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iampikachuhearmeroar · 3 years

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y’know the wildest thing still to happen to me on this hellsite was my first experience of sexting, sans nudes, that was done in front of at least 250-500 followers because of those horny anons i had in early 2013 when i was 17. instead of being exposed to it on my phone privately with a partner at that age, it was done publicly for the internet to see lmao. i remember begging the anons to stop and “come off anon” because i was “losing followers” at the time too bc i was so insecure about my follower count lmao. and then yeah when they came off anon they were both 28 years old.

to write the responses, i just consulted cosmo mag sex pages for ideas hoping that the anons would like the options i chose. in one i detailed doing anal- a sex act i hadn’t even done yet irl- let alone every other thing i suggested in them (head, idek long, drawn out foreplay, some stupid fancy sex moves that cosmo was all like “use these moves to spice up your sex life 🔥🔥”, sex in a bath, i’m pretty sure i had some lines about tying or handcuffing them to a bed (????) etc etc etc)….

when again, i had never even done any of those above sex acts in real life. i was a naive teen who was incredibly shy in regards towards her love life because she’d “never been kissed” and had never had the “hot emo boyfriend whose in a band and is covered in tattoos” she’d always wanted, let alone even a boyfriend that she had actually fucking liked (ie clear braces boy, for like a month in year 9/2010 vs the popular boys that made fun of her, that she always had unrequited crushes on)…. hell, my blog title when i first started on here in 2011 was “the perfect epitome of being forever alone” because of these very reasons. but here she was, writing explicit sex acts to strangers like she knew what the fuck she was doing, to an audience of 250-500 people- and then to fucking grown ass men in inboxes. i was just parroting the shit i’d read in cosmo (both sex advice and sometimes excerpts of erotica/“sexy, steamy reads” they had some months) and also heard repeatedly in the porn that my high school stalker/creeper at public school loved to show (harass) me with to flirt with me, whenever we were alone together at school in 2012/2013.

like you could tell how naive i was….. because i used ridiculous lines like “like a gentleman entranced, you lead me to the bath for our next foray” and dumbass prose-y things like that. because what the fuck does that even mean 😂😅????

and this is why i think minors should be careful with their online experiences. like yeah, you could say that i wasn’t a minor anymore- more of a “young adult”- who should of made the smart decision to not engage with these anons. but i was a kid. i thought it was fun. and when the dudes came off anon, i thought to myself “it’s not like i’m ever gonna meet them if i ever go to the US or puerto rico at any point. it’s not like that they’ll ever recognise me in person or ever reach out to me again in the future. i might as well do it.” and i did eventually end up ignoring the guys in my inbox, due to my mental health kinda plummeting from the middle til the end of 2013 because of my end of high school exams and stuff… and also the puerto rican guy’s infamously inappropriate “hot PE teacher fucks HOT female high school student in the girls change room showers” fantasy which fucking disgusted me, when he full well knew that i was STILL IN high school.

and obviously again, there’s the point about using the “block” button function. but as i’ve stated several times over my years on here, back in my early days of tumblr, i never wanted to block or unfollow people (even if they were trash like these two men), because it seemed so “mean” and “final”. obvs now i have no qualms about blocking people, and actively encourage younger people on here to use the block button with reckless abandon towards creepy people or people who can hurt them in some way. but to high school teenage me, the whole “using the block button” thing seemed to go against me being a “nice girl/person” so i never used it, no matter which social media platform i was on.

this is why i’m hella scared for young teen girls on tik tok wanting to have onlyfans accounts: because it’s where they’ll be exposed to ACTUAL CREEPS AND PREDATORS incredibly quickly; all because they can make money off selling images of just their feet or eventually their body….. depending on what these creepy strangers demand from them….. and they’ll feel like they’ll have to do it…. but to do it before you even start experimenting properly with relationships and sex is even worse. like. yeah. i’ve admitted before that i originally started this tumblr to possibly post nudes, to see if i’d get the positive feedback that i so desperately wanted/craved from the boys in my year at catholic school- eg. to be called “sexy”, “hot”, “fuckable” possibly “beautiful”- like some of the so called “popular girls” got on their hella basic bikini photos back then (like i remember one girl i knew ended up with like 500 likes and a fair amount of comments on one of her bikini pics and i was INCREDIBLY BITTER because not even a pic of me with a nice outfit on, my hair done and makeup on could EVER get those numbers, let alone even break over the double digits).

but i decided posting nudes or other explicit images on here was an absolute no go, because i realised that i never wanted people that i knew digging up barely clothed/naked pics of me and sending them to me all like “hey, is this you?” and then possibly mocking me, all because i would’ve been dumb enough to put my face in them probably at the time. now when i take nudes and send them, i never show my face. because i know now, that even in relationships, your partner can use nude pics as leverage for arguments or to abuse you in such a way that they’ll upload your pics without your knowledge to god knows where on the internet probably as a way to get back at you in a horrible breakup.

this is what i sincerely hope some young girls who ever contemplate starting onlyfans accounts take some time SERIOUSLY CONSIDER. please know that if you share shit on onlyfans, it can shared and re-shared (i think idek how OF works tbh) to god knows who- and eventually end up in the hands of people you know. i don’t fucking care if it’s a “good way to make money!” or if people think that im trying to stop teen girls from being “girl bosses” and the other dumb as fuck internet memes you want to throw at me. because this shit isn’t “haha internet meme funny” material. it’s some fucking serious stuff. and also, i’m not saying “don’t become a sex worker when you’re older” or whatever either. you’re free to make that choice when you’re in your 20s (no i even mean 17-19 year olds in this post as “young teen girls”- sorry you’re basically kids to me at almost 26). just please consider where the fuck your stuff can be shared to. who it can end up being shared with or to.

this is why i was so fucking adamant with my infamous old follower mr adelaide fuckboy/MAF that i personally would NOT consider becoming a camgirl for him or just generally… because i had no idea where the fuck my images or videos would end up. and do you know the places i’d never want them to fucking be??? in the hands of my high school stalker/creeper. in the hands of those two 28yo men from 2013 (who’d now be in there late 30s or early 40s). i absolutely don’t want them in the hands the mid-to-late 20s and early 30s men that that girl i met at public school in 2012 who was pissed that i didn’t believe that were “adults” because we were finally over the legal age of consent (16) in our state of australia, and so we were apparently fine to “fuck” literal grown ass men because “just fuck them and they’ll be nice to you!!” which i knew was fucking bullshit.

i absolutely don’t fucking want explicit videos/images of me ending up in “why the fuck won’t you let me give you “sex lessons” in the back of my car as a “favour” and as payment for teaching you how to drive you stupid, stuck up & frigid, virgin bitch!?” guy’s hands from 2014 (when i was 18/19 at the time and he was 25… he ended up being the first person of many i’d EVER block on social media lol). or i don't want them in the hands of those weird early 20s dudes (one of which was trying to set me up with his friend) who hit on me at 16/17 (2012) who were angry that i didn’t like and watch porn as much as they did…. and who promptly asked me at the end of their period of harassing of me: “do you know any sluts we could add?” because i kept refusing their suggestions etc.

hell, quite frankly i don’t even want them to go to mr adelaide fuckboy/MAF either, but the very few and far between nudes that i sent on snapchat to him back in 2016 are some nudes that i’d rather forget lmao. hell. i don’t even know if MAF ever deleted my nudes or shared them somewhere else or not, after he fucking wheedled them out of me with “i’ve followed you for 4 years, don’t be a shit! you owe me nudes!” so he’d just shut the fuck up about my social life decisions and leave me the fuck alone.

i don’t want ANY ONE of the guys i mentioned above to get their hands on photos of minors either…. because i definitely know my hs stalker/creeper would… because his fave “make her jealous” tactic that he’s always used on me is that “hey…. i’m dating a *insert teenage girl’s age here*! be fucking jealous that you don’t fucking have me and feel guilty that you won’t fuck me like this girl does!!!” just like he did in 2015, when i ran into him on the home from uni… when i turned 20 the next week and he turned 20 that december. at that time it was a 14yo girl he used as an example of him “dating”/“fucking” to make me jealous. instead, i was completely and utterly fucking disgusted. like any fucking sane and normal human being would/should be at that horrible age gap. that is literally a fucking child that he was fucking grooming. and we were literal adults. back the fuck away.

just please. PLEASE CONSIDER the types of people that trawl these kinds of sites and their intentions. please consider that you are young. very fucking young. you literally DO NOT need to upload nudes to the internet because it’s apparently a “lucrative” business. fuck the jokey “boss babe” rhetoric around it all the way to fucking hell.

because if you’re a minor: i do not want you to have your first experience of sexting or sending explicit images literally in front of god knows how many total strangers for the whole world to see (okay i know only fans is like subscriber/follower based or whatever. but i don’t care)…… even when you (depending how good you are with relationships etc) haven’t reached the common supposed milestones of your “first boyfriend/girlfriend/partner” or “first kiss” or have even “lost your virginity” (which isn’t real anyway- don’t buy this fucking bullshit)…. just like i stupidly did with my exposure to sexting here on my tumblr back in 2013. these people don’t/won’t give a flying fuck about your privacy or safety. they don’t/won’t give a fuck about your boundaries either.

please don’t possibly scar yourself for life, just because you’re being told that it’s a quick & convenient way to make some money for weirdos on the depths of the internet. you will regret it in future. just like i do now with mine. it should’ve been something personal between me and and a guy i trusted and liked at the time. not to some random 250-500 random strangers on this hellsite (okay the notes on these posts were literally single digits or non-existent, but still… and also some of my irl friends who had tumblr saw these posts as well) for a show….. and then privately with two 28yo literal grown ass men…. who should’ve been fucking hitting on women their own goddamned age and in their own countries and NOT a 17yo high school KID (at the time) from australia; who, now in her 20s, needs therapy to sort this shit out lmao. mind you they both reeled me in with the “you’re so mature for your age” bullshit line…. which i fell for a little bit, even if it did make me feel kinda gross at the time, too. don’t fall for that bullshit either.

#life #about me #shut up ilona #relationships i guess #internet stuff #this went in a bigger direction that i thought it would lmao #but anyway

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aer-in-wanderland · 3 years

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I am sorry but you have to do a part two as well as every other part up until 16 of your descriptions and your translations of the episodes. With all the background you know and explain. I am sorry but if you don't do it, I will definitely sue you for doing the first part in the first place! Now I am addicted and it is your fault.

Now 3 questions. What do you think about all the scenes with Ji- Ah before he knew she is Ah-Eum? Was he interested in her? I mean what reason would he have had to keep an eye on her always?

Did you ever think about the question wheter he loved Ji-Ah differently than Ah- Eum? After all she's STILL another person? And she had a point in saying that after that first kiss?

And finally... Were all the women looking like her before then completely other people- or was she reborn then as well, but it came never to a moment when he got to see the fox bead?

It's a lot. But you have to answer, I might go crazy otherwise.

Thank you!

Hahaha I’ve never been praised with apologies and threats before, but thanks? Your strategy is interesting, yet oddly effective. Don’t worry, I’m currently working on a write-up of episode 2. I’m glad you enjoyed the first one. ^ ^

As to your questions, I can only give you my educated opinion as a fan, but to my sense:

1) When you say ‘keep an eye on her always’ did you mean once they reunite when she’s an adult? I’m fairly sure that, while he did come back to check on her when she was little, he hasn’t been watching over her for the past 21 years. TvN released a deleted scene in which he looks her up on the internet to see what her deal is after Shin Joo tells him she’s trying to track him down. If he’d been watching over her, he wouldn’t have needed to do that. Also, his line to her at the end of episode 6, ‘So that’s how you’ve lived until now,’ implies that he didn’t know how she’d lived in the years since he saved her as a child.

As to whether Yeon was interested in her, I think the answer is yes, but not romantically. As Yeon says, foxes mate for life, so he had no interest or intention of falling in love with anyone other than Ah Eum (or rather, her reincarnation). He also tells Taluipa that it doesn’t matter to him what she looks like. I believe him on both fronts. At the same time, I think not being moved by the sight of Ji Ah when she looks exactly like Ah Eum would be pretty much impossible. She’s the living, breathing image of someone he loved and misses desperately.

But more than her looks, I think it’s who she is as a person that he’s drawn to. Ji Ah is smart, driven, and fearless. In the scene in episode 2 where she tells him, ‘I’m not threatening, I’m gambling,’ you can see from his expression that, despite his irritation at her having literally broken into his house and tranqed him, he’s also quite impressed with her for it. It’s worth noting, too, that it’s only after this encounter that he goes to find Taluipa guessing that Ah Eum has been reborn (with the same face, no less). Similarly, the reason he checks for the fox bead again when they’re on the island is that - despite having already tried and failed - he can’t help but see Ah Eum in who Ji Ah is, not just how she looks. And that’s, I think, why he can’t help but look out for her. Because he admires her as a person, and because he recognizes her. He only doubts himself because she doesn’t appear to have his fox bead.

2) This is a hard one. Ji Ah and Ah Eum are different people in the sense that they’ve lived different lives and possess different memories, and obviously our experiences and memories are an integral part of who we are. At the same time, they are the same person in the sense that they possess the same soul. Ji Ah is Ah Eum reborn. It’s not as if Ah Eum exists somewhere separate from Ji Ah. Ah Eum was reborn as Ji Ah, and Yeon, I believe, loves who that person is regardless of what path she’s walked in life or what memories she does and doesn’t possess. He tells her more or less as much in the letter he leaves her: ‘I liked the attitude with which you faced the world. I liked that, despite bearing a terrible fate on your shoulders, you didn’t thoughtlessly despair.’ I think this line really gets at the heart of what drew Yeon to Ji Ah in addition to being what he loves about her, and it’s a statement that was equally true of Ah Eum. Ji Ah and Yeon are kindred spirits in this way: the way in which they bear up under adversity, and the strength of character they each possess which allows them to do so.

When Ji Ah tells Yeon, “I’m not the shadow of your past,” I think she absolutely had the right end of things, and I think Yeon is wise enough to recognize that as well. Ji Ah can’t be ‘Ah Eum’ for Yeon one, because she doesn’t share those memories of their past with him, and two, because she has an entire lifetime’s worth of memories that Ah Eum never had. Moreover, 600 years have passed. Even if she did somehow remember her past life, in this life, she’s no longer an abandoned princess, and he’s no longer a mountain god. For them to live trying to recreate the days they spent together 600 years in the past would be an exercise in futility, if for no other reason than the fact that the world itself has undergone tremendous change since then. Ji Ah is asking Yeon to be in a relationship with her as she is here and now, and I think that Yeon should be commended for the grace with which he did exactly that.

3) I had this thought as well early on, and all I can say is, if that had been the case, then what a terrible tragedy that would have been. But I believe the answer is no, for a couple of reasons.

First off, Yeon was under contract to work for the Ten Kings of the Afterlife as a sort of enforcer in exchange for them allowing Ah Eum to be reborn. Because Ah Eum’s death was considered a suicide of sorts, she should have been ineligible for reincarnation. But Yeon cut a deal exchanging his service to the Ten Kings for her rebirth. Rang describes this as a sort of karmic ‘mileage points’ plan whereby Yeon builds up mileage points through his service, and once he has enough, Ah Eum gets to be reborn. If you flip that around, it means that he’s only under contract until she’s reborn. So since Yeon was still under contract at the start of the drama, I think we can safely assume that those other women were not, in fact, reincarnated versions of Ah Eum. That still begs the question of why he wasn’t let off the hook 30 years previously when Ji Ah was born, and I honestly don’t have a good answer for that. [Edit: tvN published something that says the contract ended when he realized Ji Ah was Ah Eum’s reincarnation].

Second, even barring the previous point, multiple supernatural characters - including Imoogi, who was reincarnated part and parcel with her - have stated that it took 600 years for her to be reborn. If those other women had been Ah Eum, they would also have been Imoogi as well, and I can’t imagine Imoogi would have just not tried to get revenge on Yeon if he’d had the chance before now. Moreover, the fortune-teller (whose true identity is Tenth King of the Afterlife who presides over reincarnation) also says that Ji Ah was a princess in her previous life (i.e. the last time she was alive), and I would consider that to be fairly conclusive evidence.

So why bother with the look-alikes at all, right? On a narrative level, I mean. Very simply, I think we as viewers needed probable cause to believe that Yeon could meet someone who is Ah Eum’s spitting image and yet somehow not immediately realize it was her. If Yeon hadn’t seen women with her face over the centuries, then her appearance alone would have clinched it. So I view those other women as a way of introducing probable doubt. I don’t believe they were incarnations that Yeon failed to recognize.

Believe it or not, that is my short answer to your questions haha It’s ultimately only my own opinion, but hopefully it was helpful. =) @me-dreaming-out-loud

#ask #tale of the nine tailed #totnt #lee yeon #ah eum #nam ji ah #me-dreaming-out-loud #구미호뎐 #이연 #아음 #남지아 #lost in translation #totnt ask

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ratretro · 3 years

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Same anon as before, I thought of a better way to explain my ask. Because I don't think using Voldemort as reference is a good idea cuz now that I'm older I realize that Voldemort isn't the smartest villain. Like what was Voldemort's endgame anyway? So let's use another popular villain whose endgame is clear. MCU's Thanos.

Thanos' endgame is doing the snap, that's his ultimate goal, getting the gauntlet and the stones is the process he needs to go through to get there. The only reason he came face to face with the Avengers during that process was because either one of them or someone close to them had one of the stones or knew where it was and they went all like "Oh, no sir. You won't." But if none of the Avengers (or someone close to them) had or knew about the stones they would've been as confused as everyone else as soon as everyone around them started disappearing.

Now, let's go back to MHA. What is AFO's endgame? As far as we know right now, it's getting OFA back. What does he need to do to get there? Getting a stronger body (Shiragaki's) and defeat the user of OFA (All Might/Deku).

What does U.A have? They don't have All Might (and we know he doesn't care about him anymore, I mean he probably still wants to kill him). They don't have Shigaraki (even if U.A had a villain held hostage he probably would only care if it's Shigaraki or Machia) and they don't have Deku (current holder of OFA). So why go there?

There are various kinds of villains, but the ones we tend to see the most are the reckless ones and the smart ones. A reckless villain would be like: Well, Hero Killer was killing heroes last month, hence the name, but now, he's killing quirkless people and robbing banks. And everyone is like: Wtf, that doesn't make any sense! What's his deal? - Idk, man. Go ask him.

A reckless villain is a villain whose pattern you can't identify. As far as we have seen (especially recently with Lady Nagant and Dictator) is that AFO is a smart villain. The ones that by the time you realize wth is going on they're already 5 steps ahead of you.

So, the only way I see AFO going to U.A (without Deku being there) it's like this:

Well, none of these good for nothings could bring me Deku, so how am I gonna get Deku?

Well, where is Deku rn? Running around the city acting as vigilante.

Ok, why is he there? Cuz he's looking for me and the LoV.

Ok, why is he alone? Cuz he doesn't want me (us) to hurt the people he cares about.

And where are these people? Oh, well. I'm gald you asked, sir. Cuz they're conveniently all in one place rn.

(Ding, ding, ding. Idea, idea, idea).

So you're saying that if I go to U.A, and hurt him where it hurts the most, he's definitely going to show up and that's how I'm gonna get him.

MHA's Final Battle everybody!

My point is... U.A is a double-edged sword at this point. Deku being there it's dangerous, Deku not being there it's dangerous. Yes, there are heroes and heroes in training in there, but there are also civilians in there. The families of these heroes are there. So, if U.A ends up being the place of the final battle (like Hogwarts) it's gonna be bad. Like Deku's mom could die, Bakugou's dad, Todoroki's siblings, Ochaco's parents, Tensei. Heck, Eri!

It dosen't matter how much I twist it, U.A is a big red flag right now.

Anyways, thoughts?

Sorry that was loooong 🙏

lmao FUCK

I just responded to your previous ask and I basically covered everything in the other one okay okay lets see

so I just deleted the other ask and copy/pasted the answer lol also i pretty much covered what you said in that previous ask so it should be fine lol

Using UA as a lure would be a great idea, but I think AFO definitely has more on his mind for Deku. Speaking on it, the reason AFO couldn't take OFA had a lot to do with Deku's willpower, so breaking that is step one to taking OFA. AFO is playing the long con in this particular situation, and it's likely his goal is to mentally and physically weaken Deku so that when he goes to take it again, it will be easy for him to do so.

Deku has been stalked and attacked by several assassins and he's running on fumes after all this. Mentally and Physically? Deku is barely scraping by. If this were a round of Phasmo his sanity percentage would be like... 12% lmfao

More under the cut

Attacking UA? Perfect. For me, I don't consider UA to be a location, I consider it to be a game piece. If I were AFO, UA would be a pawn for me. Something worth getting rid of if it meant getting that checkmate because AFO is actually an evil, evil bastard. Anyway, Deku left his mom at UA with the Class 1-A members, trusting they would all be safe in UA's walls and away from him. This would be the perfect point to royally decimate Deku. Class 1-A being defeated at Kamino is something Deku can put in the slot of: well, fuck they got attacked but it's because they were with me :(

But he wouldn't be able to categorize UA getting attacked and his mom getting hurt under the file labeled "This is my fault, because I'm here." if Deku is away from UA when it happens. Now is the perfect time for an attack on UA. Deku is in a bad mental place and his physical condition is pure garbage, so if AFO were to launch an attack on UA while Deku is clearly incapable of defending it? That would destroy Deku.

UA is a playing piece, and I think AFO is about to sacrifice it. I don't think the final battle will be at UA and I don't think it will be at Kamino either.

What I can say is, UA has remained relatively untouched (to our knowledge and there's nothing suggesting otherwise), probably because of its defense systems and the fact that it's considered a safe house for civilians right now. I'd guess that they have Pro Hero protection on top of whatever bullshit system they put in per Nezu. Plus, prior to Class 1-A abandoning UA to come get Deku, they had the protection of students deemed capable enough to have licenses.

UA was an absolute fortress during that time period because there was no fucking way the kids were gonna let their families get hurt on their watch. But that's the thing now isn't it? They aren't there.

For me, AFO attacking UA was never in question. It was always a question of When?

#dishing out some meta today boys #class a is truly having such a bad fucking time lmao #bnha #boku no hero academia #xeinonymous

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anemonenemerosa · 3 years

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The Spare- Chapter 13

Hello fellow people, I’m sorry for the delay (The chapter has been posted on AO3 for ages and I don’t know what took me so long)

Credit for the Sweater-verse goes to the wonderful @lumosinlove

Chapter 13

TW: Violence, a bit of blood, forced outing, abusive families

In calls and texts: Reg is normal Ben is bold-italic Mateo is italic Jo is bold

When Reg got from the airport to the hotel to change into his suit, he learned that his mother had, indeed, tricked him again. The contacts on his phone were mostly deleted and he had to share a room with Severus, who was less than thrilled at the prospect.

"I have to share a room with you to make sure you stay mommies little boy! Rookie, I tell you, get close to that faggot and I rip you apart. I'm not getting shit from Riddle or your mother because you don't stay at the sight side." He growled at Reg and combined with the cold glare of his deep-set eyes, Reg was convinced that he could -and would- actually do that.

"Your mother will be here tomorrow to have a look herself." They had him... he could not escape... his happy family idea was gone; The universe had hit back. He thought of losing his Hobbits, as he named Jo, Ben and Mateo and it pained him too much to let it dwell. Reg closed his eyes with a sigh and a resigned nod.

