal railing. You looked at Steve, hearing Jonathan drive out of the parking lot and down the street.

“I wouldn’t expect to see you here, Your Majesty.”

Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes at your greeting. He crossed his arms over his chest, which is when you noticed the thin black notebook, with red ink scratched into it. He saw you look at the notebook and he held it out to you.

Holding the stack of posters close to your chest with one hand, you reached out and took the notebook from him with the other. “Mr. Swann told me, to tell you, to stop writing in red pen.” You chuckled a bit at his comment, placing the posters on top of the notebook and holding it close.

Steve gave you a questioning look before reaching his hand back out, his index finger hooking onto the notebook and pulling it to be parallel with the ground so he could see the posters. “You’re helping Jonathan? I thought that was about your project?”

Sighing, you pulled the notebook back. “His brother’s missing, Steven.” At the sound of his full first name, Steve shifted uncomfortably. “No one at school is in his corner, right now. Sure, people are volunteering, and the cops are trying to help, but no one at school is actually trying to support him. Besides, Will needs to come home.”

“He’s a bit odd. I’ve known him since preschool, I just-”

“He has issues opening up. That’s it. I’m sure having people think you’re odd since preschool doesn’t really help.” Steve sighed at that, looking down at the ground, kicking the ground with his foot, almost gently. “You know, if you went missing, I’d help try to find you.”

At that, the two of you seemed to switch demeanors, with him looking up at you and you turn your attention to the wet ground. “Begrudgingly.” You added quickly, getting a laugh from him.

“Well. . . It’s something, I guess. Not as rude as I thought.” He joked, moving to open the trunk of his car. Looking up you watched as he pulled out a plastic bag, and hold it out to you.

“If you put anthrax in there-”

“Y/n, are you serious? Where would I get drugs?”

“I mean, I’ve heard you talk about weed before.” You responded, taking the bag from him. Holding the notebook and posters between your upper arm and ribs as you held open the bag and reached in for something that was in plastic packaging. Turning it in the bag to see the Sony logo. A metallic, pink, rectangular device in the packaging. “A walkman?”

“Yeah, I figured you’d like one. Everyone else seems to have one, except for you.”

“What’s the catch?” You asked, tilting your head.

Steve shook his head, placing his hand over his chest in fake offense. “Catch? What, I can’t buy something nice for a friend?”

“Oh, so we’re friends?” You asked, a smile creeping onto your face. “I already owe you like five bucks for lunch last week, it’s starting to feel like you're trying to collect as many favors that you can cash in whenever you want.”

Steve shook his head again. “No. I had to go to Radioshack for my mom, I saw the Walkman and thought you’d like one.”

Nodding in response you grabbed a plastic case, the cover for a familiar album. “AC/DC? You bought me cassettes?” You hadn’t had anything to listen to music on for a while. Sure M.TV was available in your motel room, but the speaker was fuzzy and sometimes cut out during the best parts of a song.

“You don’t really strike me as Rick Springfield kind of person.” He shrugged. “You seem more like a rock kind of person.”

“Hey, Jessie’s Girl is gonna be a classic, just you wait and see. You’ll be begging your future kids to stop playing it.” You responded. “But. . . yeah. I get it from my dad. Queen, The Smiths, The Clash.”

The two of you stayed quiet for a second as you looked into the bag again, seeing a few more protective cases for cassettes.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come over? Carol’s been up my ass all day about trying to get you to come, and from what I’ve noticed, you don’t hang out with people outside of school.” The concern that was mixed into his voice was subtle, but you noticed it, and you’d lying if you said you didn’t appreciate his concern. He cared about people. While a lot of people wouldn’t see Steve Harrington as the type, you knew he was. He was just so wrapped up with Carol and Tommy that he didn’t take the time to realize he treated others.

“I’m sure. Parties aren’t really my thing, even with only a few people. Three’s a crowd, ya’ know.”

Steve gave an understanding nod. “Right. . . Enjoy your music, by the way, asshole.”

“Enjoy your party, douchebag.”

⟛⟛

The smell of coffee, cinnamon, and fresh baked goods surrounded the coffee shop as you held onto your little brother’s hand. The two-year-old little boy had just started to walk outside of the home, though he still insisted on holding someone’s hand. Considering you were the closest to his height, he usually went for you.

Waiting by the counter with your dads for your drinks allowed your gaze to wander. The warmth that the shop usually offered seemed to fade, and be replaced by a cool air that surrounded you and as that happened you saw a young woman with a child around your brother’s age. She wore a pale pink sleeveless shirt tucked into a flared skirt. Her hair was neatly done and put up, and her jewelry was sparkling around her neck and wrist. A single silver ring with a diamond on her left ring finger.

The woman looked directly at you, readjusting her grip on the infant she was holding and giving you a warm smile as she walked towards the counter.

Looking up to your dads to see if they had noticed her as well, you saw they were talking to each other, and when you looked back over to where she had been, the warmth of the coffee shop came back and the woman was gone, as well as the child.

⟛⟛

“Torrey-”

“Oh hush, James.” Torrey held her finger up to James’ mouth, he stepped back a bit, grabbing onto Olivia’s shoulder as the older girl moved to her bed, reaching under and grabbing a bag from underneath. “We’re going on an adventure. Buddy up, losers.”

Looking over to your left you saw Daniel looking at Torrey with a skeptical look, sitting on the arm of the rundown couch in the motel room. His brown hair unbrushed and sticking up in random directions. The imprint of the seam of his pillow in his cheek from when he was sleeping. You already felt bad enough that you had to wake them up because Torrey was on some sort of sugar rush.

“This is a terrible idea,” Olivia grumbled, pulling on her vans and hoodie. “Dad’s gonna kill us.” She added, speaking mostly to Derek. James, Derek, Issac, and Olivia were all siblings. With Olivia being the only girl in the family and probably the second most reasonable out of her siblings. James was first in that regard.

“What? You think mine won’t kill us?” Torrey asked, gesturing to her two younger siblings, Sarah and Howard. “They’ll be fine,” Torrey added, gesturing to you and Daniel. “Uncle Will is always nervous to even take something away from them. Especially, Y/n. She’s daddy’s little girl.”

