#third theory is that it's a different spot and I just need to look a little harder

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Me: I’m ok. Narrator: She was not ok. She was trying to learn Tokyo’s train system to figure out where P4MC’s last residence before P4 was. Me: Either this is a made up station in, or this is from Nagano, but if it is the latter why didn’t he just go straight to Inaba from there? Why stop in Tokyo????

[adventuringblind]

Daddy Issues

Max verstappen x reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Both you and Max have similar daddy issues. How do you comfort eachother in times of need?

Warnings: DADDY ISSUES GALORE, depictions of verbal, emotional, and physical abuse, anger issues, Google translated Dutch (I know two other languages and neither if them is dutch)

Notes: Not proofread (we die like Charles Leclerc's car at the 2023 Brisish GP FP2), third-person POV

Masterlist // Part Two // Part three

Sometimes, her love story with Max felt like that of Romeo and Juliette. That's what she likes to tell herself as their dads once again go to war with their respective children.

How either of them had made it this far in life, she had no clue.

This particular night was Max's turn to receive a phone call. The two lovers had been laying in bed during the winter break, keeping eachother warm, when the phone started buzzing.

Max had taken one look at the caller ID and debated whether to just let it ring through or answer. The latter being the better decision or else he would get that added to the procrastinated verbal slaps his father likes to give freely.

The Dutch picked up the phone and pulled the woman close to him in the same motion.

"Hello." His voice is rough, his annoyance becoming apperant in this moment.

Jos' voice through the phone was so loud she didn't even have to try and listen. It was as if he was in the room with them.

She ran her fingers through his hair as he did his best to keep his composure.

"Have you been practicing with the sim?"

"Yes."

"Good, wouldn't want you getting worse or being distracted by the female in your house over the break," he laughed.

Max's free hand entwined with hers. The woman proceding to squeeze his three times. A silent I love you for time like this.

"Maybe you can finally put her to use if you were smart."

A blow to both of them. She had winced only a little, but it didn't go unnoticed. Max brought her knuckles to his mouth and silently let his lips graze them.

"Next race I expect to see you make less mistakes and if there is more then you only have yourself and the women to blame."

"Goodnight dad."

Max quickly hung up the phone and tossed it aside.

She, however, took a different approach and jumped out of the bed. Her now cold body running to the kitchen. Max close behind her.

"I've decided we need hot chocolate." She stated before he could even get the question out.

The two spend the rest of the night cuddling with hot chocolate and watching kids' movies.

The words of Jos are not easily forgotten, but maybe Max could find a way to heal regardless.

The next time something like this happened, it was her turn.

Unfortunately for her, they were at a race. Her parents wanted to come because it's a race in her home country. Spending the day with their daughter, who lives far away now, sounds great in theory.

It had started tame. The three of you sitting in the Redbull hospitality catching up until she went to go find some of your friends and wish them luck.

Thankfully, Lando was walking by and spotted her.

"Hey (Y/N)!" He shouted. Successfully grabbing her attention. The woman waved and made it three steps forward before her dad had placed his hand on her shoulder.

Startled, she spun around and put some distance between them.

"We need to talk." The older man crossed his arms.

Immediately, her body felt like she was a child again. Her shoulders sagged but looked him in the eyes anyway. Knowing if she didn't, he would become more upset.

"I know me and your mom aren't the most rich people, but at least we gave you a better childhood thank ours." He sighed and let out a small laugh. Something he did to make her believe she wasn't in trouble. "You could be a little more grateful to us before running off with some guy who has more than us."

"I'm sorry," was all she could muster.

Thankfully, lando had come over to say hello after she had finished her conversation. He waited, not wanting to interrupt. Until he heard the apology, then he decided to gently step in.

"(Y/N)! Glad I caught you! Max wanted to see you before qualifying." The Brit felt proud of himself for how smooth that sounded.

"Oh do you know where he is?"

"Yeah, follow me." He gestured with his head the direction they were going to head.

"I'll talk to you later, dad." She smiled sadly. Then, she turned to follow Lando.

The two walked in silence to the Redbull garage. Lando not wanting to push the woman and her attempting to swallow her tears before having to talk to Max. Stressing him out before he needed to race was not on her agenda today.

When Max spotted her coming into the garage, he jogged over, greeting his love and his friend with a bright smile.

"What are you doing down here? I thought you were up in hospitality?" He asked.

Max's eyes dart between the two. Taking in the sheepish smile of one and a mixture of sadness and confusion on the other.

Lando turns to look at the woman beside him. "Sorry about lying to you, but I heard what your dad was saying to you..." He trails.

Max's face drops. Suddenly understanding why she had come with a sullen expression.

"It's okay Lan, thank you for rescuing me."

"Anytime." He nods before making his way out of the garage.

Max places his hands on her shoulders. "Do you want to talk about it now, or do you want a hug?"

She doesn't respond. Instead, she embraces him, inhaling his scent and listening to the sound of his heart.

"Race first, talk later." She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek for goodluck.

Max understanding her needs and how she is feeling, helped put the words of her dad into the back of her brain.

The following incident happened in the two's shared home. Jos had cone knocking at the door while Max was away grabbing some essentials for dinner that night. She regretted not going with him now. Opting to get things ready and started while Max was away.

"Oh, it's you." Jos sneered. Practically shoving her out of the way to get inside the apartment. "Where is my son?"

