#ff: a third chance

[evilminji]

Had another Si-Oc thought >.>

My standard "you know what Would Be Cool?" Musings...

Getting reborn, as you do, ending up Force Sensitive, as can only be the case. Because really... how ELSE would you soul end up there? CHANCE? Force ghosts are a PROVEN thing! We KNOW that the Force sometimes just... deals in souls.

Ffs, it MADE A BABY.

Yes, there was Sith interference there. But that doesn't chance the fact that it went? "Eh, good enough. I'll take the chance and run with it. Thanks~☆ Mine Now~~☆ Bye~~~☆" And Chosen One'd that baby. Because ultimately? Before the plans of gods and men? The Force Laughs.

So like? Yeah. If there WAS to be a Reincarnator?

Probably the Force.

Congrats on the new, third (or second, depends on your species. Might be another number entirely, honestly. But we are averaging here so MOVE ON), Parent! They are very, very happy to see you! Love you as only a Primordial, Extradimensional, Timeless, Formless, All Pervasive, Orange-Blue Morality havin', Not-A-God Super-God CAN. Their Benevolence? Could be called another God's cruelty.

They don't MEAN too. They are just.... really, really Big. Infinite. Not organic or mortal. It's like trying to comprehend the limitations of an ant, living on a planet, circling a sun, in a GALAXY the size of a DUST MOTE. The fact that the Force can even come CLOSE? Is literally miraculous.

But of course... OC? Not the Chosen One. The favorite, special, "I have Important Things For You" child. Which.... turns out to actually? Be kinda great. The realize that quickly. Which of course, is followed by the logical follow up.

Anikin? Fuckin SCREWED. Because he IS the Favorite Child.

Oh... oh No. Oh Fuck, that is a CHILD.

How easy it is, to cast blame, to judge, when you can't FEEL the Force in your EVERYTHING. All the time. Every moment of every day. Beautiful but cacophonous, like a symphony of screaming. Like staring at the sun and never going blind. It still hurts. But it's so... so bright. So Beautiful.

Connection. To the universe itself. Soul deep and transcendent. You can feel that the universe loves you. That there is good in people. That Life itself is worth protecting. But at the same time? It is... it is so much.

Because you can FEEL the ugly too.

The greed. The hate. The suffering. Lights snuffed out, in dark places of despair. Selfish actions and deep cruelties, like barbed wire against the soul. Thorns that hook and drag. And... and you're supposed to use your words. Just... just ASK them to stop? And, What? Hope that they WILL?

It HURTS!

But pain only begets more pain. Cruelty, more cruelties still. And only the Sith, believe they can use FORCE, in any sense of the word, to change a persons nature. The Jedi build. Grow. They work together, with those who are willing, towards something better. Defend, those who can not protect themselves.

Balance and growth. Not fire and chains.

And Oc is pretty sure Anikin will agree. No one should ever be in chains. Dead maybe. Or in jail. But never, ever, in chains. (And no one ever said they were pacifists. Just not war mongers. Sometimes the only answer IS to kill your opponent. To respect their choice, but honor your commitments. Protect those you swore to protect.)

Of course... OC? Going through Jedi training. It's Pre-Anikin days. Both she and Obi-Wan are fuckin Smol. She's not even in his Creche clan. She's over here in the "wanders off, lost in their own thoughts" Chill AF Creche Clan. Not Mr. "May you Live In Interesting Times And Have Padawans JUST LIKE YOOOOOOOU" and Co., over in the... "Energetic" Creche Clan.

None of HER Creche-mates BIT people, Obi-Wan.

WE keep our fuckin teeth to ourselves, Kenobi!

So, obviously, THEY don't have a lifetime ban on the "look, don't touch" fragile plants meditation garden. Very Rich in the Force. Good for focusing. Peaceful, really. And Oc? Has the time and space? To Consider™ things. Experiment. Ponder Fandom theories. Long "lost" Cannon techniques. Maybe have one-sided chats with the Force.

.....finally get CURIOUS™.

And wonder... if? Since, you know, through the Force, she can encourage and discourage plants to grow? And somewhat control animals. Why not... micro-organisms? Say, Midi-chlorians? Force healing is all ready a thing! So the Force all ready CAN interact with the body. Effect it. Change it. What is this, but more?

Really, all she'd have to do is find them, within herself, right? They're already a part of her! Yet... not. Do they consider themselves a part of her? Or is it symbiosis? Yeah, everyone says it can't be done. Perhaps shouldn't be done. But, frankly? They said the same about a LOT of Force techniques over the years. Big leaps in progress scare the SHIT out of folks. Cause if you miss? A LOT of people can die gorey.

So she sits. Mediates. Looks. Smaller... and smaller.... and smaller....

Until she finds whispers. Humming. Chatter.

As though each and every blood cell in her body had a teeny, tiny, whispery little voice. All chattering together, talking and arguing and discussing. One great hive of progress and industry. Complaining about a lack of potassium... huh. She goes and gets some fruit. Eats it. Then settles back into meditation.

They are JOYOUS! Potassium! Yaaaaay! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

Well... what'd ya know... huh. Hello there? She tries. Only to get a whispery and very alarmed ( ˶°ㅁ°) !! BODY CAN TALKヽ(°〇°)ﾉ ‽‽‽ Y-Yeah... she can. (How are they doing that?) The conversation? Only gets more surreal from there. Filled with... a surprising number of kaomojis.

But! She DOES figure out? How to increase her Midi-chlorians count. (By asking. Supplying needed resources for the expansion.) And WITH it? He awareness blooms.

The headache is... awful. The little guys(genderless) are WAY to enthusiastic. Working way too fast. If she didn't check the next morning? They might have continued to increase, indefinitely, until her veins were SOLID midi-chlorian. They just want to HELP, you see. And if you want More? Then surely FAR TOO MUCH is better, right?

(She may have fucked up. Oh god. Ow. Fuck. OW.)

Eventually she figure it out. Only gives her healer in training Creche mate a... few near heart attacks. He'll TOTALLY forgive her! (He will not. What the FUCK OC. Experimental medical procedures?! On YOURSELF!? You're not even HEALER TRACK!!!)

So NOW? She can reliably do it to OTHERS.

Need a bit more Midi-chlorians? Nearly Jedi quality but juuuuust under that cut off? She can fix that. Come. Be a jedi. Everyone should be a jedi. In FACT~! Whoops! Oh hey. Looks like all these Midi-chlorian counters are fuckin broken! (They look perfect fi-)(Broken! :] Do Not question me) So when you find that Orohan Child in desperate need of love and care? Just bring um on back!

They're TOTALLY Force sensitive. You can just tell. It's the vibes. Look at their lil face. Vibes, man. Just hand um here. For... reasons. You go get the paperwork. A working tester. And~? Oh would you look at THAT! Perfectly within acceptance range! Neat. Called it again, didn't you, Master Koon? You really do have an eye for these things. Anyway~ off to get this little one settled~~☆ *adoring cooing noises at the baby*

Weird, huh, how there suddenly just... SO MANY random orphan babies that are force sensitive? How 'bout that >.> strangest thing.

Of course, it's a god damned open secret. Everyone KNOWS. How could they not? But? Like with most things? If they don't Officially Know™? They don't have to stop it. And it DOES help both the Force AND those kids. Can be reversed if they don't like it, later. (They asked. All hypothetical of course.) So OC is basically Temple bound, so she can receive any new kiddos. To... you know... Check Their Health, on the way to ACTUAL healers.

But she's ALSO waiting. And as her skill increases? She can FEEL midi-chlorians, easier and easier. Until it gets to the point? Where if she's bored and zoning out? Not even ture meditation anymore? She accidentally tunes into Midi-chlorian Live~☆ the talk show. (What's the latest gossip from bodies nearest to her? Oh? Your second spleen is acting funny? Better remember to tell him to get that chec-)

Palpatine can't hide SHIT. It's literally in his blood.

And MAD at him.

This is NOT what they're FOR. He's taking TERRIBLE care of his body! Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOOOOOOU! You want power? Choke on it, you-!!!!!

Holy shit. So THATS what Sith Midi-chlorians feel like. Oh my god. They... they are SO MAD. Like tiny wasps. That have been violently shaken in a jar. She's never used the word "seething" in reference to someone before... but like...? If they COULD stab him? Man would be a thick paste at this point.

She's not sure what facial expression she makes. But it sure is obvious. As is the blatant, horrified staring. And refusal to get near him. HE doesn't notice, being to busy with the powerful. But the Jedi sure as fuck do. Because THEY sent her? Out with a Shadow. You know... just in case.

Cause she literally can not be replaced.

She not High Ranked... she's just priceless. Equal sort of significance, but in a very quiet, Soft Power sort of way. She is, after all, single handedly? Reversing centuries of slow population decline. Her entire Line promises to be the next Yoda's line. Priceless and with far reaching significance. So obviously, they're making sure that shit stays locked down.

No one is to so much as BREATHE about this.

Not until her great-great-GREAT Grand Padawan has passed their Knight Trials so HELP US. We LEARN from our mistakes! Need we bring out the records? Times we got cocky? Sith and political fuckery!? No. Oc stays INVISIBLE. There is no war in Ba Sing Se! Move along!

So like? Why is Miss Midi-chlorian Sensor and Future of the Jedi... making that face? She's literally NEVER made that face. What sort of monster do you have to BE? Huh? Shadow asks, casual as fuck, like he's not a plotting plotter who's planing terrible things, what's up?

She tells him. Palpatine has RANCID vibes. His midi-chlorians fucking DISPISE him. She's literally never seen that before. In anyone. Didn't even know that was an option. They would gleefully kill him if they could.

.....senator Palpatine is Force Sensitive?

Yes.

.......Interesting™(Ominous Intent)

Says local Shadow, who is perhaps putting together some dots. May not be getting the correct picture. But is getting the Vibe. And boy howdy, he does NOT like the vibe. Has got himself some questions. Cause Mr "uwu I'm harmless" lil mask? Only holds up? If you're willing to believe him.

Shadows don't buy that shit. Shadows? Need receipts. Full character statements and an audit on the fucking hospital you were BORN AT. Every credit you picked up off the side walk, why, and where you spent it.

Give them your Secrets. Or they'll keep digging until they find them.

uwu Their ASS. Gonna tear this bitch APART.

......huh. So THIS is why you guys keep accidentally getting married to Mandalorians on missions. (We agreed not to mention that.) (Fucker, I agreed to nothing. Shouldn't have eaten my special Me Day pudding if you didn't want me to gossip.) Man, her friends are... a trip. Uh... have fun? Happy hunting? I guess? *feral Jedi noises*

She? Continues to wait. Palpatine? Begins to have a VERY bad time. (Ha! Get fucked!)

Unfortunately, it's not fast enough to stop his dumbass plans. He just gets desperate. Figures more power is the answer. Because of course he does. So here comes the "oh nooooo~ my planets under attack~ better manipulate a child and make me president of the galaxy!" Plan. Fucker. Bastard.

She can't stop that.

But what she CAN do? Is be there. Waiting. For HIM.

Her little brother. Her son. Her center of the universe. The most important man to ever live... and also? A scared little boy. Far, far from home. The only other person who understands just how BIG the Force is. How much it weighs. How even as it crushs you... you can't bear to put it down. Not even for a moment. Because it loves you. And it hurts, that it does.

And... oh. Oh.

He is so very small.

Dirty, tired, in lovingly mended clothes that are barely beyond scrap. With bright, bright eyes like hope and starlight. He sings inside. Like freedom. Like hope. Daring to ask "why CAN'T you be kinder?", "why CAN'T we be free?". A storm of change. Bright and beautiful.

A child. Great and small, all at once.

Oc can't help but smile. Because, oh. Oh how long, she has waited to meet him, Anikin Skywalker. Welcome. Are you hungry? Cold? Let's get cleaned up. See the healers first. The council can wait.

Chips are removed and food is shared. Warm clothes, soft and new. And she can not help but smile, smile, smile. Even as her face begins to hurt. For years she has gathered. Planned. Studied and trained. As though some part of her knew. As though all for this moment. Taking one of those small hands in hers. Looking right in his eyes.

"It's going to be okay."

Because it IS. Because regardless of what they decide? OC will be with him. Regardless, she's going to go and make sure his mother is free. Not bought, not sold. Free. She has friends who can help. Will learn how to remove the chip herself if she must.

And? He IS going to be a Jedi. Even if he never become a Coruscant Jedi. Even if he decides he doesn't agree with how they do things or they decide the disagree with how HE does things. The Jedi have changed before, they will change again. Living things are meant to grow. Meant to change. And people can be both wrong and right at the same time. It's messy.

But what's important? Is Anikin is not alone anymore. And Oc is gonna help teach him. And someday? HE'S gonna break chains. So many chains. Gonna help people heal. If he wants to. (He does) But for right now? A quick talk with some old people. Maybe a nap. And we either get settled or arrange a trip back to Tatooine. To pick up your mom. In the meantime! You can figure out what classes she might wanna take. Where seems like a good place to settle. *chatting as they walk off, hand in hand*

Just? Sometimes a Padawan-ship is you, your Teacher, your OTHER Teacher, and her body guards that teach you Cool Knife Tricks and how to gamble, behind Obi-Wan's back! :D

@legitimatesatanspawn @mayfay @leftnotright @babbling-babull @hdgnj @spidori @the-witchhunter @lolottes

[rie-092]

IDIOT

⟡﹒ ashioki oushi x nagi! reader

summary : oushi doesn't like you, period.

⊂ rei: i'm a sucker for this guy and i haven't seen fanfics about him >:/ i'm so close on making a ff about him, i swear. ⊃

everyone could see how much oushi hates your guts. but he swears, he has good reasons why the fuck he hates you so much. first, because you are annoying. second, because you are too lazy for his liking (he made the whole damn project on that one project when the two of you got assigned together as partners which is so unfair) and third, but not the least, you are itsuomi's younger sister.

whenever the two of you were together, it's either oushi was so pissed and dragging you around or yelling at you. or he practically gave up and accepted his fate and just seat next to you, blankly eating bread since there was no vacant seat in the cafeteria. and everyone really prefers the second one because they only have a peaceful time whenever the two of you aren't together or whenever you and oushi aren't fighting.

but it was different in the perspective of selected individuals. like yuki, who always notices the change of expression in oushi's face whenever he sees you. sure, he still has that resting bitch face but— yuki couldn't deny the fact that oushi's face always softens a little bit whenever he sees you. while on the other hand, your older brother, itsuomi knows how lazy you are and how much you hates interacting with humans. but it was different when you were with oushi.

he can see the change in your behaviour, he noticed how you smile more often than usual. or how your face brightens up whenever your eyes see oushi. or how much you were enjoying school because of oushi. both yuki, itsuomi and the others can see the fact that you and oushi like each other. but the two of you were way too stubborn to notice that fact and it was frustrating for them.

actually, despite claiming that you hate each other. the two of you often hang out with each other. arcades, movies, eating in your and oushi's favourite fast food chains, taking you out for shopping— just name it, because oushi was sure that he already visited or done it with you. while others exclaimed that it was date— you and oushi are dating. you and oushi was like 'wtf are you talking about? we're just bored and he/she happens to be free that day?'

i can see that the first one who realized their feeling was oushi. you see, this guy despite his grumpy attitude was very well aware of his surroundings and his own feelings. i can see how awkward he will be when he realises his feelings. but when he saw you being dense as hell — he was pissed. it was much easier when he fell in love with yuki, but it wasn't the same for you 'cause you were so stupid in oushi's eyes.

but seeing how you unconsciously showing your affections to him. like letting him rest his head on your shoulder, staying with him whenever he has problem, giving him small gifts (mainly handmade) was enough to convince oushi that you like him too. and he fucking loves it.

wanna hear how he confessed his feelings? oh, i'll tell ya. so, you got invited to a certain gathering with your seniors along with oushi and they started teasing you and oushi, asking things like ‘are you guys dating~?’ and you denied it. and boy, you made a wrong move because it only pissed oushi so much. and by the time that the gathering was finished, oushi grabbed that chance to confront you about it.

“what made you think that i don't want to date you?”

“what?”

“i'm pretty sure that your ears are working properly, (first name).”

“meanie.”

“and you're a big idiot.”

so, we all know the fact that he eas rejected by yuki. and that was the main reason why he was scared to fall in love again. but damn, you just came into his life— wrecking the damn wall that he built around his heart.

and now you're saying that it's impossible for the two of you to date because he hates you? what are you, and idiot? or you just hates using that damn pea-size brain of yours?

so while you were happily telling him the various reasons why he doesn't want to date you. he mumbled an apology which you didn't heard properly and before you could react— you already felt his lips on you. you blinked, surprised. while on the other hand, oushi smirked seeing the pink dust on your cheeks.

you were about to ask what was that for when oushi rested his forehead on yours, not even bothering to break the eye contact as he spoke with the most gentle tone that he can. saying the words that you didn't expected to hear from him outta all people in this universe.

oushi is a sweet guy, i swear. despite of being grumpy and short fused. he was more than willing to do anything for the girl that he like.

oh, by the way. expect a lot of cuddles, kisses and gifts from him once you agreed to become his girlfriend. don't worry, he will make sure that you won't regret agreeing to become his girlfriend because he is more than willing to give the whole world. also, expect that he will probably tutor you when you fail the exams. jeez, what an idiot— but you are his idiot.

“i like you, idiot. happy now?”

[gilbirda]

Ouroboros

Sequel to "Another Harley Quinn"

Go to the first fic: "Deal"

After everything is said and done, it is no secret that Bruce doesn't approve of Jason's choice of partner. How far is he ready to go to reject her, and what are Jazz and Jason willing to give?

[Read on AO3][Read on FF]

---

She was running.

She was running and the streets were too dark, the shadows too long, the air too cold. She was running through a city she had come to know but was alien to her, a place she wanted to call home and yet she couldn’t call hers.

Jazz was running. Her chest hurt. Her feet hurt.

That’s when she saw it.

It was familiar, something that looked like home between the streets she didn’t belong in, and yet, it wasn’t home.

(Nothing was really home since Danny—)

She knew it. Jazz was sure. It was a ghost, she was positive, but a ghost she had never encountered before. It was bright, glowing in the dark streets, its light making its features difficult to discern. The body was more like a floating torn bed sheet than a human body.

It had a face.

It opened its mouth, jaw unhinged, and screamed.

***

Jazz woke up with a start, the only thing not letting her fall forwards and faceplant on the coffee table was a strong arm around her waist.

“Easy there, love.”

She looked up at Jason, blinking the sleep away. “Did I fall asleep? I’m sorry.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. She usually doesn't fall asleep like this, but lately…

“It’s okay,” Bruce set his cup on the table, “you must be tired after last night.”

Last night… Right, she had been up late taking down a drug operation at the docks. That Batman knew about it even if she did it alone wasn’t surprising. The slight judgemental glint in his eyes wasn’t a surprise either — she had killed the lieutenant after destroying the cargo.

It had been the third chance she had given him and that person decided to mock her for being soft, claiming that “a man would have pulled the trigger already”. If that wasn’t enough to kill him, the fact that his ex-girlfriend had filed for a restraining order for the second time, and had been dismissed by the police again, was a deal breaker for her.

Not that Bruce would care about things like that.

“She's been having weird dreams lately and wakes up really tired.”

Jason, as always, jumped to protect her. Maybe he was trying to remind Bruce that they were in this together, that it didn’t matter that she was taking over while he got his GED and started college. That if Bruce had a problem with her he had a problem with the two of them.

“I think she’s trying to tell me something,” Jazz sat straight, cracking her back. She shouldn’t have fallen asleep like that, now her back was going to be sore. “I mean Gotham.”

“Again?”

“Is the same dream over and over again, the same noise. I thought after Joker…” Jazz trailed off, remembering that encounter with the Spirit. She had been another person then. Another woman. Felt like long ago and yet like yesterday.

“Hm?”

Both ignored Bruce’s clear “hm” demanding her to elaborate. Right. They never explained what happened with the Joker.

“I think she is trying to warn me about something that’s coming.” Her mind went back to the screaming ghost, to the dark alleys. That wasn’t Gotham, even if it gave the illusion to be. “Something more in my, uh, expertise.”