“Shut up, Torrey!” you told her, grabbing your jacket from the armchair. “I am not ‘daddy’s little girl’ I do what I want!”

“Oh yeah? Then don’t chicken out, we’re gonna go to the liquor store. I’ll buy you guys some drinks, just not actual liquor. I’m not gonna be responsible for Uncle Will’s little girl getting blackout drunk.”

“You know how Will is with her, he’ll lose his shit if he knows she even left for the vending machine!” James defended you.

“No, I’ll come! I can keep a secret.” You responded, looking up at your oldest cousin, even in the dim lighting with only the lamp on Torrey’s nightstand on, you could tell that her dark brown eyes were narrowed in doubt. “You know, for someone who’s in college and engaged, you’re a terrible influence.” You told her.

“Believe me, I know. Buddy up!”

Sighing, you looked over to Daniel who had gotten his shoes and jacket on as well and was already walking over, taking your hand as Torrey went over to the door, unlocking it and looking both ways down the walkway, before turning to look at the rest of you who had already grabbed someone’s hand. She held her finger up to her lips letting out a ‘shhh’ before slipping out of the door, with Derek and Sarah following right after, then James and Olivia, You and Daniel, then Howard and Issac following right after. On your way out, you noticed a small dent in the wall, like when you missed the nail and the hammer hit the wall instead. It had clearly been painted over, but it was there.

Issac closed the door with a quiet click just as you had all reached the stairs, quietly stepping down the stairs and down into the parking lot.

Your cousins didn’t seem to notice, but you had, the front office was lit up, the floor to ceiling windows allowing you to notice the old woman, likely in her 80’s looking at all of you, but making eye contact with you. She looked as though she’d seen a ghost.

The owner of the motel came out from the backroom, going to the old woman and taking her away from the windows. The younger woman was still older, but she looked at you all as well and froze.

You knew staring was considered rude, but you couldn’t help but stare. Both women seemed as though they’d seen something unbelievable. You only looked away when you were so far away that you couldn’t see them anymore.

⟛⟛

Add yourself to the taglist!

@stonersteve​ @ilovebucketbarnes​ @stevexscoops​ @leximills666​ @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers​

[7r0773r]

The Wretched of the Earth by Frantz Fanon, translated by Richard Philcox

The colonized world is a world divided in two. The dividing line, the border, is represented by the barracks and the police stations. In the colonies, the official, legitimate agent, the spokesperson for the colonizer and the regime of oppression, is the police officer or the soldier. In capitalist societies, education, whether secular or religious, the teaching of moral reflexes handed down from father to son, the exemplary integrity of workers decorated after fifty years of loyal and faithful service, the fostering of love for harmony and wisdom, those aesthetic forms of respect for the status quo, instill in the exploited a mood of submission and inhibition which considerably eases the task of the agents of law and order. In capitalist countries a multitude of sermonizers, counselors, and “confusion-mongers” intervene between the exploited and the authorities. In colonial regions, however, the proximity and frequent, direct intervention by the police and the military ensure the colonized are kept under close scrutiny, and contained by rifle butts and napalm. We have seen how the government’s agent uses a language of pure violence. The agent does not alleviate oppression or mask domination. He displays and demonstrates them with the clear conscience of the law enforcer, and brings violence into the homes and  minds of the colonized subject. (On Violence, pp. 3-4)

***

A world compartmentalized, Manichaean and petrified, a world of statues: the statue of the general who led the conquest, the statue of the engineer who built the bridge. A world cocksure of itself, crushing with its stoniness the backbones of those scarred by the whip. That is the colonial world. The colonial subject is a man penned in; apartheid is but one method of compartmentalizing the colonial world. The first thing the colonial subject learns is to remain in his place and not overstep its limits. (On Violence, p. 15)

***

The colonized intellectual has invested his aggression in his barely veiled wish to be assimilated to the colonizer’s world. He has placed his aggression at the service of his own interests, his interests as an individual. The result is the ready emergence of a kind of class of individually liberated slaves, of freed slaves. The intellectual calls for ways of freeing more and more slaves and ways of organizing a genuine class of the emancipated. The masses, however, have no intention of looking on as the chances of individual success improve. What they demand is not the status of the colonist, but his place. In their immense majority the colonized want the colonist’s farm. There is no question for them of competing with the colonist. They want to take his place. (On Violence, pp. 22-23)

***

The people discover that the iniquitous phenomenon of exploitation can assume a black or Arab face. They cry treason, but in fact the treason is not national but social, and they need to be taught to cry thief. (Grandeur and Weakness of Spontaneity, p. 94)

***

In these poor, underdeveloped countries where, according to the rule, enormous wealth rubs shoulders with abject poverty, the army and the police force form the pillars of the regime; both of which, in accordance with another rule, are advised by foreign experts. The strength of this police force and the power of this army are proportional to the marasmus that afflicts the rest of the nation. The national bourgeoisie sells itself increasingly openly to the major foreign companies. Foreigners grab concessions through kickbacks, scandals abound, ministers get rich, their wives become floozies, members of the legislature line their pockets, and everybody, down to police officers and customs officials, joins hands in this huge caravan of corruption. (The Trials and Tribulations of National Consciousness, p. 117)

***

A country which really wants to answer to history, which wants to develop its towns and the minds of its inhabitants, must possess a genuine party. The party is not an instrument in the hands of the government. Very much to the contrary, the party is an instrument in the hands of the people. It is the party which decides on the policy enacted by the government. The party is not and never should be merely a political bureau where all the members of government and dignitaries of the regime feel free to congregate. Alas all too often it is the party which makes up the entire political bureau and its members reside permanently in the capital. In an underdeveloped country the leading party members should flee the capital like the plague. With the exception of a few, they should reside in the rural areas. Centralizing everything in the capital should be avoided. No administrative pretext can justify the bustle of the capital already overpopulated and overdeveloped compared with nine tenths of the territory. The party must be decentralized to the limit. This is the only way to revive regions that are dead, the regions that have not yet woken up to life. (The Trials and Tribulations of National Consciousness, pp. 127-28)

***

But can we escape vertigo? Who dares claim that vertigo does ot prey on every life? (Colonial War and Mental Disorders, p. 185)

***

Comrades, have we nothing else to do but create a third Europe? The West saw itself on a spiritual adventure. It is in the name of the Spirit, meaning the spirit of Europe, that Europe justified its crimes and legitimized the slavery in which it held four fifths of humanity.