"He's at the store grabbing things for dinner, but I think he'll be back shortly." The young woman closes the door but hardly moves, barely a breath entering her lungs.

Dealing with Jos on her own was always a difficult task. Often fighting with herself between being on the defensive and provoking him more, or just staying quiet. Normally, she opted for the latter.

"You should really consider leaving him now. It'll hurt him less, and he'll be able to focus on what's important again." His eyes burn on her. "Have you still not understood that you are hindering him?! He has been making more mistakes since you seduced him."

She lost her grip for a moment, her mouth letting the words slip before her frontal lobe could fully process.

"Have you ever considered that encouraging and being proud of him might help him more than the constant berating?"

Jos' face went red, his jaw clenching in anger. He looked like he might break something.

Originally, she hadn't realized how close he had been. Now, knowing she should have put more than an arms reach.

The sting on her cheek was not a sensation she was used to. Her father had never actually hit her. thrown stuff around, and broke things from occasionally, but never hit her.

Tears began pricking her eyes. How was she to respond now?

"Don't speak to me like that. It's ridiculous that he keeps you around."

Well, she already crossed the line. There's no going back now. "Maybe because I am actually kind to him." Standing her grand, she managed to look directly at him. The shock of her action clearly displayed on his figure. "Your son is one of the kindest and funniest people I have ever met. He is successful not because because of you but because of himself and what he has achieved through his own hard work."

She had been so lost in her speech that she had failed to hear the keys in the door.

"I'm glad you think so geliefde." His voice was soft towards her. Relief washed over her face as she turned to see him. "What are you doing here, dad?"

"I came to look over some things with you about your next race."

Max's eyes narrowed at him. He quickly places the bag with groceries in it on the floor and strides over where the young woman is still trying to figure out what to do next.

Max places his hands on either side of her face and examines it. "Well, now you don't get to ever come back."

"Max-"

"She is right. I am loved by her unconditionally, and I don't need you to constantly criticize me. And you especially do not get to lay hands on anyone I care about."

Max's eyes turned cold. Now staring past her while still holding her protectively. "Get out."

"Son I think we should at least talk about this!"

"Get out! Or I will call the authorities."

Jos raised his hands in defeat and wnt to exit the space. Before he closed the door, he left you both with a parting message. "I hope she is worth it, Max, and if you realize she's not, then don't come crawling back to me."

When the door clicked closed, she couldn't stop the tears from flowing. "I'm so sorry I shouldn't have said anything to him." She sobbed.

Max embraced her gently and leaned to whisper, "You did nothing wrong, I don't need him to be proud of me. Instead, I think your encouragement will be enough to fuel me for races."

Then, they both started to heal.

[severinapina]

SILENCE - ONE SHOT

Silence.

Suguru thinks his life has been quite silent lately. Yes, the twins talk to him. Miguel and Larue too. In fact, they always talk to him.

Sometimes he thinks it might be too much, more than he can bear. “Perhaps adopting two five-year-old girls when I was 17 was a bit impulsive”, he thinks while brushing his hair for the first time that day.

However, those thoughts vanish once he has breakfast with them. Cereal for Mimiko, every morning. Nanako, on the other hand, insists on mimicking his traditional breakfast; not just the miso soup and rice bowl, but also the green tea and coffee. But she is too young for those stimulants. Orange or grapefruit juice is fine.

Sometimes, he looks at them with concern. He is not sure if he wants the same life for them. Perhaps a bit of normalcy is all they need.

And his life is anything but normal.

Once a week, he decides to take an afternoon for himself. As soon as he finishes teaching them what they should be learning in a traditional school, he leaves them with Miguel. He takes them to play, to different places. The square, the park, sometimes even drives to the beach. He knows from the photos and videos his loyal number two takes that they have an incredible time.

"Time to play leader," he thinks as he dresses in his gojo kesa. Meetings, exorcisms, more meetings, more exorcisms. Sometimes, photo sessions. The Vessel investors believe leveraging Suguru's charisma is good for business. They are not wrong. It has grown significantly since social media began.

Ugh, Facebook, Instagram, Line. They are not his style at all. Nevertheless, he pretends. And he is very good at it. Otherwise, he would not be the most sought-after exorcist in the Japanese archipelago.

But there is something he does like about social media. As if reading his mind, it suggested a contact for him. His fingers almost instinctively went to the profile.

"Of course, Satoru doesn’t have it private," he thought when he saw it. More than six hundred posts, all at his disposal. Some might think the albino did it out of egotism, but he believed he knew the truth. It was not just ego, but a desire to share. Perhaps, even a desire to share with him. His travels around the world, his selfies with his students (who were obviously there against their will), his meals. Sometimes, even reflections. Sure, maybe a comparison between Pepsi and Coca-Cola was not the deepest thing from his mind, but still; it was his mind. He laughed, noticing that he had not changed substantially. But that laugh was followed by a melancholy sigh. How he missed that way of thinking.

Nobody made him laugh like that.

Absolutely nobody.

On the other hand, Suguru knew he also viewed his profile. But it was not as personal as his. On the curse manipulator's Instagram, there was only room for his cult leader persona. He could not allow anything else. He could never show his vulnerability because, when he did, nothing good came out of it; even though it had been with him, he did not realize it. So how would he notice through a screen whatever he tried to communicate?

"Get over it, Suguru, get over it," he told himself as he left home. "You don’t have time to think about this. You don’t want to, either."