“Well, that’s ominous,” Jason was deliberately only looking at her face, “and vague. Wanna go over it when we get home?”

Any thought was derailed when he lifted a hand to comb it through her hair. It felt nice. He was very warm.

“Sure.” She picked his hand and kissed the palm. “I’m going to check if Alfred needs help with dinner.”

Still ignoring Bruce, Jazz stood up and left what was going to be another interrogation.

***

“Elaborate.”

Jason watched her walk away, conflicted. She had been a bit distracted lately, spacing out more and more; and even if he was positive she was not actively hiding anything from him, he was sure something was going on with her.

The thought that not even she knew what was happening was not helping.

“Jason.”

He looked up at his father. “What?”

“Elaborate.”

Jason didn’t like that it was worded like an order. Or that Bruce used that tone with him, with Jazz. Honestly? He was fed up with Bruce’s behavior about his girlfriend. She said it was okay, that Bruce would eventually let it go, but Jason didn’t like that she had to endure that constant drilling because of—

No. It wasn’t because of him.

Jazz had been firm when she insisted it was never his fault. That if Bruce decided to be a dick about her it was not because of Jason.

But Jason knew his father better than her, he knew what made the man tick, what he was thinking with each gesture. Sure, Jazz had investigated Bruce Wayne, Batman, and everything about Gotham — but she hadn’t lived any of it.

What Bruce hated about Jazz is what he hated in Jason, the new Jason, and what he refused to accept. It didn’t take a genius to see that the man berated her for things Jason taught her or did with her. It was obvious at this point, after all these months, that Bruce just couldn't let go of the little boy that died.

Listen. If Jason had problems with Bruce, it was his problem, not Jazz’s. She was innocent.

“Bruce.” He cut whatever the other man was about to say. “You have to stop.”

This made him blink in surprise. Yeah right. As if he didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Stop what?”

“Don’t give me that crap. You know what I mean.”

They looked at each other in tense silence.

Bruce sighed, leaning back on the sofa, rubbing his face before looking elsewhere but him.

“I just —” he started, unsure of what he really wanted to say. Was he going to be honest, for once? “I don’t — There is something about her… I don’t like it.”

There it is.

I don't like her.

I don’t trust her.

Of course he doesn’t. That stupid control freak. Jazz was a bat trained individual that didn’t go through him or was approved by him. She had access to the Cave and to all their technology, just like Jason, just like Bruce promised they could.

But that wasn’t the problem. Jazz could be temporarily banned and put on trial phase until she passed all of Bruce’s tests and yet she would never be enough.

“We are a package deal, Bruce.”

The look the man gave him was equally annoyed and defeated. “I know.”

“She’s not a villain.” It hurt. How Bruce’s jaw muscle tensed like he wanted to say otherwise, it hurt. If he considered her a villain, he considered him a villain too. He was just too chicken to say it. “She’s my partner. She’s my other half.”

“I know.” He grumbled.

Bruce didn’t like her. He didn’t approve of her. He never would.

“Why do you hate her so much?” Jason swallowed the discomfort. He needed to know. He needed to understand if it was a stupid dream to think he could have both his family and his partner. If he had to put distance between them and Jazz, he had no doubt who he would choose to go with. “Why is she the villain and not me?”

Bruce looked at him like he grew another head. “That’s ridiculous. You are not a villain. I don’t agree with your methods, but—”

“But nothing! She’s just the same as me. I trained her! I brought her into this life! If there is someone you should distrust is me!” He stood up, angry at the argument.

Surprisingly enough, the older man was unfazed. He thought his words carefully, looking down at his clasped hands. After about a minute, he finally said.

“She killed her own parents.”

That was it? “What are you talking about? I was the one that did the actual killing.”

He still remembered it like it was yesterday. How he took his time, how he made it hurt. He let them know on whose orders he was doing that to them and why.

“She hired you to kill them,” Bruce shook his head, frowning, “is not the same.”

“What the fuck do you mean with ‘not the same’? Bruce, you weren’t there, you didn’t see what happened. They killed her brother.”

“It still doesn’t justify—”

“They tortured him, Bruce. Their own son. They deserved to die.”

Bruce blinked, eyes searching Jason’s face, like he was seeing him for the first time.

“They deserved to face justice. Not— Not whatever she asked you to do.”

She never asked him to torture them. Sure, she said ‘I want those two to suffer’, but she never specified how and what she wanted. She was angry and filled with rage, and she wanted to make them pay for what they did — but she didn’t ask him to break every bone in their bodies and keep them awake during the whole process.

It had been all him.

“That’s the thing, Bruce. She tried to seek justice, and the system failed her. If just—” Jason looked away, uncomfortable with sharing memories that weren’t his “ — If ‘Justice’ actually had helped her, her brother would still be alive. But she took too long with the longer route, and by the time she decided to fix it on her own, Danny was already gone. Torn apart by his own parents.”

“What she asked of you wasn’t justice either.”

“No.” He conceded. “She wanted vengeance.”

He remembered her dark eyes, so empty of any emotion except cold fury. It was easy to forget now that she smiled and regarded him with warmth, but not that long ago she had been an empty husk running on rage and rage alone.

“I still don’t understand… How?” At his questioning look, Bruce added: “We researched her, her family. There was no reason to believe they hurt either of their kids. Danny disappeared and run away and yes, it was suspicious as hell, but—”

“Are you listening to yourself? The investigation of Danny’s disappearance is a joke and obviously a cover up. Are you so dead set on making her the bad guy that you overlook something so simple?”

Bruce thought his words for a moment, maybe finally noticing how his rejection of his partner was affecting his own son. He was making that soft face he had every time he talked about how he messed up with Dick and how he could have done it better.

“A cover up by who?”

“What? The GIW, obviously.”

Did he not know?

Wait.

Bruce stood up, eyes wide. “The Ghost Investigation Ward?”

He doesn't know.

“Bruce?”

“They were supported by the GIW?”

He really doesn’t know.

“Bruce… they were the lead scientists of the GIW.”

Jason watched the pieces start to fit in Bruce’s mind, the whole story taking shape in his detective brain. Did he know about project P-001? About how Danny exactly died? About what they did to other ecto-entities?

“Did she know? Did she allow it?”

What was with Bruce and always assuming the worst? With a sigh, Jason gestured towards where the kitchen was, asking Bruce to walk with him. If what he needed to stop being hostile was answers, he would give them.

“About her parents working with the GIW? Yes. About the experiments? No.”

“And Danny—”

“Danny was taken away when she was away in college. Came back home to find her brother gone and her parents uncaring about his whereabouts.”

He truly didn’t like speaking for Jazz, but he also didn’t want her to relive all of this just because Bruce couldn’t let it go.

When Bruce didn’t ask another question, he continued. “She and Danny’s friends tried to get him back, but nothing worked. They were just kids against a whole shady fake government agency — they never stood a chance. They tried anyway.”

“They could have called the Justice League.”

Jason was already shaking his head before he finished talking. “And say what? ‘Evil organization that’s barely legal has kidnapped my brother’? Bruce, we both know that by the time a thorough investigation happened it would have been too late.”

“But we did investigate them. Sure, a lot of it was destroyed but the little we could find we completely tore down.”

He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know.

Jason took a deep breath as they arrived at the kitchen, smiling when he saw Jazz completely engrossed with her task of cutting the vegetables. She was smiling and chatting with Alfred about something he couldn’t hear from there, but she looked… good. At peace.

“There was an anonymous tip to the Justice League, yes?”

“How do you—”

Jason looked back at Bruce, not hiding his thoughts. The older man made the correct connections and the correct assumptions. Who destroyed the GIW bases, who killed all those people, who brought the Justice a lonely soul desperately needed.

“Bruce. She has suffered enough. Let it go.”

The other man was also watching Jazz cook; and as if she felt their gazes, she looked up at the pair. Jazz smiled, the emotion not quite getting to her eyes, and she waved with the hand that still had the knife.

Bruce’s mouth twisted a bit.

“I didn’t know.”

“You shouldn’t have to know. She’s what I want. That should have been enough.”

Jason didn’t imagine the pain in his father’s eyes when he looked back at him.

***

Tim glanced nervously at the woman quietly watching the horizon next to him.

What was Bruce thinking? Making him do patrol with her? Alone? What if she snapped and killed him?

“I know you are scared of me.”

He jumped at the mechanical voice, finding her smiling down at him. He wasn’t sure. With the mask in the way it was difficult to know.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Yeah, right.

“Really. I don’t hurt children.”

“You shouldn’t kill people, period!” He snapped. “Sorry.” Tim muttered at his outburst. Murder girlfriend or not, he had manners and Alfred wouldn’t like it if he was rude to a guest.

Jasmine looked away, humming in thought, her eyes watching the shadows of the night. Did she see something special in them? Apparently she had some kind of enhancements due to her parents’ experimentation — something about contamination? — but no formal testing of her abilities had been done. Yet.

“Am I that scary?”

Tim almost missed the quiet question.

“It Isn't that — uh…” He tried to find the correct words. Scary? She was not scary per se. Her outfit was not made for intimidation, she looked pretty average with her dark pants, combat boots and black shirt. The most noticeable parts of her outfit were the full utility belt around her waist and the guns strapped to her thighs. And the red hair. But she was not scary. “I’ve seen scarier people.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” She turned to look at him.

Her eyes. He didn’t like her eyes.

They were an uncanny shade of blue that looked green under certain lights. Eyes that sometimes glowed Lazarus Pits green. Eyes that gave him goosebumps.

“Why do you want to know? You are the head of the Crime Underworld of Gotham, of course you are scary.” She found his words funny. “You don’t kill the Joker with kindness, either.”

She tilted her head, looking back at the city. “Yeah. You might be right.”

“Of course I’m right.” He scoffed, walking closer. She didn’t react to his proximity. “Did you really kill him, though?”

“B didn’t tell you?”

“He just said… He said he found him dead. That Hood and you sent him in a wild goose chase and it was all so he couldn’t stop you from killing him.”

“There you go, then.”

“He also said there were screams and that he couldn’t get in the room.” He looked at her profile, since she refused to look back at him. “We reviewed the cowl footage but it was all noise and snow.”

Jazz hummed.

Tim narrowed his eyes. “You know why, don’t you?”

She thought for a moment before answering. "I do."

"Well?"

She smiled. "Why would I tell you?"

Robin groaned in frustration, like he did every time she deflected his questions. Jazz was very private and didn't share any information that wasn't already guessed or known; and even in the case of the former, she usually smiles and let him ramble theories of what actually happened and never confirm or deny them.

Tim was still deciding if he hated her. Well. Hate was a big word.

Dislike.

Did he mind the murdering? Yeah, it was disturbing to know the woman smiling in front of him hired a hitman to massacre her own parents and then decided to become a crime lord. Just because.

But Jasmine was kind and patient and understanding, and she didn't bend even after how mean Bruce had been with her. And she loved Jason, really loved him, which made it difficult to reduce her to a mindless criminal.

"I'm curious." He finally admitted. "Truly. No suspicion, no investigation. I want to know."

"You are such a curious bug, huh."

Again she looked at him without really seeing him.

You remind me of him. You have the same spark. I hope it's never beaten out of you.

Tim wasn't stupid — he knew she was seeing her dead brother in him and it bothered him. It bothered him more than when Bruce called him 'Jason' those first months.

"I can talk to ghosts." She said out of the blue. Like it wasn't even that important. "The Spirit of Gotham asked me to kill the Joker."

Tim did a double take, surprised. "Why?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. For real. She just contacted me and told me to do it. So I did."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

There was more story to it, but Tim was going to count his blessings and let it slide for now.

Patrol progressed like normal without any surprises. Just minor crime, barely anything that required Bat intervention, but it was good to be seen around, especially with The Ghost at his side. The people loved Robin, and if they wanted to make them trust that The Ghost was not out there killing everyone, pairing her with Robin was the quickest route.

Was that why B did it? Had he turned a new leaf?

By the time they called off patrol for the day, Tim noticed Jazz being quieter than usual.

"What’s wrong?" He asked her.

Her eyes were hesitant when she looked at him. “Are… I mean, it is— uh…”

“Just spit it out.”

The Ghost was nervous. She shifted a little when they landed on a rooftop to talk.

“Everything okay at school?”

Tim did a double take, watching her like he was seeing her for the first time. What the heck? Was she for real? Asking about school, out of the blue like this? What was the point?

What was her angle?

“Why would I tell you?”

She chuckled. “I had that coming, huh?”

He laughed too, amused by her switch in behavior. It was relaxing to see her act like a human — Jazz was a quiet presence glued to Jason’s side, always watching with those sad eyes.

“School’s good, but boring.”

“Boring?”

“Too easy.” He scoffed. “Teachers don’t know what else to throw at me to make me shut up.”

She hummed. It felt good to not get the speech about school not being just about good grades and that he should be kinder to his teachers, that they were doing their best.

“Any friends?”

What was she doing? Was she trying to be his older sister, trying to fill a void left behind by her loss?

Danny was dead. She wouldn’t bring him back by adopting another kid.

Tim almost laughed, amused at the similarities between Bruce and Jasmine.

Before he could open his mouth to gently ask her to stop, she tensed, looking at a nearby rooftop.

“Robin.” She switched back to The Ghost, the ruthless crime lord. “Go home. Call Batman.”

“What—”

“Do it.”

Tim hesitated a second too long, the glint of a sword on the edge of his vision put him in fight mode. He blocked in time, his staff and his arms straining to withstand the impact of a sword that had been aimed to his neck.

He jumped back, closer to Jazz, watching as a group of ninjas quickly surrounded them.

“We have a situation,” he heard The Ghost’s voice coming from the comms and his ears at the same time. “Requesting back up.”

“En route.” Bruce’s voice was a relief. Even if Tim had been trained and he wasn’t alone, he was starting to get overwhelmed by the quick moving ninjas that were hellbent on killing them.

He didn’t recognize the uniforms and their motivations were unclear. No obvious target either, since they weren’t trying to crowd one of them specifically. The Ghost held her ground, dancing around the assailants with ease and practiced moves, some of them reminiscent of Dick and some of Jason, and he was grateful that she hadn’t whipped out the guns and started shooting at them.

Robin stepped back, staff ready, feinting to the left to do a sweep under the closest ninja, making them stumble enough to elbow them in the side of the neck, knocking them out.

One down, three more to go.

He focused on his own fight, watching them, expecting their moves, dodging the very sharp blades they were swinging in his direction. Tim knew he was fast and he learned even faster, something Bruce always praised him about, and he decided to prove he was worth the chance to be Robin as best he could do.

The second assassin made a mistake, one tiny misstep, and he used his grappling gun to tie their legs together, leaving them dangling from the edge of the roof.

Now that he was facing only two of them it was easier to keep up with the speed. His staff was very useful to keep them at a safe distance, and he used that advantage as best as he could, even if the ninjas understood that they were losing the upper hand.

They changed tactics, instead of going for the kill they were planning on tiring him out — when he blocked one he had to be watching the other and expecting their move, not having a second to breathe. He was starting to get light headed and his arms starting to hurt after blocking impact after impact, when he finally saw his chance with one of them.

He attacked fast, staff ready, doing a series of katas that were meant to confuse the opponent and end with a strong push to the chest. Tim even managed to knock the sword out of their hands. When he hit them on the head and the guy was down.

“Ha!” He allowed himself the shout of victory, turning around to face the other one—

Only to find wide eyes on a partially covered face, a choked scream escaping the trained assassin. Tim looked down to find the point of a sword right on his neck, barely digging in his skin. He continued looking down and saw rivers of blood coming down the assassin’s front from where another blade was piercing their chest.

The body hit the ground with a soft thump, leaving The Ghost standing, her face blank, her eyes glowing toxic green, her hands stained with blood.

Both turned to look when a new person arrived at the scene.

Batman didn’t look pleased.

***

Jazz was tired and needed a bath, but she couldn’t even think about going back home yet.

Jason. She needed him, she needed his comfort, but he wouldn’t be home until his fight with Bruce was over.

A fight about her.

She knew killing the assassin would have consequences. She could have simply reduced them, she could have pushed Tim away and gotten hit instead, she could have thrown a smoke bomb and given Tim enough time to run away.

But she killed, and it had been a deliberate choice. Bruce knew that, Tim knew that — even if he had tried to defend her a few times before being completely shut down — and Jason knew that.

She just couldn’t think about anything else the moment she saw the black silhouette approach the boy from behind. Tim was just that, a little kid roped into hero life, and she needed to protect him. She needed—

Jazz was not stupid. Tim wasn’t Danny, she didn’t have any right to be any kind of older sister to him. She had one chance at that and she lost it, she couldn’t just act like she deserved another.

The Ghost looked at the rising sun on the horizon, her ears ringing with the screams and threats Jason and Bruce had been throwing at each other by the time she quietly stepped out and left the Batcave. She doubted any of them noticed her leave, too engrossed in the moral question of taking a life and the what if’s and could have’s.

Jason looked distressed and unhappy, not just angry. She knew him, she knew he didn’t like to fight with Bruce like this.

It felt that was the only thing they did when she was near.

“Finally caught you alone,” a smooth feminine voice purred behind her.

Jazz turned, finding a dark skinned woman looking down at her, her long black hair flowing in the breeze. She was tall, and strong, her common-looking t-shirt and jeans not hiding the powerful stance of someone that knew she was in charge.

She didn’t miss the gun on her waist or the sword at her back.

“Talia.” She recognized her from the photos Jason showed her. She never thought they’d ever meet in person. “If you are looking for Jason he is busy at the moment.”

“I’m not looking for him.” Her deep green eyes were fixed on her, analyzing. “I wanted to have a chat with you.”

Jazz tensed. Knowing what she knew about Talia, that couldn’t be anything good.

“I wanted to make you an offer.”

She arched an eyebrow. “An offer?”

“Yes. I have been following you and I’ve seen what you can do. What Jason made of you.”

So Jay was right. Talia was watching. She really couldn’t let it go, huh.

“And?”

“I think we can benefit each other.”

This made her scoff. “What makes you think you can give me something I want?”

Danny was dead, he had been avenged. She didn’t need anything else.

Somehow, Talia found her response hilarious. She chuckled with that silky voice of hers and approached Jazz to watch the city besides her.

“This is not your world. This is not your place. You have been aimless since the death of your brother.”

Jazz didn’t give her the pleasure of seeing her react to her words. Talia was a snake that dealt with information, she taught Jason some of her tricks. She would know about Danny and the GIW and how she came to meet Jason, of course.

“I’m not aimless.” Jason’s smiling face came to her mind. He had given her a home when she thought she had nothing to come back to. “I have—”

“Jason. Yes.” Talia hummed. “But do you really?”

This made her tense. “What do you mean?”

Talia’s smile was pitiful when she turned to look at her, the rising sun painting half her face with warm colors.

“You are in the way of his happy ending, dear.”

Jazz blinked, her heart skipping a beat. She knew that, she knew that things were rocky with Jason’s family, but to hear it put bluntly like that…

“You can have him, sure, but you’d make him lose everything else. Everything he wants. Jason lost his edge when he met you, and since that day he has gotten as dependent on you as you are on him. He has been declawed and what he wants now is a happy family to come back to, something you cannot give him, but he is too blinded by love to see it.”

Jazz hated that it made sense, that Talia was wording her troubled thoughts like this. She knew Talia pulled stunts like this, manipulating people until she had you working for her, but it made so much sense.

“Let him be happy, let him get his father back. Get his family back. If you love him, truly love him, then let him get his happy ending.”

Jazz watched the sunrise without blinking until it hurt. Her eyes watered.

She swallowed the knot in her throat and asked: “And what do you want?” What was her angle? What did she gain by this?

She didn’t turn to look at Talia when she answered, knowing she would crumble the moment she saw her cunning eyes. “I can help you become better, become perfect. I’ve seen what you can become and I’m positive you could use those skills to make sure no one else gets hurt like your brother was hurt.”

“You are talking about becoming an assassin for you.”

Talia chuckled. “Not ‘for me’, dear. You’d be your own person, you could choose your own targets. All I’m offering is resources and training Jason can’t provide. And Bruce wouldn’t ever approve.”