Yes, the European spirit is built on strange foundations. The whole of European thought developed in places that were increasingly arid and increasingly inaccessible. Consequently, it was natural that the chances of encountering man became less and less frequent.

A permanent dialogue with itself, an increasingly obnoxious narcissism inevitably paved the way for a virtual delirium where intellectual thought turns into agony since the reality of man as a living, working, self-made being is replaced by words, an assemblage of words and the tensions generated by their meanings. There were Europeans, however, who urged the European workers to smash this narcissism and break with this denial of reality.

Generally speaking, the European workers did not respond to the call. The fact was that the workers believed they too were part of the prodigious adventure of the European spirit.

All the elements for a solution to the major problems of humanity existed at one time or another in European thought. But the Europeans did not act on the mission that was designated them and which consisted of virulently pondering these elements, modifying their configuration, their being, of changing them and finally taking the problem of man to an infinitely higher plane.

Today we are witnessing a stasis of Europe. Comrades, let us flee this stagnation where dialectics has gradually turned into a logic of the status quo. Let us reexamine the question of man. Let us reexamine the question of cerebral reality, the brain mass of humanity in its entirety whose affinities must be increased, whose connections must be diversified and whose communications must be humanized again.

Come brothers, we have far too much work on our hands to revel in outmoded games. Europe has done what it had to do and all things considered, it has done a good job; let us stop accusing it, but let us say to it firmly it must stop putting on such a show. We no longer have reason to fear it, let us stop then envying it. 

The Third World is today facing Europe as one colossal mass whose project must be to try and solve the problems this Europe was incapable of finding the answers to. 

But what matters now is not a question of profitability, not a question of increased productivity, not a question of production rates. No, it is not a question of back to nature. It is the very basic question of not dragging man in directions which mutilate him, of not imposing on his brain tempos that rapidly obliterate and unhinge it. The notion of catching up must not be used as a pretext to brutalize man, to tear him from himself and his inner consciousness, to break him, to kill him. 

No, we do not want to catch up with anyone. But what we want is to walk in the company of man, every man, night and day, for all times. It is not a question of stringing the caravan out where groups are spaced so far apart they cannot see the one in front, and men who no longer recognize each other, meet less and less and talk to each other less and less.

The Third World must start over a new history of man which takes account of not only the occasional prodigious theses maintained by Europe but also its crimes, the most heinous of which have been committed at the very heart of man, the pathological dismembering of his functions and the erosion of his unity, and in the context of the community, the fracture, the stratification and the bloody tensions fed by class, and finally, on the immense scale of humanity, the racial hatred, slavery, exploitation and, above all, the bloodless genocide whereby one and a half billion men have been written off. (Conclusion, pp. 237-38)

[the-knights-who-say-book]

E expressed surprise over The Thief being a sort of classic Fantasy Adventure, when his impression from the internet had been that it was a Court Politics kind of series. to which my reaction was first “oh absolutely it is” but tried not to say that because that’s sort of a spoiler for how the story develops. which made me think about how how variable the series is! you get an Adventure Quest book, two Court Politics books, Conspiracy is a bit of a mix but maybe more so a Court Politics, and then you go right back to Adventure Quest in Thick as Thieves

i had the same reaction when E asked about perspective and if it stayed in first person the entire series, which of course is a big no! We’ve got first POV for the first book, then two books in third POV, once again Conspiracy is a deft and artistic mix of the two, and back to first POV for Thick as Thieves!

Which highlights not only how awesome MWT is as a writer to work in so many modes within one series, but also how Thick as Thieves is sort of the most direct sequel to The Thief, the one that’s in most direct conversation with it.

Both have a main character that starts as a captive—Gen is physically locked in place in jail, but is ironically somewhat in control of the situation in that he put himself there on purpose; Kamet has more range of physical movement in his position, but as a slave has no control over his life

Both are freed from their captivity by an agent of a foreign king who wants something from them. But these two figures of emancipation are inverse. The magus sees Gen as a tool first and as a person second. Costis, as @libraryofjoy discusses in this post, sees Kamet as a person first, always.

Both are journeying tales in which the groups try to travel stealth and escape the soldiers of the royal power they are trespassing on, and their journeys ultimately end in the domain of a different power. Kamet and Eugenides are inverses, as I said, in how much power and knowledge they hold. Eugenides was pulling strings throughout the journey and ended up in Eddis on purpose, to meet the monarch he was always planning on meeting. Kamet does not know who the ruler of Attolia is and didn’t engineer their meeting.

And the part of this off-kilter mirror image story that caps it off is how Eugenides has changed from the Captive Who Journeys to the Monarch Who Greets The Journeyers. And that makes sense because, as I think we all know, Eugenides gave up his role as the main character when he became king.

He gave up first person POV after The Thief. He is still the main character of Queen of Attolia but he shares the focus of the story with Attolia. In King of Attolia he is not only not our POV, but also not entirely the main character. the amount of scenes he occupies that other characters don’t shrinks. Conspiracy is undeniably Sophos’s story; he gets half first person POV, which is more than Gen has gotten since he began the part of his life that would include kingship. And then Thick as Thieves caps off the theme that had already been established by us moving farther and farther out from Gen’s mind. He has become the almost-mythical figure who greets the weary travelers. He is no longer the viscerally present, exhausted and dust-covered, weary traveler himself. (i think @shaelit has a post about the narrative moving farther away from Gen tracking with him becoming a mythical figure in the future but i CAN’T FIND IT bc tumblr hates me)

anyway what i’m saying is, the structure of the queen’s thief is so incredibly thoughtful and well-done and i’m excited to see how Return of the Thief impacts the rest of the series because i think it’s going to have to do something weird and cool in terms of structure to make sense coming after a book that really interacted with the first book in the series, which seems like it would be Final Book material but isn’t

[cdelphiki]

Tim didn’t like the think about that night. 

It was painful enough just having happened. 