Or did he? Again, he found himself going to the station where they used to meet. Why was he doing this? He knew quite a bit about Freudian theories on unconscious acts, but this was too much. The third time, in less than six months.

"I’ve got some time to kill," he thought as he sat in the same spot. It was a public place, after all. He crossed his legs and took out Runaway Horses from his bag. He began reading, his hand resting on the bench. Suddenly, his gaze shifted to the corner of it. His heart literally stopped for a second. A camellia, his favorite flower, lay there, almost as if it had always been part of the place. Unchanging, beautiful, and eternal.

Coincidence? He did not know, but nobody else knew that was his favorite flower.

He tucked it into his book, sighing.

Perhaps in his blue life, silence also reigned.

—————————————————-

Image by @12eeeeco on X.

[rinandsketches]

Dragon warrior study

Spoilers ahead in case you don't wanna be spoiled for Kung fu panda 4.

Meet the new dragon warrior~ Zhen the fox.

And OOH boy does everyone have some sharp words for this idea. But I am here to have a look and share some of my theories on why Zhen was picked.

Quick opinion on the movie since it can't be helped. I really enjoyed it. True it didn't have much of the depth as the first two but it does have a lot of heart, the best description I heard, its this reason I enjoyed it more then the third movie.

Now that I successfully pissed some readers off we can continue. Cause I'm looking into the possibilities of why the dragon warriors have been odd selections, and why both tigress and tai lung weren't chosen to be the dragon warrior despite whether or not they were worthy of being this legendary warrior.

The main argument is in fact the next dragon warrior should be tigress and tai lung since they were cheated out of the title and that po just met Zhen for like eh, 3 days at most. But hey, I'mma tell those folks something. Po was also picked off the streets to be the dragon warrior and had to be trained by shifu in a small time. The choosing of Zhen was no different, only difference is that Po got to know Zhen before the choice.

That said, I wondered why is the dragon warrior such as difficult spot to gain? In the first movie we get info of the dragon warrior, a prophet warrior to protect the valley. Not one managed to claim the title. Not shifu, not tigress, and not tai lung. We're not sure if Oogwai was the first dragon warrior before po but it was the turtle who made the scroll and said it had the secret to becoming an unstoppable warrior.

Shifu had trained Tai lung to be the warrior but Oogwai denied him for having darkness in his heart, then chose Po despite the 5 skilled warrior. He was about to select Tigress before po landed in front but this is not the case. Oogwai felt Po's presence at the tournament, po was flying over the gate at the time when tigress was set to preform, this is why he stopped the tournament. You can see Tigress with a confused expression when he does this. Its cause she didn't even get started.

This is why I believe not even Tigress was meant to be the dragon warrior, but why? Why spend so many years waiting only to select some random panda? Why wasn't any other strong warrior selected. I believe the answer is very simple. What do we know of the dragon warrior? Tigress said this,

"It is said that the dragon warrior can spend months at a time eating nothing but the dew off of a single ginko leaf and the energy of the universe."

What? What kind of mad magic does that mean? Sure the kung fu is pretty exaggerated in the panda universe but even the most strongest warriors needed to have a little bit of food when not in mediation. Its also agreed that the dragon warrior is the strongest. And lastly, why is it called the dragon warrior to begin with?

Because the dragon warrior...was an actual dragon.

Meet the first dragon warrior

This is a character from the paws of destiny. I don't know how Canon the side projects are but in the series paws of destiny we meet Jindao the figure behind the legend. In the series its said that Jindao protected the valley of piece. In Kung fu panda there are only counted 3 dragons so far, 2 in the paws of destiny and 1 in the TV show. Two out of the three were evil. Can you guess which one was among those evil dragons? Yup, Jindao.

For whatever reason Jindao was corrupted by the hero's chi and got power hungry but it was clear that during his defeat Jindao was very powerful. The very ones who defeated him won but just barely. Despite wrong doings here we are, 1000 years later Oogway, yes he's that old, foresaw a hero taking the place of the dragon warrior and training with the hero's chi. Yet he didn't know who it would be.

With all the information laid out, let's see why Zhen and Po are the true animals to recieve the title. For Po, Oogway saw the balance of the universe in Po, his true successor. Po was perfect. Yet no one believed this and thought in order to be the dragon warrior, you needed to be a warrior. This is why Shifu trained tai lung and the 5 so harshly. Po isn't who you'd think would be perfect, borrowing information from Mat pat, he explained the dragon style of kung fu practices all 5 animal styles. (Correct me is I'm wrong) Po was a fanboy of all five so he was on his way to learning the dragon style of kung fu. Po was also very lax nature, had a free spirit and so much heart that Oogway knew Po wouldn't follow the same fate as Jindao.

Zhen, we finally get to Zhen, heh, is a grey fox. Originally a thief and an apprentice to "the chameleon~" someone you wouldn't guess would be the next dragon warrior. The animal that everyone things was picked too fast but again Po was selected in seconds compared to the 5. Their feelings of being jibbed was how audience felt. Shifu again selected more bigger, stronger and skilled warriors to be the dragon warrior. Not the furious five. They had their own stories going on. Po was unwilling to give up the title but I think those candidates would have been a terrible choice, cause the dragon warrior needs to also be humble enough to not fall to the allure of the hero chi. Sure, Zhen's a thief but is she a bad person? No, she isn't. She is a morally grey character next to a black and white one. I believe Zhen was chosen because she can have this understanding of the world. An understanding that some people aren't always who they seem to be. An open heart. This is what everyone else was missing. I'm not saying tigress didn't have heart, she does and I'm not saying tai lung didn't deserve to be the dragon warrior. But if all you needed was skill, you worked for it and you deserved it then by that same logic then Shifu should have been considered.