Jazz didn’t answer and Talia didn’t push, both stayed quietly watching the sun climbing in the sky as the city woke up and started to pulse with life one more day. One more day where people would get hurt somewhere in the world, people she could help and yet she was in Gotham feeling like an intruder in someone else’s family, trying to play house.

Talia was making sense. She didn’t like it.

“I’ll think about it.”

***

When Jason came back to the apartment he shared with Jazz, he was ready to drop dead and nap for the rest of the day. He was completely spent, his mind frayed and reeling with the argument and following screaming match about Jazz and how Bruce didn’t like her.

He had been doing so well after the conversation they had, he had been trying, smiling more and including her in things and putting her on patrol with Timbo so people got used to seeing her fight crime with the Hope of Gotham.

She killed the assassin, true, but she had saved the kid’s life. Could she have done something else? Sure, of course, but it wasn’t like the assassins were playing games and letting many chances or going easy on them. If Jazz thought the best course of action was killing him, he trusted her.

Bruce didn’t. He kept going back to the recordings of Robin’s mask, marking places where she could have done better, where should have taken another route. It didn’t matter that the kid said he agreed the assassins were going for the kill or that it was his fault for being careless — Bruce was set on banning her from the Cave, from the Manor and from operating in the city altogether.

Jazz was nowhere to be seen at the Manor when Jason decided that arguing with Bruce was pointless and got on his bike and rode off without explaining more. He was tired. He needed his girlfriend.

Just as he thought, she was at the apartment, waiting. She was not in her usual chair reading or at the kitchen having her post patrol tea; but he found her on the bed still wearing her suit, sitting with her back against the headboard. She was looking at the opposite wall with unblinking eyes, brows furrowed.

“Darling?”

She blinked, turning to look at him with empty eyes. He never wanted to see her look at him like that again, he hated that the situation had made her this upset.

“Hi.” She smiled, but it was wrong. “How did it go?”

“Bruce’s pissed but I don’t give a shit. He can choke for all I care.” Jason huffed, sitting on his side of the bed to start on getting rid of the suit. “I know this isn’t over, but whatever. He’ll get over it.”

Jazz hummed softly, with her ‘I’m considering something that you wouldn’t like’ voice. He stopped unlacing his boots, turning to watch her. She looked… off. Not just upset, but genuinely like— like she was back to that empty shell that accepted his offer of coming to Gotham with him.

“Jason,” she started, “was this… a mistake?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I… If…,” she licked her lips, looking away from his eyes. “If I left, do you think Bruce would drop it?”

Jason felt like ice crystals started growing in his chest. She couldn’t mean…?

“I understand you love me, but I can’t pretend to understand the relationship you have with your father. All of… this — “ All of me, he knew she wanted to say “ — is putting a strain in that relationship that I don't want you to have.”

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t seriously be talking about breaking up. Not like this.

“I love you too, and—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He had the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake the stupidity out of her head. “Are you seriously thinking about breaking up with me over this?”

She shook her head. “Not just over this. I’m talking about everything else, too. You have been sweet and I love you with all my heart, but darling, this is tearing you apart.”

He couldn’t argue otherwise. He couldn’t deny he had been thinking about not coming back to the Manor and just say fuck it to the whole thing.

Jason was tired of arguing. He didn’t want to fight anymore. If he tried to argue with Jazz right there, right then, he would give up and let her leave without a fight.

“Can we— Can we please put a pin on this conversation?”

She was going to say something else, but closed her mouth, nodding. “Of course. I’ll… There is food in the kitchen. I’m going to shower first, if you don’t mind.”

It’s true that they didn’t bathe together all the time, but he really, really had been looking forward to her affection and, for once, her physical contact. It felt empty, watching her stand up and leave the room without looking back. Felt like an ending to their story, even if Jazz had agreed she would want to talk about this when both were in a better headspace.

This was not how he expected his day to end, how he wanted this to go. He wouldn’t let the best thing to ever happen to him to either leave him or regress to that broken woman he extended his hand to.

Jazz carefully avoided him after the shower, and she chose to sleep on the couch instead of the bed with him. Jason didn’t have enough energy in him to convince her to get into the bed.

When he woke she was still there, calming down his instinct that she just packed her stuff and left while he slept — Danny’s rocket model was still on her night table and the apartment smelled like freshly made coffee.

She was looking outside the window at the sun going down, a still steaming cup of coffee in her hands. Coffee, not tea.

“Hey.”

She turned to smile at him, eyes still haunted, deep bags under her eyes. Did she sleep at all? “Hey.” At least her smile was more normal.

“Feeling better?”

She shook her head, but approached him to kiss him on the cheek before sitting down on the kitchen table. “Wanna talk now?”

With a heavy sigh, Jason got his own cup of coffee and joined her at the table.

“Let’s talk.”

She nodded. “Talia came to see me.”

Jason choked on his coffee. “What?” He managed to say as he coughed out the liquid.

“She made me an offer.”

“You know her offers—”

“Hear me out.” She stopped him before he continued, lifting a hand to signal she wanted to talk. “I’m not going to accept. Talia’s motivations are not clear and I trust you when you say she is shady about her offers.” She tilted her head. “I also think that she is the one that sent those assassins to provoke me”

This made him sigh in relief. That did sound like Talia, and it was good that Jazz caught on that quickly. “Okay.”

“But she made a good point.”

“She told you to break up with me?”

Jazz hummed. “Something like that.”

“Well that’s stupid.” He scoffed. “That wouldn’t solve the problem.”

“And what’s ‘the problem’, then?” She arched an eyebrow, daring him to say otherwise.

“It doesn't matter if Bruce hates you. It doesn’t matter if you stay, or you leave or if we don’t see each other again.” He leaned in to take one of her hands and smiled when she didn’t move away, and even squeezed his hand. “Bruce’s beef with you is actually with the stuff I taught you, the stuff that’s a part of me I wanted to share with you. If he cannot stand you because of that then he is making the active choice to not see I am the same.”

Jazz’s eyes were fixed on their joined hands as she considered his words. She sipped her coffee without looking away.

“If the condition for him to love me is for you to go away then he doesn’t deserve me — and that has nothing to do with you personally.”

Seconds ticked by in the quiet kitchen.

He was firm about what he said and was completely ready to fight Bruce on that if it came to it. It was beyond if Jazz was a ‘bad influence’ or not, beyond trying to play perfect son for Bruce, beyond trying to make him see that they couldn’t go back to how they were before he died.

“Okay.” Jazz said, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Her smile was watery, her eyes shining with tears, but she looked less pale and less like she was about to crumble down.

“I love you.” She said. Neither commented on how shaky her voice was. She wanted him, he could see it in her eyes. It wasn’t because she thought he would need her, or because she thought that was what he wanted — she wanted to be with him.

“Love you too.” He stood up and walked around the table, extended a hand to touch her cheek. She leaned into the touch. “We’ll figure this out, but we have to do it together. I need my partner in crime.”

A few tears went down her cheeks as she nodded.

***

Jazz kept her distance from the Manor the following weeks and focused on things on the crime side of their lives. Jason had been taking on more tasks since they were doing patrol with Batman and Robin as well; but she was now going to focus completely on the Narrows and Crime Alley and let Jason take care of things with his father. He asked her to trust him and she trusted him. They were partners.

She was going back home thinking about her cup of tea and maybe convincing Jason to cuddle under a blanket and read together for a bit; when she saw it.

It was bright and just at the corner of her mind, and she understood she had to follow it.

Not one to question Gotham after all that happened, Jazz followed her gut instinct further and further away from their territory, across the bridge and deeper into the business district. There were some people walking around at night, better dressed people, that looked at her as she followed the faint signs of something other. She ignored them all, how men and women alike chose to get away from her as soon as she was in their sights.

She knew what the “nice” people of Gotham thought of her, it didn’t take a mind reader to understand that it took more time for these people to realize she was no Harley Quinn.

In any case, it was good that she found no resistance as she pursued the white form across the serpentine streets. She couldn’t shake the feeling she was being guided somewhere, but she still needed to investigate.

The chase ended in a deserted street that had an opening to an abandoned metro station — if her memory was correct, it was part of the first metro line in the city, and the route was adjusted after the city grew in another direction.

Jazz wasn’t looking at the art decó structure of the metro opening, though. Her eyes were fixed on the white form floating in the middle of the street.

It grew and grew, quietly and quickly taking a longer shape — a human shape. Legs, arms, torso and a head. It was so bright on a dark background that it hurt her sensitive eyes, but she kept looking at the humanoid shape, wondering what or who it was.

The white light started to dim around the body, a white sheet, torn and dirty, gently floated in an invisible wind, hiding the actual shape of the body. It’s face was still too bright.

“Hello?” Jazz asked, testing the waters with a step towards the ghost. Because it was a ghost, she was positive. “Do you need help?”

She never thought she would need to help another spirit, but if this lost soul needed assistance to find peace, she was the only person that could help.

It was also what Danny would have done.

The bright figure’s face was too intense to really see the features, but as she walked closer she could see short red hair floating around their face.

“I can help you. My name is Jazz.”

It was like she had said the magic words. The slight humming she didn’t realize she had been hearing stopped. The light stopped pulsing. The figure froze mid-air.

Two eyes opened in the creature’s face. Deep black eyes, full of hatred.

A mouth opened, impossibly wide open, in a way that a normal human could never be able to do.

It was a split second — just a tiny moment as the light in its face dimmed enough for her to clearly see the features — but she recognized that face.

The creature screamed a high pitched sound that blasted the windows of the buildings around them.

***

A ping on the phone and Bruce’s slight frown was the first sign that something was wrong.

“A rogue attack?”

The older man looked up from where he was tapping on the phone screen, the chessboard totally forgotten. It was “bonding day” and Jason had spent the day with Bruce doing whatever. They were in the middle of a post-dinner game of chess, and Jason would leave after they were done. Surprisingly enough, there hadn’t been new arguments that day — but after a few weeks of screaming at each other they were too tired to keep at it.

Jason didn’t miss how Bruce’s mood lifted once he learned Jazz was not coming to the Manor anymore.

He didn’t miss either how Dick, when he came by one weekend, and Alfred were worried at that fact. Or how Tim frowned and looked down, distraught at the development. He didn’t know the shortstack actually liked his girlfriend.

“The Ghost is on her way here.” He tapped the phone screen. Jason hoped he was deactivating security. He better be, at least.

He checked his phone in case there was an emergency and he missed her calls, but there was nothing. She had promised to follow his lead regarding Bruce and he told her to not come around the Manor until he said it was ok, so why was she doing exactly that?

His mind reeled with all the possibilities, since she wouldn’t break her promise for something light.

Jason abandoned the game and approached the door, quickly opening it and running his eyes over the pitch black darkness, trying to identify her silhouette against the dark.

He barely saw the two green eyes before a body slammed against his. Her arms and legs circled around him like a koala, her maskless face buried in the crook of his neck. She was also trembling and her face was wet.

Something was very wrong.

“Jazz?”

She sobbed, rubbing her face against his exposed skin. Her breaths were accelerated too. What could have sent his girlfriend into a panic attack like this? She was made of the tough stuff, she had seen and done a lot of bad shit with him, so why…?

“I…” Her voice was rough. “Jason…”

He squeezed her tighter against him, frowning. “Just breathe with me, darling. Okay? Breathe with me.”

She continued muttering his name, but mimicked his exaggerated slow breaths. In and out, in and out, in and out. The shaking diminished a little bit even if her body continued to be tense.

“Is she okay?”

Jason turned to find Alfred and Bruce looking from the door. It had been Bruce who talked, genuine concern painting his expression. They’ve never seen her out of it before, not even during patrol.

“She’ll be.” He said, walking back up the steps of the porch and into the Manor, registering how Bruce moved aside to let them pass, one hand reaching out to help but not actually touching Jazz. “Alfred, could you—”

“Immediately, sir.”

Jason took the whimpering form of his girlfriend back to the sitting room, walked by the abandoned chess game and settled down on one of the comfortable sofas. He maneuvered her to be on his lap and let her cry in silence as they waited for Alfred to bring a glass of water. He didn’t acknowledge Bruce taking a seat in front of them.

“It was her, Jason. Her… How could this be?” Jazz’s voice was hoarse and spent, barely above a whisper.

“Her?”

“Is not fair.” She rubbed her face against his shoulder. “Not fair.”

He tried really hard to follow her. A quick glance at Bruce told him he also had no idea what was going on, so it wasn’t anything Bruce had done.

Not that he suspected Bruce to try going behind his back and harm Jasmine, but… Well, he wouldn’t put it past him after everything.

Alfred walked right in with a tray with a glass and pitch filled with water, a teapot and some cups. His face didn’t betray anything, but Jason saw his eyebrows furrow for a moment when he glanced at the trembling figure on his lap.

“Thank you.”

The butler nodded and moved to stand behind Bruce, watching them as well.

It was a bit longer before Jazz uncurled enough to accept the water, which she gulped down like a parched man in the desert. She accepted a second glass rather quickly, only giving it a tiny sip before placing it on the coffee table with a frown on her face.

“Jason. She’s back. I don’t know when, I don’t know how. But she—” her voice cracked. “Is not fair.”

“You keep saying that. But who could be—”

“My mother.”

Jason’s memory supplied the tear stained face of Madeline Fenton as she begged for her life. Her screams in the secluded basement where he tied her to a chair. Her void eyes when he explained for the last time why he was doing this.

“She’s dead.”

Jazz laughed, but it wasn’t nice. “Haven’t you heard? Sometimes the dead come back to life.”

“That’s impossible.” He watched her die. He buried her body.

“She’s come back and she’s in Gotham.”

“A ghost?” Bruce spoke, voice carefully low.

Jazz flinched, suddenly too aware of their audience. She kept her gaze on the abandoned glass of water on the table. “A wraith, I think. It’s a type of ghost,” she explained further, feeling the older man’s pointed stare demanding more information, “a subclass, if you will.”

Jason wanted to signal Bruce to stop talking, to not ask the next question. He knew what a wraith was in modern folklore, and he knew that Bruce knew as well.

“What does that mean?” He asked anyway.

Jazz looked him in the eye for the first time since she arrived. “It means she died a painful death and wants revenge.”

The words lingered in the following tense silence. Jazz had never talked about it, especially not with Bruce. He already had a poor opinion of her and she tried so hard to not throw more wood to the fire, so to speak. Her direct admission of what she did, what she asked Jason to do, settled like a block of concrete in their minds.

Bruce’s shoulders tensed for a moment before forcibly relaxing them. He glanced at Jason, expression unreadable.

“Is she going to be a problem?”

Of all the ways to word that question, of course he had to choose the worst one. Jazz took it anyway, licking her lips before picking up her tea cup. She took her time blowing off the steam and taking a sip of the liquid.

The fine porcelain made a clicking sound when she put the cup down, too loud in the quiet room. “She won’t stop until she eliminates her killer.”

Even Alfred looked at Jason with worry.

“We have to—”

Jazz cut Bruce off. “No mortal weapon can kill her. Nothing we can do can stop her.”

They looked at each other, both very tense. Bruce was trying hard not to cave in and take over the situation, push everyone away and fix it himself. Or at least Jason thought so, given what he knew about his father.

The older man unclenched one fist, reaching for his cup of tea. He took his time, considering Jazz’s words, looking at her form still curled on Jason’s lap.

“There’s one thing that can kill her.”

Jazz’s anxious confusion was almost palpable. Bruce let her ruminate his cryptic words like the sadist he could be, gently placing the teacup on the table. He didn’t make any sound, his pinky properly cushioning the porcelain.

“The Justice League seized all that was left regarding the Fenton’s research on Ghosts. Including their—”

“ — weapons.” Jazz finished for him, realization dawning on her.

All the tension left her body, her limbs untethered like a puppet that got their strings cut. Jason felt her heartbeat pick up against his chest, the implications of Bruce’s admission rolling in her head.

***

Bruce waited patiently in his office, watching the soft moonlight coming in from the windows casting shadows on everything. He felt more comfortable in the dark, he was used to it, so he didn’t bother turning on the lights. He could see just fine with the full moon illuminating the room.

Jason, when he was done helping Jazz calm down enough to sleep, would be fine with it too — when he came stomping into the office to make demands and scream at him again.

It was the only thing they did lately.

And it was always about her.

He didn’t hate Jasmine, contrary to what Jason must think. He knew that she was capable of kindness and was a damaged person trying her best. He knew she had a rough childhood and had redirected all that trauma and rage into something constructive.

But so did Bruce, and he didn’t become a mercenary.

Jason taught her how to kill, but she was the one encouraging that behavior in him. She was the one selling him the idea that what they were doing was okay. Bruce had long discarded the idea that she had brainwashed Jason; but Bruce knew how equally damaging toxic love could be for people in their line of work.

Did he think Jason could be nudged in the right direction if Jasmine stopped pulling him further away? That she was knowingly, or unknowingly, associating that life of crime with love?

Yes. Deep in his heart, he knew that sometimes even the purest love could drag you down. He wanted to protect his son from falling deeper than he was.

“Alright, here’s what we are going to do.” Jason said as he opened the door to the office, not giving Bruce time to interject. “I’m going to talk and you will shut the fuck up and listen, ok?”

At least he wasn’t screaming. Probably because his precious Jasmine was sleeping.

Bruce let out a deep sigh and stood up to see Jason eye to eye. His son’s stance was tense and guarded, his eyes shining with controlled emotions.

“You will help — No, it’s not your turn to speak.” He said when Bruce opened his mouth. “You will go to your stupid castle in the sky and you are going to bring down all the weapons you can bring. I don’t care how you do it, but you will convince your boyband to let go of the goods.

“In exchange —” his voice broke a little, but he quickly hid it by clearing his throat and combing back his hair with his fingers. “In exchange I’ll be the perfect little son you always wanted. I’ll come every Sunday for brunch. I’ll patrol with you, with the shortstack and with the Golden Boy. I’ll give up the guns, the killing, everything. I’ll even wear a stupid bat symbol so everyone knows who — that I changed sides.” Bruce knew that was not exactly what he wanted to say. “I don’t care what you do to me. But you will help us and you will leave her out of — out of everything.”

The first crack in his mask. His eyes shone with unshed tears. Angry tears? Jason used to cry when he was a child and rage was overflowing his little body.

“You won’t make her beg. You won’t humiliate her with silly little tests and sadistic games. No power plays. No punishments. I killed her parents. The wraith is coming after me. I will be the one that fixes this and after that… After that we will act like you never met Jazz and like I never died and like — I don’t know.” He breathed, shoulders slumping. “I’m done fighting, Bruce.” The expression he made couldn't be called pleading. It was too angry to be considered in the same category. But still it was a face he hadn’t seen Jason make, ever. “You win, I guess. That’s — That’s the deal.”

Night was quiet as Bruce looked at Jason, really looked at him, for the first time in the whole night. His son has grown into a big man, a bit taller than himself, and nothing like the child he lost years ago.

In that moment, in that place, his boy never looked so small. So disarmed.

Not even in the first days after bringing him to the Manor, when Jason was distrustful and thought he was going to be kicked out at any moment, he looked like that.

He saw the exact moment something changed in his mind, because the emotions in his eyes turned into a wall of ice. “And if you do — If you hurt her in any way,” his hands clenched around the empty space where his holsters usually rested, “if you don’t keep your word and go after her anyway — You won’t like the person I become. And that… that is a promise.”

Frozen and speechless, Bruce couldn’t stop Jason from turning tail and leaving the office as quietly and quickly as he arrived. By the time he made his legs follow him to the hallway, his son was nowhere to be seen.

“Master Bruce?” He turned, finding Alfred standing next to the door, quiet as always. “How did the conversation go?”

“Did you hear us?”

Alfred’s expression was unreadable. He had been unusually somber as he helped the couple prepare a room for Jasmine to rest, once it was decided they would spend the night at the Manor.

“The lack of screaming, while a good sign, made it difficult for me to eavesdrop.”

Jason never raised his voice, but it would have been better if he had. Then Bruce wouldn’t feel like he had messed up again.

He looked so… so angry and defeated. Tired. Weary. He talked about coming back home and being part of the family, but he said it like a prisoner accepting his fate in the gallows.