Of course, they had to arrive at that damn Red Carpet together with Sirius and Tremblay. Walking behind Sirius was bad, walking there with Severus eyeing his every movement was worse but the worst was when Reg saw the look on Sirius' face. Tired, lonely, hurt. He heard bits of the questions his brother was asked and hurt with him. Hockey is about hockey, not what a player does in his spare time.

And there was nothing he could do. He had to re-watch the introduction with a proudly sniggering Severus four times this evening without a chance to sneak out and find Sirius. Reg considered drowning himself in the bathtub. He really ruined it for his brother ...and Remus. That poor guy who had probably lived a peaceful live until now, that he was accused of fucking his way up. What Regulus heard on the phone that dreadful night did not sound like he took advantage of his brother's fame.

The next morning, he briefly met his mother, who dismissed him curtly, her eyes scanning the players for his brother.

"Regulus, do what you are told. No missteps! You really thought I would let you roam freely, disgracing the name of Black even more?" her long nails were digging though his armour, her voice calm but freezingly cold. They would not let him go and stay with Ben and Mateo. He was stuck with his actual family. Although completely unhelpful, Regulus felt the abandonment by Sirius cut in his chest. He left me with them... he knew how they were, even then.

But determined as always, he tried to help Sirius. He came here to talk to him, to -hopefully- mend fences and become brothers again.

How do I even get to him secretly? Regulus was still finalising his tactic as he noticed Severus and his mother glaring daggers at Sirius, looking much better than yesterday and signing stuff for people covered in rainbow-flags. He made an uncommonly rash decision.

Regulus quickly skated over to his brother, almost knocking him over and tried to warn him without being obvious. If he looked angry, he could play it off as scolding, if his mother inquired. But Sirius didn't understand that he tried to warn him, not to berate him. Reg allowed himself his internal eye-roll as he had nothing else going for him. Connard stupide.

That damn Tremblay wouldn't go away either and there was not much he could explain without him overhearing. Il est trop relou. He's annoying.

And before Regulus had conveyed the, rather important, message that their mother was coming for him, Snape called him over. After the skills-competitions, which he lost (much to the disdain and disappointment of his mother), he was ushered into the hotel room, petulantly supervised by Severus until the next day.

During the games, Snape couldn't hover around him and Regulus was paired to play with Sirius. He was not sure whether he should be glad or upset about this. He missed his few days of peace with his Hobbits, missed the easy conversations with Jo, missed being Reg.

Regulus felt miserable. Sirius had made it clear that he did not want him anymore and he dreaded going back to the prison that was his life. He rubbed over the butterfly stitches, closing the cut at his thigh and somewhat cursed meeting Ben at all. Without him, he wouldn't have known how lousy his life actually was. He was not in the mood anymore to get through to Sirius although the All-Star people all but shoved him into his face. He wanted to be left alone.

That was, until Sirius spoke, really spoke to him. Made clear that he did not hate Regulus, called him Reg, told him that he would help him get out if he wanted to.

His thoughts were twirling in his brain. There was a rapid shift in their estranged relationship, one that Reg loved. But they hadn't talked about the outing-thing and he grew more and more terrified of losing it all over again when he opened up. But Sirius seemed quite happy with the prospect of sorting things out. Alors, because he has no idea of the shit-show on the horizon.

Reg was happy, too. His brother really stayed with him. He did not go after the interviews, where he found the courage to openly support his brother, not just quietly in his mind. But he was also scared out of said mind by the prospect of returning to Slytherin, especially after that public statement.

Sirius turned to him. “Come back to Gryffindor with me. Minnie got you a seat with me and Logan. Tomorrow.”

There was an out? Relieve beyond belief soared though Reg as his brother pulled him into a hug. They hadn't done that in years. But the embrace triggered a chain of thoughts that yanked him out of his comfort. Ben. He thought there was an out before, but Ben and Mateo were not in the position to really help him, as much as they wanted to. Sirius, on the other hand had quite a bit of leverage.

Reg felt ungrateful.

That weird guy who found him bleeding and crying in the shower, hugged him, took him home and just made him part of the family in three days.

"You know what, I’m your mom now!”

“I’m talking now as your fried -or co-mom, apparently..."

Both, Ben and Mateo said that after Reg confessed what he had done. Even then, they wanted him to be there, to stay with them. He wanted to be with them, too but not with everything else waiting in Slytherin. His throat was tight. Reg wanted both. He wanted to keep this new-found people and be with his brother. And he felt like shit for assuming Sirius gave him a better chance for an escape.

But Reg and Sirius hadn’t talked yet. His brother new nothing. Would he still be so inclined to take Reg with him if he knew who turned his life inside-out? He needed to talk to him before they boarded the plane. And he needed to talk to Ben and Mateo. And Jo. Wonderful, funny Jo, who was open, honest and kind. Who cared for him and liked him as person, not as hockey player. And Jo, who he would probably leave behind just like Ben and Mateo for his brother. If Sirius still wanted him.

The fear of losing so much nearly overwhelmed him. He needed an out.

“Okay,” Regulus said into Sirius’ neck, voice thick. “Okay."

They would meet at Sirius room in about an hour. Time for Reg to sneak into his own room and gather his things, hopefully without running into Severus.

Thank all the deities whose existence I doubt that Severus is anywhere but in there. Reg thought relieved after closing the door behind him. He felt a bit calmer now that he made a plan. He would call the Hobbits from a telephone booth he saw on his way (Apparently, they still existed).

A small piece of paper with the number was shoved into his pocket by Mateo before he went to the airport in Slytherin.

"Just in case."

oOo

"Hello?"

"Ben?"

"Reg? Hi! Is everything OK? What kind of number is this?"

"We watched All Star all day, you did great!!!" Jo's voice drifted in from the off

"Erm... yes, well... um...I call from a telephone booth and I- I kind of need to talk to you guys."

"Okaay... I didn't know these things still exist. Anyway, do you want me to put you on speaker?"

"OK." Reg felt so nervous, his voice was tight, his gut clenched.

"Hello there, Reg! What's up?" Mateo.

"Erm..." The Reg of question had no idea how to approach the issue, but time was pressing.

"Come on, it's us. What's bothering you?"

"I- I talked to Sirius and he wants to take me with him home but he doesn't know it's all my fault and Maman will not let me stay with you she will find a way and if I don't leave with Sirius I might never get out of there but I do not want to leave you guys and I do not want to be ungrateful but I feel like this but I really want out of there but maybe Sirius doesn't want be with him once he finds out and please don't hate me." Once the floodgates opened it all came out in a stumbled, confused word-vomit.

Smooth and collected.

"Whoa, whoa Okay. Keep calm, everything's okay. Just let us go through that one at a time. Do you have enough coins?"

"Yes." He choked out.

“Good. So, we try to repeat to what you have told me in some kind of order, and you tell me if we got that right, OK?”

"OK."

"You talked to your brother and he wants to help you out of your abusive situation. You think that he can really help you, but you are afraid he doesn't what once he learns how he got outed, right?"

Reg couldn't answer. That was on point. Instead, he let out a deep sigh. "Mhm."

"Okay. Well, we do not know Sirius. So, we don't know how he might react but at least on the screen he seemed to be getting more confident with this. Talk to him. I'm sure he sees that, while you accidentally started the whole thing, the reaction of the people is not your fault."

"But-" Reg all but choked out. He was so fucking afraid. “But what if not?”

"I know. Maybe you have to trust him a little there."

"I- I try. There is not much else I can do anyway, is there?" A bitter laugh escaped his lips.

"Well, you could also come back to us. I know you said your mother wouldn't let you." Ben said quickly before Reg could tell him exactly that.

"But if everything else fails, rebook your flight to another time and we get you directly from the airport. Please keep that in mind. Our door is open for you. We're your moms, after all."

"None of us is mad because you want to get out. We want you to get out, too. You are not ungrateful. It's not that you walk out on us or anything."

"Also, phones and stuff exist, obviously. Or did you plan to say goodbye now and never call again?"

Jo hadn't said anything so far and Reg ached with the slight insecurity in her voice. But then all the other things they said seeped through his mind, followed by warmth. They did not hate him; They were not angry. He hadn't messed up, so far.

"I- No. No, this is not a goodbye. I just wanted to talk to you, let you know what changed."

"And that was very nice of you, my son. Now, better go and talk to Sirius, yeah? And please give us a short call or send a message later. So that we know whether we have to kidnap you on Slytherin airport, or not." Ben sounded like he was joking but practically ushered him from the phone.

For the last five minutes, any unsuspecting hotel guest on floor three would have had the opportunity to observe one Regulus Black attempting to knock on a door and failing repeatedly.

Alors, Regulus Arcturus Black. Where are your metaphorical balls? Knock on that fucking door already!

The moment he did, he regretted it a little. Sirius flung the door open, phone at his ear, grinning. Hey. He mouthed and jerked his head to beckon Reg inside. Once the door was closed, Sirius looked at him again, still grinning and gesturing at his phone. Remus. Want to say hi?

Reg was very sure that he did not want to say hi. He still dreaded the wrath of both of them and shook his head no, looking pained.

oOo

Looking at the frantic shaking head of his brother, Sirius felt his stomach knot. What if he's not as accepting as he told the media? Does he hate me after all?

After saying goodbye to Remus and hanging up, there were a few eternities of awkward silence. They hadn't been alone in a room together since... a long time ago.

"Alors... Reg, erm" Sirius switched to French now. It felt more comfortable, like they were children again. "Would you like to tell me about what ha-"

"I'd rather not talk about that right now." Reg fidgeted nervously at the frayed cuffs of his sweater.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure." His brother looked like he'd rather just go to bed and never talk again but Sirius really had to ask before taking him to Gryffindor.

"Did you mean it? You really support me?"

"What do you mean?" Reg just glanced up from intensely memorising the pattern of the carpet.

"I suppose you followed twitter" At his dry tone, an eyebrow of Reg moved upwards.

"Yes, I did... But who you spend your free-time with and what you choose to do with them is indifferent to your hockey play."

"Warm words as always, loving brother." Now, the second eyebrow followed.

"Okay well, fuck you! You left me there, with our parents expecting me to outdo your every move! I know they are horrible, but you went and got better without me. You promised, to always be my brother, to be there for me. And then, you weren't. You abandoned me! Do you know how much I envied you for having friends, a team that supports you and genuinely likes you as a person, not just your play?”

"Reg..." Sirius tried to reach out to his brother, but Reg backed away.

"S-Sorry, that's not what I came here for. I wanted to tell you..." but the sentence just trailed off into tense silence.

"What is it?"

"I..."

"Come on, spit it out"

"I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about the situation."

"For what? Me being gay?" baffled, Sirius could only stare at his brother.

"No... for getting you into that situation... I did not want to hurt you or Remus"

"Well- Wait what?" Something awful was dawning in Sirius mind.

"I overheard your call on thanksgiving, you weren't exactly quiet... and please believe me I did not want this to happen... I-" Sirius felt suddenly cold all over.

"What. Did. You. Do?" his voice was barely above a whisper.

"It was at the Snake's Christmas... I- I was so lonely because of that Interview I was basically grounded and under constant observation... and I thought you hated me after that and... and I didn't want to - it just kinda slipped. I thought they all were too drunk to notice but-"

"Regulus." Crashing headfirst into the boards was pleasant compared to what Sirius felt right now. "Really I'm so-" Reg stammered, voice thick and eyes fixed on his shoes.

And next Sirius' fist crashed into his brother's face, sending him to the floor.

Sirius took a few ragged breaths, ready to succumb into a fit of rage but looking into his brother's face, almost a mirror of his own, eyes wide and blood tickling from his nose, not even trying to defend himself, he realised that this was not Regs fault… Sirius knew how their parents could get, knew the Snakes, knew that feeling of loneliness from when he was that young. His brother did not want to harm him but most importantly, it was not Regs fault how the public reacted and that he run away from Remus at the airport… Long ago, he promised himself to never hurt his baby brother, to protect him…. Sirius eyes welled up as he yanked him off the floor and pressed him to his chest. I'm sorry. Je suis désolé, je suis désolé... I'm sorry... I left you there, all alone... I'm sorry...

Regulus looked up into his face, tears streaking his face, too while both realised that although there is so much work to do between them after hall they lived through and did to each other, that they still have each other.

oOo

"Do you love him?" The brothers were sitting opposite each other on Sirius' bed, legs stretched out between them, both a cup of tea in their hands, Reg still pressing a tissue to his nose. Sirius was telling Reg about the general situation in Gryffindor.

"Yes", Sirius didn't even hesitate for a heartbeat.

"Have you actually put in the effort to tell him?" He leaned back against the headboard, crossing his legs.

"Reg, stop smart-assing."

"I see." Reg smirked a bit, " Then maybe, you know, mention it sometime. Or is he psychic?"

"You are a git."

"You like me."

"I ldo" Sirius snorted. " but I am still mad at you."

"As you have every right to be."

"Reg, ...why did you not speak to me first?"

"You mean because talking about feelings was exactly the sole centre of our upbringing?"

"You are not helping your cause."

"Je le sais. Je suis désolé mon frère... je suis sérieux." I know. I'm sorry... I really am.

oOo

After a few beats of a little more comfortable silence, a sudden reminder pinged through Reg's thoughts.

"Oh. I almost forgot. Can I take your phone to send a text? Mine is still spied at." He piped up rather automatically, then saw his brother's eyes narrow.

"Who would you want to text?"

"Erm..." Reg felt his cheeks heat, no idea how to explain this fever-dream-situation but the raised eyebrow with the expectant look on Sirius' face made him spill something. Reg thought it was a rather messily told story, but his brother seemed to follow.

"So, you had a meltdown after the tweed outing me and ...the guy that, cleans the stadium put you back together, had you checked by his EMP boyfriend and then took you home with the boyfriend to ...feed you soup and hug you good-night after telling you their life-stories?

"Yes."

"And then you came back to them two days later and told them about our family and they just offered you to live with them and -and announced themselves your mom and co-mom, while you refer to them as the Hobbits because they are short and friendy?"

"Yes."

"You are aware of just how absurd that sounds?"

"Mhm." Reg was gnawing at his bottom lip. He had not mentioned Jo so far. This was odd enough already.

"Just checking... Well, then go on." Sirius threw his phone across the bed, thinking of how lucky Reg got with these people but also looking for a catch.

This is Sirius' phone. I survived and will accompany him to Gryffindor tomorrow. Hugs, Reg. he quickly typed the message and sent it on its way.

When he woke up the next morning, around five, he found himself curled up on his side, head at the foot of the bed. Lifting said head, he caught a sight of his brother, mirroring his position so that their calves were at the back of the other.

"Just as we used to." He mumbled before carefully getting up and heading for the bathroom, getting ready for his flight.

#the spare #regulus black #sirius and regulus #my OC's #lumosinlove sweater weather

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kevv · 4 years

Text

a goodbye letter- abandoning current social media

i'm not the best at writing out my thoughts. forgive me if this feels scrambled and scraped together. my best friend, Fox, once said in abridged words; "it takes two to play out an abandonment fantasy, one to have it, and the other to follow suit".

i've known several handfuls of people who fear abandonment, or more specifically, being the one abandoned; scared that one day everyone in their life will take leave. and sometimes, like a self-fulfilling prophecy, they do. they leave in mass exodus, set into motion by one person who wants to set-forth their own abandonment fantasy– abandoning everyone else.

for me, my own fear of abandonment is not anyone abandoning me, i'm unbothered by people entering my life and leaving of their own accord; i'm scared i'll be the one to abandon everyone in my life. because i have. several times. i still do, even. i'll meet people in my lifetime that i loved harder than the universe itself, a deep love so terrifying i feel that it'll demolish cities and townships, friends and lovers and found-family. my skin will buzz and blaze alight with such an intense fear, a fear that i will ruin them and everything they are so i must run. it's unfounded, but it drives me away, and i fight tooth and nail to get to that escape route for those who won't let me leave quietly, until it ends in disaster. it's my own abandonment fantasy. i recall once, an ex-lover wanted me to stay. tried to lock the door and toss away the key, and said it hurt that i wanted an out. so i caused problems until i could break out through the window. not being allowed an option to leave made me feel like a feral, caged animal; because in the end, that's all i am. i hadn't done it on purpose. the need to escape everything had been there months prior. the events leading up to it had been fuzzy at best, sickly at worst, and i had been spoonfed misinformation. not on purpose, not in malicious intent, but still it struck genuine fear in my heart. like a feral animal, i want the option to roam. to come and go as i please. i can't be kept, i just want the trust that i'll find my way back eventually. if i feel contained, i scratch and bite until i'm released. but if you hold out your hand and wait patiently, i'll come to you. but don't ask me to stay. please don't ask me to stay. there's a lot that lead up to this current migration. the inability to be allowed to stand on my own two-feet and exist as just purely Kevin, not adjacent to someone, was a big one. still to this day i am asked about a youtuber i am no longer affiliated with by my own choice. i don't like attention, it's something i've said to her, said to many, and why i chose to never appear in her videos. which seems contradictory for an artist who posts on social media and previously did all of her older channel art. but maybe now i'm realizing that truthfully, i wanted recognition for me, not for others or for who i made myself sick in order to create content for. it's inescapable. i harbor no hard feelings anymore, i understand i was in the peak of my codependency and was willing to ruin myself for the benefit of another. to run myself broke and dry because at 19 years old i was still a child who didn't know how to handle the extent of his emotions. i want to apologize to penny. neither of us are really blameless, but we were inexperienced and young– still young. it's easy to not know what we're doing, to unintentionally take advantage of someone who was willing to burn themselves to give you warmth, or to latch onto an unfounded rumor and bare my teeth. i hope you're doing well, and i'm sorry. i'd like to give you a proper apology one day, when i'm more ready. that day is not today. sometimes i feel like there are four people living inside my brain, all with dissenting opinions and voices that i can't tell who i am anymore. i feel like i'm constantly contradicting myself because i don't know what my own thoughts are. i don't know who i am anymore. i don't know who i am anymore because i'm several different people all trying to be "kevin", all with different beliefs that go against a previous one. i prematurely deleted my twitter account for this reason, i couldn't stand a second more of being in a toxicity cycle i had previously taken part in, because sometimes that's all social media is. it's very... Online. i want to be one, unified person. whose thoughts and feelings are unadulterated by others surrounding him. additionally, there's the elephant in the room. some have already guessed it, suspected it, saw something like it coming from miles away. but for others who have known me for the past decade, it might be a surprise. someone once told me that words have power, and while at the time i disagreed, i'm starting to understand what she meant now. i've been afraid to speak it into existence, because it means it's real, and coming to terms with this unavoidable truth is a terrifying experience, one i need to face and stop running away from.

i'm detransitioning. giving life to this phrase doesn't make me feel any better. words have power, and that power is to make me crumble and break. since as early as 4 years old, i felt as if i was born a boy who was just being raised as a girl. at 12 was when i learned about and started identifying as transgender. at 18 i legally changed my name. for a decade, i lived as a transgender man. i've mentioned this before, but i'm intersex. i have an androgen insensitivity syndrome. what this means is that androgens, male sex hormones, have no effect on me. they instantly are reconverted back into estrogen by my body. this has been a reoccurring nightmare of mine since i was 14, and having it become my reality is.. heartbreaking, to say the least, crushing a lifetime of dreams and wishes. i've tried testosterone, self-medicated in my teen years, and "officially" more recently. it has no effect on me. a friend of mine says i shouldn't give up hope until i properly see an endocrinologist about HRT, but the reality is– i know my body, and i know my condition. i don't grow body hair, and my body cannot masculinize. these are unavoidable truths. i don't need to spend hundreds of dollars to be told what i already know. HRT will not affect me; i will never be able to transition. any attempt will become a scientific study in which i'm a guinea pig. i don't want that. i will never pass for male. my voice is high, my body is undoubtably female, my face is feminine, and i'm 4'11". it's disheartening and i've shed many tears over it. for what feels like my whole life, i've longed for SRS/GRS, top surgery, a deeper voice, and a couple inches of height. i ache for body hair, masculine fat redistribution, and male pattern baldness. all the good and the bad associated with testosterone is what i so desperately yearn for with such a soul-crushing depravity. i am genuinely heartbroken. maybe it's my punishment for all the bad things i've believed in or done. it's what i'd deserve, i guess. this punishment. it is for those reasons that i feel like i can no longer find comfort in identifying as ftm, to struggle seeing myself as a man. it's crazy, i've referred to myself as male since early childhood, and now that i'm coming to terms with my intersex condition am i feeling wrong in every conceivably way of identity. truthfully, i don't even identify as anything anymore. i'm not nonbinary, cis, or i guess trans. i feel as if i just exist. i just am. you can still call me kevin. it's my name, my legal name– which i love to point out. i'm not changing it. it's the first time i made a decision purely for myself, and went through with it. i love my name. i don't think i will love anything about myself quite like my name. i chose it when i was 12, it was my first choice. i never wanted another name. i still don't. but i like nicknames, particularly kitty and K-K. you can call me those too. these have always been options available. i reiterate– i really like being called nicknames. (: you can still use male pronouns for me. i never minded being "misgendered" because, well, i never passed, and i made peace with that years and years ago. while being called she/her or otherwise will probably always leave a stale taste in my mouth, i've learned to accept the reality of what i am a long time ago. biologically female. you can still use male identifiers for me, like husband or boyfriend or whatever other male terms there are...... actually you'll have to pry those out of my cold dead hands. i will not accept being called a "girlfriend" i will literally go feral and foam at the mouth and bite your ankles until you take it back. there's comfort in these things that i'm not ready to let go of, and frankly, i don't think i'll ever feel ready to. moving forward, i don't really know what i'm going to do. right now i'm taking a break from the internet, so i can soul-search and truly find myself, in all senses of the word and every iteration that it can be built upon. i'll make a new twitter account when i'm ready to, probably. there's a lot more i want to say, to add onto this in addendum, and pour so much of myself into this until it spills out the sides and trickles down into tiny cracks. but truthfully, i don't know how to say it. i don't know its relevancy to this eulogy of an account, and quite honestly, there are still some things i can't find myself able to say. to speak into existence. to give power to those words. admitting aloud to a 6-year long love that burnt like candles catching a home on fire was intense enough (hi Charlotte it's you, it's you and it's always been you and everyone knows this). so maybe i'd rather keep some things to myself, perhaps. preferably. so i guess that's it. i've bared my heart and soul and skin and bones to whoever will read this piece of myself. it's the end to katidoj, one that's been a longtime coming. i've never been very good at staying in one place for very long. please take care, i love you. and i'll miss you. a piece of my heart left with you, here buried deep in this account. (pressing the submit button has never been so hard in my life.)

#goodbye. i hope to be a better version of myself the next time we meet.

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piccolina-mina · 4 years

Text

It's one of those days. I barely pay attention to who I follow and who all follows me. That has never been something I put much interest and emphasis on because this experience while fun and while capable of leading you to amazing people is still just such a small thing compared to everything else in life.

Which means I have so many bots. I have so many inactive accounts. I have so many people who have pretty much abandoned their blogs.

I've been learning in fandom, in life, with social media, with politics, with friends and family and so many things that it's important to curate a space that works best for you.

Sometimes that means letting go. Sometimes that means cutting back. Sometimes that means cutting ties completely. Sometimes it IS personal, other times it's just a natural progression.