So why do I believe Zhen was chosen? I believe she was picked because she always had the heart, she has the potential to learn great kung fu, (notice how while she has some skill in combat she isn't probably trained, she then started being trained by the furious 5 and po. Remember the dragon style is the 5 animal styles into one), Zhen also defied someone already on the evil side. and I think po also had...a vision. If you recall Po was beginning to get visions just like Oogway when he foresaw Tai lung returning and the success Po would accomplish. Po had a vision of the chameleon's true plans of world domination. Perhaps Po also saw something similar to what Oogway saw in himself, that Zhen can accomplish great things as the dragon warrior. Someone to follow the steps of po instead of turning into another monster like Jindao.

But this is what I believe, why do you think Po was chosen? And don't write, the creators got lazy, but that count they could have gone. Oh, Monket is next dragon warrior. Movie done.

[sematarygirls]

Living Dead Girl — Patrick Hockstetter.

part two

pairing : patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader (descriptors such as beautiful and nicknames such as dollface, darling, ect, but no described features— ie. long hair, brown eyes)

summary : patrick gave into his urges and finally tested his morbid curiosities on prey much larger than just a cat or dog. little did he know his actions would come back to haunt him... literally.

warnings : patrick being a psychopath , animal abuse , graphic depictions of murder/gore , you being murdered (in third person) 🤗 , self image issues

word count : 5.5k (part one)

a/n : i don't know how accurate this is to patrick, but i tried to make him lack empathy and remorse and he can't exactly feel love— just obsession and fascination. also, i hc patrick as a lefty so do with that what you will.

Patrick had once again been feeling that familiar itch. It started subtlety this time, like a tickle from a weightless feather that blew lightly across his skin every so often, and it began to gradually grow.

He tried his best to satiate the hunger of the beast within, to scratch that itch in the same way he had so many times before— by killing the neighborhood pets.

But, it appeared this craving was a different kind altogether, for when he lit his lighter, allowing the aerosol to spray through the flame and fry the kitten until it was unrecognizable and it's shrill screams had died out, he felt nothing. There was no sense of relief, no satisfaction or even the small semblance of happiness— because Patrick truly couldn't feel such uplifting emotions.

There was just nothing.

Well, there was still that nagging itch.

It took some contemplation. Long nights staring up at the empty ceiling of his room, his right arm propped under his head while his left laid passively across his torso. How could he rid himself of this feeling?

He pondered that perhaps burning just didn't do it for him anymore. To test his theory, he tried many other options— drowning, suffocation, mutilation— he even, regrettably, attempted tasting the vile little creatures.

So, definitely not the method of torture because he was sure that if he hadn't even feeling so empty, those, with the exception of the last one, would have been a world of fun for him. Well then, maybe it was the animal!

Squirrels, cats, dogs, raccoons, lizards, frogs, birds— anything he could get his hands on became helpless victims in Patrick's reign of terror, but none of it helped.

That feeling began to grow until it took up every inch of his body. All he could think about was the kill. Even when he and his friends were torturing their pre-pubescent victims, images of blood and agonizing screams plagued his mind.

And that's when it hit him— he needed a human victim. One that brought real stakes to the equation, one that would get his adrenaline rushing at the idea of being caught.

Initially, it had been an idea. He hadn't planned to act on it... but then you came along, and god, you were just so perfect.

You ran into him, through no fault of your own. He had been walking down the wrong side of the hallway, and you were just coming around a corner, so he was in your blind spot.

"Oh, god. I'm so sorry. I'm such a klutz," you chuckled lightly after you collided into his hard chest. You looked up at him with wide, apologetic eyes.

As he stared down at you, he just knew that you were the one. You were so perfect. So beautiful. And it made him furious. He couldn't quite discern why, but the way your eyes sparkled with genuity and naivety caused a pit of red hot rage to build in his stomach.

But he couldn't act yet. He had to gain your trust. He had to ensure that he could get you into the woods by yourself so he could enact his plan and finally scratch that fucking itch.

"My fault, dollface," he spoke with a wide smile, attempting to be somewhat gentlemanly. "I wasn't paying attention." He gently clenched and released his fist as he watched you smile brightly. "I'm Patrick, Hockstetter," he introduced, leaning forward to tower over you in an attempt to be intimidating but in a way that could also come off as flirtatious.

"Ah, yes, the infamous Patrick Hockstetter, I presume?" You asked, your eyebrow arching slightly. There it was again. That anger. It had to have been your subtle cockiness, the way you weren't the least bit fearful of him even though his reputation clearly proceeded him.

"The very same," he smirked, leaning close to your ear. His breath lightly fanned the shell of your ear. "Why? Does my reputation scare you? Do I scare you?"

You let out a light chuckle. "No." It was a simple answer, and yet Patrick still found himself having to cling to that feeling on his skin, the one he desperately wanted to be rid of, to ensure that he didn't snap right at that second.

For some bizarre reason, in your presence, Patrick felt utterly powerless, which was a very foreign feeling to him. He had always been calm and calculated, except for when he was alone with his projects, so to be so out of control of his emotions just added to his resentment toward you.