“Master Bruce?”

Bruce blinked back to reality, focusing on Alfred��s worried eyes. “Yes?”

“How did it go?”

He wanted to say “good”, but somehow his voice wasn’t working. “I don’t know.” He finally managed to say.

Alfred nodded, understanding anyway. “I suggest sleeping on it. Things will look simpler in the morning.”

He was right, of course. He nodded at the butler and bid him good night before making the trek back to the Family Wing of the Manor.

Still considering Jason’s words and the disconnection between his promise and his body language, Bruce walked past Jason’s old bedroom. It should be closed, but the door was open.

Right. They were staying the night.

He almost ignored it and walked past without giving it a second thought, but then he heard a quiet sniffle coming from inside. Was Jason crying? He doubted so, but he still approached the door, peeking inside.

“Bruce.” Jasmine called from inside the dark bedroom. A lamp was turned on, revealing her sitting up, alone, on the bed. Her eyes were puffy and red, so she’d be crying for a while. “What do you need?”

He didn’t want to be in this situation, but he couldn’t say that.

“Just checking on you.” He lied.

She smiled, knowing that it was a lie.

“Well, I am fine. Thank you.” Another lie.

Awkward silence. Jasmine took a deep and fortifying breath and gestured towards the reading chair next to the bed. Probably Jason had moved it from beside the window, where it usually was, and sat next to her before going to talk to him.

“Please sit.”

“I don’t think—”

“Sit.”

It was easy to forget she was the Head of the criminal Underworld of Gotham. That she held power Bruce would never dream of grasping in his own city.

Jasmine and Jason never talked about that part of their lives when they were at the Manor, and she very carefully avoided talking about anything regarding their time together before coming to the city or how they operated in Gotham. She stuck to gentle memories about her childhood, about her brother and vague mentions about picking up hobbies in recent months.

In front of him was the whole Jasmine, he knew. Like the moment before with his son, all pretense was dropped and what he could see was the truth.

In Jasmine, that truth looked cold and hurt.

Bruce walked closer and sat down in the comfortable reading chair, his hands placed on his lap. If she wanted to talk then so be it. It was about time they had a heart to heart.

“We need those weapons.” She opened.

“I know. The League—”

“I speak. You listen.” Jasmine interrupted and lifted her chin, her back completely straight. Bruce wanted to laugh at the gesture since it was all Jason. “We need those weapons and you are going to get them for us. I don’t know how, but I swear if I have to go up there and beat the shit out of every member of the Justice League, believe me I would do it.” She narrowed her eyes.

He held her gaze, letting the seconds pass. As amusing as it was watching her tired visage making vague threats to his colleagues, he was not going to poke the bear and make fun of Jason’s girlfriend.

“I don’t care what I need to do. I don’t care if I have to pass some kind of cryptic test or if I’m banned from operating in the city or if I have to — I don’t know.” She breathed in and out, her hands gripping the sheets with white knuckled fists. “I don’t care how many little dances or how many promises or how much of my soul I have to sell for you to give me those weapons. Believe me I would do it all.

“Do whatever you want with me, but leave Jason out of it.” Her glare was all hers, though. Her teal eyes glowing Lazarus Pits green, the bioluminescence adding shadows to her face that completely changed her expression. “Don’t make him choose between me and you like some kind of immature toddler refusing to share his toys.” She spat. “Give me those weapons and in exchange humiliate me as much as your heart desires, I don’t care. Just—” she let go of the sheets, her eyes dialing back to the dull teal he was more used to “ — Just don’t hurt him anymore.”

Bruce watched new tears gather in her eyes, but unlike Jason, she didn’t even try to contain them. She didn’t acknowledge them either.

“That’s… That’s the deal.”

A strong sense of déjà vu hit him. Did they rehearse this? Some kind of pincer movement with a similar speech? What was her version supposed to do, tug at his heartstrings and pin Jason’s suffering on him?

He wanted to scoff and walk out of the room.

“If you break your word or your only condition is for me to leave the city, to leave him, I swear on my brother, Bruce Thomas Wayne, that there won't be a shadow or bunker in this world that could hide you from me.”

It was a threat. It should be a threat.

Jasmine was trembling. She tried to hide it, and if Bruce were any other person, if he didn’t spend most of his days watching people and analyzing their tells, he would have missed it.

She was terrified. Of her mother, who came back as a vengeful spirit? Of a life without Jason?

He was tempted to smile, but he stopped himself in time.

“What did Jason tell you?”

She blinked, taken aback by his words. “What?”

“Did you guys practice long? They were good speeches, I have to concede it. Yours is a bit over the place, but good enough.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jason had the exact same conversation with me less than half an hour ago. He didn’t come to tell you?”

He saw it, clear as day. She didn’t know. She looked at the door and then at him, then at her hands that were still shaking. She fisted the sheets again, breathing in, breathing out.

“That idiot. What did he promise you?”

She truly didn’t know. Huh.

“Did he promise to give up his work? That he would be the son you want him to be?” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm and her laugh was hollow. “Of course he did. I don’t even need to ask.”

She folded her legs to hug her knees close to her chest. She looked at Bruce, more tears flowing down her cheeks.

“Don’t let him do that. Bruce, that could very well be the thing that breaks him for good. Living that double life, wearing a mask when he’s with you, burying a part of him... Please, I’m begging you, don’t accept that deal.”

She rested her head on her knees, eyes fixed on him. Her shoulders were tense and her posture was deceptively calm, but he could see her slowly curl on herself as if she were trying to give herself comfort.

“Don’t let him hurt himself like that, Bruce.” There was barely any more fire in her voice. “I love him.” Jasmine smiled, the gesture as weak as everything else in her at the moment. “But I guess it doesn’t matter what I say.”

The switch was subtle. Her eyes stayed on him for a second before straying away; and when they did, her blue glazed over like she was not even there with him anymore.

“Good night, Bruce.” She whispered, still not looking at him.

He stood up, ready to leave, staying a moment to watch this new facet of Jasmine he hadn’t seen before. She was always guarded, quiet, and had this sad air around her that only went away when Jason smiled at her.

Jasmine never cried. She never begged.

And she never looked like this.

Bruce ignored the pinch in his chest, murmured a quick ‘goodnight’ and walked out of the room.

***

Next morning found him looking at his coffee with unblinking eyes. Alfred had already tried to ask what was wrong, but gave up after the third grunt in response.

Bruce watched his own reflection in the beverage, eyebags on his face after spending the whole night unable to sleep. Good thing he didn’t have anything to do that day, because he was ready to drop and the sun was barely rising.

You won’t like the person I become.

There won't be a shadow or bunker in this world that could hide you from me.

He frowned, taking a sip of his coffee. Bruce wasn’t a stranger to his kids threatening him. The echoes of Dick screaming at him in the tumultuous era back before Jason’s passing rang in his ears.

What was new was how… how final they were. How ready to follow through they were — Dick had thrown around threats and tried to act tough, but at the end of the day he always came back. These two threatened him with the desperation of an animal in a cage ready to bite off their own paw if it meant getting free.

But you will help us and you will leave her out of — out of everything.

Do whatever you want with me, but leave Jason out of it.

This is the part that confused him the most. If they had a strategy then why contradict each other so blatantly? Why sacrifice themselves for the other and demand they stay safe? It didn’t make sense.

I’m done fighting, Bruce.

Just don’t hurt him anymore.

Hurt him? He wasn’t—

Well. He knew he was being difficult. He knew that his rejection of his partner was taking a toll on Jason, and he felt so horrible about it. He had been meaning to talk to him about it, and he tried a few times, but it always ended with them screaming at each other.

If Jason could just listen—

I’ll be the perfect little son you always wanted.

Jason’s eyes. Hurt and guarded and his brows furrowed. His hands clenching and his shoulders tense, as if he was bracing for the worst. Even under the sunlight he still saw that interaction in a weird light — why was it such a difficult thing to go back to how things were?

Don’t let him hurt himself like that, Bruce.

What did she know about Jason? They may have spent months together, but Bruce had Jason for years. He knew his son, and he knew the kind of person he could be. Sure, his time in the League and then with Jasmine he might have been influenced — but he could be good, if he tried hard enough.

Bruce looked up when he heard footsteps, hoping he could catch Jason and tell him he would accept his offer. It was the most logical solution, and even if he still didn’t understand why his chest kept being weird when he thought about their conversation; he knew it was best for everyone and that it was the most peaceful solution.

Jasmine was glued to his side, of course, when they walked in. She still looked pale and her eyes were distant, but she had a solid grip on his son’s hand as he guided her to the kitchen.

“Good morning, Master Jason.”

Alfred’s greeting went unanswered as the couple froze in the doorway. Jason frowned a little, and Bruce didn’t miss the slight gesture to place Jasmine behind his back. She also glanced at him without really looking at him, flinching when Bruce lifted his cup to them in greeting.

Alfred cleared his throat. “Breakfast will be ready shortly, the table has been already set.”

Jason’s relief could be tasted in the air. “Thank you, Alfie. Let’s go, darling.”

Jasmine hummed and quietly followed him out of the kitchen.

Bruce sipped his coffee. It was impossible to miss the mood shift. Even these past weeks, when they couldn’t be in the same room without an argument breaking out, Jason never acted so guarded.

Something was breaking. Something was changing right under his nose. Jasmine —

I love him. But I guess it doesn’t matter what I say.

Jasmine had flinched.

He remembered her trembling hands, how raw fear completely messed up her threats. How she looked at him with complete defeat.

Jason had explained before how she tried everything over the table before coming to him, and how broken up she was when they met. He had given a description of the things he found in his own research, but Bruce knew he was omitting some details, probably because they were too private or personal for Jasmine.

He had said that she gave up everything to avenge her brother, and how she had to beg and promise her godfather, a sketchy individual, for the money to pay the job.

Jason also had talked about her nightmares. How she saw her brother being pulled apart again and again by the GIW, by her parents, as she watched. How helpless she felt. There was a lot unsaid, but it didn’t take a genius to understand that Jasmine had many reasons and many people to fear.

And she was terrified of Bruce.

The thought made him stop.

Jasmine was terrified of him?

Is that why Jason was acting like… like this?

I’m done fighting, Bruce. You win, I guess.

Win? What did he win? There wasn’t a competition to win. He just wanted his son back, was that too difficult?

Jason’s voice cracked when he said he would do exactly that. Jasmine had said that it would break him.

Bruce looked at his hands grasping the coffee cup, suddenly not feeling tired anymore.

“Alfred.”

The older man hummed, going back to prepare breakfast for the couple. They didn’t even cross the threshold. They didn’t look at him more than a glance.

“Why do I feel like a villain?”

Alfred didn’t hesitate. “Because you have been acting like one.”

He hadn’t, had he?

It’s just—

He remembered Dick’s worried face. Alfred’s judging frown. Timothy lying to his face claiming homework as an excuse to not go on patrol with him.

Either Jasmine had managed to somehow brainwash everyone into feeling sorry for her enough to look past how she was taking Jason down with her—

Or Bruce was wrong.

About her, about everything.

“What do I do?”

The butler placed the scrambled eggs on a plate just as the toaster pinged and released the freshly toasted bread.

“As far as I can see, you have one last chance to make it right.”

He did. He didn’t have to take Jason’s or Jasmine’s offers, there was another option.

He stood up, taking the cup with him to refill it. As he did, he didn’t dare look Alfred in the eye. “Do you think there’s enough for three?”

The older man chuckled. “Way ahead of you, Master Bruce.” He turned, showing him there was enough toast and eggs prepared for everyone.

***

Jazz contemplated the zeta tube, trying to not get her hopes up just yet. Bruce may have done a one eighty, but that didn’t mean everything was fixed.

Once he apologized and acknowledged he had been a grade A asshole for the best part of a month, he promised to help. No strings attached. No mention to them giving up their life of crime or jabs at Jazz about killing her parents.

Jason had been distrustful for a few days but in the end he accepted it if she accepted it.

They still had to convince the Justice League.

Bruce warned them — he was still just one member of the League, and if the others were unconvinced, he couldn’t just steal the weapons for them. He could vouch and talk about his time knowing her, and he promised he would try his best to help.

Jazz’s relief was evident, guarded as it was. Hope was difficult to come by in their line of work, and she knew the tall task of convincing the Justice League that giving her confiscated weapons to re kill her mother was the right thing to do, as bad as it sounded.

“Are you sure?” She looked up at her boyfriend, smiling at his worried expression.

“I’m positive.”

Only one of them could go with Bruce to the Watchtower, and Jazz volunteered. It made sense — she was the only one deeply entwined with the problem, and she was the one that made the call to kill her parents.

“I worry.” He placed a hand on her cheek, the cold material of his gloves wasn’t uncomfortable at all.

“I know.”

“I want to go with you.”

“You can’t.”

“I know,” he sighed, leaning in to gently place his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes, feeling her presence. “I hate this, but— “

She hummed in agreement. This wasn’t the first time they had this conversation, and having it again in front of the zeta tube was not going to change the outcome. She was going, disarmed, with Bruce.

Jazz trusted Jason, and Jason trusted that Bruce was being truthful. That was enough.

A throat being cleared made them jump away from each other, turning to find Alfred and Dick, with Bruce approaching from the stairs. Dick’s little smile was refreshing after so much pain. He had been quick to like Jazz once he got to know her.

“Ready?” Batman asked, now next to the couple.

Jazz nodded, getting on the tip of her toes to quickly give her partner a kiss on the lips. “For good luck.”

“You think you are going to need it?” He asked, a smirk stretching his lips.

“I just wanted one.”

Both chuckled at the memory of another time, another place, and basked in the cozy feelings.

With a final nod, Jazz turned and joined Batman closer to the gate of the tube, head held high and shoulders thrown back.

Time to make her case.

***

Bruce watched Jazz closely since the moment they entered the Watchtower — maybe still wary about her murder tendencies, maybe to observe her behavior now that she was separated from Jason. Whatever he expected she was not it, since she looked exactly the same as she always did; a little bit sad but determined with the task in front of her.

She was very task oriented, so she didn’t stop for idle chat as they made their way through the Justice League base. Her steps were quiet, eerily quiet, just like his. He still couldn’t brush aside the discomfort of having another person know his techniques when he never actually participated in her training.

He heard her gasp, and turned to see what was wrong.

Jasmine was frozen in front of the nearest window, which gave an amazing view of the Earth from space. From being at the Watchtower so often, Bruce had gotten used to the views and usually just walked past without giving it much thought. Watching Jazz approach the reinforced glass holding her breath made him notice the astonishing view more than he did the first time he set foot in the space station.

He noticed one of her hands went for her neck and fished a necklace from under her shirt.

He had seen the chain before but he never asked about it, assuming it was a gift from Jason or something like that. Jazz didn’t strike him as a jewelry kind of woman, but he wasn’t curious enough to ask about it in case it was indeed a romantic gift from his son.

What an idiot he had been. He acted like he was concerned about their love being toxic but he actually just didn’t acknowledge their relationship as much as he possibly could.

“This was Danny’s.” Jazz’s voice cut him from his thoughts. He approached her and quietly waited for her to continue. “The only thing I could take from— When I ran away, there wasn’t much I could take.” He watched her fingers rub the piece of metal with a hole drilled in it. It was shiny from being rubbed like this many times. “Danny loved space. He had rocket models he put together himself.”

She looked back to the blue planet from the window, her voice trailing as much as her thoughts.

This was the first time Jazz actually talked about her brother to him directly, Bruce noticed. The first time she brought him up when they talked alone. She was usually fine with Jason doing the talking, or with him talking about her past to the others, including her past life back at Amity Park.

But she never talked to Bruce like this. She looked… vulnerable. In a way that wasn’t as broken and all over the place as she was when she tried to beg him back at the Manor.

“He would have loved the Watchtower.”

“Hm.” Bruce didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. He didn’t know the kid.

She glanced at him and smiled. “But it is better for all of us that he is not here now.” She put the makeshift necklace back where it usually rested, safe and sound. “Right?”

Bruce swallowed, unsure what would even be the right thing to say in this situation. Was she implying that Danny was better off dead? That he would hate confronting the Justice League? That he wouldn’t like having to kill their mother, who was turned into a wraith?

He nodded without really knowing what he was agreeing to and gestured towards the hallway that led to the meeting room he had prepared. She nodded back and continued walking.

Soon they were at the correct place, and Jazz froze at the door. He watched, waiting to see what she would do. She took a few fortifying breaths and nodded at him, signaling she was ready.

The meeting room was as it always was — pure chaos. The Justice League loved to appear professional and put together on TV, but reality is that sometimes Bruce almost yearned for his Gotham and herding Robin and Batgirl around every minute he spent with the League.

He cleared his throat, calling everyone’s attention.

Jazz’s feet make a bit of noise as she shuffled in discomfort at the looks from all the heroes in the room.

“Hi, Batman.” Clark greeted first with a polite smile. “And guest.”

Someone swallowed.

The others had been roughly briefed about the topic they would discuss that day, and Bruce could already see some of the frowns of clear disagreement. The weapons and technology they found in the Fenton household had been deemed too dangerous to even try to analyze. They were stored safely and untouched next to the other artifacts they keep hidden, just in case.

If he didn’t know Jazz and her situation like he did, he would have joined the ranks of the people against letting her have them.

“This is Jasmine Fenton,” her eyebrows twitched at hearing her real name, but she had agreed that she wouldn’t try to hide anymore, “and you should hear what she has to say.”

Without any other comment he glided towards his seat and gestured to Jazz to begin. No need for pleasantries. With a wraith loose in his city he wasn’t inclined to waste time.

He ignored everyone’s eyes on him. It was unusual for the Dark Knight to blatantly show this support with an unknown, specially when dangerous weapons were involved.

“Hi,” her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “I am… well.” She ran a hand through her hair and glanced at Bruce, who nodded in encouragement. “As Batman said, I am Jasmine, Jasmine Fenton,” she swallowed hard as she said the last name. “My parents were Madeline and Jackson Fenton, who created all that anti-ghost technology you guys removed from my house about a year ago.”

Bruce could see a bunch of people were already twitching to interrupt her and speak up, ask her more about her story, ask her all the unanswered questions back when they were alerted of the Anti-Ecto Laws and found the destroyed labs.

“My… I need those weapons.” Jazz approached the table and placed her hands on the surface, eyes glaring at the pristine white material. “I knew they would be safe with you guys, it has always been my intention to bury everything, every gun, every device, every research; I knew it would be best if it was stored away wherever the Justice League keeps the doomsday devices and cursed amulets.

“But things have changed — my mother is back. Madeline is back. And those weapons,” she jabbed her finger against the table, making a point, “are the only thing that can stop her. I need you to help me kill my mother again.”

***

Jazz felt spent after defending her case for about an hour and a half. It was hard, and the Justice League loved to get distracted by questions that didn’t matter — what were ectoentities, who did the GIW really work for, who else was involved, how did they die, how did Maddie and Jack die.

No more secrets, she promised. Bruce helped her go through some of the questions since he knew all that information already. She watched as he skillfully redirected the questioning far away from Jason’s involvement in this whole thing without actually lying, offering just enough truth to satisfy his colleagues.

What a hypocrite. Always obsessed with knowing everyone’s secrets but refusing to give his own.

But she promised to behave, so she did, and after reliving the worst years of her life in front of a crowd of judging superheroes, she was asked politely to wait outside for the verdict.

She could still hear them discuss though. Did Bruce forget about her little ectoplasm-related enhancements? Or maybe he didn’t and he counted on her listening in.

Whatever was the case, Jazz paced outside the meeting room as she listened to her supporters and detractors pull apart her words and memories, talking about things she didn’t want anybody else to know. Danny would have hated sharing so much about his secrets, but Danny…

Danny wasn’t there.

Danny was—

“Jasmine.”

She looked up, startled. She didn’t hear the door open. Wonder Woman was there, gesturing her in with a warm smile. Diana had been supportive of her cause almost immediately, with the reasoning that if Batman vouched for her then she trusted her.

“Yes?”

“We have decided.”

She nodded and followed back inside with her head high and her back straight. She had been listening to the discussion go back and forth, but missed the actual verdict.

The heroes watched her intently, some with a slight frown, some with a curious smile.