When he landed on the roof, his jaw aching and his lip bleeding, he had looked up and looked around and realized something. 

He was absolutely alone. 

In his own family. He was alone. 

But, no. It was worse than alone. 

Alone was back when he was living with Jack and Janet. Alone was puttering around a mansion, shifting between boarding schools and nannies and a housekeeper who checked in on him during the day and left him to his own devices at night. 

Yeah, being alone sucked, but Tim knew how to be alone. He thrived there. He’d been alone his entire life. 

This was worse than alone. This was…. unappreciated. This was mistreated. This was disliked. This was despised.

And Tim didn’t need this shit. 

If Bruce didn’t appreciate his love and devotion, then fine. Tim was done offering it. He put himself out there again and again, sacrificed himself for his family over and over, gave everything he had just to be pushed aside every single time. 

Every. Single. Time.

Tim was tired of always being the one pushed aside. Everyone was more important than him in this family. Damian was younger and cuter. Jason was bigger and stronger. Dick was older and wiser. Tim was… he was just there. He was a placeholder. Someone to sacrifice when needed. 

Toss aside. 

Ignore.

And now. Now, he was a punching bag, apparently. 

Because when he looked around, no one said anything. He saw a couple shocked faces, sure, but no one said a damn thing. 

It was just another night. Bruce was hurting. Bruce was broken. Everyone needed to move on and not press his buttons anymore. Be nice to Bruce and comfort Bruce.

What about Tim? 

Bruce didn’t even look sorry. 

That’s probably what set Tim off, most. 

Internally, of course, because externally all he did was wipe the blood off his face and stand, a little shakily. 

All this time. All these years. Everything. Tim had given Bruce everything. Even his name. He’d changed his name to Tim Wayne and given his all to help Bruce in his mission to save Gotham. 

But did any of it matter?

No.

Because Tim didn’t matter. All that mattered was Bruce and his hurts.

And Tim didn’t need this shit. 

He didn’t have to take it, either. He wasn’t that little boy, all alone in a mansion, craving the attention of anyone who gave him the time of day. 

Tim was an adult now. Well… in the eyes of the law at least. Emancipated was an adult, even if he was still only 16. 

But he was an adult, and he had friends. 

Friends he knew loved him and cared about him. He didn’t need Bruce or anyone else in this stupid ‘family.’ He’d be just fine without them. 

When no one said anything for a solid minute after he stood, Tim decided he was done. He rolled his shoulders, took out his grapple, and made his way back to his apartment with a quickly swelling eye. 

The entire right side of his face felt both numb and on fire. It wasn’t a foreign feeling to him, but knowing Bruce had done it. On purpose. Out of anger. Just made it….

Tim didn’t want to think about it.

He was so tired of it all. So tired of giving so much of himself to just be hurt over and over. 

But he didn’t have to keep going this way. And when he arrived back at his apartment and changed out of uniform, he debated whether he’d ever work with the family again. Work under Batman. 

And looking at his puffy face in the mirror, he asked why he’d ever started in the first place.

Because was it honestly worth it?

- - - 

The first thing Tim did was change his name.

He’d always kind of hated himself, anyway, for changing it to Tim Wayne, back when Bruce adopted him. It had been the reason for one of his breakdowns, after all. Tim Wayne. 

No one had cared about that break of his, either, now had they?

Honestly, he just felt like an idiot for being strung along so long. But who was he kidding? No one had ever asked for Tim to be around. He just planted himself in the family. Pushed his way in and insisted he be included in everything. 

Like a fungus. 

It was no wonder he got back nothing but hurt. 

But that didn’t matter. He had his friends. They made him happy. They loved him and wanted him around. Why would he need anyone else?

His lawyer had looked more than mildly alarmed, though, when Tim met with him the following Monday.

The swelling in his face had disappeared by then, but the bruise had fully blossomed and looked rather painful. Deep purple right at the jawline, right where Bruce’s knuckle had hit, softening out to lighter purple and greens, the further away from the center one looked. 

It was clearly a fist print, too. 

And it took up a good fourth of his face. 

“Mr. Drake,” his lawyer, Esteban, had said, “if- if Mr. Wayne…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tim said. He had purposely not covered the bruise in anticipation of the meeting. He knew what image it would broadcast. And he didn’t care. It would help his case, make his lawyer more sympathetic, mean there was no argument over the decision. Removing ‘Wayne’ from their name in Gotham, after all, was not something anyone had ever done. 

Wayne was a powerful name. Even more powerful when Bruce Wayne himself had given it. 

But Tim was done with Bruce Wayne. He was ready to just be Tim Drake. 

Tim Drake. Robin. A member of Young Justice.

Maybe he should think about his superhero name, now. Disconnect himself completely from Batman. 

He had certainly already disconnected himself from all of Bruce’s assets. It was probably only a matter of time before Bruce himself cut Tim off, so he’d just taken the initiative. 

It’s not like he couldn’t support himself on his own. Yeah, Drake Industries had gone bankrupt when Jack was still alive, but Tim had been working on it. And, ever since he became the primary shareholder of Wayne Enterprises, he’d been squirreling away as much as he could without arousing suspicion. 

He had more than enough to live for the next twenty years without changing his spending habits. If he put himself on a budget, though? He could live indefinitely. There was no need to be attached to Bruce’s accounts.

Besides, he took some pleasure in cutting every one of Bruce’s credit cards in half and placing them all in an envelope to mail to Bruce. Just so he could be sure, himself, that Tim was done with him.

“We can press charges,” Esteban said, after taking a breath and putting his best ‘lawyer face’ on, “if that is why, we should press charges. He still has another kid at home.”

“You’ve signed a NDA,” Tim reminded him, “just get my name changed.”

“Which doesn’t apply to child abuse,” Esteban said, “Which you knew.”

Tim did know that. He also didn’t care if his lawyer reported it. Damian didn’t need to be living with Bruce, anyway. And Bruce deserved whatever scrutiny such a report would bring down on him. Tim almost didn’t even care if it exposed Batman.

That ‘almost’ was the only thing keeping him from reporting it himself, to get Damian out of there.

“Yeah, well, I’m not a child. And Bruce didn’t do this. So relax.”