People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. You never know what someone will be to you. You never know what you'll be to someone. And all of that is normal. All of that is OK.

You can't force season people into lifetime roles. You can't expect to be someone's lifetime when you were only meant to be a reason.

Such is life.

I've lost a lot of wonderful people on this place over time. And some of them have lost me for whatever that's worth.

But schedule permitting, I plan to clean house by the end of the week). Things that will help determine that will likely be due to the aforementioned things and these things:

I don't do bigotry. Fortunately, people I have followed have not been this way and if I noticed it, I unfollowed. I realize that no one is perfect and there are moments of ignorance that may not be malicious or intentional. We're all learning and unlearning shit. But if you're not, and you're just a bigoted asshole... Good riddance.

If your politics are actively harmful to people, I'm cutting ties. This is where we are. I would say I'm sorry, but I'm not.

Gaslighting. I have seen this. A lot. And I'm tired of it. I can't keep doing it.

Bullying. If you follow me, you have surely noticed I can't stand bullies. I have been bullied on this hellscape. So I sure as hell don't like seeing it happen to other people whether I know them or not. I don't care who you are. If you're actively bullying other people, you gotta go. And you can stop following me too while you're at it. It's childish and ridiculous.

Harassment. I delete nasty anons. I will actively start blocking them now. One time I did I noticed it was someone that I thought I knew better than that. If my block list keeps extending and my follower list keeps dwindling than wow. Wow. This also applies to other people. If you have a history of harassing people and a reputation across multiple spaces and from too many people to ignore, then I'm DONE.

Disrespecting/Hurting My Friends. I have cultivated some genuine friendships along the way. Some reasons and seasons..... and who knows? Maybe some lifetimes. I do not care if you dislike my friends. I'm adult enough to recognize that not everyone has to get along. There are people I am fine with who are friends with people I'm not fond of. It happens. Frequently. I respect my friends enough to not disparage someone I know they care about. I do not take kindly to actively disrespecting and hurting people I care about. Full stop. It makes my blood boil in some ways more than if it happened to me directly. It's a fast-track to losing my respect completely. You don't respect me as a friend or person if you're also disrespecting and hurting people I care about. Another case of me being done.

Disregarding Privacy and Breaking Trust - I've been more lenient than my own comfort regarding this because of how I naturally am, but this has happened to me before, and I need it to be clear. In the event I've truly slipped up and had the gall to confide in you and I discover that you violated that, I think I may just opt for a block. Period. I regret not doing that a few years back.

Spam - Is this something new? I can't do all the spamming. Sorry mates.

Negativity- it's for me. The world sucks. We all know it. When I get sucked too deep into a negative spiral I take a break. With people whose negativity is ongoing. I reserve the right to take a break too. For me, not you. Also, this isn't regarding spreading awareness about social injustice etc.

Discomfort- I've been realizing how much time I personally spend in some state of discomfort, and I ask myself now why do I accept that when I don't have to? I guess I reserve the right to decide that I'm just not comfortable and act accordingly.

I typically find posts like this dramatic and absurd. But my point of this is giving people a heads up.

I don't think everyone is owed an explanation. It's blogging. People should be free to curate their experience however they need to. This is my heads up and these are my reasons. You fall under any of these things.

#if i unfollow or block you this is why

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itscookieoverlordtoyou · 4 years

Text

40 Questions — Meme for Fic Writers

Don’t you sometimes see those ask games and wish you could just fkg do them all? On this sunny Saturday, we make our dreams reality lolol

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

Short fic, I usually get a small scene I want written so I write around it, plus I love short stories with interesting punchline.

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Probably, I don’t know them all ^^’

3. Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?

Writing about stuff that disgust me I guess.

4. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

Like 5-6? I want to write about a restaurant but set in a world where people have powers I think the combo could be very funny. The main character has the power of insight, the plonge is a giant pool where you swim around cleaning. Backstories of characters with shitty and amazing powers and how they ended up here. Rival to lover character that has the power to see into the future.

5. Share one of your strengths.

Dialogues, subversion, and humor; classmates often said I have a touch to spin a sad story into something positive/happier.

6. Share one of your weaknesses?

I get tired when I describe something for longer than 4 sentences.

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

“In what kind of trouble have we walked right into?”, I ask my companions as they’re idly fixing their attire. Together, we’ve face many perils and this mission ranks among one of the most dangerous. Yet, the others had been…how should I say it…professional! Rescuing kidnapped princesses, vanquishing terrifying monsters, quests to restore mythical artifacts, save nations from insidious plots. Oddly enough, “Does this dress make me look fat?”, is not the answer I’m looking for.

Ribbon in my hair is the first time I wrote about my knights, I first dreamt about them when I as 18, my boyfriend at the time called my idea stupid and my world building pointless so I only started writing about them when I was 21. Now I write about them a little bit every year :)

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

“Do you really want your last words to be complaints?”

“I die as I lived.”

“Will we become a fruit tree?”

“I don’t think so, it’s never been the case for my ancestors.”

“I’d love it if we could turn into a banana tree.”

“I’m not from the southern regions, plus I like apples more.”

“Just imagine, our fruits could have been banana flambée”

This death scene was a big finale to a story I wrote for a class in Uni, a story of war between clan of forest and volcano people, of the supposedly brutal death of a Goddess, of a mysterious apple tree whose fruit give vision of the past. I should revisit it.

9. Which fic as been the hardest to write?

My analysis on D’Artagnan and the figure of the hero. Granted it’s an essay for school but I deeply loved it. I was too afraid to write or ask for help from the professor in charge of me (which made our relationship tense ^^’) but when I did, it was beautiful and I was very proud got 89% :D

10. Which fic has been the easiest to write?

A play called Adelaide where an old couple reads their old fairytale book about a Prince on a quest to save a Princess. They bicker about the other misreading the story but we finally get to the part where the Prince tosses the princess apart to get a better view of the dragon of which he falls instantly in love. The book is actually their wedding album.

11. Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

It’s one of my passions, but it’s not something I think I could live on so I delegated it to my hobby.

12. Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

The wedding scene in Shrek 2, my mind was blown when I saw it in theaters and when I need inspiration to write, I rewatch it.

13. What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Presentation is important. If trying to read you gives people headaches, they’ll stop. Choose a nice big font, space with paragraphs, be mindful of your spelling and missing words. Read out loud because some things written are bad said.

14. What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

I must’ve been lucky in this regard, I don’t think I’ve ever received advice that made me go NO, but I did have to listen/read stuff that made me gag.

15. If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

I would love to the Adelaide acted out, some adjustments would be required because I’m no expert in play writing but I think I’d be great.

16. If you only could write one pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?

Luyenor’a and Taram, names are placeholders as of now but they’re two of my knight, being the “only pairing I’m allow to write about forever” means I’d get more knight shenanigans done.

17. Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

I’m doing bullets point of what I want to happen and write stuff without much order. Some days I have no inspirations for what goes in the beginning but have loads for a later point. I surf the wave when it presents itself.

18. Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines?

Word on my computer, a notebook in my bag, the note app in my phone.

19. Stephen King once said that his muse is a man who lives in the basement. Do you have a muse?

I have little trinkets all around my computer to invite inspiration.

20. Describe your perfect writing conditions.

Freshly woken up, having eaten, drinking something sugary and sometimes apple cider because the alcohol help lower my inhibition.

21. How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

I read out loud at least once the whole thing, helps with missing words but dude I reread my stuff on ao3 and always find mistakes still ^^’

22. Choose a passage from one of your earlier fics and edit it into your current writing style. (Person sending the ask is free to make suggestions).

I’m not going to put here because it’s in French and I don’t want to translate now but I wrote Vision of a world, mine when I was 16 and damn was I already depressed then?

23. If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?

The Princess and the Soldier, some gay fairytale I think my first one, I’m sure I can do better bow

I also have one about a janitor and it’s a murder mystery I could redo

24. Have you ever deleted one of your published fics?

Once by accident, I was so angry I never rewrote it.

25. What do you look for in a beta?

I don’t really use beta (beta reader right?) but I guess I’ve had like 3-4 when I was in Uni and had to read people’s wip and they read mine. They’d talk about what they liked, links they noticed, things that seemed weak or to change

26. Do you beta yourself? If so, what kind of beta are you?

I usually just point out the stuff I like

27. How do you feel about collaborations?

For a class in college, we had to act out a play we wrote collectively. Ten sketches written in pairs/alone. I made sure I was alone so I wouldn’t be saddled with someone else to write my sketch

28. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

I don’t follow fic writers; I just am in a mood for a ship and read what’s available. I do like my friend @alumort ‘s fics tho ^^

29. If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

There was a Phineas and Ferb fic focused on Perry I really loved. Their world building was something I’d never seen and they abandoned the story, so I did fanfic of a fic. Never dared to post it anywhere I mean it was their world to begin with.

30. Do you accept prompts?

Of course, when inspiration is given I accept

31. Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

I don’t care about canon but I do love using it when there are little trivia to enrich the character.

32. How do you feel about smut?

Love to read it sometimes, would love to write it. Some I’m like………….youveneverhadsexhaveyou…………………

33. How do you feel about crack?

Love it!!!!!!!! I’m too self-conscious to write it tho. Oh maybe that could be a never before written trope I could try?

34. What are your thoughts on non-con and dub-con?

Rape I can’t, dub-con where underlying requited feelings exist but anxiety™ don’t let the characters express them but they’re drunk so it surfaces is okay

35. Would you ever kill off a canon character?

Hell yeah! I do when/if the death makes sense (I am still pissed at Kishi for Neji)

36. Which is your favorite site to post fic?

Ao3 is where I post,I used devianart when I had one

37. Talk about your current wips.

Marry Me for the Love of Cake: God I’m so sorry to the few people who followed it, I said I’d pick it up before the end of 2019 and well……I have the ending in bullet points

Yours, with Love: I hope I’ll finish it…I have most of the ending in bullet points

I guess I’m into rom com at the moment lolol

38. Talk about a review that made your day.

I made my best friend read All this for a Roll Cake, and she laughed so much at my work, I took a picture I look at from time to time to remain humble.

39. Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

Thankfully I’ve never received a rude review. My professor once told me it seemed kinda unnatural how unlucky my protagonist was vs. how lucky his love interest was (All this for a Roll Cake) but that was the whole point of the story so I just ignored her.

40. Write an alternative ending to [insert fic title] (or just the summary of one).

Writing this I realised I lost my final version of All this for a Roll Cake T^T so I guess I’d rewrite the ending I have of the before the last version I still have.

Well this was fun ^^ got to revisit my works and remember many beloved pieces of fiction I wrote, I look forward to my next projects

#have fun reading lolol #will writing this inspire me to continue my wip?#who knows

5 notes · View notes

purrincess-chat · 5 years

Text

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Original CH14

It’s my birthdaaaayyy~~ Here is this especially long chapter of everyone’s favorite pile of salt. I hope you all have a wonderful day and enjoy the ride that is this chapter!

Previous First Next

Chapter 14

Marinette chewed her lip, picking at the hem of her shirt as Clara and her manager flipped through her designs. She’d barely slept all night because of nerves, and now she was in overdrive. Did Clara like them? Hate them? Had she let her down? Marinette wished she’d say something.

After a few minutes, Clara flicked her gaze up to Marinette, a smile curling on her lips, and with an amused giggle, she stood up and took Marinette’s hands.

“You can definitely chill because these designs really fit the bill. Choosing you was in good taste; Eloise, send these to my tailor, post haste,” Clara winked, and Marinette breathed a sigh of relief. “Truly, great work, Marinette. I love them.”

“I’m glad. Thank you so much for this opportunity,” Marinette said, bowing politely, and Clara giggled.

“Although your formality is rather cutesy, there’s no need since you and I are friends, you see,” she spun Marinette around then pulled her in for a hug. “I felt a connection with you right away. If you ever need anything, you just have to say.”

Marinette’s chest swelled as Clara pulled away and brushed her nose with a finger.

“Eloise, write her a check for her beautiful mind,” Clara ordered, pacing over to the piano. “I’ve got an idea for a new song that will be simply divine!”

Clara’s manager tore a check from her book and handed it to Marinette as Clara began to pluck at the piano.

“Goodbye, my dearest friend. I’ll miss you until we meet again!” Clara blew a kiss as Marinette was escorted out, and she waved over her shoulder with a small smile.

As the door closed behind her, she glanced down at her check, excitement bubbling up through her core. Clara liked her designs and considered her a friend! She was actually going to wear one of her original designs in a few months!

“I’m so proud of you, Marinette!” Tikki said as Marinette tapped the button for the elevator. “You worked really hard, and it paid off.”

“I’m just happy that Clara liked my designs. It’s not about the money for me. I want to design clothes that make people feel good,” she said, stepping onto the elevator. “I can’t wait to tell everyone!”

“We should celebrate,” Tikki suggested, and Marinette shot her a knowing smile.

“You just want to snack on cookies,” she teased, brushing her kwami’s nose with one finger.

“I want to celebrate your accomplishments!” Tikki shot back indignantly. “If there happens to be cookies there then so be it.”

“Tell you what,” Marinette said as the elevator dinged on their floor. “Why don’t we celebrate now? Let’s go get some ice cream.”

Tikki perked up at that then ducked back down into her purse, and Marinette shut the clasp as she paced out the front doors of the hotel. Starting up the street, she pulled out her phone to look up where Andre was stationed today, and failing to look up as she rounded the corner, she collided with another person.

“Sorry!” She gasped as they both stumbled backward, but upon seeing the face of her victim, her face hardened.

“Finally apologizing for trying to upstage me? It’s about time,” Lila said, flipping her hair, and Marinette rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry for bumping into you. Nothing else,” she crossed her arms over her chest and stepped around her.

“So, you’re not sorry for abandoning all of your friends then? For turning your back on Alya?” Lila quirked a brow, and Marinette’s shoulders curled.

“Alya made her choice,” she replied flatly.

“And she chose me over you,” Lila laughed. “She even got us matching bff necklaces. She’s so sweet.”

“Congratulations. I’m sure your genuine friendship built on honesty and trust will last a lifetime,” Marinette said before stalking a few paces up the street.

“I’m just glad she finally deleted her blog dedicated to that insect. She has so much more time on her hands to do all of my work now,” Lila examined her nails. “You know, because I’m class representative since you so shamelessly deserted your post.”

Marinette bit her lip hard, hands clenching into fists at her sides. She’d always known Lila was evil, but she really had a way of one-upping herself. Turning back with a sharp retort on her tongue, she drew a breath just as a silver limo pulled up to the curb, and Martin climbed out.

“Hey, Marinette, I saw you, so I had my driver pull over,” he said, flicking his gaze between them. “Do you and your friend need a ride?”

“Ha! She and I will never be friends. I have much better taste,” Lila grunted, and Martin’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Then if you don’t mind, please don’t say mean things about her. She’s my friend, and she’s incredibly nice,” Martin requested politely, and Lila rolled her eyes.

“Lots of people are nice, but not everyone can claim to be the great-grand daughter of the world-famous piano player Victor Laurent,” she said, flipping her hair with a smug grin.

“Victor Laurent didn’t have any children. He died alone at the age of 72 from pneumonia,” Martin said, tilting his head to one side, and Marinette stifled a laugh as Lila’s shoulders tensed. “And anyway, Marinette’s great-uncle is a world-famous chef with his own brand of cookware. My mom loves his knives, so she’s just as connected as you, maybe even more so since she’s honest.”

Lila gasped in offence before shooting a glare at a smirking Marinette and stalking off. Martin turned to Marinette in confusion as she threw her head back with a laugh.

“So, that’s the girl who turned all of your friends against you?” Martin asked, and Marinette nodded. “Wow. No wonder you changed schools. I would have changed cities.”

“I thought about it,” Marinette said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, I can take you the rest of the way home if you want,” he offered, gesturing to his limo.

“Okay, but can we make one stop first?”

Several minutes later, they sat together on a bench with ice cream cones in hand. Martin eyed her a moment, staring blankly ahead though he picked up a hint of something else in her eye. She looked sad.

“Are you okay? Did that girl upset you?” He asked, and she blinked, shifting a little before taking a bite.

“It’s not so much her,” she said after a moment. “It’s just…Do you think it was selfish of me to leave knowing what she is? To let my friends be manipulated while I ran away?”

Martin seemed to weigh it for a moment before replying, “I wouldn’t say so.”

“But I did turn my back on them and left them to be used…”

“That’s a fate they chose.” Marinette’s eyebrows raised at that. “You tried to tell them multiple times, but no one believed you even after you’d proved to them time and time again that you were honest and trustworthy.” She shifted her gaze to her lap so he continued, “You can’t help people who aren’t willing to help themselves, Marinette. I had to learn to do that the hard way.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she pursed her lips.

“You’re not responsible for other people. You were in a situation that was detrimental to your well-being, so you got out. It’s not selfish to take care of yourself when you’re hurting,” he assured her. “You have a good heart, and I know you care about them and would do anything for them because you do that for us, but don’t ever let it get to a point where you destroy yourself to take are of someone else because at some point, they need to wake up and start taking care of themselves.”

“Wow. You really have grown up a lot,” Marinette remarked, a smile curling on her lips. “You were really brave earlier when you stood up for me.”

“It’s all thanks to you that I can now. Before you, I never could have done something like that,” he blushed, rubbing his neck. “You’re the most selfless person I know, so don’t worry about whether your decision was selfish. Taking care of yourself is important too.”

“Thanks, Martin,” Marinette said, leaning against his shoulder. “I almost stooped to her level, but you saved me today. You’re a good friend.”

“I want to keep getting stronger so that I can protect the people that I care about,” he said, and Marinette bit back a smirk, taking a bite of her ice cream.

“Like Macy?” He stiffened under her smug grin, cheeks darkening three shades.

“I- no!”

“Oh, come on. I see the way you look at her,” Marinette said, nudging him with her elbow.

“You’re not going to tell her, are you?” He pleaded.

“Nah, don’t worry,” she assured him. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thanks, Marinette,” he relaxed.

“Thank you,” she winked. “I really needed to hear all of that.”

“Anytime,” Martin smiled. “That’s what friends are for.”

***

“So, how are things going on your lonely high road?” Chloe asked as her butler cut her steak for her, and when Adrien averted his gaze, she smirked. “Ready to do things my way?”

“I’m not going to be mean, Chloe,” he said firmly, picking at his broccoli.

“Sooner or later, you’re going to realize it’s the only way,” Chloe said, accepting a bite. “You let Alya delete her stupid blog. I always knew she was a fake fan, but I am enjoying absorbing her followers on my new blog.”

“Chloe, she’s being manipulated, cut her some slack,” Adrien chided as Chloe smiled down at her phone, and she quirked a brow.

“And whose fault is that? She’s turned a blind eye to everyone’s attempts to help her, so she’ll only have herself to blame in the end,” Chloe said, and when Adrien seemed terse, added, “You could expose her easily, you know. Two phone calls max is all it would take. We could get Jagged Stone or Prince Ali to come set her straight.”

“I don’t want to humiliate her,” Adrien said, shifting his gaze down to his plate.

“Why not? She had no problem humiliating Dupain-Cheng and driving her from the school,” Chloe pointed out, and Adrien skewered a cut of meat a little too forcefully.

“Yeah, and Marinette is still hurting from that,” he retorted. “Revenge is not the answer.”

“You’re awfully protective of Marinette,” Chloe remarked, a smirk curling on her lips. “She must be a good kisser.”

Adrien surged forward, spitting his drink a little as it sailed down his windpipe. He coughed, beating his chest with his fist while Chloe looked on in amusement.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He wheezed, reaching for a napkin.

“Don’t play dumb, Adrikins. You two were getting awfully cozy in the garden at that party,” she said, continuing her meal nonchalantly. “It’s a shame those sprinklers turned on all by themselves.”

Adrien’s face fell into his hand with a sigh, and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Look, nothing happened, okay? We almost kissed, but that was it,” he insisted, and Chloe simply shrugged. “I…don’t know how I feel right now, okay? I’m still trying to figure it out.”

“If you say so,” Chloe relented. “Although in my experience, people don’t try to kiss their ‘just friends.’”

“So, Lila,” Adrien cleared his throat, picking up his fork again and resuming his meal.

He tried to play it off, but Chloe could see the distinct rosy tint burning on his cheeks.

***

“Remember, class, you must all pick a painting to write a report about that will be due next Tuesday, so be sure to take good notes while on your tours today,” Mme. Pierre instructed. “Remember where we are meeting for lunch, and try to learn something today.”

Marinette glanced around at the other museum goers as Mme. Pierre dismissed them, and Macy took her wrist.

“Let’s walk around in a group,” she said, and Marinette noticed Martin on her other side. Several paces ahead of them was Eliott and Lisette walking arm-in-arm, and off to the left was Thomas and his new girlfriend surrounded by their posse. Marinette caught sight of long red hair slinking up the hall alone and pressed her lips into a firm line.

“Let’s go this way first,” she said, tugging Macy’s wrist to follow her.

“Okay,” Macy smiled, following suit with Martin in tow.

“Shouldn’t we invite Eliott and Lisette?” Martin asked.

“No way. They’re spending quality time together as a couple. They’ll meet up with us at lunch,” Macy waved it away. “It’s hard to believe it’s been three months since they got together. Almost five months since you came into our lives too, Marinette, and two and a half months since the epic downfall of little miss bankrupt.”

Macy pointed to Gabrielle jotting down notes in front of a painting with a giggle.

“Macy, that’s mean,” Martin chided.

“So was she. I think she got what she deserved,” Macy shrugged. “She used to torment you, shouldn’t you be laughing too?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I think she deserves to be miserable,” he curled his shoulders. “She’s been a lot different lately, and I’ve forgiven her. You should too.”

“Aww, Martin,” Macy wrapped her arms around his shoulders, turning the tips of his ears red. “You’re an angel, you know that?”

Marinette bit back a smile watching him falter and fixed her gaze on the painting the tour guide was explaining. Her eyebrows knitted together as she zeroed in on the crowd, a familiar face listening intently.

“Nathaniel?” She gasped, flicking her gaze over to the statue across the room where Kim was mimicking the pose for Max and Alix. Mylene and Ivan were reading a placard, hands twined while Juleka and Rose studied a map.

“Looks like we took the same field trip,” she jumped at Adrien’s voice in her ear, and he placed a hand on the small of her back to steady her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m-”

“Marinette?” Her spine stiffened as Nathaniel called out to her. “Guys, it’s Marinette!”

“Marinette!”

“Yo, what up?”

“It’s good to see you!”

“I love your buns.”

“We missed you,” Marinette blinked at Rose’s declaration, suddenly surrounded by her old classmates. Her old friends.

“I-” she started, heart hammering in her chest, and she bit her lip to hold back tears. “I missed you guys too.”

“Aww.” Everyone crowded in for a hug, complimenting her hair and expressing their joy of seeing her again.

“Well, well, look who it is. Long time no see, Marinette,” The crowd around her parted at Lila’s voice, and Marinette felt her blood run cold as she laid eyes on Alya who quickly averted her gaze. “Are you enjoying your new school? Why did you transfer anyway? And without telling any of us! We were so heart broken.”

Marinette held her challenging gaze for a moment, and Adrien shifted beside her.