Bruce was smiling one of his invisible smiles. Jason always said that understanding B’s microexpressions was an art in itself, and by this time she was starting to understand his wisdom.

Superman cleared his throat. “You can take the weapons,” she let go of the breath she didn’t know she had been holding, “but we will supervise and log what you take. And when it is… done,” he made a face, the topic of Maddie’s murder and wraith status had affected him, “you will return everything as it is. Do you accept these conditions?”

Jazz was already nodding. “Yeah! I don’t think I’ll need a lot. Just let me see what you managed to salvage.”

Having decided, the meeting was adjourned and almost everyone left the room as soon as it was declared done. Bruce stayed behind with Jazz, same as Diana, who watched Jazz with curious eyes.

“You have suffered, child.” She said in a soft voice. “I grieve for you.”

Jazz nodded, not knowing how to feel about the comment. Grief? Grieving was for the dead, and she was still alive. For a long while, that had been her problem.

She looked aside, feeling uncomfortable with her thoughts.

“Shall we?” Bruce took pity on her and asked her to follow him towards wherever the Fenton tech was stored.

The walk was long, but she didn’t mind it. It gave her time to focus back on the task and recenter herself after the grating discussion of her past in front of total strangers. She just had to suck it up and power through the discomfort, get what she needed and go back to Jason’s arms and brainstorm strategies with him.

Bruce guided her deeper and deeper into the guts of the Watchtower, sadly away from any windows that showed Earth and the stars.

“Here,” he stopped at a seemingly inconspicuous wall and placed his hand against a panel. There was a beep and the wall opened to show a computer. He typed something on the keyboard and a robotic voice requested a code. “Batman, B01.”

Another beep and the walls hissed before splitting open to show a giant storage room.

He went first, Jazz followed.

The room was floor to ceiling full of different things — weapons, jewelry, paintings, anything you could imagine. Some were easy to guess why the Justice League kept under lock and key, but others were more mysterious in nature.

Finally, he stopped at the back of the room, where a few crates were pushed to the side. They were labeled and carefully cataloged with numbers she couldn't decipher, but probably were some kind of League storage organization.

She did recognize her own last name written on the label.

This was it. Everything that was left of her childhood, reduced to a bunch of boxes.

She chuckled at the situation.

Under Batman's supervision she got to work. After a moment it was easy to ignore his quiet presence and got into the flow of opening a crate and rummaging through the items looking for what she knew was familiar.

Sometimes Bruce asked her questions she found easy to answer — what does this device do, what's an ecto signature, why did her parents use a toaster as a base for that. Jazz got into a comfortable stream of words and memories, feeling lighter as she revisited a past she had been trying so hard to forget. Maybe it was exactly because it was Bruce, and not Jason, who listened that made the detachment of her emotions and her memories work. It was less raw, it was less painful, but she still got lost in the memories and remembered facts that had drowned in the grief for so long.

Soon she made a pile with weapons and devices she knew she would need and aligned with Batman how exactly she planned to use them.

“What is this?” Batman asked with the same neutral but curious tone.

Jazz turned, finding him holding a wooden box in his hands. It wasn't a gun, and it wasn't anything she had ever seen before. She'd think that Bruce misplaced an artifact with her family's stuff if she couldn't clearly see the Fenton symbol burned on the lid.

She took the box and turned it in her hands, trying to guess what it was. Inside something rattled, something made of glass, and she decided against shaking the box just in case.

She opened it.

Inside she found a single glass marble. It was dull and cracked and she could guess it was supposed to be a light blue in color.

Jazz screamed, one hand rushing to her mouth.

She knew what this was.

How?

Why?

Bile rushed up her throat and she barely had time to push the box away from her before throwing up on her shoes.

“Jasmine?” Bruce carefully closed the box and put it on a shelf, but Jazz wasn't paying attention.

How?

How?

“Jazz? Talk to me. Breathe.”

Breathe? She tried to breathe but air wasn't coming. She was hyperventilating. She needed to calm down, she needed to leave, she needed to close her eyes and disappear.

But the box was still there. On the shelf. He was still there. In the box. On the shelf.

She went back to the box, slapping Bruce's hand away. She needed to see it again, see with her own eyes, to feel it.

The marble — the core — Danny's core was still there, in the box, on the shelf. But Danny was gone. They looked for him. They looked so hard for him.

She opened the box and the dull piece of glass greeted her back. She lifted a hand to touch it, expecting it to be cold. One time, Danny explained he had an ice core and that if a human tried to touch it they would be frozen in seconds. He had been excited about it, talking about thermodynamics and ghosts' wacky physics.

But Danny wasn't here anymore.

The piece of rock was warm to the touch.

Danny is dead.

He was dead and his core was stored amongst velvet in a repurposed jewelry box.

Danny is dead.

“I can't feel you.”

***

“They're taking their sweet time huh?”

Jason ignored Dick and continued reading his book, not at all glancing at the zeta tube and wondering if he should start assuming the Watchtower was on fire and Jazz needed a rescue. Bruce promised he would be there for her and Jason believed him.

But it has been hours and he knew how difficult the situation was for his girlfriend. He wished he could be there for her but Bruce could only take one guest at a time and Jazz was the best option and of course, she's a strong independent woman, but still, after everything he worried and—

“Oh finally.”

The telltale rumble of the zeta tube coming back to life was a blessing. He immediately stood up and approached the machine, ignoring his brother's snickers as he followed.

He expected to greet his beloved with open arms, maybe a twirl or two to celebrate her success — because of course he knew she'd be victorious — but he didn't expect to be pushed aside and be left in the dust with a confused sibling and their silent father. Jazz ran directly towards the stairs and disappeared before he could question why she was crying.

He turned towards his next best target.

“What did you do.” It wasn't a question.

Bruce had already removed his cowl. He looked tired.

“I didn't do anything. Calm down.”

“Did the League say no?”

Bruce shook his head at his eldest son. “Agreement was favorable. She can take what she needs as long as she gives it back.”

Jason looked between the stairs and Bruce. Console Jazz or get answers.

“Then what—?”

Bruce brought out a box from somewhere in his cape. Robins still had a theory the cape was some kind of bag of holding.

“From what I could gather,” his expression was very serious, more than the usual, “this box contains what remains of Jazz's brother. It was left behind at the house amongst the weapons so we took it, assuming it was some kind of power source. It… It wasn't.”

He opened the box, showing a cracked little glass sphere. This is all that remained of Danny? And it was with experimental weaponry?

Dick and Jason looked at each other, their minds going to the same places.

***

Jazz had thrown up everything in her stomach and more, and she was past the guilt of ruining Alfred's carefully maintained garden. She hoped the old man understood.

She was hiding next to some bushes right outside the kitchen backdoor. It was the first place she collapsed in after finding a door and it was in the shade and outside and it was all she needed.

It was also quiet and away from everyone, and she sobbed in peace.

Danny is dead.

Danny has been dead and gone for a while.

How long?

Given how her parents had his core in a custom box, she guessed it had been a while, probably since the moment he died. Knowing them like she did, they would have harvested his organs for further analysis.

More bile shot up her throat. She almost didn't have the strength to retch this time.

“Need some water?”

She didn't look up, not wanting to face Dick.

“I came as a stand in. Your darling is being calmed down by Bruce and talked out of looking for your parents' ghosts and… well. You know him.”

This made her chuckle. Jason would descend to the deepest pit of hell and shoot everyone in his way down if a single soul hurt her.

Jazz accepted the offering of a cold water bottle. “Thanks.” Her voice was rough but she didn't care anymore.

Dick hummed and sat beside her, carefully away from where she had thrown up. He didn't mind the smell. Or her pathetic state.

“My brother is dead.”

The words came out on their own, as if a supernatural force dragged them up her irritated throat.

Dick nodded, but didn't say anything. He waited for her to continue.

“My brother is dead and my parents killed him.”

If it was another time, she would have hated sounding so small. She was being silly. Danny died a long time ago, why was she feeling so raw as if it just happened?

She had grieved. She had done her time.

More tears ran down her wet face. She thought she had run out of those but apparently not.

“They tortured him and then kept his core as a trophy.” She drank some of the water, feeling her mind getting sharper as she talked. “No. Not a trophy. It was research.”

It was used. Cracked. Dull.

Dick hummed again and this time she finally looked up.

“They experimented with him after his body was gone, right?”

The man controlled his face well as he nodded. “We think so too.”

Danny was dead, and had been for a long time, but didn't rest.

He didn't rest. And his core was used until there was nothing left of him.

He wasn't dead. He wasn't gone. If only she found him sooner—

“It's not your fault.” Dick stopped her spiraling thoughts. “Your brother's death. Is not your fault.”

“I could have contacted Jason sooner. I could have found his core sooner.”

Why didn’t he understand? Danny was her little brother and she failed him. She was supposed to take care of him and she let him fade.

And here she was, playing superheroes and getting cozy with some guy and trying to fit in with a new family?

Danny would never have that.

Danny was dead.

“But you didn't. You did what you could and it was enough.”

She shook her head. Nothing was enough. Her baby brother was gone.

“I didn't learn about Jason until I was back from a mission offworld. It was weeks. I learned my brother was dead because people told me they were sorry for my loss.”

Jazz already knew this, but nodded in encouragement.

“I… I felt like I failed my baby brother. We didn't start close but I grew fond of him and tried to be there, but I had the Titans and my team needed me more and more. I always thought that the kid was fine without me, that it was fine if I pursued my hero career away from Bruce's shadow and away from Gotham. Until I learned what happened. How Jason died. How Bruce pushed him away. And then I thought ‘If only I was around more, if only Jason felt more comfortable telling me things, if only.’”

“It wasn't your fault.”

Even as she said the words she understood the irony.

“I know that now, but I felt that way for so long.” He smiled, showing his dimples. “It really helped having Jason back, having this second chance.”

“Danny is gone.”

He nodded. “Danny is gone.” After a moment of silence he added: “There won't be a second chance and we can only guess. But from what you told us about him, he wouldn't like you thinking that any of that is your fault.”

She watched him, his calm smile under the sunlight, his strong shoulders. Is this what having an older sibling was supposed to be like?

She tried to speak but only more sobs came out. Dick made the choice for her and pulled her into his arms and flushed against his chest.

He didn't say anything else as she screamed and sobbed for the life she never had, for the brother she wouldn't have back and for the second chance she had been robbed of.

***

“You know, I can try to figure out the portal schematics.”

Jazz looked up from the Fenton insignia on the lid of the box. Tim looked small and unsure, looking at her briefly before averting his eyes.

The kid hadn’t been present for the worst of it, but the others must have told him what happened. He wouldn’t be so careful if they didn’t.

Jazz felt annoyed. She wasn’t going to break if her brother was mentioned. “Why would you do that?”

Tim took her question as an invitation and walked closer, sitting down next to her on the steps of the back porch.

“I read,” he made a face, both knew whose research he had read exactly, “that spirits can be dormant in their core and the right amount of ectoplasm could jumpstart it back.”

Jazz opened the box, proud when her hands didn’t tremble. It’s been a few days and she was still recovering but at least it didn’t hurt to see the little glass core as much as it did.

“Like a car battery?”

The other chuckled. He sounded so much like Danny. “Yeah. Like a car battery. But with ghosts.”

She smiled but couldn’t gather the energy to laugh. “Would you do that for me?”

The kid didn’t hesitate. “Of course! You saved my life.” He said it was a no brainer. “And you are part of the family now.”

If Jazz had the mental capacity to deal with it, she would have commented on the tone Tim’s voice had when he said the last comment — the longing and desire and frustration. She knew the circumstances in which he became Robin and how he felt about taking a mantle that wasn’t his.

But she just couldn’t deal with any of this right now.

“It’s okay,” she closed the box, breathing in slowly, “I don’t think it will be necessary. The world doesn’t need another Fenton portal. One had caused enough grief already.”

She ignored the look in Tim’s face and how he opened his mouth to comment but wisely chose to close it.

“What are you going to do?” He asked instead.

Jazz hadn’t seriously thought about it, but after a chat with Bruce the seed of an idea started taking root in her mind.

“Did it help? Having a funeral, the tombstone, keeping it all after he came back?”

She could see her own face reflected back when he answered. “It helped… for a while. What is harder is what to do after.”

“I think I’m going to bury him.” She lifted the box. “Danny never got a funeral. He was actually never declared legally dead. He was just… missing.”

Missing implies the possibility of him coming back. Missing meant she didn’t have a place to mourn.

She had asked Jason what he thought about his tombstone and he shrugged. “Funerals are for the living.” He had said.

Danny was gone and he wasn’t coming back.

Maybe it was time for her to move on.

***

Killing her own mother should have been a harder task than it actually was.

If it was another time, another place, she would have had a difficult time. Maybe she would have hesitated, or lacked resources or her plans would have crumbled down the minute her target’s erratic behavior overwhelmed her.

But she was not that person anymore.

Jasmine Fenton died when Daniel died. When her innocence was shattered by the same people that were supposed to protect her and her brother.

She had made something new, someone new, with the parts left behind in the destruction. She had become someone who knew how to plan, how to kill, how to pull the trigger when it mattered.

If she was another person, in another time, she would have found the emotional detachment aberrant as she took the shot that ended her mother.

But that was not her mother and she was not her daughter. The cycle of violence had to end.

Jazz was met with her favorite dish and plenty of hugs and a foot massage when she got back home. Jason didn’t ask her, and let her talk as much or as little as she wanted. He hummed or clicked his tongue as the conversation needed, but never stopped listening.

Bruce accepted her bag with the weapons without making a single comment, trusting that she was returning everything exactly as it was supposed to be. He didn’t ask anything, but pulled her into a hug and gave her a pat on her head that meant more than anything he could have said.

Tim and Dick never wandered too far, and helped her with figuring out the plans for the funeral. Her only request had been to plan it after she finished the business with her mother, and they patiently waited until she asked about it when she visited the Manor to give back the Fenton tech.

Jason was there every step of the way.

***

It wasn’t raining the day of Danny’s funeral. A miracle being Gotham.

Tucker had commented that maybe the city was giving her grace on such an important date.

Jazz chose to invite Danny’s friends after a long back and forth. Their parting words had been hurtful and they were completely against what she had done to avenge her brother, but she also felt like they deserved to know. About the funeral, about the core.

They booked the first flight to Gotham and stayed with Jason and her the week before the actual day, getting to know her and reconnect and reminisce about Danny.

They still didn’t approve of her life choices but at least had the decency to behave.

They guessed the whole Ghost and Red Hood thing pretty quickly, not that either of them was hiding. Fortunately for all the parties involved, nobody brought up the Batman elephant in the room, not even when they met the rest of the family.

The funeral was simple and to the point, and a very small event. Only the family and Sam and Tucker were there, who said a few words before Jazz put the wooden box with Danny’s core in the ground.

She didn’t cry during the ceremony. She had already cried enough.

“I still think it’s hilarious that you have a tombstone, dude.”

“What can I say? I dig it.”

Sam groaned while Tucker and Dick chuckled.

Jazz smiled and glanced at Jason’s grave next to Danny’s. It was weathered with time and the elements but you could still easily read Jason’s full name and date of birth and death.

Danny’s chosen death day was a hard debate between Sam, Tucker and herself — the date of the accident? The date when he was taken away? Or the date that Project P-001 perished, according to the GIW records?

In the end, just because Danny would have found it hilarious, they put the date of the portal accident.

Jazz almost jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned, finding Bruce watching her with a worried expression. Well, as worried as his usual neutral face could be.

“I’m okay.” She said, and it was the truth.

She was okay. More than okay — she was content. She had a home, she had love, she had a goal, she had hopes and dreams. She still missed Danny and mourned the life they could have had, but she had so much more than grief and pain inside now.

The clouds parted and sunshine fell on the cemetery, blinding her for a moment. She lifted her face to smile at the sun, basking in the warmth that enveloped her body like an embrace.

She was okay. She was alive.

It’s what Danny would have wanted.

---

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[yakumtsaki]

Dear readers, we've been through so much together and you know at this point it takes a lot for me to describe a situation as 'out of control'.. yet here we are. So Kea moves in and the following happens in the span of like 2 hours:

Barth beats up Felina.

Kea beats up Spice.

Barth beats up Cyan.

Felina beats up Barth. Like seriously, ENOUGH. I've decided that next generation when we're at the third cousin tier relation I'm just gonna let whoever wants to date a cousin do it because holy hell, breaking them up has been a disaster. Everyone is near aspiration failure, everyone has shit grades, we're BROKE, and to top it all off..

-HELLO AGAIN

Why. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING WE DON'T OWE ANY BILLS LIKE THIS IS LITERAL THEFT. I also love how everyone is already so miserable so the repoman just comes and takes all the fun objects we can't afford to replace, FML

Barth's aspiration meter is absolutely pathetic as a result of everyone viciously assaulting him and desperate times call for desperate measures..

-Well well.. If it isn't Glitched Butler #9.. How's it hanging? ;)

-Same as always, I'm here to not cook and to open the doors we no longer have thanks to Baby.

-You know what, I'm too depressed to seduce you so will you just sleep with me?

-As you well know my butler programming prohibits me from doing anything helpful!

FFS. It's ok Barth, I will fulfill your throw a party want, I don't see how anything could go wrong with the situation in this house being what it is!

-Hey there! Join our party! Sleep with me! I COMMAND YOU

Barth please get it together.

-I CAN'T FUNCTION ROMANTICALLY BECAUSE I'M SO SAD BUT I REFUSE TO THROW ANY WANTS THAT DON'T INVOLVE ME SLEEPING WITH SOMEONE

OK DO YOU MAYBE SEE THE PROBLEM WITH THAT APPROACH

-NO

-Ugh, Spice is so hot when he's crying after I beat him up.

Ok Kea, I'm only gonna ask this once: are you fucking kidding me????

-What? It's only natural to be attracted to your girlfriend's ex who is her cousin and your enemy.

I'm just gonna pretend I didn't see this shit and move on.

So I have invited several of Barth's existing and potential lovers to this party and my goal is to figure out who, if anyone, I'm gonna marry him to. Now please enjoy this sequence of events:

a) Barth is flirting with my current top spouse pick, Stella Terrano, and it's going great!

b) Barth leaves Stella Terrano to go sleep with GODDAMN GUNNAR. Since I can't seem to shake this fucker off, the only option remaining is to give him a ridiculous fake accent to make him bearable.

-Oi luvs you, Barth!

-Why are you talking like a servant from Downton Abbey? Also who the hell caught me cheating now?

Who knows or cares? Let's continue:

c) Barth goes downstairs to beat up Cyan.

d) Klara aka my former top spouse pick attempts to leap into Barth's arms and HE LETS HER DROP

-Äääääh mein arsch!

-Sorry Klara but I refuse to get caught cheating by Gunnar..

-..unless it's with Stella Terrano!

LOL OMG, I really thought I'd have to marry him to fucking Gunnar due to THIS SHIT:

But God's mercy finally shines upon me!!!

Oh man I'm so upset by this >:)

-Ha culd youse do 'is, ya broke ma 'eart!!!

-What?

-Oh my, turtles are considered the sexiest animal in my planet👽

Stella ffs. Oh well, so sad, goodbye Gunnar, I was really hoping to add your freakish lack of chin into our gene pool but looks like I won't have the chance huhu!

e) Barth flirts with Stella again and is caught cheating AGAIN..

f) ..by Sarah Love who I keep forgetting exists but man that's a HARDCORE slap, she legit got her fingers in his eyeball(s)

-SORRY WHATSYOURNAME BUT I THINK BLINDING ME IS A BIT OF AN OVERREACTION

Yay! See Barth, our amazing party did the trick and now everything is gonna be ok!

-IM BLIND IM BLINDDDD I CAN'T SEE

Excuse me?! You know what Barth I'm done helping you, nothing is ever good enough for you!

[beautysamour]

hihi!!! hope your doing well :) i was wondering if you could pls write a kenji ff of like an enemies to lovers kinda thing where the reader is always angry at kenji but slowly starts to loosen up ig. i hope that makes sense!! you can change it up ofcc ^^

Shameless

✧ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: kenji kishimoto x reader

✧ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: kenji kishimoto, mentioned juliette ferrars

✧ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: hatred and love are truly two sides of the same coin.