"You should be," he replied ominously before turning and walking away from you in long, precise strides. He let his smirk fall and his lip curl up in disgust as he felt your eyes on his back the whole way down the hallway.

It had been such a simple interaction, and yet it had left you completely and utterly captivated. You should have been afraid of him. You'd known of his tendency for him and his friends to terrorize younger kids, and of course, you had heard the whispers of what he did when he thought no one was around, but those were just rumors... right?

Either way, you were intrigued by Patrick and wanted to see him again.

The next time you two had met, you were walking home. You lived above your parent's old record store in the town square, which was extremely convenient for you because it meant all the stores, the arcade, and school were just a short walk away. The record shop had been your grandfather's before it became your mother's, and soon it would be yours.

You were coming up on the arcade, and as you approached, you hesitated. Should you go inside? Your parents were expecting you home, but it was Friday, so they'd be okay with you going out for a bit, right?

As you contemplated, a blue Trans Am pulled up next to you, and a voice called out to you. "Y/N!"

Your eyebrows furrowed as your mind registered the familiarity of the voice. It sounded like Patrick, but it couldn't be because you had never told him your name. You turned, eyes widening slightly in surprise as your gaze met Patrick, who was hanging with half his body out the window of the car. In the passenger's seat, Henry was staring forward, a bored and slightly irritated look on his face.

"Hockstetter?" You asked with a grin. "I don't remember telling you my name."

"You didn't," he replied, sending a grin of his own your way.

"Did you ask around about me?" You teased, your eyebrows raising slightly as you gave him a playful look.

"Maybe," he shrugged. "Still not scared of me?" He asked, placing the palms of his hands on the door to push his upper half out the window toward you.

"Hmm," you looked up and to the side, pretending to think for a moment. "Nah," you shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Well, in that case," he drawled out. "You wanna go out with me tomorrow night?"

"You bringing your posse?" You asked, nodding your head to the three other teens in the car that had undoubtedly been listening in on your conversation.

"Why? Do you want them to come?" He asked suggestively. "I mean, I didn't know you were into that, but if you insi-"

"Stop! Stop!" You laughed, clamping your hand over his mouth. He looked you dead in the eye, and for a moment, you were so hypnotized by his eyes that you didn't realize the wet sensation of his tongue flicking across your palm. "Ugh!" You shrieked in disgust with a small laugh. "Gross."

"So?" He asked, his eyebrows raising. "Whatdya say?" He grinned his Cheshire cat grin, and you couldn't help but relent.

"Okay," you said softly with a little nod. "Yeah, I'll go out with you."

"Great," he smirked, doing a little drum solo on the door in, what appeared to be excitement. "I'll pick you up at 8." You nodded, not able to contain your huge smile as he tried to awkwardly pull himself back into the car. "Oh," he said, sticking his head out the window a bit. "And wear white." Before you could question him, he sent you a wink, and then, the car was off speeding down the street.

You began to absent-mindedly walk the rest of the way home, all plans of going to the arcade having fled your mind, replaced with the thought of going on a date with Patrick. Your first date!

You really didn't know what he saw in you. He was so charming and handsome, and you were just... you. You weren't exceptionally attractive like Shelly Benson and Daniel Klein or outrageously popular like Greta Bowie and Jackson Pines. You were smart in subjects you enjoyed and not as smart in one's you weren't, and you had average social skills but never really made friends, just acquaintances.

You were just normal.

And so you stood, staring at yourself in the mirror as you examined every inch of your outfit, desperately trying to look less like yourself. You sighed in frustration, running a hand through your hair with a huff as you turned around, refusing to look at yourself any longer.

Your room was your safe space. The walls were covered in posters of your favorite bands, celebrities, and movies. You wondered what it felt like to be so effortlessly flawless as you stared around at all the beautiful people littering your walls.

Aside from the posters, your room was quite cohesive. You had chosen an excellent set of neutrals to pair with your accent color (which was your favorite color, of course), and it created a very attractive and appealing color pallet.

The sound of a knock on the apartment door made you snap out of your admiration of your room. Leave it to you to critique your artistic excellence when you're on a time crunch.

You took one last look in the mirror before taking a breath and exiting your room. You proceeded down the hall and through the living room. With one last mental reassurance, you turned the knob and opened the door.

Patrick had been practicing and planning his moves precisely. He had to shower you with compliments and be completely polite. It would let your guard down, and that's when he could strike.

The door opened, and Patrick's gaze fell on you. Even he had to admit, you were undoubtedly attractive, but it wasn't companionship he was after. It was relief.

So, putting on his best show, he opened his mouth as if he was going to speak before closing it and giving you a once over, trying his best to seem in awe of you.

"Wow," he breathed with an awkward chuckle. "You look," he let out a puff of air, motioning to you as if he couldn't find the words. "I mean- you look perfect."

He watched in satisfaction as you smiled sheepishly, gaze averting to the ground. "Thank you," you replied. You looked back up and playfully said: "And you don't look too bad yourself," in an attempt to play it cool, but Patrick could see right through you. You were falling for his charm, and how could you not?

He was a God, after all.

"So," you asked, stepping out of your apartment and shutting the door behind you. "Where are we going this fine evening?"

"Well," Patrick started, placing his hand flat on your lower back as you two walked down to the record shop on the first floor. "I know this perfect spot in the woods away from town-" You gave him a concerned look, and he chuckled lightly at your fear. "I know how it sounds, but there's a firepit me and the boys set up out there, and it has a great view of the stars because there's no light pollution out there."