“Lila-”

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Marinette said, cutting him off and turning to her classmates. “I know I should have told all of you, but it was a sudden decision I made because I wanted to focus on my future. I hope you’re not all mad at me.”

She flicked her gaze back to Alya briefly as everyone processed before Kim spoke.

“How could we be mad at you? You’re like, the best,” he said, and Alix nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, we were all just confused, but we know how important your future is to you,” Mylene added.

“I mean, you could have said goodbye,” Nathaniel said, and Ivan elbowed him.

“We’re just glad to see you again. We haven’t heard from you, so we were afraid to come see you,” Rose said, curling her shoulders. “We’re sorry for being bad friends!”

“Rose,” Marinette laughed, patting her back as she buried her face in her shirt and began to cry.

“But you’ve had some crazy cool adventures at your new school. Tell us about that Jagged concert,” Alix requested, and several classmates echoed their agreement.

“Hey, Marinette, we’re gonna move to the next exhibit,” Macy said, parting the crowd to reach her. “We need to take notes for our report.”

“You’re right. Sorry, I have to go,” Marinette winced, though her former classmates only smiled.

“No sweat, Marinette.”

“Hey, we’re all having lunch in the courtyard, you should sit with us!” Mylene said as Macy toted her away.

“Uh, sure,” she called over her shoulder.

“Martin told me about your run-in with that girl a few months ago, so I wanted to get you out of there,” Macy said once they were safely in another room. “You were being so brave.”

“Do you want us to be your buffer today?” Martin asked, and Marinette smiled.

“Thank you, both of you, but I’m fine. Seeing everyone again has actually put my mind at ease. At least now I know they don’t hate me,” she said, hugging her arms to her chest. “My biggest challenge today will be avoiding confrontation with Lila.”

“Well, you know we’ve got your back,” Macy linked an arm through hers with a smile.

“I’m really good at avoiding people, so I can steer us away from them as we explore,” Martin added, and Marinette felt her hear soften.

“You guys are the best,” she breathed with a laugh.

“You’ve protected us in the past, so now it’s our turn,” Martin said, nudging her with his elbow.

“Yeah, we’re just returning the favor.” Marinette tightened her grip, leaning her head against Macy’s shoulder, reminded what real friendship looked like.

Martin’s stealth proved effective as the morning wore on, and Marinette barely saw any of her old classmates. As much relief as it brought her to know they still thought of her as a friend, she wasn’t ready to dive all the way back in. After all, they were still enamored by Lila, so she needed to tread carefully.

“You know, most people don’t avoid popularity.” Marinette turned over her shoulder to see Gabrielle scribbling in her notebook, and upon noticing Marinette staring, her face fell into a scowl. “Don’t turn around! I don’t want people to know we’re talking.”

Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed, but nevertheless, she turned back to her painting and pretended to study it.

“You ran away from your old friends because you said they ditched you, but they seemed more than happy to see you,” she remarked.

“It’s complicated,” Marinette said, jotting down information from the placard. “They’re being manipulated.”

“By the girl from the café?”

“Yeah,” Marinette pressed her lips into a firm line.

“She is quite the show pony,” Gabrielle smirked. “Your friends are stupid if they buy half of her stories. They don’t even make sense.”

“Lila is very charismatic. She tells people what they want to hear, so they don’t question it,” Marinette replied.

“She’d make a great politician,” Gabrielle said with a laugh, but Marinette remained quiet. “It would be easy to take her down, you know. There are holes in all of her stories. You just have to pick one.”

Marinette paused her writing and lowered her notebook with a frown.

“I’m not getting involved. It’s not my job to save everyone,” she said curtly, and Gabrielle shrugged her shoulders.

“Maybe not, but I think you enjoy it,” she said, and Marinette pursed her lips. “You like playing the hero, not for any glory or self-elevation, but because you like helping people.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because even though I was mean to you and your friends, you still come by my café every Tuesday so I don’t have to walk home alone. Because you talk to me at all when everyone else abandoned me,” she lowered her gaze. “Because you use your light to illuminate others, not just yourself. Martin was a spineless twig before he met you. Eliott was a complacent coward. You can’t help yourself, Marinette. You’re a good person.”

“Do you really think exposing her is what I should do? She’ll end up hurt and alone,” Marinette bit her lip.

“Maybe, but she’ll have brought it on herself. Sometimes you need to lose everything in order to change. If you leave her like this, she’ll never stop, and she’ll never grow.” Gabrielle let out a short laugh. “Take it from someone who knows.”

Marinette lowered her gaze, eyebrows knitted together as she weighed those words. Did she want to help? Of course. But should she get involved again at the expense of her own well-being? She wasn’t sure.

Lila was slippery, and she wasn’t sure she could even take her down completely, and if she did, she’d only cement her as an enemy. She needed a different way, an indirect way to make everyone see without calling her out to her face.

There is one person who would know what to do.

Marinette pursed her lips as Chloe flashed in her mind. She’d requested her help once before, but did she even still want it? Did Chloe even still care about Lila?

“Guess who?” She jumped as a hand clamped over her eyes, and a playful lilt sounded in her ear.

“Adrien?” He lowered his hands, and she turned to find that Gabrielle was gone. Adrien hugged her close, touching his forehead to hers.

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m…fine,” she said, shaking her head to clear it, and Adrien gently turned her around, hugging her from behind and bringing a flush to her cheeks.

A few times since the night at the party they’d found themselves in compromising situations, but they were always interrupted before anything happened. She didn’t really know what they were, but Adrien grew more affectionate each time they saw each other. He often fretted over her well-being and did anything he could whether it be taking her out for a while to distract her or just listening to her worries. He was always patient and supportive while she worked through everything, and each day she loved him more and more.

“I know you’re avoiding everyone, but let’s walk around together for a bit. It’s been a few days since I’ve had time to see you in person,” he requested, his lips brushing her cheek, and a smile curled on her lips as she turned and twined her fingers through his.

“Okay,” she said, and he glanced down at their hands, a smile tugging on his own lips.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay with everyone at lunch?” Adrien asked as they walked.

“I’ll be fine,” she insisted, though Adrien felt her grip tighten.

“I’ll be right there with you if you need me, okay? I’ve got your back,” he promised, and she relaxed a little, nodding appreciatively.

Adrien kept her mind off of everything for a while, discussing various paintings and relaying stories from recent photoshoots and fencing tournaments. He told her jokes and made her laugh, kept her smiling when she started to look sad. But lunch eventually came, and he held her hand the whole walk to the courtyard.

“Marinette!” Macy waved them over to their group, and as soon as she sat down, her old classmates flocked to her.

“So, who are your new friends?” Rose asked, settling in with Juleka.

“Uh…”

“My name’s Macy, and this is Martin, Eliott, and Lisette,” Macy cast her a reassuring smile as her old classmates introduced themselves one by one, and she tried to relax her shoulders.

“Oh, Lila! Over here,” Kim called, flagging her down and causing Marinette’s stomach to flip. Everyone flicked their gazes to her with eager smiles though Marinette felt like she could vomit. “This is Lila. She has an amazing life.”

“Same,” Macy smiled sweetly.

“Last summer she helped save an African village leader from choking,” Nathaniel said, beaming up at her.

“It was the least I could do after he agreed to sign my petition to teach the children how to read,” Lila waved it away.

“Oh, Eliott and I love charity trips. Our parents have an organization that ships out clean water and recycled clothing to third world countries. We visited a few in Africa last summer to help build huts and dig wells for them,” Macy shot back.

“Those kids played a mean game of football,” Eliott nodded with a reminiscent smile.

“She also spent Christmas in Achu with Prince Ali and his family. They’re close personal friends,” Rose gushed.

“Oh, Achu is lovely at Christmas, but we usually spend it in London at the royal family’s Christmas party. It’s a blast! My dad played water polo with Prince William in college, and they’re still good friends,” Eliott chimed in. “That reminds me, Marinette, you have got to come this year.”

“You know Prince William?” Rose gasped, cupping her cheeks.

“I have his number. Sometimes I babysit when we go to visit,” Eliott shrugged as if it were no big deal.

“Ugh, don’t get him started. He’ll brag all day,” Macy rolled her eyes, but the classmates turned their attention over immediately, that is, all save for one.

Marinette took a bite of her sandwich, but it felt like sand in her mouth as Lila glared at her. As much as she should have been happy that Lila wasn’t getting the attention she wanted, she just couldn’t. Because she knew that this was only giving her fuel to come up with better lies and new ways to use her friends.

Alya’s absence from the group only served as a further reminder of how deep Lila’s claws had sunk into her old school, and Marinette knew it was only a matter of time before she got her revenge. Gabrielle was right. She’d never stop.

“You okay?” Adrien leaned into her ear, and she blinked down at the sandwich she was crushing.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” she said, setting her sandwich on top of her bag and getting up.

Macy and Adrien exchanged nods as she scurried back to the museum, and he followed after her as Eliott performed a scene from the Miraculous show he’d been in months prior. When he caught up to her, she was halfway up the hall, and she turned to him with the most tortured of expressions.

“Hey, I’m here, just breathe,” he held out his arms, and she stepped into them without hesitation.

Her shoulders shook as she took ragged breaths, and Adrien rubbed her back, whispering gentle reassurances in her ear.

“Talk to me,” he said once she’d calmed enough.

“Just…They’re all so taken with her, and she does nothing but use them and rub it in my face,” she growled. “And I know that I could expose her in an instant. I have Jagged Stone’s phone number. Clara Nightingale texts me! I could end her reign with a single phone call.”

“But that’s not you,” Adrien said, and she pressed the back of her hand to her quivering lip and shook her head.

“I want to stop it. I do, but I don’t want to play her game anymore. I want to get out and not worry about it, but so long as she has the people I care about, I can’t let go,” she whimpered. “I want to save everyone, but I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m tired of being everyone’s hero.”

“It’s okay,” he soothed with increasing alarm, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’re gonna get through this. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“I’m tired of always having to be strong. For once I want to stop carrying everyone’s burdens because they’re too heavy for me,” she clenched her hands into fists, and Adrien flicked his gaze briefly over her shoulder then met her gaze once more.

“Listen to me. Macy, Eliott, and Martin are all here for you,” he said, cupping her face. “I’m here for you. Don’t lose hope.”

“I can’t anymore. I can’t. I can’t-” she stopped short as dark energy washed over her, a cold feeling running through her core.

“Truth Seeker, I am Hawkmoth-”

“Marinette, don’t listen to him, listen to me,” Adrien pleaded. “No one expects you to solve all of their problems.”

“Your friends are all trapped by that liar.”

“You’re stronger than him, Marinette.”

“Wouldn’t you like to set them free?”

“Fight it! Don’t give up!”

“I can give you the power to expose the truth.”

“Marinette, you are not alone.” Marinette blinked, finding his worried green eyes baring into hers.

He held her face in his hands, caressing her cheek with his thumb, and she glanced down at the darkened bracelet around her wrist that Macy had given her. Taking a deep breath, she undid the clasp and paced over to set it on a bench, thinking of each of her new friends individually. Macy, Elliot, Martin, Lisette, Adrien, Gabrielle. She was surrounded by people who loved her, and who had been looking out for her all day. People who were currently looking out for her. She was not alone.

“Not this time, Hawkmoth. I won’t help you. This isn’t the answer to my problem,” she said calmly, and they watched as the butterfly reemerged from the bracelet and fluttered off before Adrien pulled her tightly into his arms.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe,” he said, rubbing her hair as she took deep breaths, clutching fistfuls of his shirt in shaking hands. “I’m here. It’s gonna be okay.”

“Thank you,” she said, pulling back, and he kissed her forehead with a smile.

“You don’t have to do everything alone. We’re here to hold you up too,” he said, and a smile broke over her lips.

“We should probably find that akuma before it gets someone else,” she said, squaring her shoulders, and Adrien smiled with a dutiful nod.

“We can cover more ground if we split up,” he said, retrieving her bracelet and fastening it around her wrist once more before giving her hand a squeeze. “Be careful and stay safe.”

“You too,” she said, and Adrien watched her go for a brief moment, his heart skipping a beat as a warm smile curled on his lips before he too set off, ducking into the men’s room to transform.

“I’m very proud of you, Marinette,” Tikki said as she took cover in a closed exhibit.

“We can talk about it later. We have an akuma to catch. Transform me!”

Ladybug raced back up the hall, nearly running into Chat Noir who seemed surprised to see her.

“There’s an akuma loose in the museum,” he said with a sense of urgency.

“I know. Let’s find it before it can akumatize someone,” Ladybug nodded.

“Ladybug! Chat Noir!” Eliott waved from the end of the hall. “I think my friend Marinette is in trouble. She’s had a rough day, and I just saw an akuma floating toward the Greek and Roman hall.”

“Don’t worry about your friend. We’ll take care of it just get to safety,” Ladybug ordered before they both took off.

Civilians fled across the lobby as they reached it, and they leapt overhead to avoid getting caught in the stream.

“We’re too late,” Chat said, but Ladybug pressed on undeterred until a headless figure with wings flew out at them. “Look out!”

They ducked backward just in time, rolling over as the creature soared above the lobby.

“Looks like Nike is taking a victory lap,” Chat commented as a woman and deer trotted into the mix.

“Diana too. The akuma must be bringing the art to life,” Ladybug determined. “We better hurry and capture it before Paris gets flooded with monsters.”

“And naked people,” Chat added looking a little mortified at the thought.

They raced passed men and women in period clothes, men and women hardly wearing any clothes, most minding their own business until they reached Gericault’s Charging Chasseur, and Ladybug stopped Chat just short of his sword. Behind him were several archangels with spears and numerous other monsters from paintings.

“How many can you take?” She asked, brandishing her yoyo as Chat readied his staff.

“Five, maybe ten,” he sounded unsure, and Ladybug winced before charging in.

Strikes came from all directions, and any attempts to dodge into the air were thwarted by flying creatures and projectiles. They were outnumbered, and there was no sign of the akuma. Ladybug flipped back several paces until she found herself back-to-back with Chat Noir.

“Lucky Charm!” She called, catching a ceramic turtle as it materialized.

“Oh great, maybe they’re all collectors of tiny glass animals,” Chat smarmed as she studied it.

“I think it’s saying we need the turtle for this,” she said, palming the figurine and glancing at the exit. “Can you manage alone for a bit?”

“I can try to give them the run around, but don’t take your time,” Chat said, vaulting over the hoard and landing on the other side of the hall. “Is that all you chumps got? I’m falling asleep.”

Ladybug slipped out as they took the bait and chased after Chat, swinging to Master Fu’s as fast as she could.

“Master, there’s an akuma at the Louvre that’s bringing all of the artwork to life, and the lucky charm told me we need the turtle,” she explained in a rush.

“Very well,” Master Fu said, removing the Miraculous from his wrist and holding it out to her. “Do you have someone you can trust?”

“I have someone in mind,” she nodded, dropping it into her purse. “Thanks, Master. I’ll bring it back!”

“Good luck.”

She only hoped she could find him.

Back at the museum, Nino bravely tussled with an Egyptian mummy, and she felt her heart sink a little, glancing down at the box in her hand. Pressing her lips together firmly, she turned shoulder and started up the hall in search of another boy. Of course, it was possible that he’d already evacuated, but she sincerely hoped she’d find him.

A high-pitched scream drew her around the corner where she found Macy cowering on the floor while Martin shielded her from an angel with his textbook.

“Run, Macy!”

“Not without you!” She pleaded, but Martin’s jaw clenched stubbornly.

“I’ll hold him off. Go find Marinette; I’m right behind you!” He ordered, and Macy eyed him a moment with a worried frown before scrambling from the exhibit.

Ladybug glanced down at the box in her hand then back to the boy fighting with a textbook. Her heart swelled knowing they came back to look for her and realized that this Miraculous wasn’t intended for who she’d originally thought.

With a flick of her wrist, she hooked her yoyo around Martin’s chest and pulled him out of the way of a lethal strike just in time.

“Ladybug!” He gasped. “Have you seen my friend Marinette? We’re worried that she might have been akumatized.”

“Your friend is safe, but I need your help,” she said, and Martin’s eyebrows raised.

“My help?”

“Martin Michel, this is the Miraculous of the turtle which grants the power of protection. You will use it for the greater good and return it to me at the end of the mission,” she held out the box to him, and he stared with wide eyes.

“You’re giving me a Miraculous? But I’m not really built to be a hero,” he flexed his scrawny arms, and she chuckled in amusement.

“It takes more than muscles to be a hero, and you’ve already proven your strength in here,” she tapped his chest. “You are the perfect fit.”

Martin took the box with a gulp, wincing against the flashing light as he opened it.

“Whoa!”

Meanwhile, across the museum, Chat raced down the hall pursued by several horses. He turned the corner into another room, but after shrieks from several women, he turned tail and ran the other way, covering his eyes and spouting apologies. When he lowered them, he found Ladybug and a new ally beside him.

“Been keeping them busy?” She asked with a smirk.

“Yeah, I thought angels were supposed to be good guys,” Chat whined as they ran.

“We need to find the akuma,” Ladybug said as they turned the hall to find a woman sitting calmly on a bench.

“No way!” Chat gasped.

“Mona Lisa?”

“Have you seen the person who did this to you?” Ladybug asked, stepping forward, and she smiled politely, pointing to the other end of the hall. “Thanks!”

“So, who is our new friend?” Chat gestured to Martin as they ran.

“Uh,” he drawled, searching for a name. “You can call me Emerald Shell.”

“Welcome to the team,” Chat smiled as they skidded to a stop in the main lobby where Macy cowered beneath the akuma.

“Macy!” Emerald Shell gasped, racing in to block a hit with his shield, and Chat’s stampede caught up to them.

“You got a plan?” Chat asked, and Ladybug summoned another lucky charm.

“Rubber cement?” She pursed her lips, surveying the scene.

Emerald Shell scooped Macy up and carried her to safety as Ladybug formulated a plan. She screamed and clung to him the whole way up even after he put her down.

“You’re safe now,” he assured her gently, and she blinked, unlatching herself from his neck.

“Wait!” She grabbed his wrist as he stood to leave. “My friend Martin is in the museum somewhere! He protected me from one of those monsters; he could be hurt.”

Emerald Shell smiled, cheeks flushing a little.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s fine. Ladybug will set everything back to normal, so just sit tight,” he patted her hand.

“Emerald, I need you!” Ladybug called, and Macy watched him stand and jump fearlessly back into the fray.

“Get ready to use your power when I tell you,” she said, slathering a tile with the glue as Chat fenced two swordsmen. “Help me drive him back.”

“Got it,” Emerald Shell nodded, and he and Ladybug charged at Flash Photo.

They took turns throwing kicks and punches and deflecting spears from other paintings to cover each other until they got him right where they wanted. He glanced down at his stuck feet in horror.

“No!”

“Chat Noir!” Ladybug called, and he vaulted over to join them, deflecting another spear. “Now, Emerald!”

“Shelter!”

The green barrier encased them, blocking the chaos outside and leaving Flash Photo stuck and alone. Ladybug snatched his camera with her yoyo, pulling it back into Chat’s waiting Cataclysm. Ladybug captured the akuma as Emerald’s power faded, tossing her lucky charm to send all of the art back to their rightful homes.

“There’s a lot of cool art here, but museum rules say no flash photography,” Ladybug said, giving the man his camera back. “Besides, art is best appreciated through your own eyes, not through the lens of a camera.”

“Thanks, Ladybug…” He said, rubbing the back of his neck with a guilty wince before standing up and slumping off.

“Pound it!” The three heroes sang in unison.

“See you later, bug, new turtle friend,” Chat waved before vaulting off, and Ladybug turned to Emerald Shell.

“I wish Marinette could see me. She’d be really proud,” he remarked, examining his suit, and a smile curled on Ladybug’s lips.

“Your identity must remain a secret, even from your friends,” she reminded him. “But I’m sure she’s proud of you anyway. Superpowers or not.”

He smiled at that before letting his transformation drop and removing the bracelet.

“Thanks, Ladybug.”

“I’m sure you’ll find her. She’s probably around here somewhere,” Ladybug said before tossing her yoyo. “Bug out!”

***

“Marinette!”

Her friends slammed into her side as soon as they saw her, and she found herself squished between them.

“We were so worried!” Macy cried.

“Yeah, when we saw that there was an akuma, we thought that it was you,” Eliott said with a wince.

“Well, it was almost me,” she admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. “Adrien talked me out of it.”

“Oh, Marinette,” Macy frowned, pulling her in close. “You know you can always talk to us if you’re feeling stressed.”

“Yeah, you don’t have to face everything alone. We’re here to help you,” Eliott said, offering her, her neatly repacked lunch bag she’d abandoned, and Lisette nodded in agreement.

“You’ve helped all of us in so many ways, Marinette, and we want you to know that if you ever need us, we’re right here,” Martin added, and she felt her eyes water.

“Thank you. I needed that reminder today,” she rubbed at her cheek, and they all snuggled against her once more.

“Oh! Speaking of Adrien,” Macy shot up as she remembered. “His school is about to leave, but he said he would wait at the bottom of the stairs in the lobby for you.”

“Oh, uh,” Marinette winced guiltily, but they all nudged her on.

“Go, Cinderella, before the clock strikes midnight. We’ll meet you at the bus,” Eliott urged, wrapping his arm around Lisette.

Marinette smiled before jogging up the hall. Things between her and Adrien had become more romantic as of late, and his concern for her today told her that he cared about her deeply. They’d almost kissed on several occasions now, and today he’d held her close. She wasn’t sure what they were, but she knew what she wanted them to be, and part of her felt like he wanted it too.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she caught sight of that signature silky, blond hair, a smile curling over her lips. Skipping down the steps, her heart hammered in her chest, and as she drew a breath to call his name, a flash of orange slithered around his arm.

“Adrien! There you are. I’ve been looking for you. You disappeared during lunch, and I was so worried the akuma would get you,” Lila cooed, resting her chin on his chest with a pout.

“I’m fine, so no need to worry,” he said, gently pushing her away, but Lila stretched up on her tiptoes and pulled him in, touching her lips to his. Adrien pushed her away, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

“Lila-”

“Aw, hey you two love birds.” Marinette retreated a few steps up as Alya and Nino approached. “The bus is about to leave, come on.”

“Okay,” Lila giggled, taking Adrien’s arm despite how he squirmed when Nino and Alya turned their backs. She cast a purposeful smirk over her shoulder, green eyes locking with Marinette’s as she toted away her prize.

Marinette felt rage building deep in her core, and she bottled it the whole way home, throwing on a stoic mask. Lila wanted her to fight back? Well, she was about to get a full storm.

She pounded on the one door she’d swore to herself never to visit again until a familiar face opened it.

“Dupain-Cheng?” Chloe quirked a brow.

“I changed my mind. I want to help you take down Lila.”

#miraculous ladybug #mdcsp original #ml spoilers #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #my writing #mdcsp

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bloodtroth · 5 years

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This is for the person whose ask I accidentally deleted. Sorry about that and I hope that you’ll still see this.

Bit more experimental style this time. Hope people like it anyway :)

(Keep in mind that this piece is coloured by Albus' self-hatred and not my actual opinion of him)

77. "We were meant for each other"

We were meant for each other, Albus thinks as the boy he has just met meets his eyes with curiosity instead of scorn, matches his ideas with brilliant ones of his own, who has dreams of greatness and recognition, of a world that is free and just and where Muggles cannot hurt anyone, a boy who answers to his letters faster than he can write new ones, a brilliant boy, an ambitious boy, a seeking-to-change-the-world boy. A beautiful boy.