Damian could take care of himself, Tim was sure. He lived with the Teen Titans half the time, anyway. Plus the Kents adored him. They’d watch out for him.

Besides, it’s not like Bruce didn’t want Damian around, right? He loved Damian. So Damian had nothing to worry about.

Except…

He hadn’t really chosen Damian. The boy had kind of just… appeared. And stuck himself to Bruce. Demanded to be made heir and everything else. 

So there was a chance he would end up in the same boat…

Maybe he should report it…

But if Tim told Kon, he was fairly certain Kon would tell Clark, who would deal with Bruce himself. Clark was Bruce’s best friend, but he knew Clark would protect Damian from Bruce if he felt it necessary. There was no way he’d stand for Bruce hitting any of his allies. Especially not one he claimed as a ‘son,’ no matter how superficial the paperwork was.

Yeah. That was the perfect plan. 

That’s what he’d do. 

“Then who did it, Tim?”Esteban asked, gently, as if he were going to get Tim to open up and talk by simply being kind. 

Smiling his ‘Tim Wayne’ smile, Tim just said, “Timothy Jackson Drake is what I want my legal name to be.” 

As soon as he was done cutting himself off completely, he’d call Kon and talk to him. Then he’d start his new life, working with Young Justice and maybe finding a profession. 

The more he thought about it, the more excited he got about his life on his own.

It would be nice to live for himself for once.

- - - 

Weeks passed. 

No one seemed to understand why Tim left.

Even though he told himself no one wanted him around in the first place, he’d still been expecting… something. Someone to react to him leaving. To miss him for him. Not for what he was ‘doing to Bruce.’ 

But Bruce acted like nothing happened. When the media went crazy over the revelation that Tim severed ties, sold his shares back to Bruce, and changed his name, Bruce refused to comment. And still hadn’t said anything about it.

That didn’t stop the various members of the batfamily from trying to convince him to stop ‘hurting the family’ and ‘making everything worse’ by ‘blowing everything out of proportion.’ 

Honestly, Tim was tired of them all. 

‘That’s just how Bruce is,’ Babs had said.

‘He was upset,’ Helena explained. 

‘Dude lost everything,’ Duke reasoned. 

‘Master Tim, you must understand-’ Alfred had started, but Tim hung up on him.

Tim didn’t bother to ask Damian his opinion. 

No one understood, and Tim was done trying to explain it to them.

If he could go the rest of his life without thinking about it or Bruce again, he’d live a happy life. 

He didn’t need any of them, anyway.

Jason, though?

Well. Tim had not been planning on Jason. He was fine alone. Because, again, he had his friends. 

But someone told Jason.

Tim wasn’t sure who, but someone did. It was obvious, by the mere fact that Jason Todd was in his apartment, in the dark, waiting for Tim to get home.

It had been almost a month. 

And while he and Jason might not have had a bad relationship, they hadn’t been much more than friendly acquaintances. Ever. At best.

Hostile enemies at worst.

“Welcome to the club, kid,” Jason said, not even looking up when Tim cut the light on to reveal Jason sitting sideways in the armchair, one leg slung up over the side, as he read something on his kindle. One of the ones that lit up.

Tim didn’t really like kindles. He wasn’t a huge fan of reading, in general, but he definitely didn’t like kindles. Tim would have never guessed that Jason, being a book nerd, used a kindle. He kind of seemed like the kind of dork who would prefer to smell the books, or something, while reading.

“Go away,” Tim said flatly, as he dropped his bag down on the ground and went to fix himself something to eat. He’d been away on a mission with his team for the last week. All he wanted to do was eat a bowl of something. Soup, probably. Lie on the couch and eat it while he watched something light and funny, then fall asleep. Possibly right there on the couch. 

Talking to Jason was not any of those things. 

��Heard you cut ties to Bat completely,” Jason said, “Gotta say. I’m impressed.”

Tim rolled his eyes as he looked through the various cans of soup he had in the cupboard, before he picked a hardy chicken and rice thing. “Don’t care. Go away.”

“Bat’s pissed, of course,” Jason said, as if Tim hadn’t said anything, “it’s kind of great.”

He watched his bowl spin in the microwave, while trying to blow Jason up with sheer willpower. Maybe if he thought hard enough, he’d discover latent super power abilities and make Jason disappear. 

It could happen. 

“But what I don’t get is: What did you do?”

“What did I do?” Tim echoed, spinning to stare at Jason, “What the fuck do you mean, what did I do?”

“To piss him off.” 

“Does it matter?” 

It’s not like it took much to piss Bruce off enough to be on the receiving end of a blow. The more Tim thought about it, the more surprised he was it’d taken as long as it did. Bruce had hit both Jason and Dick many times while angry. And Bruce actually chose both of them. Right from the beginning. 

“Well, sure. You always seemed like a goody-goody to me. Daddy’s perfect little solider. What could you possibly do to-”

“I didn’t do anything,” Tim shouted, “Just like you didn’t do anything, and Dick didn’t do anything to deserve it. No one-”

“Let’s be fair here, Timbo. I tried to kill a dude.” 

“So?” Tim asked, shaking his head, “Why does that make it okay for Bruce, your literal Dad, to attack you?”

Jason opened his mouth, but then just blinked at Tim. 

He’d never really- They didn’t use that word. Tim wasn’t sure why he used that word. 

But, that’s what he was, wasn’t it? Even if he only adopted them out of convenience. Or obligation. That’s what he was. 

Bruce was the one who was there for parental guidance, right? He’d signed Tim’s report cards and everything. Gone to his school performances. Attended parent-teacher conferences. Taken him out for pizza and ice cream and to the movies. 

There had been good times. Several years of good times. Tim had felt… wanted. And loved. For years. Bruce even said he loved him. Loved them all. 

And yet, here they were. 

Dealing with the repercussions of living in a lie.

“He- He-” Tim said, absolutely flabbergasted by Jason’s apparent… acceptance? Of all this? Out of all the people in the world, Tim thought Jason would understand. 

Abuse was abuse. It was wrong. Regardless of what the victim did. Or who they were. 

“I didn’t do anything,” he said, as his hand started to shake. He stepped forward and gripped onto one of the bar stools at his island, and kept going, “And that’s what no one seems to get.”