You bit the inside of your cheek, and Patrick felt his pulse begin to quicken. It seemed like you were going to back out. Should he have told you? Or just let you panic when they got there?

"Okay," you nodded, turning to him with a smile as you made up your mind. "I don't love the idea of a first date in the woods, but I'm like 99% sure you're not an axe murderer or anything, so," you trailed off.

Patrick gave you a wolfish grin. Oh, if only you knew that he was a predator and you were his prey— so innocent and oblivious to the things that the night had in store for you.

The two of you walked out of the store, and Patrick read the shocked look on your face as you saw Belch's Trans Am, which was then followed by discomfort and then relief when you noticed his friends hadn't accompanied him.

"Took some convincing, but I got Belch to let me borrow Amy," Patrick said proudly as he took one long stride forward and opened the car door for you.

"He named his car?" You asked with a little giggle as you climbed into the passenger's seat. "That's cute."

"Yup, although cute isn't the word I'd use," Patrick replied before shutting the door and walking around to the driver's side.

"And what word would you use?" You asked, amusement coating your tongue and dancing in your eyes.

"Demented," he said, giving you a look as he started the car. It was ironic coming from him, and he knew it. If anyone was demented, it was the pyromaniac freak who killed animals and was tricking a girl into thinking he liked her when really he was taking her to the woods to kill her.

"That's interesting coming from someone with such a," you paused, for a moment, thinking for the right word. "Colorful reputation."

"Touché," he shrugged, pulling out of the spot he was parked in and continuing down the road to the woods. The car settled in an awkward silence as neither of you really knew what to say. Patrick knew he should ask you questions and engage with you, but to be honest, he didn't really care about what you had to say.

"Let's see what Belch has in his glove compartment," you said with a grin. Patrick's blood began to boil again. Not because you were invading Belch's privacy— he quite liked that part, actually. No one was ever allowed to look in the glove compartment. In fact, he had specifically told Patrick not to and that he would know if he did, and now Patrick could satisfy his curiosity while blaming it on his date.

No, his blood was boiling because of how casual you were. Most people would ask a stupid question to fill the silence or just sit in it, but you found a way to light heartedly and nonchalantly attempt to start a conversation. It was Infuriating to him how different you were.

Patrick considered himself an expert on human behavior. After all, it was his world, and everyone else were pawns, so growing up, he had to learn about people. He had to pick up on their little habits and understand why people did certain things so he could manipulate them and use them as playthings.

But you were different, and that's what infuriated him so much. You were still plenty easy to manipulate, but you had little quirks and ways of doing things that he'd picked up on that went against his understanding of the human condition.

You were defective, and that's why he had to get rid of you. You weren't normal. You weren't a plaything or a pawn.

You were a threat.

Patrick glanced over at you, watching for a moment as you rummaged through the glove compartment.

"Eyes on the road, pretty boy," you said absent-mindedly. "I don't plan to die tonight, and especially not at the hands of you." This made him internally smile. That was the second reference you'd made tonight of him hurting you and each time you had been wrong. You were going to die tonight— a very painful death— and the blood would be on his hands.

"He has got a lot of tapes in here," you observed aloud, pushing things around a bit more before a gasp left your lips. Patrick looked over again as you pulled out a pink piece of paper with a red lipstick stain in the shape of lips and a message in a hot pink sparkly pen that read: I really enjoyed tonight. We should do it again sometime =).

"No fucking way," Patrick said in shock, a laugh leaving his lips as he registered what he was seeing. "I can't believe that fat fuck actually gets bitches."

"Hey," you scolded, smacking him lightly on the arm. "Don't be mean," you defended. "I think it's really sweet, and clearly, he knew you'd be an ass about it," you rolled your eyes. "He really tried to hide it in there."

Patrick turned the car into a little dirt road and parked. He knew no one would be out there that late, so the car wouldn't be seen. "Here we are," he announced before climbing out and making his way to the passenger's side to open your door.

"Don't take this the wrong way," you started as you got out of the car. "But I did not expect you to be such a gentleman." Your eyes followed Patrick as he grabbed a blanket out of the backseat and tucked it underneath his right arm before approaching you.

"Well," he said, linking your arm in his left one. "I don't usually care what people think," he confessed, one of the few true things he'd actually said to you, but of course, he was about to follow it up with a lie. "But with you, it's different." He looked over at you, only to find you staring. If he wasn't making an attempt at faking vulnerability right now, he would have smirked at how enamored you were by his words.

"And why is that?" You asked quietly, hypnotized by the way the darkness created shadows on his face that seemed to define it so well. Almost as if the darkness suited him better, which was odd considering usually the light was more well-defining to people.

"You're unlike anyone I've ever met, and I don't want to scare you away," he professed, his voice seeming genuinely sincere, but obviously, that wasn't the case.

"That's quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," you said sheepishly, a soft smile falling upon your lips. You both walked in silence for a moment, the cruching of leaves and the chirping of crickets ringing through the vast area. "Wow," you breathed out, eyes glued to the sky. "You were right. The stars look amazing out here."

"Told you," Patrick grinned before unlocking your arms and advancing forward. You two had reached a clearing, and he was approaching the firepit in the middle. Surrounding the firepit, which was clearly homemade as the stones surrounding it were just stacked on top of each other haphazardly, were various random chairs and a long bench that looked surprisingly comfortable.