✧ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: reader slowly falling for kenji

✧ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.2k

✧ 𝐚/𝐧: set during the second/third-ish book. hope you’re doing well too ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

Kenji has this gift, ability, to turn invisible. It’s quite beneficial during missions and for most things really, like sneaking out late at night when everyone is supposed to be asleep or suddenly disappearing when someone you didn’t like was looking for you, or even better, scaring someone.

“You fucking asshole!”

You stared at Kenji in disgust as he feigned ignorance, a laugh slipping out with every other word, “What? All I did was say hi.”

You craned your head to the side, every inch on your body screaming at you to punch him, “Yeah, you pop out of nowhere right as I was about to shoot a fucking arrow through a place where there’s people I could possibly hit!”

He tsked, “I don’t see how that’s my problem, really, you shouldn’t even be shooting arrows in a crowded place anyways.”

He didn’t bother hiding the growing smirk on his face as you closed your eyes while taking a deep breath in.

You turned around opening your eyes and walked towards your target without saying another word, “It’s kind of rude to leave in the middle of a conversation, babe.”

You threw a middle finger back at him, you could feel a migraine forming as you hear him yell out an irritating “Love you too!”

✩ ✩

You set down your bow finally having used all your arrows, and a complete practice session. You allowed yourself to feel slightly smug as you walked towards the target, all arrows but one scattered all over the tens. The other one on the bullseye.

“Wow, you actually hit the target.”

And just like that your migraine is back.

“I’ve been hitting the target ever since I picked up a bow and arrow.”

“Ok nimrod, I see you.”

You slowly turn your head towards Kenji, “What did you just call me?” You reached for an arrow causing Kenji to lift his hands in the air as if he was surrendering.

“I called you a skillful hunter.”

“That’s not what a nimrod is—“

“Yes it is—“

“No, it is not—“

“If dictionaries were around I’d tell you to look through one, but for now you’re gonna have to trust me on this—“

“You’re a fucking nimrod!”

“Thanks—?”

“It’s not a compliment!”

Kenji looked at you amused. You were so easy to rile up. “Alright, alright. You can ask Juliette to ask Warner if you really think I’m lying.”

You roll your eyes turning to the target and start pulling of your arrows, “Yeah I just might.”

“Do you need help with that?” Kenji took a step forward not really waiting for an answer. Using your free hand you pushed against Kenji’ chest, not realizing the implication you might’ve sent him.

“It’s fine, you might break one.”

Kenji stayed still for a moment— and only just that, not a second too short or long. “‘m not that clumsy.”

“Don’t want to take any chances.” As you pulled off the last arrow you turned yourself to Kenji, “Why are you here?”

His back straightened as if he was waiting for you to ask that, “Wanna have dinner?”

You cringed at him, “It’s too late for that.”

He raised a brow, “That’s your excuse?”

You rolled your eyes again, “Sure.” Without saying another word you turn on your heel and walk away from him, leaving him alone in the target zone— Kenji knew better than to follow.

Still, he didn’t bother saying any flirty last minute quips as you gathered your stuff and left the training area. He had more pressing thoughts going through his head.

He knew he annoyed you, hell, you annoyed him too. Your keen air that never applied with him, your short and straight to the point responses, the way your eyes bored into his, the way you never needed his help because you were so skilled in everything you do. The way that you’ve never looked at him the way you do your target, determined, focused, that pure hunger for hitting the target— all your attention on it.

The way you don’t hide your dislike for him, never wanting to be near him, never wanting to touch him, never wanting him.

It drew him insane, the way you were so distant with him despite being right there.

So when you touched his chest just a few minutes ago, showing him a new side of you— one that isn’t revolted at the thought of touching him— it was enough to make him want more. To want you more.

But— he knew these feelings were one sided, and he respected that despite how much he teases you. He only hopes you could grow to see him as a friend, that much would suffice.

✩ ✩

It was practically common knowledge that you didn’t exactly like Kenji Kishimoto. You had a scowl on your face every time he spoke with you, you’d reject all invitations—professional and casual—from him, and you never batted an eye whenever he got hurt.

So your current actions had everyone’s attention on you and him.

“How did you even get hurt,” you lightly lift his arm so you could wrap his bicep with the gauze, “You can literally turn invisible.”

“Yeah, invisible. Not into a ghost.”

You scoffed, extremely annoyed more so than usual. “Still, why did you even make yourself visible?”

He cocked his head to you, eyes boring into yours, “Because I didn’t realize we were going to get fucking attacked.”

He turned his head away from you, for the first time being the one to end the conversation short. An uncomfortable feeling settled in your stomach at the realization for some reason, you pushed it off as just being worried about a friend.

Friend?

You finished wrapping the gauze around his arm, shaking your inner thoughts away you grabbed another roll of gauze, “Can you take off your shirt? I have to gauze it.”

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell me that, I know. Why else would you ask me to take it off.” You furrowed your brows, the feeling getting worse.

You forced yourself to look away as he took off his shirt, only looking back when he said you could.

It was silent as you wrapped the gauze around his torso and chest, uncomfortably silent. You’ve had to re-wrap it multiple times already, this being the third. It was weird. Kenji was acting weird.

“Hey, you ok?”

You jumped at the sound of his voice, dropping the gauze. You sighed not sure what was wrong with you today, “Sorry, yeah I’m fine.”

Kenji watched the wrapped gauze loosen itself around his body, unwrapping it fully with his own hands, “You sure?”

He handed you the gauze messily thrown together, looking at you with that stupid expression of worry as if he wasn’t acting like he was annoyed to be receiving help from you just a few minutes ago.

You carefully grabbed the gauze from his hands not wanting to hurt his already wrapped fingers, “I should be asking you that.”

“Perfectly fine sweetheart, thanks for asking,” he replied sarcastically, his back facing you slowly making you irritated.

You swallowed the insults that were sitting just on the tip of your tongue, “It’s my job—“

“Yeah, mhm, no need to remind me.”

“Ok, what the hell is wrong with you today?” You set down the gauze and focused your attention to his face—his eyes—“What’s with the attitude?”

His gaze settled somewhere behind you, probably at Juliette, before meeting your gaze with an irritating smile, “‘m hurt. Not really in the mood to kiss your ass today.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “Kiss my ass?”

His eyes dropped to one of your hands, “Are you gonna finish wrapping the gauze around me now, or am I going to have to go to sleep with my wound out in the open?”

Ignoring him you say, “So being a decent human being is kissing someone’s ass now?”

He raised a brow, “Uh, no?”

You furrowed your brows at him, the feeling of annoyance not coming to you—but instead a dreading feeling of sadness?

“Then why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like this,” you motion to Kenji, “Like it’s a burden to be in here.”

Kenji’ previous irritation turned into amusement. You were right, it was a burden to be in here, to be with you.

It was childish and Kenji knew he was being childish, he told himself he was fine just being your friend— and he is! Was. That only lasted for a few more days. He didn’t know how else to get your attention and now that he finally has it, he can’t help but be petty. The only way he could get your attention was if he was hurt, and it made him feel pathetic.

“Well you’d be a terrible nurse.”

You rolled your eyes. You weren’t sure what response you were expecting from him. No, it’s not a burden, I like being with you! Kenji is incapable of showing you in particular genuine emotion, it was stupid to want to hear something else.

“Thanks, such a nice thing to say.”

“You’re welcome.”

The next few minutes you took wrapping the gauze around his torso was filled with silence, just as the rest of the night.

✩ ✩

“Come on, we have to get you back.”

You tug the arm leaning against the back of your neck to tighten Kenji’ grip as you mustered the strength to support his body weight once you stood up.

“Wow, you didn’t say something rude to me.”

“Well you’re hurt, scolding you isn’t my priority right now,” you clear your throat in an attempt to cover up the way your voice broke mid-sentence.

Kenji began to laugh but got cut off with a groan as his newest wound rubbed against the cloth of your clothing.

You winced and adjusted the way he was leaning against you, “Sorry.”

Kenji eyed you suspiciously, “Woah, is this really the Y/N I know?”

“Kenji, shut up—“

“An “I’m sorry.” Wow that’s new,” he continues, “What did you do with the real Y/N.”

You ignore his teasing, focusing on getting the two of you out of this place. After a few minutes, Kenji quiets down. He’s gotten heavier, depending more on your body to support his as his head starts to tilt side to side.

You tighten your grip around his waist, “Kenji, we’re almost there.”

He slurs out an “okay” as his head finally finds a place to rest on—your head.

The worried feeling you’ve had since you found him starts to become more intense at his act of weakness, and it only continues to get worse until you see the base.

“Finally,” you whisper. Kenji presses his head impossibly closer to yours, you shudder when you realize how close you two are to each other.

His entire body is practically on you. His head leaned against yours, his arm that has fallen to your lower back, his upper body rested right against yours, and his legs so close they bump against yours as you walk. Your breath hitched when you felt his hand wrap around the arm that was wrapped around his waist.

“How do you feel?”

Kenji doesn’t respond for a few seconds. “Could be better.”

You drop the conversation after his answer, you’re assuming that he probably doesn’t want to talk while he’s bleeding from his side. It’s been about two weeks since your little moment with him and the gauze, this is the first time you’ve actually spoken to him since— and he’s definitely been on your mind.

“Did you get hurt?” You ignore the tingling sensation you get when he start to rub circles against your arm.

“I’m alright.”

“That’s good, would’ve made the entire worthless if you did.”

You slightly falter in your steps, “You going visible nearly caused us to lose you. That would’ve been a huge loss for us, Kishimoto.”

He laughed and you could feel the vibrations from where his head and yours connected, “Not as huge of a loss as losing you.”

You furrow your brows at his words, “No, your invisibility is crucial for us. I still don’t understand why you went visible again.”

“Went visible for you.”

The words went straight over your head, “Ok, and the first time?”

“Went visible for you then too.”

“That’s a dumb excuse, at least try to make it logical—“

“I went visible for you. Both times,” he says, voice slightly raised, then cringes at the new wave of pain that hits him, and only then do you process his words.

You want to stop walking to be able to face him and take to him face to face, but your top priority is to get him to Sara and Sonya so this awkward position will have to do, “Why would you go visible for me?”

“To make sure the fuckers that were going after you went after me instead.”

You knew Kenji had some kind of favoritism towards you with how often he’d seek you out but you assumed that was only because you didn’t drool over him when you first saw him.

“I would’ve been able—“

“To protect yourself, yes I know. You’re a nimrod, but you aren’t invincible. You were out in the open with no good hiding places, whereas with me, I can turn invisible.”

“And then you ended up getting hurt!”

“—I was able to escape,” he winces when his wound rubs against you again, “I was able to get away,” he repeats, “because of my invisibility.”

That didn’t matter to you though, what mattered— still— was that he got hurt and it only made it worse now that you know he technically got hurt because of you, “And because of me, you had a huge wound on your chest, and because of me again, you have a new wound down the side of your body.”

He grunted, you force yourself to think it was solely because of the pain since the thought of Kenji being upset was strangely upsetting for you.

“Well you’re welcome anyways—“

“—I’m not afraid of death, Kenji,” you interrupt, “I’d much rather die than see you get hurt for me.”

Kenji stayed quiet for a few seconds, and as you took more steps the seconds turned into minutes before he spoke again, “I feel the same with you.”

Despite being upset about him putting himself in the line of fire for you, you couldn’t help the smile that started to form at his words. You slightly adjust your grip around his waist, “Since we feel the same about the topic, let’s make a promise?”

“What kind?” 

“Stop trying to protect me—“

“Hey—“

“—Just listen, would you?” His silence gave you the chance to continue, “And I’ll be more careful so you won’t be forced to protect me.”

You felt him press his head harder against yours again, “….Ok.”

“Deal?” You continue, not considering “ok” as a reasonable answer.

“Yeah, yeah…ok, deal.”

✩ ✩

“Let’s go get dinner.”

Kenji nearly choked on his water. You, asking him, to get dinner? What the hell was up with you?

“Uh, are you ok?”

“Yes?” You’re holding your bow and arrow since you just finished shooting at some targets, and now you were hungry. Kenji always asked to get dinner so you didn’t have to think hard about asking him to come with.

“Oh, ok. Sure—“

“Great, come on,” you grab Kenji’ hand and don’t take a second longer to start dragging him behind you, “We might miss dinner.”

Kenji’ eyes widen behind you, you’ve been a lot more touchy with him these past few month since you found him bleeding out from his upper body. Don’t get him wrong, he’s not complaining. It’s just a nice change.

Before he knows it, you let go of his hand as the both of you enter the eating area. You’re quick to get his food as he chases after you trying to keep up with your quick pace.

“You always this active at night?” He asks as you pick up two pairs of utensils for the both of you.

“Depends on what’s happening, but more so yes then no.”

“Alright,” he whispers as you speed walk away from him and to a table.

“So, how was your day?” You ask when he sits down in front of you, your fork properly mixing your food together.

“It was alright. How was yours, nimrod?”

You laugh a little at the nickname, you’ve indeed asked Warner straight up if the word had any other definition than idiot, and he confirmed it to have meant how Kenji defined it too.

“Same as any other day,” you look up from your food to glance at Kenji, “How are your wounds?”

Kenji let out a disgruntled sigh, “It’s been six months, I’m completely fine, stop worrying about them.”

You’re about to argue him on that but decide that it’s not worth fighting over, “I just want to make sure you’re ok.”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“That’s good,” you reply slightly dejectedly, feeling as if you annoyed him. You avoid looking up at him and focused on the food in front of you.

Kenji, who was also in front of you, felt bad. Even though you weren’t looking at him, you still had those puppy dog eyes, and Kenji wanted to scream at himself.

You just cared, you were only concerned about his well being, if anything he should be happy. All he’s ever wanted was your care and now he has it and he’s fumbling hard. So he reluctantly taps the space in front of your food causing you to look at him.

Fucking puppy dog eyes, “Thank you for asking though.”

For some reason, for literally no reason at all, Kenji doesn’t go along with the saying “Thank you.” It feels awkward, and it shows with how stiff his movements have suddenly become.

“Oh—you’re welcome.” You respond with a smile as if he thanked you for finding the cure for all sicknesses.

Kenji responded with only a nod before picking up his utensils and beginning to eat. Silence settled between the two of you, you kept your head down only looking up to see how much Kenji has eaten only to meet Kenji’ eyes directly which caused you to drop your head quicker than the speed of your arrows.

You aren’t sure when it started, you think it was when you found him knocking on deaths door but it might’ve been from even before that.

Kenji doesn’t annoy you anymore. Suddenly the days went from dreading the moment you’d meet him throughout the day to waiting hopelessly for when he’d come around. You think, no, you’re sure it’s because of the promise you’ve made, it makes you feel closer to him as if he was an actual friend.

But that’s not all, suddenly, you went from only seeing him for his invisibility ability to seeing him as come kind of comfort place.

It was killing you to know if he still thought of you that way too.

Kenji on the other hand kept his eyes on you as he ate, not because he wanted too, but to make sure you didn’t choke on your food with how fast you were eating it.

“Hey, slow down a bit, you’re gonna end up choking and dying.”

And you do just that, you slow down.

Kenji tilts his head, admittedly a little worried, “So why’d you—“

“—Why did you—,” the both of you ask at the same time.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, “Continue.”

“No,” he replied quickly, “You can go first.”

You stare at him expectantly. Then you continue, “Ok,” you take a short inhale before locking eyes with him again, eyes sharp and attentive, “Why did you always follow me around?”

He widens his eyes for a second, suddenly unable to speak. Why did he always follow you around?

“You were new.”

You keep eye contact with him, hoping he’d say more but he didn’t. Unsatisfied with his answer give him a short nod and only say, “Right.”

Kenji can’t help but feel that he did something wrong by your reaction, but it was true! Well, half true.

He clears his throat, the air suddenly suffocating, “So…why’d you invite me to dinner again?”

Nervousness started to creep into your veins, you weren’t sure if you wanted to risk everything and confess or just call it night.

Little did you know that Kenji wasn’t asking for new information, but was looking for confirmation.

You mumbled something, something he didn’t quite hear.

“What?”

You mumble again, somehow even more quieter than the last time.

“What?”

“For fuck’s sake Kenji,” you grumble out, “Why did you use to invite me out for dinner?”

“What—?”

You interrupt him, “I like being around you,” you say half truthfully, “And—“ you’re about to say the entire truth but decide against it feeling self conscious all of a sudden.

“And I was hungry.”

You start to fiddle with your fingers when he doesn’t respond immediately.

“And that’s all?” He finally asks.

And you reply, “Yes,” with a heavy heart.

“Well that’s…a little stupid.”

You whip your head up, confused at his words, “What?”

He snorts, “Now you’re saying what,” he mumbles. He takes a bite out of his food before speaking again, “It’s just kind of a dumb excuse.”

You narrow your eyes at him, even more confused now, “It’s not an excuse.”

He gives you a nod fakely agreeing with you, “Yeah, I mean, the reason why I always asked you out for dinner was definitely because I was just hungry,” he nods again, “No other reason.”

You look at him suspiciously, eyes still narrowed, “Okay…”

Kenji waits for a second seeing if you’d do anything else and he internally shakes his head when you don’t, “Ah, fuck it,” he groans out, “Hey, I like you.”

This gets you to drop the narrowed expression and cause you to widen your eyes, “You—“

“Yes, like, I like you.”

You look at him dumbfounded, eyes widened and mouth dropped open. You weren’t really expecting a confession tonight so the whole thing threw you off.

Kenji, the saint that he is, kept the conversation going. With a cheeky smile he leaned forward, elbows on the table and his hands supporting his head, “Wanna try answering my question again?”

You blinked, once, twice. You dropped your gaze from him trying to recollect your thoughts and the ability to form coherent thoughts.

“Um,” you begin, “I…”

“Mhm,” he hummed egging you on.

“I like you,” you say almost as an exhale. You close your eyes for a few moments feeling like you just ran a marathon.

A smile formed on Kenji’ face, one unbeknownst to you, but it was stifled by him as quickly as it came. “That doesn’t really answer my question though,” he playfully tsks.

You slowly open your eyes, your entire body feeling warm. You raise a brow, giving him the silent question of what do you mean?

He shakes his head as if he’s disappointed as he leans closer to you, “Still doesn’t tell me why you asked me out for dinner.”

You slowly tilt your head, “It’s because I like you.”

“Yeah, well a lot of people like me sweetie,” he tilts his head to the side mirroring your body language, “However not everyone asks me to get dinner with them.”

You’re sure he’s teasing you judging from his tone and how he mirrors your own body, but you play along nonetheless, “Because not everyone has romantic feelings for you, Kenji, not like me.”

“Oh,” he teases, “So you have romantic feelings for me now? What happened to the nimrod I knew just a few months ago who never wanted to spend time with me?”

You roll your eyes, your composure quickly coming back to you, “Doesn’t matter.”

“No?”

“Kenji,” you say as you close your eyes again, getting affectionately annoyed, “Why are you teasing me?”

“What would you rather me do, sweetie?”

You groan at the term of endearment, your brain getting mushy at the thought of being intimate with him, “There’s a lot I’d rather you do.”

“Like?” He asks, egging you on again.

You look down at his lips then back to his eyes, then back to his lips again, and you decide to stay like this.

“Kissing sounds like a good idea, yeah?”

Kenji raises a brow, “You want to make out in front of the kitchen staff?” He asks feigning innocence.

You shake your head at his sarcasm at push yourself away from the table and him. “Uh—where are you going?” Kenji asks as you get up from the table.

“My room,” you say nonchalantly as you throw away your half eaten food.

“Wait,” you stop mid stride as he yelled out to you, “You don’t want to make out anymore?”

You chuckle at how those words sound coming from his mouth, “Just go to my room?”

“It’s a little difficult to not raise suspicion if I go there, no?”

You shrug, “Just turn invisible. That’s one of the reasons why it’s such a beneficial ability to have.”

Kenji opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He drops his head, nodding at your wonderful idea. “Yeah,” he chuckles, “I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

Old habits die hard, so you nod and turn around being the one to end the conversation—and you try not to run down the hall.