We were meant for each other, he thinks as their lips meet for the first time, their plans forgotten for a moment, parchment left lying on the ground from the boy’s abrupt push into his space, hands finding hands, fingers sliding through hair, their mouths tasting of lemons and tea, the sun filtering through the foliage, painting shadows in the spaces between them.

We were meant for each other, he thinks as their blood joins together in a swell of magic, their hands joined, fitting each other perfectly, their powers combining and weaving together, flirtatiously sliding against each other like new lovers meeting in secret, their powers uniting, their promise solidifying, their souls tying together, closer than brothers, closer than blood, closer than love.

We were meant for each other, he thinks as the boy pushes in for the first time, a gasp leaving his lips, their bodies moulding together like pieces of a puzzle, like a key into a lock, their hands grasping and pulling, their mouths sliding wetly, greedily down each other's skin.

We were meant for each other, he thinks as his brother's knuckles connect with his face, leaving him lying on dirt, crying and bleeding and drowning. Drowning in guilt, drowning in his sister's screams, drowning in grief. Lying on the soil, bleeding, he is alone, he is abandoned, the boy having fled, fled across the ocean, fled to his future, escaped with their plans, their dream, fled and never returning.

We were meant for each other, he thinks when he looks in the mirror, his heart twisting with both longing and guilt. A girl lies dead, but now it's more than one girl, it's entire cities worth of girls, all of them looking at him looking into the mirror, still longing for something that perhaps never existed, a mirage, a lie, a fabrication. Longing for a man who has killed them, a man whose hands are so drenched in blood you cannot see the skin underneath, a man who reaches through the mirror and stains him as well, his face, his body, his hands, his heart.

We were meant for each other, he thinks, two beasts circling each other, honing in on their prey. Except the prey is each other, and this is not a hunt but a game, both of them watching each other but neither moving themselves, but moving their pieces instead, like life was a chess game, and they were the masters, two, three, four, five, six steps ahead of everyone else.

We were meant for each other, he thinks as the boy who is not a boy any longer is dragged screaming to his tower, disgraced and defeated, trapped in the hell of his own making. Trapped because death would be mercy, and he is selfish and cruel, and not feeling like granting mercy. The boy imprisoned and forgotten, locked away from the world and from him, out of sight but never out of mind. Trapped and forgotten, his reign is over, long live the King.

We were meant for each other, he thinks every time a lie leaves his lips. Craving for their approval, their admiration, presenting a flawless image of himself for their observation, feeling sick of himself but craving it, their idolatry, their praises, craving it like he craved power, power that he still craves for in his dreams, dreams from which he wakes up gasping, his hands shaking, stomach lurching. It is not a nice thing to know of oneself, so he smiles, tells jokes, dresses himself up, acts in ways that shock and confuse, pushes them away, makes them forget who he is, what he has done, makes himself almost forget it too.

We were meant for each other, he thinks as he looks down on the boy with a scar and no parents and knows he must die. Another lamb destined for slaughter, not suspecting anything, trusting him to steer him to safety. This is what he is doing, but he does not want to do this, this is not who he wishes to be, not any longer if he ever did, but he will do it, he will do it if he has to, he will do it for the Greater Good, he will do it even if it pains him.

We were meant for each other, he thinks as his death creeps upon him slowly, his foolishness proven, his weakness, his craving for forgiveness that no one living can give.

We were meant for each other, he thinks, as he orders his own execution, just another stage in the plan, just another piece that needs to be sacrificed, just another lie before the end.

We were meant for each other. The two of us. Both liars and fools and cowards. We were meant for each other.

But I did not deserve you.

And you did not deserve me.

#grindeldore #fic #prompt fic #my fic

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gotham-city-tales-blog · 6 years

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Jerome Imagine: “Retirement Plan”

Prompt: “Can you write an imagine where the reader is pregnant and afraid to tell Jerome because she doesn't want to tie him down and so she starts avoiding him, thinking he wouldn't care” -by Anon

Summary: I kind of strayed buuuuut I’d like to think it’s cute. The reader is pregnant and thinks she has to leave Jerome for obvious reasons but the message is intercepted by Jeremiah who is after Jerome.

M A S T E R L I S T

This is my first shot at writing in like a year so I am very sorry it this is a little rusty ad not my best! and as a disclaimer: any messages about his being “unrealistic” will be deleted. these are characters. and i’m my writing i will manipulate them as please for a story. i understand that maybe my taste isn’t yours but then another writer may be just in your lane. i am a fluffy writer and will never write something with abuse or a horrible ending-life is depressing enough.

SPOILERS: If you don’t know who Jeremiah is you probably don’t want to read this.

Bruce Wayne fought everyday for a better tomorrow in Gotham. Selina fought to empower the systematically powerless. James Gordon wanted a city which was civilized and just. Lee only wanted to help the people. Bullock was bored but fought for his friends.

Even the worst of the worst needed a reason to live. They fought everyday too-just for different things. For The Riddler, he wanted to remain unforgotten, never again in the shadows as Ed Nygma existed. Barbara Kean, to prove her depths of her strength and never be helpless at the mercy of others again. For Penguin, to be love by a kingdom he has created.

Jerome had one too-not that anyone knew it.

You’d asked many times, feigning curiosity. But you knew deep down that you just wanted to hear it was you. Unreasonable as it may be, you wanted to be Jerome’s reason. Looking back on it now you knew it was selfish and a childish take on real love. Jerome wasn’t your reason for waking up and living everyday. As he shouldn’t be. You loved him more than anything or anyone, but you fought for yourself. Created your own life, your own path and your own strength. You lived everyday because you owed it to yourself to create a life and a purpose. And now, in your older age, that’s all you ever really wanted for Jerome too-because that’s what you want for the people you love. But you were younger then, naive and a bit egotistical-all normal for someone in their early 20′s. If only you knew what you know now.

He always said he wasn’t sure what drove him or joked that it was a part of his madness.

You knew he was lying though.

22 was a tender age. You were working part time at a small food store and spending the other working time in classes. Technically you were an adult. You paid rent by yourself. Filed your taxes and had a savings account. But that didn’t mean you were ready to be a mom.

You missed your period and were irresponsible enough to have spontaneous unprotected sex with your boyfriend. You went to the doctor and they told you that you were indeed pregnant.

When those words fell from the nurse’s lips you were actually excited. You had always wanted children and were in a loving, albeit strange, relationship with someone who thought the world of you. Jerome was the person you wanted to spend your life with and have a family with. But despite your own desires and a year long relationship, you an Jerome never really talked about having a family and kids. It certainly wasn’t the time.

Jerome was mad. He was insane. He was apathetic and controlling. But with you.. well... he was normal. A normal 24 year old. He’d sneak away to your apartment and bring you flowers that he paid for. He’d watch movies with you and hold your hand. The only trace of insanity were his scars.

To you it was insanity. But to him it was sanity.

Jerome loved having a person that remained in his life. He reveled in the continuity of your stability. When he was with the others like him and doing the unspeakable things they did, no one saw Jerome. They saw a villain, a criminal, a killer. You brought a light to his life and a relaxation.

Never before would he just sit own and watch a movie or go to the small park by the water’s edge. Before he was always on the run. Making narrow escapes and looking over his shoulder. When he started seeing you it was usually once a month in passing, quick conversations. Eventually he realized he was excited about seeing you so he started meeting you at the park an then once at your place. That was when he realized you were stupidly trusting.

But he loved you for it. You made him forget about the bad in the world. You made him feel safe and happy, you made him feel at home.

Lately he started feeling even stranger things.

He didn’t want to die during some escapade. He wanted to impress you. He wanted to come home to you and go for walks and fall asleep with you an wake up next to you. He wanted you to be his home.

He didn’t want a kingdom. He wanted you.

But now you were here.

After a long and frigid walk home from the clinic, you silently heated up a microwave meal. The television was on but it was mute. Everything seemed too loud, too bright.

Jerome may come home to you more nights than not but that didn’t mean he wanted a baby. You never even talked about marriage as a concept, let alone having children. He was a creature of the night, born out of chaos. There was no place in his life for a child and you knew that meant there would be no place for you.

It was time to release Jerome of this burden before it had a chance to fall on his shoulders. You wouldn’t ask him to give up his nature and livelihood, all he’s ever know, to raise a baby with you.

You felt trapped. You stared at your keyboard for what felt like seconds but the minutes were passing. How could you say this? How could you write it when you couldn't even say it...

The keyboard looked as though the letters were in Mandarin. Your fingers were shaking and your mind was numb. Feeling exhausted and exasperated, your breaths were shaky just like your hands. Hovering above the keys, you just couldn’t find the words.

The emotions an desires and wants and fears were all so crystal clear at the forefront of your mind, flooding you with an overwhelming warmth and love but the fears and loneliness were crashing in too. You finally knew what you wanted to say-but there was no real way to say it.

You still don’t really remember the trip to his then residence, a vacated and foreclosed apartment in the Narrows, just that you felt nothing but a great sadness. The cab ride home is similarly hazy but you remember a deep seeded relief that cushioned the blow of your feeling of loss.

The time in between was filled with clumsy venturing and fumbling as you told the cab driver to keep the meter and the engine running. Under a broken rail, through a wedged door and under a tarp, you then climbed to the second floor and walked passed the abandoned domains. Dusty doors and damp carpets lined the halls-Jerome was in 2D, the fourth one down.

The molding rugs squished beneath your shoes as you quickly ran towards the door, slipped the note under and ran back to the waiting taxi.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t Jerome on the other side of the busted door, but Jeremiah.

After two years of tracking him through his escapades and newspaper clippings alongside some gossip from low level informants, Jeremiah finally found where Jerome was living. He knew he would never be safe as long as Jerome was alive. It didn’t make sense to him that Jerome never came back after him years after their first adult encounter.

He was sitting quietly on a pile of clothes. There was no furniture aside from a lone chair which seemed as though his weight would make it buckle. So he opted for the cushioning of the ratty clothes and started at just four walls whose siding was peeling and a window which was wedged open. All of the sudden there was a quiet swoosh and a letter slid under the door. No one knocked and nothing followed so Jeremiah stood and went to the letter. It was just a paper folded in three with Jerome’s name.

Curiosity bubbling over, Jeremiah read the letter.

When he did he nearly fell over. Not only has his horrible brother had a willing girlfriend but... she was pregnant? And Jerome was the father.

Jeremiah had about three hours to process this earth shattering news and plan for when Jerome walked through the door. He used every second of those three hours. He thought about how Jerome must be manipulating you and that the baby must be cursed. Jeremiah sunk deeper and deeper into his rabbit hole thoughts: he wanted to kill you-and your baby. How could you spawn with someone like Jerome? He hated you already.

He was shaken from his pool of thoughts by a rattling from the fire escape.

Of course Jerome wouldn’t use the door.

Jeremiah slid behind a piece of siding that was separating from the wall and wielded a knife in front of his face.

Jerome’s criminal experience became apparent in his match against his brother. Within moments of his clumsy entrance through the open window he had spotted his meager twin. It took less than a minute for Jerome to both subdue his brother by bounding him to the rickety chair and take control of the carving knife.

Stepping back from his handy work, Jerome looked at Jeremiah tied to the chair. His has were secured behind him and his legs both bound to the old legs of the chair. “So to what do I owe this pleasure?” Jerome cackled.

“We need to talk.” Jeremiah deadpanned as he pulled at his ties.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Jerome smiled wide and turned with his back facing his brother. “I’ve been busy but planned on taking care of your prying rodent self in the future, but...”

He swiveled around on his heel and peered into Jeremiah’s eyes. “I never would have imagined you’d be stupid enough to walk right in front of my gun-or knife or whatever, you get the picture.” He chuckled.

“Kill me and your girlfriend is dead.” Jeremiah spat. He may not have been criminally insane but he could be cunning. “Did you really think I’d come here alone? If I don’t walk out of here in 20 minutes one of my men who is sitting on her apartment will take care of her.” He spoke quietly but with conviction, silently thanking the universe for that unexpected bit of leverage.

Jerome looked at his twin through narrow eyes, “Touch her and I swear I will burn down everything and everyone you’ve ever come into contact with.” He growled.

“I’m not sure what she sees in you,” he sneered. “You’re a complete lunatic, you killed our mother and our father and now you’re going to kill your brother. No wonder she’s leaving you.”

“Your tricks won’t work on me.” Jerome barked in response. “There’s no way you’ve met her, you probably on’t even have anyone at her apartment. Who would work for a geeky little freak like you?” He hollered.

“It’s true. Read the note,” He nodded toward the pile of clothes, “Over there.”

Jerome leaped toward the note and scrambled to read what you’d said.

He was unreadable, a solid poker face as he stared at the type written note. You told him you loved him that you didn’t want to take away from his life. You were leaving to give him the freedom he loved. You didn’t want him to hate you. There was so much in only 7 sentences.

He quietly turned toward his brother and ripped up the note. A large smile graced his face as and he sprinkled the note at his face.

“It will be resolved.” Jerome spoke slowly and surely.

“Sure,” Jeremiah scoffed, “she’s leaving you Jerome. You’re a psychopath! She wants to protect her baby from you.” He spat.

Jerome leaped towards his subdued brother and pulled the knife up and to his throat. “Don’t you dare.” He growled lowly. “I love her and will love that baby. I’m the one that keeps her safe! She used to live in the Narrows! Do you know the people that hang around there? I saw her, we used to cross paths before she finally moved uptown!” He was screaming in his brother’s face now. “Men watching her, leering at here! One of them tried to follow her and I pulled him off! I made it go away! I KEPT HER SAFE!”

“By what? Killing people? Killing him? Did you follow her that night? Tell her you were a hero then fuck her in the stairwell-”

Jerome’s hand clamped around Jeremiah’s throat with such force the chair rocked backwards.

“I didn’t talk to her until three months after that.” Jerome whispered hoarsely, grip still tight on Jeremiah’s neck. “I respect her, she’s strong and kind. That man wanted to hurt her and would have. Maybe I’ve hurt the wrong people, but he was the right one. He was going to hurt her. If not that night, the next.” He released Jeremiah’s throat and leaned back slightly.

“Well fine, he was scum but you’re about to kill your last remaining relative. You know she’d hate you so you won’t tell her. There’s no way she could possibly love you for the real you.” Jeremiah was grasping at straws now, desperate to live, realizing he had pushed the wrong buttons. He may be cunning and manipulative but Jerome was unhinged, his tactics wouldn’t work on such an abstract mind.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Jerome laughed. But it was a genuine laugh. “She does know me, all of me and she sees passed it and believes in my potential and ability-she sees me for who I am.” He leaned back into Jeremiah’s face. “Now,” he paused, “don’t be so rash brother!” Jerome laughed, flicking his knife upward. “I must celebrate! You just delivered the greatest news of my life!” He cackled as he pushed his tied up brother back and onto the floor. “I created a family.” He spoke as he stood over Jeremiah's body.

“I got a woman who’s making an honest man-I’m sorry, father-,” he winked, “outta me. It’s your dream come true.”

Jerome knelt down and pulled his brother’s head towards his own but the short tufts of hair that sat atop his skull. “I’m gonna be a better father than anyone. And her? Shes gonna be the best mom, I know it. Shes caring and understanding.” He tightened his grip and his brother winced as Jerome’s hot breaths raped his cheeks. “She can love a psycho like me, and care for me-she’ll be the best damned mom I’ve ever seen. Our mother was a drunken whore who beat us for shits and giggles.” Jerome growled as he dropped the knife and placed both hands around Jeremiah's throat.

“But [Y/N]? Never.” His grip subconsciously loosened. “She’s light and strong and beautiful and loving. And she wants me.” Just barely gripping Jeremiah's throat he raised his brother’s ear towards his lips, “And that is very lucky for you dear brother,” he whispered closely.

With no warning Jerome dropped his brother cold onto the floor and stood up. Taking three large, tentative steps back, he folded his arms neatly behind his back. Adorning a large, sinister grin, Jerome spoke carefully, “See, I have a point to prove, therefore you are spared.”

“But make no mistake,” he hissed toward’s the helpless man still tied to a chair, “If you give me a real reason dear brother, I will take you out with no hesitation.” He bowed his head and let the silence sit for a heavy moment.

Jerome ran out through the busted door this time. Leaping with joy and hollering in the now empty nighttime streets of the Narrows. He left Jeremiah on the floor the chair was crap he’d eventually break free.

You really never expected him to come back. So when you answered your door all disheveled you really were expecting the pizza guy.

He wasted no time pulling you in for a kiss and walking you backward. At that moment you didn’t care if he was here to yell at you or only here to throw a fit, you just wanted to feel whole again. You wanted to feel him.

He pushed the door shut but held you close as he broke the kiss. Holding your hands in one hand, he brushed your cheek with the other.

“You are my freedom. My escape from insanity.” Jerome breathed. “When I’m with you nothing else matters, please, let me do this with you.” His smile was so wide you couldn’t tell the scars were there. “When I’m with you I’m free of reputation and expectations, I can just exist.”

“Really?” And that was all you could say. Tears welled in your eyes as your stomach finally felt whole again.

“Really.” He laughed lightly. “You’re my family.” He kissed your forehead as your snaked your arm around his neck.

“We’re gonna be parents.” You whispered, looking up at him. “You’re gonna be a dad.” Smiling gently you pecked his lips.

“Yes, yes I am.” He chuckled. “And you’re gonna be a mom.”

“Well I have a savings account Hon, it’s time we talk about the Joker’s retirement.” You laughed as he swung you off your feet and into his arms.

“How about I get some guys we do some stuff at a bank...” He drawled on as he dropped you on your couch. “Then you and me, outta Gotham in the night ever to return.” He climbed over you and laid down on top of you. And indescribably warmth spread through your body like when you wake up and before sun rise and the first rays of sun touch your skin during the rise.

“I like that.” You giggled as he kissed your cheek.

“Yeah?” He laughed as you pulled him further into your body.

“Yeah.”

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him-e · 6 years

Note

Hi, I sent the original ask about a Celibate Rey ending, I don't know what discourse came out of it, I didn't see it, but I wanted to clear the air. I didn't mean to come off dismissive of female romance/sexuality or of your ship in my ask. I understand it can be exhausting to defend your perspective over and over to people who don't want to listen, so I totally get if you thought I was baiting, though. I'm sorry for the trouble or stress this caused you.

Not asking to troll or continue the discourse, but if you don’t want to continue discussing this topic please delete this. But how can you see a valid Celibate-Rey endgame going? If IX were to end with Rey on her own and to some degree happy (Since this is Star Wars, the ending has to be at least slightly happy or hopeful) what kind of an ending would it be? If Kylo dies or survives, either/or.

Hey, no problem at all, and sorry for my snappish answer (hopefully you realized I was being part tongue-in-cheek, though). Admittedly the “better off alone/celibate” argument is something that cyclically resurfaces in other ships of mine, particularly Jaime/Brienne, which made me skittish on the whole thing, particularly when it’s tied to *female agency* buzzwords and the assumption that it’s the shippers who are arbitrarily trying to force a romance on the character, rather than it being part of the character’s canon narrative (not necessarily your case, but it’s such a popular argument against the J/B ship that I’ve developed particularly nasty anticorps for it)

So re: Celibate Jedi!Rey—

Is it a technically possible endgame for her? Totally.

Is it something I would personally be okay with and find satisfying? Well, yes, if:

a) it acknowledges and gives closure to Rey’s feelings for Ben, and viceversa. This includes admitting a degree of bittersweet in the happily ever after final picture.

Just considering the force bond alone without its romantic implications, Rey and Kylo, just the two of them, are connected on a deep intimate level. This is kind of a big deal, especially for Rey, whose familial bonds were suddenly and irrevocably severed when she was little, after which she was left completely alone with no chance to find her way back to her parents (ironically, now she has a magical tracking device in her head that allows her to communicate with another person even across galaxies. From completely alone, to never completely alone even in her own head. Big deal, indeed).

Even if the bond is broken (because Kylo dies, or else) and no overtly romantic stuff happens between them, it will still leave a mark on Rey, an empty spot where something magical used to be that can only be partially filled with familial or “muggle” love and the purpose of a “lone” Jedi path. That she would bury Kylo (or watch him leave never to return) and immediately go to join the Resistance’s party original trilogy style as if nothing sad just happened doesn’t make a lot sense to me. In fact, it would infuriate me, as I hate when characters are written as if they had some emotion switch hidden somewhere that makes them go from sad to cheerful in the blink of an eye (and tbh TLJ, for all I liked it, already went dangerously close to that, with Rey’s jarring post-proposal cheerfulness on the Falcon during the whole Crait sequence, imo).

So if they want to go that route, they need to be ready to tinge their happy ending with a little melancholy, otherwise I won’t find it realistic at all. This especially if Kylo dies, but also if he leaves or they are separated for whatever reason. (if Kylo lives, and redeems himself, and stays, I don’t see any reason why he and Rey should not be together, tbh. I mean it’s not like there’s still a Jedi order around dictating what Rey is or isn’t allowed to do. Like Palpatine was the Senate, she is the Jedi Order now, she can make new rules, lmao)

b) it avoids attaching moralistic implications to this choice (?) of celibacy (”that’s what I’m really meant for”, or “that’s how I’ll live my life to the fullest and be truly happy”, etc).

The figure of the Jedi in SW is, at the end of the day, a caregiver. A magical warrior/monk who essentially devotes their life to other people, denying any sort of personal ambition of satisfaction for himself (self-drive is closer to the Sith way). While the extent of this self-abnegation can be reframed and repackaged in a more “progressive” light (say Rey rebuilds a Jedi order with different rules, or just chooses a different way to be a Jedi, see above), the essence of caregiving and selflessness will probably remain untouched. It’s really funny to me that the people who want this endgame for Rey are the same one who get their panties in a twist at the thought of Rey being “reduced to an emotional caregiver” for Ben (paraphrasing some anti post I’ve read recently). The point is, Celibate!Jedi Rey wouldn’t be simply choosing friendship/family/a career over romance, she’d actually sacrifice her individual (in this case, romantic/sexual) desires in order to become a caregiver for an entire community. And this isn’t something I’d consider an especially subversive or /empowering/ endgame for a female character, quite the opposite, actually. The subtext here needs to be handed carefully, particularly if her endgame involves rebuilding some sort of Jedi school for gifted children: the risk of elevating her to a self-sacrificial virgin mother archetype would be pretty high. It can be done, and it can imply Rey will find happiness in this life, but without any sort of hamfisted *inspirational moral message for little girls*, if you know what I mean.

c) it doesn’t frame Rey’s choice not to be with Kylo specifically (if it is indeed a choice on her part and not something dictated by external forces, aka Kylo’s death or the Willabeth endgame, more on that later) in a moral(istic) perspective.

no “I can’t be with you because you have been mean to people, ewww” bullshit, thank you very much. This sounds like the ultimate anti wet dream, Rey rejecting Kylo because he’s awful, and I think we’re WAAAYYYY past it with all that happened in TLJ.

I hope this clarifies things a bit!

Another anon asked me to explain what I meant with the Willabeth endgame, and:

in POTC III Will Turner kills Davy Jones, so he has to take his place as the captain of the Flying Dutchman, which is a curse for life. He and Elizabeth (who are now married) spend a last day together on an island (during which it’s implied they fuck like rabbits and conceive a child, lmao), and then, at sunset, Will says goodbye, leaving the box containing his heart to Elizabeth, to whom he says, “will you keep it safe for me?”. It’s heartbreaking and a bit sadistic tbh but also incredibly romantic.