"This place looks cozy," you said, eyes sweeping over the area. A chill ran down your spine as a breeze blew through the clearing. The air seemed to grow thick, and something in your gut told you to run— leave now and never look back.

You would soon wish you listened to that feeling.

Instead, you walked forward, taking a seat on the bench as Patrick doused the wood inside the firepit with lighter fluid before grabbing a lighter from his pocket and setting it ablaze.

A wave of warmth fell over you as the clearing lit up gold. Patrick straightened up and came to sit beside you on the bench. You were so focused on examining your surroundings that you didn't notice Patrick carefully grab the knife that he'd hidden inside the folded blanket and tuck it under his leg before unfolding the blanket and placing it across you both.

"So," you grinned, finally looking over at him. "Do you bring all your conquests here?"

"Just the hot ones," he smirked. You rolled your eyes, laughing at his remark. "No, but seriously," he let his smirk fall into a soft smile. "You're the only one."

You looked into his eyes and couldn't sense any deception. God, those beautiful eyes. You didn't didn't think they were capable of telling a lie.

They say eyes are the windows to the soul, but Patrick didn't have a soul, so his eyes were more like mirrors, reflections of what he knew people wanted to see when they sought out answers to questions that were better left unsaid.

You stared at each other, the air growing thick with tension as the urge to kiss him overwhelmed you. Your faces slowly inched closer together. "Patrick," you whispered, a wanting evident in your voice.

He reached up to cup your face with his right hand as his left carefully, discretely retrieved the knife from under his leg. He moved his face in, and you were sure he was going to kiss you.

But instead, he moved to the right, his mouth next to your ear as he plunged the knife he had deep into your stomach. You let out a choked cry of surprise and pain as your mind raced with a million thoughts at once, all of them so loud that you couldn't think rationally at all.

"Aw, Y/N," Patrick said darkly, feigning disappointment as he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "I told you that you should've been afraid of me."

He pulled away, twisting the knife to create irreparable damage before pulling it out. He watched as you cried out in pain, hand clutching your stomach in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

"But you were too pathetic," he spat. He ran the bloodied knife across your cheek, slicing it open before pushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Just a desperate little whore."

"Why?" You sobbed, tears streaming down your face from the burning pain. Blood began pouring out of your mouth due to the damage to your internal organs, and you knew you were going to die.

"Because I wanted to," he replied with a crazed grin, his tone of voice indicating that he believed it was the most obvious thing in the world. You had never been more fearful than you were now. Not just because you were dying, bleeding out in front of a boy you thought liked you, but because of the look in Patrick's eyes.

They were devoid of any emotion, as if killing someone didn't matter to him at all. You would have even preferred for him to look like he enjoyed it; that's how disturbing his absence of emotion was to you.

Patrick sat there and watched as you bled out before him. The glossed over, far away look in your eyes made his whole body ignite. It just felt so good.

Finally, the itching was gone, and he could live in peace for a little while more. He sat on the bench beside your lifeless body for awhile more, relishing in the feeling of freedom; it had been so long since he had felt that. When he was fully satisfied, he began cleaning up. He threw the blanket in the still burning fire before running back to Belch's car to grab the shovel he'd brought.

Sweat clung to him, sticking his shirt to his chest as he dug the hole where your body would lie. It seemed to take hours, and the feeling of sweating but also being cold was very unpleasant, but finally, he got the hole dug.

He threw the bloody knife inside and grabbed your body, picking you up bridal style and hauling you over to the hole. He dropped your corpse carelessly into your makeshift grave and didn't give you a second thought before he began shoveling the dirt back into the hole.

When he was finished, he walked back to the Trans Am, wrapping the dirty shovel in the other blanket he had brought so no dirt would get into the trunk of Belch's car. And, no one would question dirt in the driver's seat of a teen boy's car, so he wasn't overly worried about his dirtied hands and jeans.

For weeks, Patrick felt amazing. It was the longest Patrick had ever gone without feeling the compulsion to kill. Of course, he still tortured small animals, but that was for fun rather than necessity.

But then he started to see you.

At first, it was just glimpses. Like, when he was brushing his teeth, he'd lean down to spit out his toothpaste, but when he straightened himself out, there you were— standing beside him, blood staining your clothes and the cut on your cheek that he had gave you still fresh. But then, once he blinked, your figure was gone.

He would see you around like that sometimes, not frequent enough to cause concern that he was gaining a conscience. Just enough for him to think he was suffering from a bit of sleep deprivation.

He wasn't worried about being caught. The police hadn't found your body, and when he was questioned as to what happened that night on your date, he said that the two of you had planned to go out to the woods, but on the way there, you two got into an argument because you had been snooping through Belch's things and you got so furious that you demanded to be let out of the car right then and there. Belch, of course, backed this story up because he could tell someone had disturbed his glove compartment.

Soon enough, however, you began to haunt his dreams as well. He would have terrible nightmares of you coming back from the dead and murdering him in cold blood, just as he had done to you, and then, when he awoke, you were standing in the corner of his room.

It wasn't just his brain making shapes out of things to scare him. It was you. He could see clear as day; the moonlight illuminated your face, your once innocent and naive eyes now staring at him with hate and malice.

Patrick Hockstetter didn't believe in ghosts, but he believed in you.

"Dude, what's your fuckin deal?" Henry asked, snapping Patrick out of his thoughts. Patrick looked over at Henry from his spot, splayed out on the hood of Belch's car, which he had objected to until Patrick threatened him. The four boys were hanging around at the quarry, drinking beer as music blasted through Amy.