[chdarling]

Hello darling,

I hope you're all right and everything's going well for you. I just wanted to write to you to let you know that I just finished the second book of The Last Enemy (and because of the ending I'm kinda dying to see what the hell is coming next). I'm not gonna ask you when you're planning to release the third book, as I'm sure many people already delight you with such question. I just wanted to say that your fic became, in a few weeks, very important to me.

I started reading the first book around mid-December, when I was still in London. I've been a marauders fan since 2019, but obviously when I got the chance to study a whole semester in London I became obsessed with them again (that city is magical, I swear). The point is, now I'm back at home in Italy, and it's so strange for me to think about the fact that I started this story when I was still in my uni dorm. Leaving London has been very difficult, but somehow, this ff has really helped me go through it and made it easier. I really miss reading it already, and it's only been two days. I swear I don't know what to do with my life now.

I grew to love your characters deeply, they have a special place in my heart. What I really loved about your writing is how canon they are, as an old fan I kinda struggle to appreciate the characterization of the marauders in the new fandom, and it's really not easy to find someone who writes about them in such a canonical way. I loved how you managed to give all of them complex traits, making it clear how none of them are perfect human beings, how sometimes they can be clueless, cruel or hurt people without even realising it. How they all have their fears and imperfections. That really makes you a good author, as young as you might be, it's admirable.

Besides the characterization of our beloved teenagers, reading this ff was an amazing experience. I had so much fun, I swear I cannot remember how many times I laughed. I loved all the funny moments of friendship, relationships and events in general, as I said before it really helped me going through a hard time, and I'll always remember that.

I wrote all this just to thank you for this piece of writing, it made my heart lighter. I can't wait to read how it goes on, and I'll be there to support you. In the meanwhile, I hope you're okay <3

There’s something so beautiful to me when people tell me about how TLE has been with them through different transitions in life. Perhaps it’s because I have been reflecting lately on all the different (and occasionally turbulent) life stages this story has seen me through, but it really touches me. Thank you so much for sharing, and thank you for the kind words. ❤️❤️❤️

And I agree — London is a magical city!!

[royal-wren]

hi!! would you be open to sharing some of your experiences with worshipping the kharites? how have they impacted your life? i'm interested but there's so little information surrounding them. thank you so much :D

Ah hell yeah! I'll jump on any chance to talk about them!

I love the elder Kharites so much, sure I honor ALL of them but the first three are the ones directly in my life, and the third to have a statue on my altar. My main go-to with them is every art that has to do with writing, those that really eat up poetry and storytelling in all forms. They're givers of joy, grace, beauty, and eloquence, and the ones I lean on most for my own writing more than anyone else in company with two that they're in the retinue (staunch companions) of Hermes and Aphrodite. I feel like I might be the odd one out on my tendency to lean on them with H and A over the Mousai and Apollon, but it's just what feels most right for me. I can't dream of it being the latter when in my mind the five in question embody what grips and makes writing special while also being patrons of the arts.

To put it into perspective and why I went from honoring, to actively worshipping and now being their devotee and crediting them with every piece I make:

Bacchylides, Fragment 10 (trans. Campbell, Vol. Greek Lyric IV) (C5th B.C.) : "Truly the skilled man [poet or artisan] prospers in golden hope, whether he has won honour from the Kharites (Charites, Graces)."

Pindar, Nemean Ode 4. 6 ff (trans. Conway) (Greek lyric C5th B.C.) : "If that man with the Kharites' (Charites', Graces') favour haply bring forth the heart's deep mood to live upon the tongue."

Pindar, Olympian Ode 14. 1 ff (trans. Conway) (Greek lyric C5th B.C.) : "Whose haunts are by Kephissos' (Cephisus') river, you queens beloved of poets' song, ruling Orkhomenos (Orchomenus), that sunlit city and land of lovely steeds, watch and ward of the ancient Minyan race, hear now my prayer, you Kharites (Charites, Graces) three. For in your gift are all our mortal joys, and every sweet thing, be it wisdom, beauty, or glory, that makes rich the soul of man. Nor even can the immortal gods order at their behest the dance and festals, lacking the Kharites' aid"

From their theoi page: "The character and nature of the Charites are sufficiently expressed by the names they bear: they were conceived as the goddesses who gave festive joy and enhanced the enjoyments of life by refinement and gentleness. Gracefulness and beauty in social intercourse are therefore attributed to them. (Horat. Carm. iii. 21, 22; Pind. Ol. xiv. 7, &c.) They are mostly described as being in the service or attendance of other divinities, as real joy exists only in circles where the individual gives up his own self and makes it his main object to afford pleasure to others. The less beauty is ambitious to rule, the greater is its victory; and the less homage it demands, the more freely is it paid. These seen to be the ideas embodied in the Charites. They lend their grace and beauty to everything that delights and elevates gods and men. This notion was probably the cause of Charis being called the wife of Hephaestus, the divine artist. The most perfect works of art are thus called the works of the Charites, and the greatest artists are their favourites. The gentleness and gracefulness which they impart to man's ordinary pleasures are expressed by their moderating the exciting influence of wine (Hor. Carm. iii. 19. 15; Pind. Ol. xiii. 18), and by their accompanying Aphrodite and Eros. (Hom. Od. viii. 364, xviii. 194; Paus. vi. 24. § 5.) They also assist Hermes and Peitho to give grace to eloquence and persuasion (Hesiod. Op. 63), and wisdom itself receives its charms from them. Poetry, however, is the art which is especially favoured by them, whence they are called erasimolpoi or philêsimolpoi. For the same reason they are the friends of the Muses, with whom they live together in Olympus. (Hes. Theog. 64; Eurip. Herc. fur. 673; Theocrit. xvi. in fin.) Poets are inspired by the Muses, but the application of their songs to the embellishment of life and the festivals of the gods are the work of the Charites."

It certainly doesn't help that so many of the gods I focus on and are most important to my personal worship directly have them in their retinue or are their companions in the sense like the Mousai and the Horai where it's more an equal footing kind of thing versus what it's like with Hermes, Aphrodite, Apollon, Athene, Artemis, Dionysos, Hera, Hekate, and while it isn't noted anywhere, I can't see it in any other way than Hestia's inclusion as one of the trio leaders of festivities with Hermes and Dionysos and the Kharites embodying mirth, cheer/excitement, and festivities.

The best way to devote yourself to them and my go-to when I'm down and don't have the energy or focus and willpower to do much more is to do something for myself that will bring joy, comfort, and elation in their name. Hedonism and doing your hobbies go a long way with them.

Further reading:

The Graces in Ancient Greek Mythology

The Graces by Louis de Jaucourt

The three Graces, or the allegory of the gift published by Denis Vidal (also here if the other link dies)

Pausanias tries to visualize the three ‘Graces’ of Orkhomenos in Boeotia by Gregory Nagy

The Three Graces: Cosmic Harmony in Scève's Délie by Joan A. Buhlmann

The Three Graces: Composition and Meaning in a Roman Context by Jane Francis

[super-hero-confessions]

For me, the real villains in TLOU is Marlene and the Fireflies. Marlene visibly didn’t agree with Jerry on the surgery for Ellie but had too much of a saviour complex to stop it herself so she went to Joel knowing he would die rather than let them do that to Ellie for a cure that wasn’t even guaranteed. She was too much of a coward to turn around and say no and in the end she is the reason Joel really died along with everyone in that building including herself. Had she taken a moment to admit how the cons outweighed the pros everyone could have potentially lived but that would make her a failure so she chickened out. Also the doctor being made out to be the only one who could make the cure is insane, he’s a surgeon, not a scientist and no scientists were ever really mentioned it was always “Joel killed our only chance at a cure” which is false.

If there is a third game I hope it’s about Ellie finding the FF and sacrificing herself only for them to find out a cure was never really possible (it’s fungal, it would never be cured, there is no vaccine) and Abby has to live with the fact she murdered the only person who gave a f about Ellie. Now she has Lev, she IS Joel and she would have done the same thing as Joel if it had been Lev and not Ellie. I want her to see that her father wasn’t the innocent one here, Ellie was. That the FF were liars because they made people believe a cure was possible when it was never guaranteed at all and wouldn’t have worked anyways. Joel was selfish for saving Ellie, sure but so were the FF for doing what they did in the first place & Jerry would never have gone along with it if Abby had been in Ellie’s place, he knew it was wrong. That’s why he freaked out when Marlene said she would tell Joel. They’re all cowards at the end of the day and they caused nothing but pain and agony for everyone else who had to survive after them. Ellie, Abby , Tommy etc. The fungus isn’t going anywhere, that’s just their lives now.

[blood-orange-juice]

ok so ive never properly played genshin and don’t plan to but i know a bit about it’s lore and characters and i think it’s really neat. however i have thousands of hours on ffxiv. on that note please explain why graha and childe are similar. i only have very basic knowledge on childe and i gotta know

Fellow ffxiv enjoyer. <3

(anyone asking me about G'raha has a 100% chance of getting a wall of text and I'm not apologising for that. enjoy your wall of text)

I'm not entirely sure I'm not a case of a person with a hammer to whom everything resembles a nail, but I do think they are the same archetype.

Sweet characters who could have been perfect sidekicks (who still are perfect sidekicks) but listened to too many epic tales as kids and found themselves in a wrong place at a wrong time and now have to play a key role in some universe-changing story.

Both are defined mostly by their stubborness, they are not very suitable for the roles they've chosen and fail over and over again until they do it somewhat right (barely).

No matter how badass they look, their power is not their own, G'raha is a glorified technician of someone else's miracle and little else than a living key, Childe wields an art of old Khaenri'ah without fully understanding it. It's all borrowed from someone else who needed them to achieve a goal.

They do look badass, but mostly because they larp. I'm honestly not sure which one enjoys theatrics more.

Civilisations that created the magic they use specialised in perversion of the natural order of things. They try to use it in relatively noble ways and mostly hurt themselves but the flavour is there.

Both are unbelievably tragic and both somehow make their stories seem almost lighthearted. Complete absense of self-pity. I think that's what makes them both so charming, it's a rare trait.

Both have an incredible capacity for loyalty and love and an incredibly twisted view of what relationships look like. "I'll cross time and space for you, I'll die for you, I'll build a city for you, I'll live for you but please don't ask me to share my plans." "I'll sacrfice my own health and respect of my subordinates to keep my brother's happyness, probably my humanity too, but don't expect me to actually interact with him."

Both have something that looks like self-sacrificial tendencies bordering on suicidality while being, if we are honest, a self-serving trait (partially born out of low self-esteem but still self-serving). They want to live in an old myth and sacrificing oneself is a perfectly reasonable price for that.

Huge egos. And I mean Huge Egos. It's a bit less obvious in Graha's case but I know the type, you see guys like that in PhD programs a lot.

Huge dorks. Both of them.

Both are stuck somewhere between human and non-human and, hmm... their ability to remain human is the most astonishing quality of both. By all accounts, neither should have. They somehow did.

Both are incapable of lying to the point where a third of each fandom headcanons them as autistic. Both are somewhat all right with tricking people without technically lying (although Childe had more practice).

Both are secretive because no one would understand anyway.

FF XIV is a kinder story, so it's easy to overlook, but technically G'raha is a case of body horror, accepts the role of a villain for a while and hides from the player way too much. Hmmm... Where else have I seen it. Hmm. Oh right. That ginger guy from Genshin.

Minor things:

Both are little shits and enjoy annoying the hell out of people they dislike.

Abysmally bad fashion sense. There should be a name for this particular type and level of bad. I don't think I've seen this anywhere else.

And then there's the colour scheme. Red+black+white+blue and red+black+light grey+blue (it's an "anime magician" color profile, I think. black-red-white as alchemy colours + blue as pure magic/something elemental). Childe doesn't quite fit but still the combination is rare.

They way they talk. Dear gods. Who the hell talks like that.

Here's where the similarities end.

One is morally grey but ultimately a good guy (technically. I think the point of ShB was that Emet and G'raha are almost the same), another is a morally grey but still (kind of) a bad buy.

At every step of his story Graha is surrounded by people who love or at least appreciate him, Childe is pretty much on his own and surrounded by people who are either shitty or clueless.

G'raha is kind. Truly and astonishingly kind, in a doomed world he chooses to love everything he touches. Silly little priest of hope. Of all the things he has done this is the most wondrous, I think. Not the time travel, not the city he founded, just being able to remain kind after everything that happened to him.

Childe is... well, Childe. I think he is a deeply decent person (to the point of having a visceral distaste for any kind of unfairness) and he's idealistic but he's indifferent more than he is kind. Empathy usually develops only when someone has shown the person empathy first and, as far as we know, he didn't have much of that in his life.

Also G'raha builds things. Childe breaks things. Childe breaks pretty much everything he touches.

One is an archeologist and a mage and another is a warrior.

I think these differences are caused mostly by the settings they were put into. Childe raised in Sharlayan would have been a very different person. G'raha trained by a voidsent and shipped off to Garlean military would look very much like Childe.

G'raha also has a beautiful character development arc. I love his ShB role. He has this huge ego in the raids and is insufferable and then we see an older and wiser him with a bunch of actual achievements and a bad case of impostor syndrome (trying to do anything real always humbles a person, we all know that real world is held together by sticks and scotch tape. honestly, this change alone is beautiful). And he gets to be an actual hero when he abandons all hope to be Important and resigns to die as a nameless villain if it saves everyone and spares his loved ones from heartbreak.

Childe's character development is yet to happen and I'm not hoping for much but we'll see.

The only difference that definitely isn't created by setting is that G'raha is naturally manipulative. In a kind-hearted way and mostly for the sake of better larp but he isn't that straightforward. Childe is spectacularly blunt for all his mysteriousness.

As a bonus, they both compare main characters to stars, but in completely different ways.

"No doubt your heroism will be the star by which I chart my course," says G'raha to the WoL.

Childe mentions the morning star, which is, of course, pretty and a good companion to a lonely traveler, but also it's not a celestial body you can chart your course by.

It's a guy whose signature weapon is called "Polar Star" and his first artifact set was full of nautical themes, so I think he fully understands what he's saying. "You are my friend but I won't change anything in my life for you."

So I don't think his story will be anything like G'raha's, his life took a different turn very long ago. I do think they used to be similar as kids, bookish boys who dreamed of adventure and being special. So it's fun to compare.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk. <3

[lestappenforever]

I love Lestappen dynamic. I love how similar and different these two are at the same time. they literally complement each other perfectly.

I kinda see Max as a person who has found one thing for himself and is only moving in that direction. yes, he has other interests, but they are not that much.... pronounced? his love of racing and cars is just overwhelming (take one look at his garage or how he spent his summer break or how much time he spends in sim). it's like he doesn't know there's something else exists but in fact he doesn't really need it. moving in one direction is satisfactory for him.

when otherwise Charles is very open to new experiences. his experimentation with music, golf, football, other sports and even fashion (heck I'm not even mentioning the fact that he can draw with a pencil and has taken plane flying lessons) make him very versatile. i believe that this is a man who had a huge amount of opportunities in front of him and just chose what he was interested in. he has huge potential and from personal experience i know that people like this need to do different things to keep from trivialising burnout.

these two are so different off the track but when they get on the race – wow. their driving style is very similar, they take every chance, they are both number one. (by the way, that's why I think it would be VERY interesting to see them both on a red bull car. the car is built for the preferences and style of the pilot and on this basis it can be said that Charles would feel pretty comfortable in red bull. but two numbers one and in a team with Max – it's just scary. they can take each other out and can not coincide with their own ambitions. the number one driver plays for himself, number two – for the team. but for both of them the second option is alien.)

Max is driven by rationality, he's a very down-to-earth person, while Charles is all about heart and dreams. he values tradition, he really is a people pleaser when Max doesn't give a fuck. and that's how they will always complement and help each other. Charles would open Max up to new experiences and show him that you can enjoy yourself even if you are bad at something. while Max could help Charles realise that chasing some dreams at the moment is not wise (yes, I mean winning the championship with Ferrari. no hope for coming years).

despite all this, they have the same goal - to win. And to beat each other. in a proper battle (like Bahrain 2022, still one of the most beautiful races when the cars were actually dancing around each other (like these idiots for years ffs)). and their love of racing is what will really keep them together for the next how long..... 15, 20 years like Max said? The fact that he doesn't even see it as a possibility, he's sure of it... well help, I'm drowning in Lestappen.

maybe it all sounds stupid I don't know I just wanted to share its 6 in the morning I didn't sleep I was reading demons roll the dice for a third time so yeah just thoughts about dynamics cause I can talk about it for hours but kinda tired of typing so

love ya cheers

Babe. Honey. Darling.

Just, this. Everything you said, a million times over. You've truly hit the nail right on the head.

Also, I love you and thank you so much for reading my work. ❤️

[lostuzumaki]

i ask about mha because i reading right now 2 stories where IS crossover between mha and One piece.

Heroes of New World by Zaru19 on ao3 A Crossover Story between Zaru and Juubi-k. As Yamato, Son of Kaido, heals from her wounds from a battle against her tyrannical father, a chance meeting with a injured boy in green opens her world. And that world, will change. The boy's name? Midoriya Izuku

2. The Pirates' Savior by Jdot_FightMe on ao3

The last thing Midoriya remembered was being overwhelmed by a crowd of civilians that were being controlled by the third assassin sent by All for One. But then, in a flash, his vision turned white, a searing light burning his eyes. He found himself in the middle of a bloody battlefield, surrounded on all sides as Danger Sense constantly sent pain shooting through his brain.He wasn't sure what was going on, but it was clear that the group behind him was on the defensive while the group in front of him, all in some kind of uniform, was the aggressor. Midoriya glanced at the angry man in front of him and then at the two heavily injured men (teens?) behind him.Like a switch flipping in his mind, he immediately knew what he had to do.--------------------------------------------------------------Whitebeard had no idea who this new arrival was, much less where he came from. But he wasn't going to complain as the stranger defended his son and his son's brother from that brat, Akainu.If only this mysterious stranger would trust them enough so he could return the favor.

And now i found even new fic but this one IS just One piece ff.

3.Koby's Awful No-Good Very Confusing Day by okiedokeTM (madelinescribbles) on ao3

This is so much bigger than him, Koby realizes, like a bucket of ice water pouring over him. Five minutes ago he saw Luffy get unceremoniously executed by Blackbeard. He didn’t even get a chance to help. And now he’s years back in time, with a laundry list of very vague instructions about what not to do if he wants to prevent that, given to him by a ninja version of himself that kissed him on the mouth.

Yep Coby x luffy fic where Canon dying and me too😂😂😂. And yeah Coby IS gay here.

I hope u will be like it ❤️

These seem like good fanfics, and I'm sure they'll be good. Unfortunately, I stopped watching mha a while ago so I don't think I'd enjoy it as much.

Btw the Luffy x Coby fic seems interesting.

[purity-in-heart]

So remember a year ago, probably, when I pointed out that a guy was pretending to be a heart horny girl on two separate occasions?

Well he's back with the exact same behavioral pattern in their messages, denial, dismisses (or lack thereof) and posts, including the fact that I got blocked by him for pointing it out. His user is now briefheartwombat5.

I tried talking to his level last time and I thought he learned his lesson. Third time's the charm, right? Dude, just stop, it's thoroughly disgusting. Be yourself or get tf off of Tumblr and away from our community. Nobody needs dishonest, immature people. I don't know if you're a teen who doesn't fully realize what he's doing or just some guy who's desperate for pleasure or has an addiction.

The only thing that's kept me from posting about this sooner is the honest unwillingness to chance that I'll actually be hurting somebody's who's innocent. Now I know the truth. The next time you come on here with a mask, I won't be as nice. Take some responsibility, ffs...