And Bruce had… Bruce had abused him. 

That’s what this was. It wasn’t just an attack. It wasn’t just….and… he’d done it to Jason before him. And Dick before that. 

It didn’t matter how he came into Bruce’s life. What he’d ever done. Bruce had adopted him. Bruce had adopted them all. 

“Parents are supposed to- Dads are supposed to- supposed to love their kids,” Tim said, his voice quieting with each word, as his focus slipped from Jason, to off in the distance. 

Bruce was their dad. And he was abusive. 

“Tim.” 

“I was just telling him I cared,” Tim snapped, angry Jason was making him feel things when all he wanted was some soup and an episode of The Simpsons. Or, maybe something like Futurama would be better. “And he just- he just…”

“Tim.”

Bruce had attacked him. 

For trying to say he cared about him. 

All Tim had done was love his dad, and that was how Bruce reciprocated. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Tim whispered, letting go of the bar stool to wipe at his eyes.

Jason slowly got up and came to the counter, then sat down on the other side of the island. He placed his hands on the counter, then splayed out his fingers while he stared at them.

Tim never had a good example of a parent. His parents had loved him, he was sure, but they weren’t very good parents. He realized that, now. They cared more about their careers than they did about Tim. So when Bruce came around and actually talked to him. Spent time with him. Smiled at him, as if just his presence was enough to make Bruce happy, Tim had been absolutely overjoyed. Enamored with his new dad.

But Bruce had never been a good parent, either. Had he? 

Nothing like Jack and Janet, but still unfit in his own ways. 

Abusive in his own ways.

Eventually, long after the microwave had beeped, and Tim had ignored it in favor of staring at Jason’s hands, too, while he tried to keep his vision from blurring any further, Jason said, “Sorry, kid.” 

“It was wrong,” Tim said numbly, and Jason just nodded, “it was wrong when he did it to you, too.”

At that, Jason scrubbed at his own eye, just briefly, before he seemed to realize he was doing it and put his hand back down on the counter. “It’s whatever,” he said, so nonchalantly that Tim realized Jason was a much better actor than he’d ever realized. 

“He’s our dad,” Tim whispered.

“Yeah.”

Tim didn’t know much about good parents, but he did know one thing. “That’s not how Dads are supposed to be.” 

[rwbyvein]

Firen Lhain: Chapter 401: Patch Work Cause

Ruby stood in front of JNR on a hill near her home in Patch. "I... don't know how to tell you guys..." she voiced, and her head dropped, "I'm just so nervous..."

"Oh - my - god!" Nora exclaimed. "Is this happening?" She asked and then nudged Jaune.

"I want to go to Haven!" Ruby exclaimed. JNR's response was simply to give her a curious look. "I mean?," she asked, "if you guys don't want to?, I mean.." she trailed off.

Jaune looked between Nora and Ren before looking back to Ruby, "We didn't say that." Jaune stated.

"Duh!" Nora exclaimed.

"Indeed." Ren added.

"It's just?," Jaune asked, "why?.."

"What?" Ruby asked, looking lost for a moment. "It's just," she voiced, "Qrow said that's where it leads, and well - I just... I think. I have to be there."

"You know what we've learned?" Jaune asked, and Ruby looked at him curiously, "That RWBY has a weird way of finding where they're needed."

"Really?!" Ruby asked.

"Do we really need to bring up the train?" Jaune asked.

"Airship!" Nora exclaimed.

"And countless others we have yet to hear about." Ren added, and with this Ruby nervously looked away again. Her head then snapped back towards them.

"Wait?" She asked, "You're with me?"

"To the end of Remnant." Jaune stated.

"10-hundred percent!" Nora exclaimed, and Ren simply nodded.

Ruby shook with giddiness as her tail wagged uncontrollably. She had to drop onto all fours to even attempt to contain herself.

"There is something we need to do to commemorate this moment." Ren stated.

"hm?" Ruby asked, as Jaune leaned towards her, pulling all four into a group hug. Ruby's tail wagged even faster.

* * *

Taiyang found the note on Ruby's bed, and his heart sank in his chest. He was half deathly afraid and half expecting this. They were just like their mothers, afterall.

* * *

Taiyang knocked on Yang's door. She didn't reply so he opened it. "Dinner is ready." he said, and Yang barely seemed to react. He closed the door again.

* * *

Taiyang opened the door with a plate of food on a tray. He walked over to the bed and put the tray overtop of Yang. Yang looked eager for a moment before pushing the tray away and returning to listlessness.

* * *

Taiyang carried the tray away. Had the blond already domesticated her?, he asked himself, and this thought shuddered him to his core.

* * *

The stylized airship set down in Atlas. A few moments later the rear door opened up into a walkway, and the Schnee sisters walked down. At the base was General Ironwood. Winter stopped to salute. Ironwood returned the salute. Winter then looked down at Weiss judgementally. "Sister, you must show him the proper respect."

"I'm not part of the military, nor am I part of Atlas academy." Weiss stated.

"It's good to see you home." Ironwood stated, but Weiss just glared at him.

"Sister!" Winter admonished.

"Let's not pretend this is for my benefit." Weiss stated.

"We just thought..." Ironwood tried to say.

"By the Vytal Treaty," Weiss curtly said to him, "students of the Four Huntsmen Academies are to be considered as emancipated minors; their freedoms shall not be limited by anyone other than their..."

"Headmasters." Ironwood stated.

"Headmaster." Weiss curtly replied.

"Your father just wanted you to..." Ironwood tried to say.

"Indeed?" Weiss asked, "So, it's not in my own best interest, but my father's?" Ironwood just stared at her, trying to think of someway to turn this around, but Weiss was having none of it. Instead he just stalwartly stared at her as she continued, "And what did Father give you in return?" Weiss asked.

"Are you implying that General Ironwood was bribed?!" Winter asked.

"Not in money." Weiss stated, "But money is hardly the currency of the elite in Atlas, now is it, Sister?"

"What are you implying?" Winter asked.

"The General does a favour for Father, and what does he get in return?"

"I'm trying to..." Ironwood stated.

"Justify my kidnapping." Weiss stated.