How does this apply to Reylo?

Well, Kylo could be

sentenced to lifelong exile on a remote planet, or

imprisoned for life, or

going on exile on his own will, or

leaving to form a new order of darksiders (or something) as he feels he has no place among the Good Guys and has Redeemed Himself But Not Really, or

sentenced to death and then promptly freed by Rey, who urges him to leave never to return, for his own safety, or

in general, literally or metaphorically cursed to live an existence separated from Rey as a form of atonement alternative to death;

and Rey obviously can’t follow him, because she can’t and won’t abandon her place among the Resistance, and they both know this, but it doesn’t stop them for wanting each other and swearing they will wait for each other forever, cue pants-dropping emotional final goodbye scene which, while offering complete closure, leaves the possibility of a future reunion entirely possible.

Why do I think it’s a valid scenario?

it’s a good compromise between endgame Reylo and Celibate!Jedi Rey;

Kylo gets to Suffer ™, as y’all hope for;

an unwritten but very common and wise rule of storytelling (whether or not you agree with it) is that a couple who can’t be together NOW is more interesting than a couple who is Just Together and chillin’ on the sofa or something, so this endgame leaves things open enough to be further explored in hypothetical tie-in canon material (comics, novels, tv adaptations, maybe even a standalone Episode IX-bis in five or six years from now, WHO THE HELL KNOWS?);

the fanfictions would SKYROCKET;

the force bond, if it still exists at that point, would be an INCREDIBLY convenient plot device;

Reylo Sex Island

end

#anon #asks #sw asks #sw for ts #sw wank #reylo for ts #celibate rey #sw endgame #sw speculation #the willabeth endgame #long post

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mizmahlia · 6 years

Text

Seeing is Believing

Remember this post here, about Jason watching the footage from Bruce’s cowl the night he died? I did a horrible thing and wrote one for Damian, too. Except this one ballooned to 6400 words. I’m kind of sorry. (Credit to oh-mother-of-darkness for the original headcanon that inspired this. It can be found here.)

Warning: This follows the Batman, Inc Vol 2 story line, so if you’ve read that, you have an idea what’s coming. (I used the actual dialog from these scenes.) There’s mention of blood and Damian’s demise. It’s nothing super graphic, but still. And also a metric ton of angst.

Damian sat in the study, watching a deer slowly make its way across the manor grounds. She didn’t appear to notice the rain and instead wove between the flower beds and shrubbery on her way back to the cover of the woods at the back of the property. His sketch pad, with the half-sketched deer on the front page, lay abandoned on the couch next to him. Alfred was stretched out along the back of the couch, purring as Damian rubbed his belly. He heard Jason coming before he rapped his knuckles on the door frame. “You rang?” Damian rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He turned and looked at Jason, who was still in the doorway leaning against the frame. His hands were shoved in the pockets of a black leather jacket still coated in rain drops. He made no move to enter the room.

“You don’t need an invitation to come in here, you know.”

“I’m still trying to figure out why I’m here,” Jason said, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it over the back of a chair. He took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, slinging an arm over the back and turning to face Damian. Alfred opened his eyes and stretched lazily before getting up and walking over to Jason. He rubbed his cheek against Jason’s sweater before crawling into his lap. Jason sighed and shook his head, already noticing the white hair stuck to the navy fabric. He focused on Damian, who was watching with slight annoyance at seeing his cat so easily find another source of attention.

“Everything okay?” Damian turned and looked out the window again. The doe was gone. He turned so he faced Jason more directly, leaning forward to close his sketch book. He studied Jason closely, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the weariness he carried in his shoulders. “I should be asking you that.” Jason tried his hardest not to sigh in irritation, instead feigning ignorance. “And why would that be?” Damian gave him a look that told Jason he saw right through the attempt. “All everyone around here has been whispering about is you watching the footage of your death three nights ago.” He drew his legs toward him and crossed them beneath him. “It’s getting a little ridiculous.” Alfred chose that moment to crawl out of Jason’s lap and saunter from the room as if he sensed an argument coming. Jason brushed the hair from his sweater, stalling long enough so he wouldn’t snap at Damian. He had a good idea as to why Damian sent him the text demanding that he come over, but damn it if he wasn’t going to make the kid spell it out for him anyway. “And I’m supposed to do what about that, exactly?” Damian looked out the window again. The rain had picked up and there was a rumble of thunder in the distance. He could feel Jason watching him, but there was no tension or anger in his gaze. But he could sense Jason’s apprehension of whatever Damian was going to ask him. He felt guilty for being about to cause him any discomfort so he refused to look at Jason when he spoke. He didn’t want to lose his nerve. “Why did you watch that footage?” Jason’s mouth opened as if he had an answer ready, but nothing came out. He paused and looked down at the couch between them, thinking of a way to answer that question when he himself didn’t really have one, apart from ‘it seemed like a good idea at the time’. “I don’t know. I found it while helping Tim research. It’s not like I went looking for it. I didn’t know it even existed.”

Damian watched Jason run his hand through his hair- a nervous tic he had. It was still damp from the rain and stood up in several directions, the tuft of white prominent against the inky black hair next to it. Jason leaned his head against his hand, studying Damian.

“And before you ask, I don’t regret it. I mean, not really.” “Was it difficult to watch?” Jason nodded. “Oh yeah.” Damian looked at him, noticing how tired Jason looked. Jason rarely tried to hide how he felt when he was around Damian for some reason, only doing so in front of Father or Grayson. But Damian could see it in his body language and in the lines around his eyes, the dark circles he noticed earlier. Grayson looked like that after his nightmares about Damian’s death, the nights he came into Damian’s room and crawled into bed with him. “More so than you’d like us to believe, I assume.” Jason glared at him, but there was no anger behind it, only snark at such an obvious assumption. “What can I say? It’s not fun watching what was one of the worst moments of Bruce’s life. And seeing a dead version yourself isn’t a cakewalk, either.” Damian swallowed and pulled a pillow into his lap, playing with the trim. “Was it what you thought it would be? Did it accomplish anything for you?” There it was- the reason Damian told him to come over. He was wondering about Jason’s experience because he was thinking about watching his own footage. “In a way, I suppose it helped me accept there was nothing Bruce could have done for me when he found me. But I never held that against him in the first place. That was never my problem with what happened. I forgave him for that as soon as I was with it enough to be able to. But it wasn’t at all what I expected it to be because there’s no way anyone can prepare for that.” Damian considered Jason’s answer, once again looking out the window. He didn’t speak for a few minutes and Jason didn’t push. “Look, Damian. I can see the wheels turning in your head, and I understand why you’re curious. But I don’t want you entertaining the notion that you’re gonna go watch what happened the night you died. I don’t think it’s a good idea.” “I appreciate your honesty.”

“But you don’t like my answer.”

His green eyes narrowed momentarily before they rolled toward the ceiling.

“I disagree with it. There’s a difference.”

“Touche.” He leaned forward, resting his hand on the couch next to Damian’s foot. Close to him, but not touching him. Damian turned and stared at Jason’s hand before making eye contact.

“You don’t want to see what happened to you, and I don’t think you really want to hear what Bruce heard. Trust me on that.” Damian didn’t answer, nodding once. Jason poked his foot before standing and retrieving his jacket from the chair. “I’m around if you ever want to talk, okay?” Damian only nodded again and continued staring out the window. Jason immediately went downstairs, hoping to find someone in the cave. He was fortunate enough to not only find Bruce, but Tim and Dick as well. “You guys have a situation on your hands.” Bruce turned first, acknowledging Jason with a raised eyebrow. Tim and Dick both turned at the same time. They were huddled around old maps of some kind. Dick smiled. “Jason, hey. What are you doing here?” The three of them ignored what they were working on and watched Jason as he approached the table. He tossed his jacket on a nearby chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I got a text from the kid demanding my presence at once.” Dick looked at Bruce, whose expression was suddenly and suspiciously blank. Jason noticed immediately. “Yeah, he had some questions.” Tim looked between the two of them, his eyes widening. “He’s not planning to watch it, is he?” Jason gave him an irritated look. “What do you think, Tim? Now that he knows I’ve seen mine, thanks to whoever told him about it, of course he wants to see his.” “The only people who know are you, Bruce, Alfred and me. I never said anything to him about it. He must have overheard me when I was talking to Barbara later about deleting your file, but I never mentioned why.” Bruce glared at Tim at his admission he was going to delete files without Bruce’s knowledge. Dick looked at the three of them, clearly confused and frustrated with being left out. “Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?” When Bruce and Tim didn’t make a move to answer, Jason did. “Did you know that Bruce records the feeds from his cowl every night?” Dick frowned at such an obvious question. “Yeah. We all know the cowl has a camera. Our masks have them and I bet your helmet has one, too.” Dick shrugged. “So?” Jason looked at Bruce, who gave him an imperceptible shake of his head. Don’t, it warned. “Do you also know he never deletes anything, no matter how awful the footage might be?” Bruce and Tim both sighed, with Tim closing his eyes, readying himself for Dick’s inevitable outburst. It didn’t take Dick long to answer Jason’s question. He turned and faced Bruce, his hands in fists at his sides. “You kept the footage from the night of Jason’s death? What the hell were you thinking, Bruce? Why would you do that?” He then turned to Jason, some of his anger dissipating, but not much. “And why on earth would you want to watch it?” He circled the table and before Jason could deflect it, Dick wrapped his arms around him. “Are you okay?” Jason sighed and clapped his hand against Dick’s upper back, trying to end the hug. “Yeah. So you can imagine why I’m concerned that Damian is asking me what it was like.” He felt Dick’s posture go rigid as he backed away. He slowly turned toward Bruce. “Please tell me you don’t have the files from that night. Bruce, please.” Again, Bruce said nothing. Tim was already over at the computer, messaging Oracle about deleting the file. “I’m already on it, Dick. We’ll have it permanently deleted shortly.” Dick was standing in front of Bruce clearly still angry, but he was calmer. He reached up and put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “I know how you like to punish yourself, but this is harsh, even by your standards.” Bruce covered Dick’s hand with his own, before removing it and turning to watch Tim work. Dick just sighed and leaned against the table across from Jason. “Bruce, what if Damian had come across that file while he was on his own? Like I did? I was lucky you came back when you did. I’m a grown man and looked what it did to me.” Dick snorted and rolled his eyes, but said nothing as Jason continued. “Imagine what that could have done to him.” “You act as though I hadn’t prepared for that already,” Bruce said quietly, just as Tim spun in the chair. “We can’t access the file, B. It’s encrypted. Why not just delete it?” Before Bruce could answer, Jason was standing next to him, their shoulders touching. “Because it’s motivation,” Jason said. “In case we ever need reminding about what we could lose.” Bruce glanced sideways at Jason, sadness and relief in his eyes. Jason looked at him and nodded once in return, finally understanding why Bruce would keep things like that footage around, even if he disagreed with it. “Work with Oracle to make sure no one can hack into that file, Tim. I trust that it will be completely secure when you’re finished.” Tim nodded and went back to typing as Bruce disappeared upstairs, Dick right behind him. Jason shrugged into his jacket and said goodnight to Tim before he left. This damn family.

A few days later, Tim noticed something odd. Damian was being unusually kind lately. At first, it was subtle- letting him use the second-best shower in the manor first (the best one being in Bruce’s en suite bathroom), or the noticeable lack of insults over their comms while out on patrol. Then it escalated to Damian bringing him coffee (just the way he liked it, no less) when he stopped by WE to visit Bruce, or having a five-star restaurant deliver a meal to his apartment while he’d been working non-stop on both the annual WE budget and a new case.

When Damian offered to let him walk Titus, something Damian never let anyone do unless he was incapacitated, Tim realized he was up to something. They were in the kitchen after patrol, waiting while their food heated in the microwave, when Tim could no longer resist.

“What do you want, Damian?” Damian looked up from his book and frowned. His own meal was plated next to him, waiting until Tim was finished with the microwave. “What?” Tim narrowed his eyes. “I know what you’re doing, I just don’t know why. What do you want?” Damian looked down at his book, finishing a paragraph before marking the page with a piece of ribbon. When his eyes finally met Tim’s, Tim was surprised to see him nervous. “I’m aware you helped Oracle verify the encryption of the file from Father’s cowl that night.” The microwave beeped, the sound unusually loud. Tim made no move to open it. “Yes, at Bruce’s order.” Damian looked down at the table and nodded. He’d suspected as much, which was why he hadn’t bothered to try and access it himself. He could hold his own with hacking, but not where Tim and Oracle where concerned. “But you’re still able to access it, correct?” Tim leaned a hip against the counter. Damian had tenacity, he’d give him that much. “You’re set on watching that footage, aren’t you?” Damian looked at him from the corner of his eye. “Yes. But I don’t expect any of you to understand why.” Tim shivered as he recalled what he saw that night. Damian fighting with arrows in his back. Calling out to Talia to stop everything. How he’d cried out for Bruce. Tim turned back to the microwave and leaned his hands on the counter, hanging his head. Damian was right; why he would want to re-live that was beyond Tim. “I have questions and I know Father won’t answer them. You won’t, either, and Todd wasn’t there. And I can’t ask Grayson again.” Tim turned back to Damian. Dick was usually the most honest with Damian, but the fact Dick wouldn’t talk about this with him wasn’t that surprising. “Why not?” The microwave beeped again and both of them ignored it. “Because it would hurt him too much,” Damian said quietly. “Whenever I ask about it, he changes the subject, but I can see how much it hurts him even though he tries to hide it.” Tim took his plate out of the microwave and set it on the table, holding a hand out for Damian’s. Damian handed it to Tim without a word and Tim put it in to warm. He sat down across from Damian and waited until he looked up to speak. “Damian, you have to understand how terrible that night was for all of us, but especially Bruce and Dick. We aren’t trying to keep it from you or shelter you, but at the same time, seeing yourself after you die isn’t something you want to see.” Damian drew his hands back from the table and put them in his lap. Tim knew he’d made them both into fists in an effort to stay calm. “I’m not interested in seeing myself dead, Drake, nor am I interested in seeing any of you mourn for me. It’s pathetic that you think that’s what I want.” He picked up his book before standing and glaring at Tim. “Clearly you won’t be of any assistance.” He turned and left as the microwave beeped, speaking back over his shoulder as he disappeared. “I’m no longer hungry.” Tim sighed and looked down at his plate. Me neither.

It was nearly a week before Damian contacted Jason again. The second time, Damian went to him. Damian was waiting in the dark when Jason came home at three a.m. after a slow night. Jason entered his current safe house and locked the door before turning a light on. Damian sat on the sofa, legs crossed and hands in his lap. Jason startled and backed against the wall, nearly dropping his helmet. “Damn it, kid. Don’t do that!” Damian smirked ever so slightly. “If you’re startled that easily, Todd, you have problems.” Jason only shook his head, removing the heaviest of his gear and stowing it in a closet. He locked his guns in the safe and kicked his boots off before collapsing noisily in a chair across from Damian. “Everything okay?” Damian stared at his hands, biting his bottom lip. He shrugged, one shoulder slowly rising toward his ear. “No one is injured, if that’s what you’re asking.” “Alright, that’s good, but that’s not what I asked.” He waited until Damian looked up at him before he asked again. “Is everything okay?” Damian sighed, frowning. “It’s bad enough they all walk on eggshells when the subject of my death comes up, but when I have questions about it, no one will actually answer them. They don’t listen.” Jason rose and sat down next to Damian, tucking a leg beneath him so he could face him. “This is about the cowl footage, isn’t it?” Damian nodded. “I tried to get Drake to help me, but he said the same thing everyone else has. I was nice to him for nothing.” Jason shook his head and stifled a laugh. “I bet he was confused as hell.” Damian looked up at him, a tiny smirk appearing at the corner of his mouth. Jason grinned, before poking Damian’s knee. “Can I ask you something? Why is it so important to you? What do you want to get out of watching something so... painful?” He could tell no one had asked Damian that question yet. He was silent a few minutes before he spoke again and when he did, his voice lacked its usual formal tone. He sounded more like the child he should be. “Did you remember anything that happened right before your death? I mean before you saw what my Father saw that night.” “I remembered some, yes, or at least I thought I remembered. What I think happened to me, what the Joker said he did to me, and what actually happened are probably three totally different things.” He inhaled slowly and deeply, willing himself to stay calm and not panic in front of the kid. That treasure chest of memories was easy to open, but so hard to close.

“But once I saw what happened immediately after I died, the stuff that happened right before didn’t carry the same weight as it used to.” Damian didn’t look at him, continuing to stare at his hands. When he finally did respond, he was cautious. Almost hesitant. “So in watching it, you were able to find some sort of closure. You were able to let some of your pain go.” Jason leaned back against the arm of the couch and shrugged. “I guess so, yeah. There are some things I’ll always struggle with, some things I’ll always disagree with Bruce about, but overall, you could say it helped in some strange and morbid way.” He nudged Damian with his foot. “So what do you hope to gain from seeing yours?” “I…” he trailed off and sighed. “That... thing my mother created went after Grayson and I tried to stop it. I think I remember trying to save him and I need to know if I succeeded.” Jason frowned. “Damian, Dick survived that night. I wasn’t there, but I can tell you he made it.” “And yet, when I came back, we all believed him to be dead.” Damian’s eyes were full of unshed tears at that point and he was trying really hard to keep them that way. “I need to see if my death prevented his. And no one will grant me that request, despite all of them having that capability.” Jason rubbed the back of his neck, his mind reeling. It all made sense now. The kid wanted to see if he’d failed at being Robin, if he’d failed at protecting Batman, whether it be Dick or Bruce. He didn’t need or want the validation that his family cared about him like Jason had; Damian knew how they all felt. He needed to see that by dying, someone else survived. Jason leaned forward and gently put his hand on Damian’s shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do, short stack, but I can’t make any promises.”

Two nights later, Jason arrived at the manor at seven o'clock, per Tim's instructions. Bruce and Alfred were attending a fundraiser for Gotham Memorial Hospital’s new maternity wing. They would be occupied until after Bruce’s speech, which wasn’t on the evening’s itinerary until eight-thirty, provided the mayor wrapped up his speech on time. Damian greeted him at the door.

"Hey, squirt.” Damian rolled his eyes. “Tt. Drake said he’s almost ready.” Jason glanced around, nervous as hell they were going to get caught. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission in this case. “You guys sure Bruce and Alfred won’t be back for a while?” “We’ve arranged for some technical difficulties in the event the mayor finishes his speech early. And since Father is the keynote speaker, he can’t get out of it.” “And what if they need Batman?” “They get Red Robin,” Tim said, meeting them at the bottom of the stairs. “I’ve been working with Oracle tonight and so far, things are quiet. But as soon as you two are set up, I’m headed out on patrol to keep it that way.” He gestured to the second floor. “Come on, it’s set up in the study.” They entered Bruce’s study and were met with a fire glowing in the fireplace and Tim’s laptop set up on the desk. It was connected to the flat screen mounted above the fireplace and the couch was moved so it sat directly in front. There was a lamp on in the corner, casting a soft glow through the room where the light from the fire couldn’t reach. Damian sat down in the middle of the couch and said nothing. Tim glanced at Jason, uncertainty in his eyes. Jason merely shrugged. “I’ve remotely accessed the cave’s computer from my laptop and found a workaround for Oracle’s encryption. The file is open and all you have to do is click the file name.” He waited until Jason had taken a look at the laptop before he turned to leave. “If Oracle knows you’re watching it, she won’t stop you, Jason. I asked her not to after our conversation yesterday.” “Thanks, Timbers.” Tim left and closed the door. Jason clicked the file name and it opened. He paused it immediately and went around to kneel in front of Damian. “If at any point you want to stop, just say so or squeeze my hand, okay?” “I’ll be fine, Todd,” Damian huffed, but Jason could easily see the kid was nervous. “Well, just in case you’re not, say so.” Jason leaned over and clicked play before taking a seat next to Damian. The footage began in complete darkness. Jason leaned over to check that the video was playing when Talia’s voice came through the speakers. Damian tensed momentarily before settling back against the couch. “My detective.” They could hear Bruce moving around. Jason frowned. “Where was he?” “My mother had him,” Damian said quietly. He tensed at the sound of Talia’s voice again. “My dear, sweet, doomed detective. Really? This is how I get your attention?” At that point, other sounds began filtering into the audio feed. Damian heard the sounds of the fight from the lobby along with what his Father was experiencing. His breathing hitched as heard the fighters loyal to Leviathan yelling about formations. “He still listens to everybody, doesn’t he?” Jason murmured. Damian nodded. “Boy’s own adventure. Playing commando. Playing dress-up and fight. No responsibilities. No ambition. A man who might have ruled the world.” “I’m not your father, Talia!” Bruce hollered angrily, startling both of them. The screen was still black; wherever Bruce was, he hadn’t escaped yet. Damian heard Tim arrive next, helping a woman get to safety. There was more chaos, more fighting. He didn’t try to fight the smirk on his lips at the sound of shattering glass and yelling echoing through the lobby. “God help us all! GET HIM!” Jason gently elbowed Damian. “Was that you?” Damian nodded, continuing to stare at the blank screen. He paled when they both heard Dick’s voice ring out. His heart rate spiked before calming once he heard the amusement in Dick’s startled outburst. “You’re supposed to be home! He’ll kill Alfie for letting you loose.” Jason watched Damian from the corner of his eye. Damian had looked down at the floor, the muscles along his jaw clenching. Jason put his hand next to Damian on the couch, making it easier for Damian to grab it if he wanted to stop. Damian looked up at the still-blank screen when he heard his own voice. “This is our last chance to prevent a catastrophe. Are you with me, Nightwing? The odds are completely against us.” Jason’s chest tightened when they heard Dick reply. “When did we ever let something like that get in the way? Robin, The Boy Wonder, Damian.” “So far, I’d say you’ve been my favorite partner. We were the best, Richard. No matter what anyone thinks.” Damian felt his ears and cheeks flush, and he hoped Jason would think it was because of the fire in the fire place. Jason noticed, though, even in the dim light. Damian clearly adored Dick, despite any of his attempts to say otherwise. But Jason would never tease him about it. He knew what it was like, having Dick to look up to. Damian was still watching the screen even though it was dark, anxiously waiting for the video feed to come on. There was an explosion somewhere and the audio feed filled with static for several seconds. They could hear Bruce’s controlled breathing as he worked to free himself from wherever Talia had secured him. There were muffled sounds from what Jason guessed were Dick and Damian. He continued watching Damian from the corner of his eye, seeing him tense and look down into the fire.