[kassy-djomunson]

it's been a few days since i got the news that joseph quinn won't be coming to the fan expo vancouver this year, so this post is kinda like one of my diary entries - i just needed to get it off my chest, get if off my desk (iykyk). i just needed to talk about it (it's my blog, i can post whatever i want to! if you don't like it, you can leave or skip it) and maybe some people will feel the same way i do, we never know. if someone takes the time to read this and feel my pain, than my job is done hahaha that will mean that i'm not alone in this madness ;p

So here it goes : it fucking sucks. And before anyone comes at me or comment, I know that is job is acting, it's his priority, okay, but can a girl still be sad that he's not coming to the con? thank you. the fact that i was supposed to meet him for the first time last year at the fan expo denver and he cancelled, but then i was going to meet him finally in vancouver and he cancelled (again) fucking sucks. im really really really sad about it. i wanted to meet him for the very first time twice now. and everytime i see/hear someone that have met him like a thousand times breaks my heart. im jealous - i haven't even have the chance to meet him once and all these other people are out there meeting him again like, ffs, when will it finally be my turn?? or why when it's actually my turn, it never happens?? third times a charm, right? so yeah, im sad. im a wrecked. im miserable about it. i just want one chance to meet him, is that a lot to ask for??? god... what a great start to 2024. hopefully he'll do another fan expo this year and that time he wont cancelled.

if anyone actually takes the time to read whatever the hell this is, i love you forever. thanks for reading my thoughts/feelings. i just needed to put this out here and just let it go.

lastly, in a more optimistic way, i want to remind myself and others that : just because it's taking time, doesn't mean it's not happening.

*mic drop

[yutasbimil]

Irony

vyn x fem!oc | tears of themis ff. (psychology major!lead) ✦ (1/8) [series fic] REPOSTING!!! also posted on my ao3 acc! { here } tags: fluff, comfort cw: love at first sight, slight prejudice, psychology major student x professor? hmmm . . . meet-cute, eventual smut, eventual romance, heavy psychological anguish later on orz (sorry) ; idk what to put kek note: possible series or there might be more continuation onto this context! for now this settles it for me ;) + supposedly expected to be finished last sept. on vyn's bday, but I only got around it now; majority of this set-up is inspired by vyn's ssr card 'a star in the night' + supposedly this is a 'x reader' fic but got too heavy eventually, I apologize truly ;; word count: 2.5k

part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8

do not repost © yutasbimil (2021)

“I wouldn't like a person with a prestigious background.” The lady is irked by the arrogance of rich; higher-class people. Vyn opposes love at first sight.

Ironically, Yule and Vyn came to realize they're both the type of people they came to ‘despise’; likewise.

They promised to stray away from those qualities, but this very essence is what drove them closer.

In a rush, Rosa approaches Yule at the sight of her. Yule is actually expecting more of a warm greeting from the senior, being an alumna of the campus and all. Yet she’s greeted with a pile of paper shoved by her chest.

“I’m really sorry, Yule!” Rosa almost tumbles as she bows. “I have to make a run to the firm.” By holding the older one with her phone, Yule got the gist that it was urgent.

She didn’t even get the chance to glance at the papers, not till she looked over that what Rosa hands out are survey questionnaires.

Rosa did not even tell her what to do though to get this; what it is for, and is it already up for evaluations? All she does know; it’s still not half done to be enough for input. Seeing one-third of it blank… Yule wants to cry internally.

Rosa didn't even explain to her what to do at all. 

Yule signs and she's even just here as an alumnus to get her documents.

She’s currently taking her Master's degree, and she's also planning to enroll here. As Rosa recommended.

And Marius.  sighs

They are at most friends, having the same interest in art. Though, she still gets annoyed as he can be quite a tease and unpredictable when they interact.

Geez, the thought of that guy infuriates me.

Yule diverts her attention back elsewhere, scanning over the papers she has at hand, aware of its content since she had psychological assessment courses.

Too drifted off and immersed in reading details, she grows hesitant.

Rosa is just about done with the evaluations— but, I am not in the place to hand these out as in the first place, I am not even assigned to conduct this…

Yule worries over her lips, upon reading a certain name, she pauses.

‘Dr. Richter?  That sounds like the prof. I'll have in my class.’

She runs her finger on the print. “Vyn…”

She bumps into a man with a lab coat. Startled, she steps back.  “Oh, sorry!”  She’s almost a jittery mess, bowing and keeping the folder by her chest.

The sight of the lady also took Vyn by surprise.

Though, by her reaction, she doesn't recognize him at all. Or as that is what he presumed.

Yule first noticed his golden eyes, brighter through his glasses. She doesn’t know but some warmth spreads in her chest, urging her that he’s the kind of person to approach for aid. More so as his eyes glint back at her.

“Sorry to bother you more, but do you know Dr. Richter around here?”

The taller male says nothing for a moment, pursing his lips as he sees the glimpse of the familiar papers. 

Yule noticed his stares.

“Oh, no worries. I’m planning to give it back.” A bit guilty, she bites her lips as she did check the content. Though she doesn’t want to let go of it yet, she is already intrigued by the study.  What am I saying?

Rosa, you better make it up for me.

“That is me, but may I ask where you got those from?” the silver-haired man inquired. She lifts the papers by her chest. 

“Oh, my friend is in a rush. She just handed these out to me. I really thought she planned to make me answer all of these…” Yule laughs, a bit forced, awkward. But all the more perpetually made things indeed more awkward.

At least for her end.

“Are you Miss Saints?” 

Somehow hearing him saying her name in his low voice made her heart tumble.

No Yule! You’re just nervous. No way that your heart skipped a beat at that!

Yule takes a deep breath regaining composure as she stands up straight. She firmly holds the folders and offers her hand.

“I am, and can I take that as you are Dr. Richter?” As if automatically she switched and adjusted her speech to formal talking to this nobleman. Or at least that's what her brain registered her to do.

“Indeed.” He nods, humbly smiling back at her ever so solemnly. “Please… No need to be so formal, any friend of Rosa is to my liking.”

Vyn takes her hand, she felt soft by her hand upwards. He speaks. “I suppose you know about those evaluation papers?”

Just when she thought she had the upper hand in keeping the atmosphere in place.  Alas. 

She sighed in defeat and was a bit ashamed. At this point, she’s screaming Rosa’s name at the back of her mind for being in this situation.

“Apologies, Rosa was in such a rush to ask me a favor.” she almost bites back a sob. “Though I do know the protocols yet I still rummaged through it.” 

“Oh, no worries. It’s fine. It is up to you if you want to take part as the respondent, or do you wish to continue to be of assistance?”

She did not even register the question in her head.

The curiosity has been looming over her mind for the past minutes, enough for it to ask to slip off. She didn’t have a moment to fight back her urge.  “How did you know my name?”

“Rosa had mentioned you to me on numerous occasions,” he replies, his lips shifting upwards in a noticeable manner. “She’s actually enthralled for me to meet you soon, since you’re her ‘psychologist friend’, as she worded it.”

Did she just witness him smiling at that fact?  Yule grows more on embarrassed than delighted at that.

Though, how come she didn’t even mention Dr. Richter to her at all to be aware of him? …if he knows her already this much?  How odd of you Rosa…

“Not yet.” She puts emphasis on that, further explaining to him her future plans for her degree. 

He gestures to her to move aside to sit by the waiting benches by the hallway. As more students crowd the room. As they found a bit of comfort by their feet, she continued, playing by the hem of her sleeves as she placed the folder between them. The distance now feels safe. “I am not even fully sure since you handed these out to be conducted. You assigned Rosa.”

Yule only expected him to take it as it is, as it is the facts. So, she didn’t expect the slight gleam of his eyes, though it wouldn’t be discernible if one isn’t paying much attention to a person. 

She rationalized it as she’s someone taking up psychology, of course, she had to be perceptive at most.

A smile is now formed on his lips, distinct more now than it is for her.

“Take it as a ‘makeup’ for bumping into me.”

That is a big thing for him, what an inconvenience you are, Yule. She kept the surging blood rushing through her face to herself, feeling all the more embarrassed.

Vyn is quick to retract it. 

“I am only kidding, though, mind if I do observe you?” he suggests once again. “I won’t be much of a bother. I believe if I accompany you, the students might answer those around me differently.”

As much as she knows that might change behavior, for the genuinity of the study, she's more affected by being watched. 

“Only if you do mind, Miss Yule?”

That made her get out of her zone. “No! I actually want to finish it seeing its content,” she admitted, the words just escaped smoothly.

By the gleaming eyes greeting her back.

She knows well that she'll definitely enjoy having classes here.

Yule is now itching more to move to her feet and get this over with, besides the outcome, the resounding steps of the two of them echoing in the now deserted hallway is growing all the more engaging. The idea of this atmosphere is going to be familiar to her…

I need to finish finalizing my documents.

It is the least of her expectations.

Yule is yet to know what is going right at her.

How could she slip up on their first conversation?  The look on Vyn across her, is anything but “amused” with his lips pointing upwards.

It felt cold and artificial, remaining unnoticed by the girl while she carried on with her sentiments. 

“They can be quite obnoxious.” she huffs, the push in her voice signals depth. 

“Just because they think they owe you and can bribe you with money.”

Vyn sips from his cup before speaking. “Don’t you think you are discrediting them for their hard work and efforts on what you have said prior on that basis?”

“Also…” Adding a chuckle, he looks at her. “Do you not like Marius that much?”

“N-no! I actually like him, he's one of the few I get along with and of that background.” She almost pokes herself reaching the straw with her mouth. That took her off guard, it is anything but hatred. Although she had to admit, she got carried away with her mouth. That is not at all what she meant, but is it really coming across that way on how Vyn interpreted it?

Yule is part of the middle class, more on the working side, and trying to strive to meet her needs, but delving into the topic and personal encounters, she had a handful of unpleasant experiences working with rich people.

Though, she did not even consider him, Vyn Richter, as that… even when she got to know he's rich af.

She grows somber in her seat. It really flew out of her mind that Vyn had told her about this recently. Remaining her lips wrapped around her straw, Yule made a mental note to hold back her tongue this time around.

“Yule, how come you've developed a stereotype, then such judgment on this matter?” His voice is too clear to bypass.

Yule took the moment to look at him intently. 

At some odd feeling, she felt that his intention on the question is beyond his inquiries on psychology. This is a matter of intuition now.

She doesn't want to back down or stray away from their topic.

Now a bit composed, she tells him in prompt detail what’s on her mind. “Okay, sorry. I held such a judgment, though it is personal based on what I have encountered… Especially in prestigious places that I had a chance to get a job in. Some can be condescending not because they have power, when the actual case is that what they are lacking is simple respect to others.”

“I see.” Vyn runs his fingers by his chin and then gestured to her, she felt her breath release. “You said that in meticulous detail.”

Yule hums, now a bit relieved in her place though nervous if she lessened the mess she placed on the atmosphere.

“I do hope I don't come across that way. May I ask if I have offended you in some way, in our previous meetings perhaps?”

“Not at all.” She shakes her head firmly, assuring him in the best manner. She had to take another good look at him, straight in contact. “What do you mean though, Dr. Richter?” 

She can’t quite put a finger on it…

“Nothing.”

She won’t think much of it then.

By the clock ticking, and as the condensation of the cup drips by her finger, Vyn drops his question.

“Ah, right. Rosa relayed the message to me moments ago… Since she's got an extra ticket, how about you be the one to join me at this event? Her friend Kiki isn't able to accompany her.”

Yule flinched as he handed the invitation, more so as his slender fingers brushed hers for a moment. But looking at the table now, she can't quite comprehend seeing the intricate details on the paper, let alone the scent of it.

Or is it him?

She flushed red as she realized his close proximity.

Yule backs away, also because she might have to turn him down. “Oh no, I don’t know if I may…” The shining letters on the paper gawk at her by her line of vision.

She doesn't have any appropriate clothes.

Like of course, on average, she didn't have anything packed for this certain instance. She will stick out like a sore thumb!

“Is there any problem, Miss Yule?” Vyn had to ask as she had been silent for a while.

 Prompting her feet properly to her seat, her sheepish behavior came off a bit less. “Honestly… I don’t have a dress for a ball.”

Does she look pathetic?

“Oh, no need… Marius suggested a design for you.” Seeing the already prepared reference on the older male’s phone, she had to widen her eyes at the sight of her favorite hues that complements her skin so well.

That made her flush more.

She lets out a nervous laugh, mixed with vexation. “I swear he wants me in debt.”

“I asked him directly though, no worries. Besides, knowing you're in the midst of moving here in Stellis, I suppose you didn't bring any attire for these kinds of events.”

 “Exactly.” She felt herself relax and look at him with intent. So, he didn't see the fact that I may not have any of the luxury, and did not prioritize it since she’s handling something at the moment. She beams at him, feeling the effects of the caffeine saturate her body. “You’ve done so much already, Vyn, thank you.”

Hearing that she had already complied in calling him by the name, she claps his hands together, nodding in appreciation. “That settles it then.”

“Mind if I pick you up at noon?” he asks.

“Not quite a morning person?”

He had to perk a smile, as she even managed to notice that detail.

Vyn chuckles, letting a meek smile paint over his lips. “I suppose you too?”

Nodding, she had to mirror back a shy grin, disappearing in a matter of seconds as it’s been replaced by an astonished reaction. 

“Let's grab a coffee on the way.” Vyn leans nearer, drawing her in with his smile.

She had to flush back.  He noticed that detail too, huh…

Settling on the same agreement feels safe as they get more captivated into their little bubble. Despite being both’s epitome of ‘irony’ at the first meeting, they have settled it. With Vyn breaking down her beliefs into something more bearable; showing more of the radical explanation of phenomena, and to Yule alluring the appealing nature of the primacy effect  in love for Vyn. Possibly expanding the concept and enticing dynamics to him hereafter.

To the one who acts on her vulnerabilities, the other rational on their approach. One can learn from the other; equal and reciprocal. Opposites do attract.

Having to see in person the name, the one he keeps hearing, now has a form and meaning for him to further analyze. He wishes to comprehend more of her complexities past her captivating appearance. Vyn can now structure better connections based on further impressions he may probe into.

Letting the scent of the café waft their senses, he's stirred awake.

He’s the type who prefers tea, but with him being in her presence, it feels natural. She gives the same palpitation and warmth as he glances at her coffee-brown eyes.

※ my masterlist | #enjeiwrites ※

[anewstartrekfan]

Finished Star Trek TAS today and I got contemplative about the science fiction genre in movies and tv

For the record, tas was fine overall. You know it’s fun to laugh at the animation errors I did plenty of that. But it’s decent 70s kids fair. I wouldn’t put it on for kids today mind you, I’d just show Star Trek prodigy, but still. It very much is a product of its time. However at the same time it demonstrates the biggest hurdle sci fi has faced throughout the ages. The obsession with scale over characters.

There’s a tendency in sci fi where when the people working on a given story get seemingly unlimited resources to make a thing look as epic and grand of scale as possible, they focus on that over making the characters interesting and worth caring about. Not always, but generally it happens a lot. You see it with the big three, Star Wars, Star Trek, and Doctor Who. To pick on Doctor who for a minute, they pour buckets of money on explosions and guest stars and having a golem Doctor show up in their season 3 grand finale but the episode that season that’s regarded as peak fiction is the one where the monsters don’t even move on screen. They’re literally just statues.

Star Wars has both the prequel and and sequel trilogies for me to point to as evidence of this. For the prequels it was look at our awesome special effects and fight scenes. Oh shit we forgot make the overarching story understandable and matter to the cast before the third movie. And the case of the sequels also have consistent character development and themes. Oops.”

And lastly Star Trek. While my favorite episode is conscience of the king, my second is the empath. The most cash strapped episode of the show. It was filmed almost entirely on a black stage ffs. And yet I felt more emotion watching Kirk, Spock, and McCoy risk their lives and be willing to die for each other than I did watching agent seven and his cat hack a spaceship in 1968 Florida while Kirk and Spock stalk them.

The reason completing tas brought on this thought process was there were many writers who jumped at the chance to work on this show because of the lack of limitations of live action. Their only limit was their imagination and the 24 minute runtime. And as a result they got so caught up in the spectacle of “look at this cool new alien threat/concept,” that most of the time they forgot or didn’t have time to give the characters anything to do besides solve the problem. Or just rehash old episode ideas. But listen, they could’ve had good character interactions within 24 minutes. Doctor who is the easy one to point at but honestly if we jump forward a couple decades, (and genres) Batman and Superman tas managed to have self contained 20ish minute episodes with heart for the recurring cast. It’s not impossible to do.

Star Trek, Doctor Who, and Star Wars, were not successful just because they had cool sci fi ideas, costumes, and special effects that could be merchandised into eternity. They have endured for so long because people are invested in these characters. And if you cannot convince people to care about the characters outside of pop culture recognizability, then you will not retain an audience through the weaker stories, regardless of how much money you sank into how nice the ship looks. Instead it is doomed to fizzle out. For a contemporary example outside of movies, look at Netflix’s Voltron.

Last example and then I’m done. Netflix’s voltron perfectly displayed how you can get an audience invested in a cast of characters and then squander it because the producers/writers didn’t care about character development. After season 2 stuff stopped being character driven and started going “well the writers wanted to tell a gritty, depressing war story.” And in the end what was once one of the most popular Netflix shows is now only ever discussed in the same vain as game of thrones. Just wasted potential and missed opportunities.

I’ll end this rambling blog by repeating that imo low budget character driven sci fi is better than high budget sci fi focused on worldbuilding and cool shit you can do because of special effects or the fact it’s a cartoon. Limitations help make some of the best stories out there because they force you to think outside the box.

And it pains me that after so long a lot of the people who write this stuff don’t get that.

[thedreadvampy]

do not Chappell Roan me on this one I, like her, am not equivocating between fascism and centre-right but like

see a lot of folks from outside the USA talking about how scared we are of Trump's impact on the rest of the world and while yes, having a US president who's definitely worse on climate (which is a Pretty Pressing Issue) is going to fuck the world up. on a bombing, foreign relations and world economics level, there has literally just not been that much between Trump and Biden. Or Obama and Trump.

whoever's president of the US they are going to bomb the Middle East, prevent Israel facing consequences, impose dire disincentives to trade which doesn't profit them at the expense of the world, veto climate legislation, and start shit with Russia, China and Iran. they will continue to work to prevent positive political change in the global south and to maintain the international power of corporations.

again. this is not to say there's no difference. but it is mostly domestic. and that's fine, whatever. but also it's not because the US president doesn't have near-total massive global power to shape international legislation and trade, it's uhhhh because the US being a force for evil in the world is the nature of the goddamn beast and for the most part Trump doesn't NEED to be shittier on foreign policy because US policy is already fully set up to subsume the rest of the world to America's interests and to specifically target Muslims, the Global South, and any hegemonic power large enough to potentially compete with the US.

so no Kamala isn't just going to be shit on Israel, she will be shit on Iran, on Saudi, on China, on Russia, on Mexico, on Cuba, on Congo - but in all fairness so is anyone you have the chance to vote for as president, and if they weren't, and were somehow allowed to get as far as the White Horse, I can't imagine they'd actually manage to beat back the entire machinery of the American empire in one term.

(they could have stopped arming Israel, though, but why the fuck would they when you're all screaming NOOOOO YOU CAN'T DEMAND POLITICIANS DO THINGS OR YOU'RE BASICALLY LETTING IN DOUBLE HITLER 😱)

like vote for Harris. or vote third party. whatever. but like it's ok to acknowledge that you're not doing it for the world, you're doing it for your own country. and that's fine! an election is for the person who leads your country and if they're both gonna be shite on foreign policy, which they are, then domestic policy is going to be the only possible decider. but no we're not all waiting on tenterhooks outside the USA to see if you fuck this up.

don't vote for the fascist but do recognise that whoever you vote for, you're voting for the head of a massive empire which will impose its interests by force, and they're going to act like it internationally. whoever you vote for in this election, they're going to be pretty much the same amount of shit for the rest of the world. so you know. at this stage vote for Less Shit, 100% the right thing to do to vote for someone who's not actively going to attack marginalised people within the US as much.

maybe next time consider not IMMEDIATELY SAYING 'nothing you do could make me rescind my vote so don't worry about accountability m'lud 👅🥾' before the campaign even starts BUT at this point what are you gonna do? Vote if you can stomach it.

but FFS no we're not all clutching our breasts in fear of what a Trump-led US will do, because lest we forget we saw that 4 years ago and it looked, with the exception of the Muslim ban and some real climate bullshit, p much identical to what Biden did after him, or Obama before.

if you start shit with me on this I absolutely will block you btw. simply move on I am so so so bored of this eternal pearl clutching election.