"Sister, how on Atlas can you be so disrespectful?" Winter asked, "insubordinate, to the General?"

"There's a reason I left Atlas." Weiss said to her sister.

"To get away from Father." Winter dismissively stated.

"That would be one of them." Weiss quickly replied, "The other is that I believe that Huntsmen are meant to be independent. You support the General, and I support your decision, Sister, but I have made a different choice."

"He's still a General..." Winter said to her sister.

"A General who demands obedience of those not under his command." Weiss simply replied.

"He is also headmaster of Atlas Academy!" Winter fervently added.

"Indeed?" Weiss asked, and looked back at the General. "I believe that has never been done before. Winter relaxed for a moment. "Another way of saying this is Unprecedented." Weiss firmly stated, and let the words burrow into the minds of the others.

"Sister?!" Winter exclaimed, "How can you?.."

"Be kidnapped against my wishes and brought to the Father from whom I fled?" Weiss asked.

"I was just doing..." Ironwood voiced.

"What you thought was best for me." Weiss said and nodded.

"Preciscely." Winter stated.

"Too bad it is not your place to make such a decision." Weiss countered.

* * *

JNRR walked along. "I have a question or two if you don't mind." Ren stated.

"What's up?" Ruby asked. "Wondering why we're headed to Mistral?"

"I am curious as to what we will find when we get there, but am content to accompany you on the journey. My question is more simple. How do we intend to get there?"

"I kind of figured we'd walk." Ruby said, and Jaune and Ren paused.

"Seriously?" Jaune asked.

"Think you can't make it?" Ruby accusingly asked him.

"I did come this way all the time with my family." Jaune replied. "It's just... quite a way..."

"Well,?" Nora stated as she walked off. "What are we standing around here for! We got a continent to walk across!" Ruby dashed up on all fours to catch up to her.

"Two." Ren voiced, as he stepped up to catch up to Ruby and Nora.

"How?," Jaune asked, "are we going to pay for, I don't know, food?"

"As Huntsmen!" Ruby exclaimed, proudly raising her hand.

"I don't mean to..." Jaune voiced, "but we're not Huntsmen, yet. I mean" he said, and paused, "are we?"

"It's something I learned from Weiss!" Ruby exclaimed.

"Which is?" Ren asked.

"Academy teams count as Huntsmen!" Ruby exclaimed, "Or a Huntsman, or something like that."

"Ah?" Ren asked, "As a team, we are able to take contracts! This would explain why we were able to shadow Huntsmen."

"Uh... something like that..." Ruby voiced. "Anyways, it's totally legit that we're able to take contracts. I 100% almost guarantee it!"

"That's one hell of a guarantee!" Nora exclaimed.

"Hell... of a guarantee..." Ren trailed off, and Jaune just sighed.

"If this blows up in our face," Jaune stated, "I'm blaming you."

"But I'm so adorable?" Ruby asked.

"Exactly." Ren stated, "Perhaps they will take clemency with us."

"It's," Nora added, "1000% believable that Ruby just got carried away."

"Wait?" Ruby asked, "I do."

"It did get you on that train." Jaune added, "However that worked."

"That was wicked cool." Nora added.

"It was... unexpected..." Ren voiced. "Nearly incomprehensible, but Ruby does have ways of being incomprehensible."

"Hey, Ruby?" Jaune asked, "Can you pass me the map?"

"I gave it to Nora." Ruby stated.

"Nora?" Jaune asked.

"Do you really think Ren would let ME take the MAP?" Nora asked.

"Ren?" Jaune said to him, and Ren produced the map.

[nobodyfamousposts]

I am in love with adrien's lament. Love the Akuma vipermouse so much! Could you explain how they went evil? Or what it would look like of they were 'saved' by the heroes?

Um...angst times ahead?

________________________

Luka froze. “What?”

“The Miraculous in question is that of the Butterfly.” Sass repeated, slowly. He didn’t appear the slightest bit annoyed or frustrated at his chosen’s confusion. He merely was cautious. Curious even.

There was a look in the young man’s eyes. His expression...

He was worried.

“This...this Butterfly Miraculous...what does it look like?”

Sass frowned, uncertain. “It appears in the form of a brooch or pin. It normally looks like an amethyst with extensions in the form of what could be perceived as wings. It can alter it’s appearance if not in use, appearing to be little more than the stone itself when in its untransformed state.”

The boy...his eyes widened in recognition. And fear.

“Luka?”

“And you’re saying it’s being used?” He demanded, insistently.

Sass nodded. “Yes. I cannot say its power has been put to use or to what extent, we have been able to sense Nooroo’s activation. Someone has claimed ownership of the Miraculous with intent to use it. Though to what purpose, I am afraid we cannot know.”

Luka stared at Sass, his fear even more evident. The kwami frowned. This...this wasn’t normal. This wasn’t fear of facing an enemy or being chosen. This boy...

“Luka, do you perhaps know something?” He asked, warily. Fu was cautious in his choices, especially now that the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous were missing. But he had not completed his Guardian training. And he was human. it was fully possible for the man to have made an error in judgement. But to accidentally entrust him to to an ally of the Butterfly User?

No. The boy was afraid. And it was clear he hadn’t known what was going on. But...if he did know the User and decided to aid them?

Sass watched carefully as Luka took a breath.

“It...it has to be her.”

Sass blinked in surprise. “Her?”

“My sister. Jules. Our mom...she found these things and has been in the hospital ever since. But she left them to us.” Luka shook his head, clearly startled. “But she wouldn’t! She knows better!”

“Luka...”

“Please!” The boy exclaimed, nearly begging. “Just...just let me talk to her! She hasn't done anything yet. She doesn’t know! I can...I can talk to her. Maybe we can work this out. Just...please.”

It did not seem wise to confront the Butterfly User directly. Not before coming into his strength or even meeting his intended partner for this task. And there was a part of the kwami that told him he should have them go to Fu immediately and talk to him first.

But...

The boy was desperate. And he was sincere in his desire for peace.

Sass couldn’t bring himself to refuse.

“Very well.”

He would regret that decision for some time to come.

________________________

He hadn’t wanted to believe it. Some part of his mind was still desperately insisting it wasn’t true.