“Robin. Get out of here. NOW.” Jason’s eyes widened at the tone of Dick’s voice and Damian winced, slamming his eyes shut. It was the one reserved for only the serious situations. Things like grave injuries, civilian casualties during an op, or when shit hit the fan. Damian’s fingers gripped the edge of the couch cushion tightly when he heard his own voice again after a gargled cry from Dick. “Leave him alone! Look at me!” There was a crash nearby and Dick’s voice went silent. “Look at me. Touch him again, I’ll kill you.” Jason’s heart raced as he listened, having only seen some surveillance photographs of this Heretic creature. As he imagined this thing standing over Robin, he felt himself getting angry. But the pride he felt at Damian standing up to it swelled along with his anger. Damian looked over at Jason, the anger in his eyes beginning to give way to his fear of what was coming. A deep voice, rough like broken concrete, came through next. Damian’s eyes went wide. “Now you will know me.” They listened as he fought the Heretic, Robin repeatedly demanding that he give up and telling his mother to call him off. “BREAK!” the Heretic screamed. “No. Die. Cowards!” Robin’s voice was noticeably weaker at this point. Damian sat in silence, once again staring into the fire, barely blinking. Jason had begun to regret agreeing to this, but not enough to stop it just yet. “You okay?” Damian began to nod, but his eyes were drawn to the flat screen as the video feed began. They watched as Batman surfaced and crawled out of a pool. Robin’s voice came through again, tired this time. Beaten, but not broken. “..call him off at once.. Mother.” Batman was fighting his way through Talia’s bat creatures, all the while Talia was in his ear. Jason could feel an anger he thought he’d conquered, thick and Lazarus-green, bubbling in his chest as he listened to her taunt Bruce about their son. “Our son was a flawed creation. Born from a bottle. A failed experiment.” Batman collided with yet another bat, tackling it to the ground before ruthlessly punching it in the face with a snarl. Damian’s focus was glued to the screen, now realizing what prevented him from getting there sooner. “You lost the world that might have been yours. You lost me. You’re losing everything.” Batman leapt off the edge of the high rise, grabbing one of the bats mid-air. They rushed toward the ground. Damian stood, watching as Bruce fought to make it to the lobby. His stomach lurched and his face contorted as Talia spoke. “You’re losing the game.” They heard a ragged gasp through the audio feed followed by a sickening gurgle. Jason grimaced, knowing full-well what had just happened. “Your move, my detective.” Damian’s hands flew to his chest, gripping his shirt, a look of pure anguish on his face as he watched Batman dive through a broken window into the lobby. Damian’s eyes scanned the screen wildly, trying to take in everything at once. Batman rolled to his knees, skidding to a stop in front of Robin. At the edge of the frame, Dick was lying on the floor, still unconscious. They could still hear Tim fighting off the other combatants in the background. The camera shifted as Batman looked down at Robin, the pool of blood spreading across the tile beneath him. The wound was enormous, much bigger than a child that size should ever experience. Jason immediately shifted to sit closer to Damian, who was still standing, and he took Damian’s hand in his. Damian squeezed but Jason understood he wasn’t indicating he wanted to turn it off. Damian shook his head, tears beginning to fall as he continued to watch. The video feed shook slightly as Batman tried to process what he was looking at, surveying the damage he knew was fatal before he even got there. “Batman. It was me. I did it. I killed your son with this. I beat you once tonight, old man. You’re weaker now.” The Heretic’s voice filtered through the background noise again and suddenly there was a burst of activity. Batman took after the Heretic, the video feed becoming blurry with the pace at which Batman fought. Damian blinked and more tears fell as Dick’s voice came through again. “No. No no no.. This isn’t happening! He was okay, just a minute ago! What just happened?” Damian could see when Nightwing joined the fight, the blur of red easily joining in alongside his Father as the Heretic screamed at him. “I never tire. I’ll break your back!” The three of them, Batman, Nightwing and the Heretic, continued fighting. Batman and Nightwing held their own for only seconds before they were both overpowered and beaten into near-unconsciousness. There was an explosion and both the video and audio feeds went down, only to return seconds later. “Yeah. RUN!” They heard Tim’s voice and watched as the crowd began to scatter. Batman rolled over and climbed to his knees, turning to watch as Nightwing carefully picked up Robin. Damian watched as Nightwing tried not to sob as he exited the building. He could hear Father gasping for breath, sobs wracking his huge frame, as he followed them out of the building. Damian gasped when the screen went dark and the audio stopped. He turned to see Jason at the computer. “Yeah, tater tot, I think we can stop there.” He walked around the back of the couch, sitting down and wiping his eyes. “We don’t need to see any more of that. What Bruce did after that should remain private, I think.” Damian sat down, his breathing coming in rapid, shallow pants. Jason leaned forward, rubbing his back. “Are you okay?” Damian turned to look at Jason and shook his head, causing more tears to fall. Jason opened his arms and Damian hurled himself toward him, landing hard against his chest. “Breathe, Damian. Come on. You’re going to hyperventilate if you don’t slow down your breathing. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Dick is safe. Everyone is safe.” He rocked back and forth until Damian started to calm down, his breaths hitched and uneven, but slower. Damian tucked his head under Jason’s chin, clutching his sweatshirt tightly. Jason stared into the fire, continuing to hold Damian as long as he’d allow himself to be. When he thought he might get some sort of answer out of him, he nudged Damian to see if he was still awake. Damian looked up at him, his eyelashes still wet with tears. “Did you see what you needed to see?” Damian nodded and laid his head down against Jason’s chest again. Jason could feel him swallow once, then twice, trying to talk around the lump in his throat. “It.. it was as I remembered. Well, some of it.” Jason didn’t ask for clarification, knowing it would come anyway. “I remembered being so angry when he went after Grayson. And I remembered trying to distract him so Grayson would be safe.” He sniffled and sighed. “I’m glad my distraction worked. I was able to hold him off long enough for Father to arrive and get them out.” Jason closed his eyes, lamenting the fact that they would all sacrifice themselves for each other without a second thought, even those as young as Tim and Damian. He was proud of Damian, both for what he did that night and for what he’d accomplished since then, but he wished it had never come to that. If Talia ever set foot near this family again, he would prove to her they were off-limits and he wouldn’t regret his actions in demonstrating that fact. Damian began to relax against him and Jason decided it was smarter to move him now than later. He stood and shifted Damian so he could wrap his arms around Jason’s neck. Damian did just that, also attempting to wrap his legs around Jason’s waist, but fell short as his legs weren’t long enough. Jason chuckled softly. “It’s okay, spider monkey. We’re just going to your room. I won’t go anywhere.” Damian sniffled. “Thank you.” “This is one of the strangest things I’ve even been thanked for, but you’re welcome.” They went down the hall and Jason tucked him into bed, propping himself up against the headboard at Damian’s request. Damian fell asleep with one of Jason’s hands combing through his hair. He checked his phone and had three messages, two from Tim and one from Barbara. Tim: Are you two okay? Tim: I’ll take the lack of messages from you as a yes. FYI- Bruce is on his way home. Barbara: Please tell me you’re both okay after that. I think it was a horrible idea, but I also understand it, to an extent. He replied to both that they were fine and thanked them for their help. He put the phone in his pocket and sighed, looking at the window at the lights of Gotham in the distance. Damian had a pretty good view, a lot like the one in his old room. He heard the muffled sound of the front door. Bruce would be up any moment now, having seen his bike out in the driveway. He didn’t have to wait long as hurried steps came down the hallway. Damian’s door opened and light from the hallway spilled into the room as Bruce entered. His bow tie was undone and the first buttons of his shirt were open. “Jason? What are you doing here? Is Damian alright?” Jason held a finger to his lips before disentangling himself from Damian’s arms, which had somehow wrapped themselves around one arm and a leg like an octopus. He pointed to the hallway and he followed Bruce from the room. “What’s wrong? What happened?” “Damn it, Bruce calm down. He’s fine now.” Bruce looked back through the doorway and then at Jason. His expression darkened and his tone of voice dropped, both veering dangerously close to Batman territory. “You didn’t…” Jason stared right back at Bruce, drawing himself up to his full height, which was nearly the same as Bruce, and crossing his arms over his chest. They were standing nearly eye to eye. “Yeah, I did. Because he asked me to. He remembered trying to save Dick and he needed to see that it worked. No one would listen to him long enough for him to explain that.” Bruce closed his eyes and exhaled, his shoulders deflating. “He needed to see that his death wasn’t meaningless. That his sacrifice fulfilled its purpose.” Jason nodded. “We both needed validation, old man. I needed to see that I meant something, that my life meant something. He needed to see that his death meant something. That it mattered.” Bruce looked at Jason, his eyes full of sadness and guilt. “It makes me feel like a failure that my children need that kind of validation.” “Well, if it weren’t for your ridiculously obsessive habit of documenting everything, you never would have been able to give it to us. So, there’s that, I guess.” Jason clapped a hand on Bruce’s shoulder and brushed past him, heading downstairs. “I’ve got to get out on patrol. See you later, Bruce.” “Jason?” Jason stopped on the landing and turned. Bruce was at the top of the stairs now. “Yeah?” “Thank you, for listening to him and for staying with him.” “He's a good kid. I hope you see that.” With a nod, he turned and left. Bruce went back to Damian’s room and knelt next to the bed. He carefully laid a hand on Damian’s cheek, smiling when he nuzzled against it. His next words were soft, quiet- meant to be felt and not heard. “You matter, Damian. You’ve always mattered.”

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Damian’s temple before circling to the other side of the bed and crawling in. He settled himself in the spot Jason had occupied, heaving a contented sigh when Damian rolled over and snuggled against him.

“And you save us every day.”

#holy shit I made myself sad #MizMahlia's fanfiction #Damian Wayne #Jason Todd #batfamily #BatFam #angst #batman incorporated #Batman Inc #angst like whoa

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peopleandrhythm · 6 years

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Lost Episode: “Going in for the Kill”

Hello! In what is certainly a surprise twist for both you and me, I have returned to the People and Rhythm universe with what I am calling a “lost episode.” A “lost episode” is a full-length episode fic, written much in the same way as an episode in either season one or two of People and Rhythm, but it does not belong to either season, or (at this point) a new season of its own. It’s a stand-alone episode, longer than a deleted scene. This episodes doe contain characters introduced in season two of People and Rhythm, so it’s probably best be caught up before reading this.

All that being said, I am extremely happy to be revisiting the fic that changed my life in untold ways, and hope you enjoy reading this episode.

Time: Sometime after 2x13

Alastair Duquesne doesn’t spend much time thinking about New Orleans. In fact, if he were to estimate, he would guess that he spends exactly no time thinking of the city to which he once made yearly pilgrimages. Now that Klaus Mikaelson and his entire wretched family has resumed running through the sunken streets of the city, Alastair chooses not to dwell on the seething rage he feels over the Originals’ triumph. Once the little Mikaelson witch bitch freed her father from the wall and Alastair made his escape, he made the decision to move on, to live to fight another day.

That is, until he was forcibly reminded of his evil sire at a pub in the south of Wales. He’s meeting a friend for a pint before a night of ambling through the streets of Swansea, looking for a vein to tap. He’s distracted from his tankard by a conversation his vampire senses overhear from the back of the pub.

“…trip to New Orleans. City’s turned itself around.”

The voice belongs to an American, by the sounds of it, and Alastair shifts just slightly to focus better.

“That one chap still in charge?” the American’s friend asks. “What’s his name…Mark?”

“Marcel?” Alastair’s interest is certainly piqued now. “Only in charge of the vampires. No, get this: the city has a queen.”

The friend scoffs. “A queen? Of a city? You Americans don’t do things halfway, do you?”

“She’s just a kid, too, maybe eighteen? A Mikaelson, of course.”

“Yeah, I heard of her. What do they call her? The tribrid?”

Alastair freezes. The witch bitch.

“I guess. They say she’s doing an alright job. A little rocky at first, but things seems to be going okay. Wasn’t the all-out war that I remember from two decades ago, at least.”

“Bloody hell.” The friend takes a swig of his stout and sighs. “And after all that, Klaus Mikaelson gets everything he wanted. Aye, what a shame.”

“Yes,” Alastair breathes, bringing his own glass to his lips. “What a shame, indeed.”

“Will you hold still?”

Hope’s got a pair of scissors in her hand, hovering just above her father’s head. They stare at each other in a mirror, a silent stand-off.

“I don’t see why have to be your guinea pig,” Klaus whines. “Your uncle Elijah—”

“Wouldn’t let me near his hair with a ten-foot pole, and rightly so,” Hope snarks back. “His hair looks fantastic.”

Klaus’s jaw drops in offense, but before he can retort, a head pokes into the studio door. “Vincent’s downstairs.”

Hope sighs and drops the shears onto a table. “I thought the meeting was at eleven.”

Leaning against the doorframe, Hayley shrugs. “Looks like he wants to move it up an hour. You can torture your father later.”

Klaus leaps out of the chair, smoothing his curls down. “Yes, well, I suppose you’d best run along to your meeting, luv, don’t want to keep our regent waiting.”

Hope narrows her eyes. “I’m cutting your hair today, Dad. You’re not wriggling out of this one.”

Klaus merely smiles in triumph and gestures with one arm toward the door.

When Hope reaches the courtyard, she finds Vincent next to the fountain, toe tapping. When he sees her approaching, he takes a step forward. “You heard anything from the ancestors today?”

Hope quirks an eyebrow. “I hear from the ancestors every day, Vincent. That’s kind of the problem.” She jerks her head toward the kitchen. “Come on. I’ll brew some tea.”

Vincent follows her. As she puts the kettle on the stove, he asks, “Do you know of a Seer named Ivy?”

“Hm…doesn’t ring a bell.”

“She’s got a stall down in the Cauldron. Tourists love her, mostly because she’s the best damn tarot reader in all nine covens.”

A small smile spreads across Hope’s face. “Vincent…do you like this woman?”

That throws him for a loop. “Do I—can we focus please?” Hope shrugs. “She was doin’ a card read this morning and she got…” He trails off.

“She got what? C’mon Vincent, you know I’m not as well-versed in tarot as I should be.”

“Maybe you should study more.”

“Maybe you should lecture me later and tell me about Ivy’s reading now.” She leans against the counter, arms crossed.

“Fine. She got the Tower, the Emperor reversed, and…Judgment.”

Hope’s brow furrows as she racks her brain for the meanings of these cards. “I know the Tower. That’s a sudden upheaval.” Vincent nods. “I can’t remember the reversal of the Emperor card.”

“Tyranny,” Vincent supplies. “And Judgement?”

“Judgement is…” Realization dawns on her face as the kettle begins its shrill whistle. “A reckoning.”

Vincent’s face is impassive. “Now who’s a tyrant we know who may be overdue for a sudden reckoning?”

When Alastair Duquesne walks through the Cauldron, he wrinkles his nose at the overwhelming number of scents. Incense, sage, candles, homebrews—he’s assaulted by smells from all sides, and he’s reminded once again of why he hates cavorting with witches.

He can’t find the face he’s looking for, so eventually he gives up and taps on the shoulder of a stall girl whose last customer is walking away. “Excuse me.”

She turns, surprised. “What can I get you?”

“Do you know someone by the name of Theo LeRoy?”

Surprise blooms on her face. “Theo? You lookin’ for Theo?” He nods. “Sorry, but she’s been locked up for…oh, ‘bout a year now.”

Now it’s Alastair’s turn to look surprised. “Locked up? She’s in prison?”

“That’s one way of putting it.” The woman cocks her head to the side. “You look familiar. How do you know Theo?”

“We…had a mutual understanding last year. A common enemy, you might say. I was hoping to work with her again to defeat that enemy.”

The woman smirks. “I think I can help you out. I’m Leanne.” She sticks out her hand.

He takes it. “Alastair Duquesne.”

Klaus wanders through Jackson Square, hands in his pockets, silently observing the street artists around him—trumpeters, spray painters, breakdancers. He’s trying to keep himself occupied; he may refuse to admit it, even to himself, but without a war bubbling under the surface of New Orleans’s supernatural society, he finds himself with little to do. Since he promised his daughter he would refrain from causing unnecessary trouble, here he is, bored and restless.

He stops near a canvas, and the young woman with loose curls dabbing her brush against it. She’s painting the square, and its myriad colors and textures. He finds himself particularly impressed by her rendition of a guitarist a few dozen yards away, and the yellow dog curled up at his feet. After a few minutes of observation, he feels a presence beside him. “She’s good.”

Klaus’s eyes dart to the side. The woman looks vaguely familiar, and judging by the confident set of her shoulders, he’s going to guess she’s a witch. “Can I help you?”

“I’m a friend of Theo LeRoy’s,” she begins. “Leanne. You probably don’t remember me.”

Klaus’s head turns glacially to look at her. His smile is sardonic. “Sorry. I don’t remember unremarkable people.”

Leanne lets that go. “Theo would have made an excellent leader in New Orleans—you know, before your daughter stole the Advocacy from her.”

“From what I understood, your ancestors thought Theo LeRoy underqualified to play the role of Advocate, and selected my daughter instead. I hardly see how Hope is to blame for the whims of dead witches.”

With a little shrug, Leanne says, “Perhaps. Still, Hope is out here, ruling this city like a queen, while Theo rots in an abandoned motel prison, alone and powerless.”

Klaus rolls his eyes. “And why exactly are you whinging at me? I’m not going to ask my daughter to release Theo LeRoy; she tried to kill Hope, and even if she hadn’t, I don’t care.”

“I don’t need you to ask your daughter anything,” Leanne says. A ghost of a smile appears on her face. “I just need you to kill her.” And before Klaus can react, she snaps her fingers, and his head twists horribly to the side, neck instantly snapped.

Hope steps out of her car, phone pressed to her ear. “Okay, Riv, where exactly are you?” She listens, and then looks back at her car. “I don’t know, on the side of a street?” A pause. “Okay, not to sound like a bitch, but have you seen the suits Elijah wears? I don’t care about a parking ticket.”

She listens some more, and then says, “God, why is this campus so confusing? And why are there so many quads?” She looks around. “Okay, I think you’re just around the corner from here. I should be there in a few. Love you!” She hangs up.

She walks down Freret Street and spies a break between two buildings. “Shortcut!” she sings to herself, and ducks between the brick walls. Her steps echo on the concrete, but then she hears it: a second pair of footsteps. She turns, confused, and suddenly there’s a loud clanking sound, followed by a heavy weight around her wrists. She looks down, bewildered, to see a pair of rusty manacles clasped around her arms, and then looks back up. Stunned, she says, “Dominic?”

“Sorry, Your Majesty,” the witch from the Ninth says with a smirk. “Your Excellency is needed elsewhere.”

And then the world goes black.

Klaus thrashes against his chains to no avail. Whatever crypt he’s being held in is macabrely decorated, with a plethora of lit candles and jars full of untold substances. His breath is coming in angry huffs as a sharp creak alerts him to someone entering. “I’ll tear your limbs off,” he threatens Leanne before she’s even in view.

But she’s not alone. Klaus sets his jaw. “Alastair. Long time.”

“Not nearly long enough,” Alastair replies. “Though I did come to visit you, several times during your…down period. Pity we couldn’t speak. I heard you were a little…tied up.”

Klaus is unamused. “What are you doing in my city?”

Alastair takes a few long, casual strides about the crypt, glancing interestedly at the items on the walls. “Is it still your city, Klaus? From what I’ve heard, the great Klaus Mikaelson has been waylaid by his own teenaged daughter.” He turns his head to smirk at Klaus. “Not quite the formidable tyrant we once were, are we?”

Klaus bites the inside of his lip hard enough to draw blood, but he doesn’t give Alastair the reaction he’s looking for. “I suggest you keep all mention of my daughter off of your despicable tongue, Alastair, lest you find yourself losing it.”

Alastair saunters closer and leans in so his face is inches from his sire’s. “If I were you, I’d be more concerned about what you are about to lose.” Klaus’s face becomes drawn, but he doesn’t respond. “Do you remember what you did to me?”

Jutting his chin out, Klaus responds, “Oh, it’s so hard to remember our wayward youths, isn’t it? You’ll have to remind me.”

“You turned me into a vampire and compelled to kill my wife and child,” Alastair snarls, all pretense of nonchalance gone. “You destroyed my life for a laugh.”

“Ah,” Klaus breathes. “Now I remember. She was pretty, your little wife. Shame you tore her to pieces like that.”

Alastair swallows thickly. “Well, shame you’re going to the same to your daughter.”

The blood vanishes from Klaus’s face. “I would never.”

“You won’t have a choice,” Leanne interjects, and Klaus’s eyes snap to hers, blazing. “You like that, don’t you? Taking people’s choices away?”

Klaus jerks at his chains, but they don’t budge. “If you touch a single hair on my daughter’s head—”

Leanne throws up her hands. “I don’t plan on doing a thing to Hope.” She reaches behind her back and pulls out a familiar object: a long, dark stake with dozens of tiny skulls carved into one end, their eye sockets gleaming blood red. “We’ll leave that up to you.”

You have reached the voicemail box of: Hope Mik—

“Ugh!” River groaned, hanging up again. She wanders up West, head swiveling as she looks for her girlfriend. “An hour late,” she grumbles to herself. “How lost can she be?”

She takes a left onto Freret, and just up the road she can see Hope’s car, a ticket tucked under the windshield wiper. “I told her so,” River mumbles, and she approaches the car. There’s no sign of Hope around. She turns to head back to the quad, but then catches a whiff of something familiar in the air. She follows the scent, and it leads her between two brick buildings. There’s nothing there, just a narrow alleyway that leads to an open area behind the buildings. She’s turning to head back to the car when something catches her eye. She bends down and picks up a familiar piece of jewelry: a necklace with the Mikaelson crest on it—a gift from Elijah for Hope’s last birthday.

In a flash, River’s phone is in her hand. “Hayley, you need to come to campus right now. I think…I think someone took Hope.”

The chains must be spelled, because Klaus is exerting every ounce of force he has in an attempt to break free. He hasn’t seen a cursed stake like this since one nearly killed his sister over fifteen years ago. “Where did you get that?” he growls.

Leanne strokes the stake almost sensually. “When the Strix left town all those years ago, they left some things behind. And the witches of New Orleans are not ones to pass up an opportunity like this.”

“So this is your plan?” Klaus turns back to Alastair. “Stake me with that, have me attack my own daughter? Is this your retribution for a crime committed centuries ago?”

“Well…yes,” Alastair says simply. “You forced me to murder my own child, and now I’m returning the favor.”

Klaus opens his mouth to retort, but he has no words to spit back in Alastair’s face. There is no posturing, no grandstanding that’s going to fix this. If they stake him with the Strix’s cursed stake, he’ll rapidly become the killing machine he used to pride himself on being. And if Hope were anywhere near him…

“Kill me,” he says, bravado evaporated. “Bring me to Marcel and let him bite me, but kill me and leave my daughter alone.”

“Fatherhood does that to you,” Alastair says softly. “Reframes everything, makes you never have to think twice about laying down your own life for your child’s. It’s chilling, isn’t it? How easily you’d die for her?” Klaus doesn’t answer, so Alastair continues, “Don’t worry. You won’t have too long to mourn what you’ve done. Once she’s dead, you’ll follow soon after.”

“He’s got her.” Both Klaus and Alastair look at Leanne, who in turn is looking at her phone. “She’s all tied up and waiting for her father to come tear her to shreds.”

Alastair’s answering smile sends a chill up Klaus’s spine.

“Anything?” Hayley asks, pacing a hole in the floor of the study.

Freya shakes her head, which is still bent over the map of New Orleans, Hayley’s blood puddled uselessly in the middle of the French Quarter. “They’re getting even better at cloaking her.”

River’s curled up on one of the couches, tucked in to Rebekah’s side. “This is my fault.”

“You hush,” Rebekah says, rubbing her hand up and down River’s arm comfortingly. “You didn’t take her.”