Even when he remembered the jewelry his Mother had found.

Even when Sass described the Miraculous in question.

Even when he checked his lockbox—known only to himself and his sister, and hidden specifically from his father’s prying eyes—only to find it empty.

He knew.

He just hoped it wasn’t true.

That hope wasn’t simply dashed, but brutally snuffed out when he stormed into where he knew his sister was hiding, and found her there with the Miraculous in its full glory pinned to her chest, big and bright. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought it to be a decorative bow.

“Jules...no...”

She was in a form he had never seen before. Her hair was pulled back and colored a dark purple at the tips. She wore a full dress, shorter in the front but reaching to her ankles in the back. Black lace accenting the outfit’s shoulders and covering her own hands. She gasped at him in horror, a light lavender butterfly half-mask covering her left eye.

“Luka!”

“What are you doing?” He asked her. “You know what that thing did to Mom!”

“It was only the Peacock one responsible!” She explained, hurriedly. “And that’s just because it’s damaged. This one isn’t. It’s fine. And I’m fine, see?” She smiled in a way that was clearly forced, and Luka wasn’t buying it.

“Broken or not, you know those things shouldn’t be used. So why?”

She clenched her fists at that, actually making Luka draw back. He’d never seen her look that angry.

“Jules?”

“I’ve been talking to Nooroo. Trying to find a way to fix things.”

That...that was okay, he reasoned. Nothing wrong with talking to the kwami and learning things, right?

“Did you know?” She bit out harshly. “That there are two Miraculous that when used together can grant a Wish? Any Wish?”

That got his attention. And only made his fear grow.

“You’re not...” He took a breath, nervously. “Jules, you’re not saying you’re thinking of—”

“I’m saying that someone else already has!” She shouted, rage and hurt pouring off her in waves just as the tears started to fall. “Someone made that Wish and OUR Mom paid the price for it! That’s why...! THAT’S why...!”

Luka’s eyes widened in horror. “No.”

That...that couldn’t be true, could it? He wanted to ask Sass and find out for himself, but—

“THAT’S why Mom’s hurt! THAT’S why we’re here! THAT’S why we’re with HIM! THAT’S why I can’t...why I’m going to have to...” She sobbed out. “It’s...it’s THIER fault!”

If what she was saying was true...

How cruel could someone be to inflict this on them?

But...how bad must it have been for that person to drive them to?

“That’s why...I’M going to find them this time!” She swore.

That made his blood freeze.

“I’ll find them! I’m going to find the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous and make the Wish to make things RIGHT this time!”

“Jules, no!” He insisted, stepping closer to her. “There are other ways!”

“What other ways?!” She demanded heatedly. “Mom’s in a coma! Even if she wakes up, she’s not going to be able to take care of us! No court would let her!”

He held up his hands, reassuringly. “I’ve told you, I can get emancipated! And then I’ll get you and—”

“And what are the chances of THAT?!” She shouted, tears only increasing. “How are you going to support yourself? You know he isn’t going to help! What can you actually do to convince the courts to let you live alone and adopt me when he can just as easily bribe people to claim the opposite? And you KNOW he can just pull the plug on Mom at any time!”

“Jules...”

“It’s not FAIR!” She sobbed into her hands. “I don’t know him! I don’t love him! I’ve never met him! And...and he doesn’t even care about me anyway! So why do I have to...”

He took another step towards her and reached forward. “I know. I’m sorry, I know. But this...Jules, this isn’t the way.” Closer now, he took hold of her shoulders in a desperate attempt to comfort her. “Please...just...just take it off. We can talk! We can...try to come up with something else—”

“THERE IS NOTHING ELSE!” She screamed, pushing him away.

The effect of this was two-fold. Not only was he sent to the floor, but the action dislodged Sass, who fell as well.

In full sight of Juleka, who stared at him in shock and growing horror. Her gaze snapped from Sass to Luka and down to the Miraculous on Luka’s wrist.

Immediately, he realized what conclusion she had come to.

“Jules! It’s not what you think!”

“You...you were going to fight me?”

“No! I would never want to fight you! I was just—” What WAS he expecting to do? Talk things out and hope she agreed? The look in her eyes was wild and desperate. He knew she had been suffering, but this latest incident had pushed her over the edge and he KNEW that.

He slowly rose to his feet, hands held out in a peaceful gesture. Sass only looked up at him worriedly. Not that Luka blamed him, because he was terrified at this point himself.

“I just wanted to talk things out! We can solve this! I know we can! No magic. No Miraculous. Just...just you and me. Please!”

She glared up at him at that, furious. “Easy for YOU to say! You’re not the one being forced into a marriage you don’t want! YOU’RE not the one he insults every day! You just follow after him and nod your head and do whatever he tells you!”

“It’s hard on me, too!” Luka insisted, hurt and frustrated. Did she really think he LIKED being forced to be around that man? To have to obey his orders and follow his instructions? To be under constant watch and have EVERYTHING he did critiqued? To be forced to hold up that wall between himself and anyone else?

He hated it.

He hated it!

“At least YOU’RE useful to him!” She shouted. “At least he CARES about you! I’m just...I’m just a tool!”

He didn’t want to.

“Juleka!”

He would forever swear he didn’t want to.

“And you...you’re just like him!”

But he heard those words and his world turned red.

“SASS, SCALES SLITHER!”

He wasn’t anything like that man.

He wasn’t!

Every dark memory flooded his mind. Of the tension of his father’s presence. Every harsh word. Every time he had to see his mother and sister cry. The few instances he got to actually visit his mother in the hospital. The way he was forced to be silent and see his sister broken down. How he was pushed to acts he despised and loathed himself for in their cruelty for that man’s satisfaction. The sole moments of peace he was able to obtain being with his sister and Marinette...

And how he had to make both of them cry.

He hated all of it!

She hated it more.

He wasn’t thinking.

Neither was she.

He just wanted to keep her safe!

She just wanted a chance to save herself.

He charged forward to try and grab the Miraculous.

She defended herself with power she didn’t fully understand how to use.

A butterfly flapped its wings and just as swiftly submerged into his Miraculous.

And suddenly

And suddenly...

Everything ceased to matter.

She had fallen too deep.