“I asked her to come meet me, I was the reason she was even there—”

Elijah strides into the room, tapping on his phone. “Niklaus still isn’t answering.”

“Do we think they’ve both been taken?” Rebekah asks.

Hayley makes a face. “It’s not easy to get the drop on Klaus.”

“Unless…” Everyone turns to look at Freya. “What’s the only thing that could lure Klaus into a trap?”

There’s a beat, then River says slowly, “So someone kidnapped Hope to get to Klaus?”

Hayley’s eyes slide shut. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

River jolts with a sudden memory. “Vincent.”

Confused, Freya says, “What about Vincent?”

“He came to see Hope this morning. He told her something…something big, I guess. She wanted to tell me about it when we met up, but obviously…”

“She never got the chance.” Elijah resumes scrolling through his phone, and taps on Vincent’s contact. He presses the device to his ear, and a moment later says, “We need you here. Now.”

When Hope comes to, she’s in a dimly lit room, with no windows and one heavy metal door. If she had to guess, she was somewhere in the catacombs of New Orleans, in one of the witches’ infinite hideouts. She can barely see her hand in front of her face, but judging by the horrible metal jangling she hears every time she moves, she’s still chained up by the cursed manacles that prevent her from doing magic. Groaning in frustration, she awkwardly pats her pockets in search of her cell phone, but it’s gone—not like she would get reception down there anyway.

She clumsily pushes herself to her feet, her body aching. She paces along the back wall of the room; it’s a small space, maybe ten feet or so wide. She starts to walk up one side wall, but then stumbles over something large on the ground—a body.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, and she kneels down to inspect the person on the ground. The lack of movement tells her that whoever it is, they’re unconscious—or worse. It’s so dark she can barely make out the shape, but when her fingers touch curls at the top of the person’s head—too long, in desperate need of a haircut—she chokes back a sob. “Dad?”

Klaus doesn’t respond.

Hope’s breath is coming quick and shallow, but when she recognizes the vague shape of something long and thin protruding from her father’s chest, she leaps on it, yanking the stake from his heart and tossing it to the side.

“Wake up,” she pleads, shaking his shoulders. “Please, Dad, wake up.”

When Vincent arrives, he’s not alone. Just behind him is a beautiful woman with large eyes and flowing dark hair. The pair steps into the empty courtyard. “Hello?” Vincent calls, voice echoing against the brick and stone.

“What did you tell her?”

Vincent and his guest twist their heads up to see Hayley on the balcony above, face taut. She leaps over the rail and lands in front of them, as easily as taking a step. “Someone took my daughter, and if has anything to do with what you told her this morning, I will kill you.”

Vincent runs a tired hand over his face. “Hayley, look—”

“What did you tell her?” There’s poison in Hayley’s voice. Suddenly Elijah is there, just behind her, to put a hand on her shoulder.

“He told her of my reading,” the woman offers. She steps forward. “My name is Ivy, and I’m a Seer. This morning I was doing a tarot reading, and what I saw…I told Vincent, and he warned Hope.”

Hayley opens her mouth hotly, but Elijah cuts across her. “Please tell us what you read, Ivy.” Hayley closes her mouth.

“The three cards were the Tower, the Emperor reversed, and Judgement.”

“So it is about Klaus.” Freya’s coming down the stairs, Rebekah and River right behind her. “Whoever took Hope did so to get to her father.”

Quietly, Elijah says, “Please explain, sister.”

But Freya nods to Ivy, who continues, “These cards mean sudden upheaval, tyranny, and reckoning.”

“That certainly sounds like our Nik,” Rebekah says, but there’s no humor in her voice. “What are we going to do about it?”

“These cards couldn’t be any more specific?” Hayley snaps.

“I’m sorry,” Ivy says, and there’s an earnestness in her voice that Hayley can’t ignore. “Tarot is about patterns, themes, general things to be aware of. They’re not visions. I don’t get details.”

Hayley runs her hand through her hair, nerves frayed. “Okay, what’s our game plan?”

“She’s being cloaked, so either she was taken by witches or by someone with witch help,” Freya says.

Vincent nods. “I’ll start asking questions.”

“I’ll do another reading,” Ivy offers. “I can’t make any promises, but maybe I’ll get something helpful.”

“I’ll head to some vampire hangouts,” Hayley snarls, already halfway out the door.

“Right behind you,” Rebekah calls.

In a blink, everyone’s off to their tasks, and River is left alone, staring hopelessly at the bubbling fountain.

Hope bangs against the metal door, but it’s useless. “Help!” she calls out of the small, barred opening in the door. “Help!” But the only response is her own echo.

She hears a low groan behind her, and she whips around. “Dad!” She’s back on her knees, by his side. “Dad, you’re okay.”

“Hope…” He lugs himself up onto one arm. “…you have to get out of here…”

“We’re trapped,” she said. “The door is spelled. There is no getting out of here.”

Klaus is silent, but one hand comes up to feel the hole in his shirt where the stake once protruded.

“I took it out,” Hope clarifies. “It wasn’t white oak, so you should be fine.”

“You should have left it in.” Klaus climbs to his feet and stalks to the door, slamming his fist against it. It doesn’t budge.

Still on the floor, Hope’s confused. “Leave it in? Why?”

But Klaus doesn’t answer. Instead he yanks repeatedly on the bars of the little window, trying to dislodge them.

“Dad?” He keeps tugging on the bars, so Hope stands and puts a hand on his arm in an attempt to still him. “Dad, what—”

Klaus shakes her off violently, and whips his head to snap at her. “You need to stay away from me.”

Hope’s eyes go wide as she stumbles back. She’s never seen her father this angry—at least, not at her. There’s fury in his eyes, but even in the dim light, she can see something else—fear?

“What’s happening?”

He gives up on removing the bars, and slumps against the door. Hand on his face, he murmurs, “Hope…”

Hope notices something reflecting the little light from the lit candles outside the door. “Dad, there’s something on your arm.”

Klaus lifts his arm up to inspect it. Glowering back at him on his skin is a raised, pale skull.

Marcel steps into Rousseau’s, nodding to Amaya behind the bar. He slides onto the stool and asks her, “Busy day?”

“Not too bad,” she answers with an easy smile. “My shift ends soon, hoping to have some time to catch up with Freya.”

“How’re things going with you two?” Marcel probes as she pours him a glass of bourbon.

“Good. She’s a great teacher if you need a crash course in the supernatural world of New Orleans.”

“You could definitely do worse.” Marcel takes a sip. There a raucous laugh from somewhere behind him, and Amaya looks over, frowning. Setting the glass down, Marcel asks, “Got some rowdy customers?”

“Just some guy celebrating something,” she sighs, and she gestures toward the customer in question. Marcel turns, and is surprised to see Alastair Duquesne, seated a table with several other customers, surrounded by empty pint glasses.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Marcel breathes.

Amaya’s brow furrows. “You know him?”

“Sure do.” Marcel turns back around and downs the rest of his bourbon in one gulp. Then he stands and grabs two things out of his pocket: a twenty-dollar bill and his cell. He passes the bill to Amaya and says, “Keep the change. I gotta deal with this.” And then he heads out of the bar, already dialing.

“What is that?”

“It’s nothing,” Klaus insists, inspecting the walls for a weak spot and avoiding Hope’s gaze.

Hope clenches her jaw. “You’re right. It’s perfectly normal so sprout scars that look like skulls on your arm. My mistake.”

“You know, Hope, now isn’t the most convenient time for your particular brand of sardonic wit.”

“Now also isn’t the most convenient time for you to lie to me. I can’t help us if I don’t know what’s going on.”

For the first time, Klaus notices the clanking metal that follows Hope whenever she moves. “What is that?”

“Dark Object chains. They’re preventing me from doing magic.”

Klaus is in front of her in a blink. He grasps the iron and attempts to yank it apart, but it’s just as stubborn as the door. “They’ve been spelled on.”

“I would’ve guessed.”

Klaus’s nostrils flare, but he moves on. “We have to get you out of here, immediately.” He returns to the walls, feeling around.

Hope’s voice is quiet when she asks, “What does the skull mean, Dad?”

Klaus stops, braces himself against the wall with one arm, and hangs his head. Still not looking at her, he says, “Do you remember the hex that your mother had to have siphoned out of your aunt Rebekah?”

“Yes.”

“A stake just like the one you pulled out of me is what infected her with that hex.”

Hope stays quiet, trying to remember what her mother told her about Rebekah’s curse all those years ago. “That hex…it made her…violent, didn’t it?”

Klaus doesn’t answer.

“Okay…” She bends down to pick up the stake again. This time she notices that at the hilt, dozens of creepy skulls have been carved into the wood. “What if I stake you again?”

Finally, Klaus looks at her. “What?”

Hope shrugs. “It’s a stake. Cursed or not, it’ll knock you out, at least for a little while, won’t it?”

There’s a long pause, then Klaus steps over to her, places his hands on either side of her face, and kisses her forehead. “No matter what your mother says, you got your brains from me.” He wraps his hand around hers over the stake and gently moves the wood against his chest. “Best do it quick, then, luv.”

Hopes nods and takes a deep breath. Then, screwing her eyes shut, she presses hard with all her might, shoving the stake into her father’s heart. He gasps slightly, and when she finally pries her eyes open, a grayness is creeping up his face. He falls to the ground, dead.

“Okay,” she mutters to herself, moving quickly to the door. “Out of here, gotta get out of here…”

She tries whacking her manacles against the metal door frame, hoping to cracked the rusted iron, but it’s fruitless. She inspects the door and the walls around it for any sigil or sign of what kind of magic is keeping them spelled in, but either there’s nothing to find or it’s too dark for her to see it. With a frustrated groan, she kicks the door, immediately regretting it; she hops on one foot, cursing under her breath, until a cracking sound distracts her from the throbbing in her toe. She turns to see her father slowly pulling the cursed stake out of his chest.

“Guess that didn’t work,” Hope sighs, but instead of replying, Klaus tosses the stake aside and pushes himself to his feet. Slowly, he turns to face his daughter—and ice rushes down Hope’s spine as she sees cold, black eyes staring unblinking back at her.

Marcel’s steps echo off the stone in the compound. “Klaus!”

“He’s not here.” Elijah descends the stairs, approaching Marcel with long strides. “He and his daughter are both missing.”

That stops Marcel short. “Hope’s gone?” Elijah nods. “Then my news is definitely important.”

“What news, Marcel?”

“I just spotted Alastair Duquesne in Rousseau’s, having himself a party of one.”

Elijah’s brow furrows as he racks his memory. “Duquesne…Scottish fellow?”

“Yeah, he was one of the vamps who organized the yearly celebration of Klaus’s sirelings.”

Elijah’s voice turns light and airy. “Oh yes, that quaint tradition developed while you held my brother bricked in a wall, I’m quite familiar.”

Marcel’s eyes narrow. “If he’s in town, it can only mean one thing. He’s looking to get his revenge on Klaus, and probably on Hope, too, since she’s the one who sprung him from that wall.”

“And what exactly did my dear brother do to inspire retribution from Mr. Duquesne?”

“Turned him into a vampire and forced him to kill his entire estate, including his wife and child.”

Elijah’s face blooms in surprise. His eyes stare a thousand miles away, and his voice is a hoarse whisper when he says, “Marcellus, do you remember when I taught you Italian using Dante’s Commedia?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Do you remember the concept of contrapasso?”

“Yeah, it’s the idea that your punishment in Hell must be a reflection of the sin that landed you there.” As he says it, the realization hits him. “Jesus Christ.”

Elijah grows impossibly pale. “He’s going to make him kill his own daughter.”

“Dad…” Hope backs up slowly, only creating a few feet of distance between them before her back hits the corner. “Dad, it’s me. It’s Hope. Your daughter.”

“Do you know what my first instinct was when I found out about you?” Klaus sounds wrong, like it’s someone else’s voice coming out of his mouth. “I wanted to rip you out of your whore mother and kill you both.”

Hope flinches, but tries to calm her shaky voice, “Dad, this isn’t you, this is the hex—”

“A lesson from father to daughter…” He takes a threatening step forward. “Always trust your instincts.”

He lunges, and Hope shrinks down with a shriek. The sound echoes terribly in the tiny room, and Klaus jerks to a halt, eyes suddenly clear. He looks down in horror at his daughter’s curled, trembling body, and in a flash he throws himself into the opposite corner, as far from her as he can get.

“Hope,” he rasps, “Hope, I’m so sorry.”

Hope claps a hand over her mouth to muffle her dry sob, then claws her way up the wall. “It’s okay,” she breathes, and she’s not sure if she’s trying to convince him or herself. “It’s okay.”

“Hope, the longer this goes on, the less control I’ll have over myself. You have to get out.”

“I can’t.” Hope’s voice is edged with desperation. “Without my magic I’m useless.”

“You’ve always been useless.” His voice is wrong again, and Hope’s heart stops. “Always the family burden. How many times have we had to save you from this threat or that?” She can’t see more than the outline of him, but he’s approaching slowly. “How many times have we laid our lives on the line for you?”

“Dad, please—”

And then he’s on her, gripping her upper arms so tightly that she feels the bone fracture, and she yelps in pain. “Don’t call me that,” he snarls viciously. “You’re not my child, you’re a mistake I made one night over too much whiskey.”

“You’re my dad,” she snaps, even though her throat is thick with tears. “You’re my dad, and you love me.” His face is inches from hers, twisted and unrecognizable. “You love me so much you sacrificed years of your life to keep me safe! You love me so much you faked my own death when I wasn’t even twenty-four hours old! You sent me to hide with Rebekah and let the world think you were grieving me! You don’t make sacrifices like that for someone unless you love them more than you love yourself!”

“Perhaps I’ve sacrificed too much,” Klaus hisses. “Perhaps it’s time I reclaimed my life from the curse you’ve put on it.” He pulls her closer and slams her back against the wall, and the breath whooshes out of her body.

Hope manages to squeeze her hands up between their bodies and shoves him with all her might. He stumbles back, and it’s enough for her to break free from his grip and dart to the other side of their prison. When she turns back to look at him, he seems shaken by the shove, and he blinks at her. His eyes are shining, and she knows her father is back. “Hope…” His voice is so small she can barely hear him.

She doesn’t know what to say. She just stares at him, tears flowing silently down her face.

Elijah finds Freya and Vincent up in the clock tower, both of them bent over another map of the Quarter, chanting low and in sync. “Anything?”

Freya’s eyes flash up and, without stopping her chant, shakes her head.

“Vincent, what do you know of Alastair Duquesne?”

That gets the witches to stop. “Alastair Duquesne? He was some dick vampire who’d come ‘round once a year with all the others to party over the fall of Klaus Mikaelson. Why?”

“He’s back in town, and Marcel and I believe…” He swallows thickly, and his voice drops low. “We believe he intends to have Klaus murder Hope.”

Freya covers her mouth with a hand, her entire body shaking. Vincent’s face is ashen. “What do we need to do?”

“Tell me everything you know about Duquesne,” Elijah says urgently. “Anything you can remember.”

“Can’t remember much, man, I never really knew him. He’d roll up to town with his posse of ancient vamp friends, they’d feed on locals, tourists, and skip out after a few days, leave the rest of us to clean up his mess. The last time he was in town…” Vincent quirks an eyebrow. “Last time he was in town, Hope was in the process of breakin’ her dad outta Marcel’s little prison. Marcel ‘n’ I had to fight all of ‘em off so she could do her thing. He left as soon as Klaus was freed.”

“Did he have any allies, anyone in the city willing to give him aid?”

Vincent snaps his fingers. “Theo LeRoy.”

Freya lowers her hand. “But Theo’s in the Penitentiary.”

Vincent shakes his head. “They were working together. I know where Theo used to hole up, plan her dirty work. Plenty of places for him to stash a vampire and a tribrid.”

Elijah’s already turned for the door, phone in hand as he searches for Hayley’s contact. “Let’s go.”

“Hope, I need you to find a way to kill me.”

Hope shakes her head vigorously, face still streaked with tears. “I can’t,” she breathes. “I can’t, I can’t…”

Klaus feels it, the white-hot rage bubbling under his skin. He’s on a tightrope, one breath away from teetering over the edge and out of control. “The things I say when I…” He swallows thickly. “They’re not real. You are the most important thing in a thousand years. The only important thing.”

With a sniff, Hope whispers, “I know.”

She wipes at her face and stands up, still shaken but resolved. “How are we getting out of here?”

Klaus’s heart is a chasm, yawning and deep. “I don’t know,” he admits, and the truth has never felt so sharp.

Vincent stops before a nondescript door in an alley off Ursulines. Elijah wrenches it open to reveal a dark, narrow set of stairs leading underground. Before he can take a step, he feels a new presence at his side.

“I’m going first,” Hayley says, no room for debate in her tone.

Still, Elijah says, “This could be a trap.”

Hayley doesn’t repeat herself. Instead, she pushes her way past Elijah and disappears down the stairs. Elijah sighs, but follows half a second later.

Once they’re in the tunnels, the sound of Vincent and Freya’s footsteps echoing above them as they descend as well, Hayley closes her eyes and breathes in. “I can smell her,” she murmurs. “I can smell her fear.” And she’s off, Elijah barely able to keep up.

“Dad?” Hope says into the dark.

“Yes, my littlest wolf?” They’re as far apart as physically possible, crammed into their respective corners.

“I just want you to know…whatever…whatever happens…”

“Don’t talk like that,” Klaus cuts her off, his voice edged with panic. “Don’t…you’re going to be fine.”

Hope presses on, “Whatever happens, I don’t regret any of it. All of the choices I’ve made, all of the choices you made…they gave us what time we had together, and I will never regret that.”

There’s a long silence, and then a cold voice responds, “I know a thing or two about regret.” Hope’s eyes slid shut, and tears fall anew. “I regret every minute wasted protecting you. The tribrid…” Klaus’s voice turns mocking. “Descendant of all three magical species and yet you’re comprised of the worst parts of each…” He starts to prowl toward her. “The weakness of the witch…the irrationality of the wolf…the arrogance of the vampire…”

Arrogance sparks something in Hope’s mind. “Is this really going to be the thing that defeats you? The great Klaus Mikaelson, the thing that monsters have nightmares about, this is what’s going to bring you down? Some chintzy stake and a hex?” Klaus pauses. “You’re going to let…to let some enemy force you to do something? Force you to kill the person you love most? You’re not even going to fight it?”

She blinks, and Klaus is looming over her, fangs gleaming in the dim light. “Why would I fight this? I’ve been dreaming of draining you dry since before you were born. I bet you taste glorious…”

His hand tangles in her hair and wrenches her head to the side, exposing her neck.

Her shriek is deafening. Just as the teeth sink into her sink, she breathes, “Daddy, please.”

And the teeth are gone, and Hope is crumpling to the ground. Klaus stumbles back into the middle of the room, eyes wide. He looks at his daughter, shaking and bleeding, and without saying a word, reaches up, places one hand on his chin and the other on the back of his head, and snaps his own neck.

Hayley and Elijah freeze, the sound of Hope’s scream reverberating in their bones. Vincent and Freya manage to catch up, both winded.

“It came from this way.” Hayley points down a dark corridor in the labyrinthine tunnel system, and they take off. In a beat, they’re at a metal door. The vampires can hear Hope’s heartbeat, fast as a hummingbird’s wing. Hayley yanks on the handle, but it doesn’t budge.

“Let me.” Freya steps in front of the door and places her hand on the metal. Vincent joins her, and the two bow their heads. After a few moments of murmuring, the door creaks—it’s open.

Hayley whips the door to the side and is shocked to see Klaus’s unconscious body collapsed on the ground, head contorted at a gruesome angle. Her eyes dart to the corner, where Hope sits, arms around her knees, her own eyes locked on her father.

“Hope.” Hayley rushes to her daughter, wrapping her arms around her. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Hope doesn’t answer.

Elijah steps carefully into the room, bends down, and picks up the stake. “Sister.”

Freya takes the stake Elijah extends to her. She nods. “You get him in a car. Looks like we’re taking a road trip.”

One arm still tucked around Hope’s shoulders, Hayley gently eases Hope to her feet. “It’s okay,” she whispers, kissing Hope’s head as she leads the way out of the tiny prison. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Hope is curled up on a sofa in the library, staring into the lit fireplace, unblinking. She’s got a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, but despite the heat, she feels ice in her veins. Absentmindedly, she rubs at her wrists, where the phantom feeling of clanging metal still lingers; she’s all healed up, even the fractured bones in her arms, but the ache remains.

There’s a rapping of knuckles on wood behind her, and she starts, head twisting around in a snap. Stars burst in her eyes as they adjust from the warm glow of the fire to the darkness in the hall.

River’s leaning against the doorframe, and she frowns in apology. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Hope shakes her head. “It’s okay.” Her voice is raspy; she hasn’t used it in hours. “Come on in.”

River gently settles beside her girlfriend, raising a hand hesitantly to rest on her shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

Hope’s back to staring into the fire. “Have you ever had so many thoughts going on at one time that it’s like you’re not having any thoughts at all?”

“…No?”

“Well, that’s pretty much where I’m at.”

“That sounds…shitty.” River sets her chin atop her hand on Hope’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry for what happened to you.”

“I’ve never been so scared in my entire life, and to feel that way about my dad…” She trails off before scrubbing at her eyes. “Is it dumb if I feel guilty?”

River’s face twists with confusion, but it’s Hayley who speaks from the doorway. “What on earth do you feel guilty about?”

Hope doesn’t meet her mother’s eyes as she sits on the opposite sofa. “If I weren’t here…no one would be able to use me to get to Dad. To hurt him. I wouldn’t be his weakness.”

Hayley reaches across to grab her daughter’s hand. “Hope…that’s just what being a parent is. From the minute you were born it was like…someone had torn my heart out of my chest, and it was just…out there, in the world, for anyone to take or to tear apart.” She squeezes Hope’s hand. “You are the greatest joy in your dad’s life. I knew him before you were born, and let me tell you, he needed some joy in his life.”

That cracks a smile onto Hope’s face, and she wipes at her eyes again. “How is he?”

Settling back on her sofa, Hayley says, “I just got off the phone with Elijah. It took some convincing, but they got Caroline Forbes and Alaric Saltzman to agree to let their girls siphon the hex out of your dad. He’s all fixed up.”

“So they’re on their way back?” Hope asks.

Hayley hesitates. “Elijah and Freya are, yes.”

Hope curls in on herself. “He’s not coming home?”

Hayley stands and moves to sit on the other side of Hope, pulling her daughter into her chest. “Oh Hope…your dad just needs some time to…” She sighs. “I don’t know. But he promised he wouldn’t be gone for long.”

“He’s avoiding me.”

And Hayley doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know how to refute the truth, so she says, “I’m so sorry, Hope.”

Quietly, River asks, “Did they catch who did this?”

“Alastair Duquesne was being helped by two witches, Leanne and Dominic.” Hope sits upright, surprised. “They’re in the Penitentiary.” Hayley’s eyes grow cold. “Alastair is…being taken care of.”

Hope furrows her brow. “What does that mean?”

“It means you don’t have to worry about it.”

Hope’s too tired to feel much of anything, so she lets it go. She tips her head back onto her mother’s shoulder and weaves her fingers through River’s. “Today sucked.”

“Yeah.” River brings the back of Hope’s hand to her lips. “Let’s make tomorrow better.”

#the originals #tvd #the originals fic #to fic #tvd fic #people and rhythm #lost episode

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