"What?" Patrick questioned, hostility lacing his voice. Who did Henry think he is speaking to him like that?

"You're not even listening, man," Henry complained, attempting to throw a crumpled up beer can at him but missing.

"Maybe because you fuckers don't have anything interesting to say," Patrick shrugged, looking to his left at the water and tuning their conversation out again.

You had been on his mind non-stop. All he could think about was your eyes. They were so real. That look of hate— he had seen it before in his mother and father after he killed his little brother Avery. He couldn't have imagined that so vividly.

"Do I scare you?" A familiar voice asked, voice a mere whisper as a breeze tickled his ear. He quickly turned and saw you. You were sitting right next to him on the hood of Belch's car, and this time, he was sure he wasn't imagining it. You were there in broad daylight. He had heard you. He had felt your breath across his ear.

But how was this even possible.

"What the fuck!" He shouted, genuine fear in his voice. He felt something he had never felt before as he tried to shuffle away from you, but there was nowhere left to go, so he ended up falling off the car and onto the ground.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" Victor asked, his eyebrows furrowing in pure confusion as he registered the panic and fear— he had never seen Patrick exhibit such emotions, and he could tell by the look in Patrick's eye that they were not fake.

Patrick couldn't hear Vic over the sound of your laugh. It was so loud, deafening even, and it made his ears ring. You hopped off the car and walked toward him slowly with a sickening grin.

"Why are you doing this to me?" He asked, scrambling backward, pebbles and rocks digging into his palms as he tried to escape you.

"Because," she stepped forward, leaning down and grabbing his faded yellow Tom and Jerry t-shirt by the collar. He felt her grab him. It was all real. "I can," she spat viciously. And just as quickly as she appeared, she was gone.

"Are you alright, man?" Belch asked, genuine concern lacing his voice as his brows knitted together. Why had his friend been acting so strange?

"I-I need to get out of here," Patrick spoke quickly as he rushed to his feet, dusting off his clothes and looking around frantically.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Henry cackled, taking a long sip of his beer. Patrick gave him a hard, warning glare that confused Henry. What did he do?

Patrick took off running into the forest, driven by a pure, unbridled fear as he tried to escape you, but the faster he ran, the louder your laugh became. It echoed all around him. It was everywhere and nowhere all at once. He clamped his hands over his ears and screwed his eyes shut.

It's not real. It's not real. It's not real.

And then, just like that, it stopped. He slowly opened his eyes and removed his hands from his ears, peering around the woods. He heaved a sigh of relief as he realized it was over.

It wasn't real.

You weren't real.

He took his time walking back home, stopping and tormenting a few animals on his way to relieve some of the stress that had built up from the games his mind had played on him.

By the time he arrived home, the sun had long disappeared below the horizon, replaced by the luminous glow of the full moon. He pushed the front door open, kicking his muddy boots off by the front door before shrugging his leather jacket off and tossing it onto the floor.

"Ma!" He called into the oddly silent house. He advanced forward, his eyebrow arching as he didn't get a response. "Ma, I'm home!" He tried again, still no answer. He continued through the house into the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat.

As his eyes scanned the kitchen, a tiny post-it note stuck to the fridge caught his attention. He took two long strides and ended up in front of it. Grabbing it off the fridge, his eyes scanned it.

Gone to see your father. Be back in a few days. I left some lasagna in the fridge for you to heat up and some money on the table for pizza or something in case you eat all of it.

Love, Mom

Patrick scoffed, crumpling the post-it into a ball and tossing it into the trash. Patrick's father was arrested for attempted murder when Patrick was young.

After Patrick killed his brother Avery, his father went mad and tried to kill Patrick. He claimed that Patrick was evil, and the world needed to be rid of him. Fortunately for Patrick, his mother still loved him (he had no idea why she still did after what he had done), and she called the police.

The paramedics arrived in time, and Patrick was saved. Though the attack did leave a raised scar on his stomach that never went away.

Patrick pulled a plate out of the top cupboard and a fork out of the drawer before opening up the fridge. He grabbed a can of Coke and the large glass dish with lasagna out. Deciding he didn't feel like waiting for it to heat up, he just used his fork to pick the pre-portioned slice of lasagna out of the dish and drop it onto his plate before sliding the rest back into the fridge for later.

Grabbing his beverage and dinner, he began making his way up the creaky steps that led to the second floor.

The carpet that had previously adorned it had been ripped up when his mom was having one of her overly energized and productive moments, so staples and other sharp objects stuck up from the dirty wood. He was careful to avoid them.

He reached the door at the end of the hall with a yellow sign that read DO NOT ENTER and swung the door open.

"Finally," a voice sounded, causing him to drop both his can and his plate. The sharp sound of glass breaking followed by a loud thud echoed through the room as the plate and soda can collided with the floor.

"No, no, no," Patrick shook his head, shutting his eyes. "This isn't real. I killed you. You're not here. You're not real."

"Sorry, babe," the voice, your voice, whispered into his ear. Your warm breath fanned his ear, and he felt his whole body tense. "I'm very much real."

Tags : @fatfagsj @brokenloverr24

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Life After

Summary: After taking on Chuck, the reader wakes up in a bedroom she doesn’t recognize in September 1984. Only now she’s a small child and has no idea what is going on. When she finds out the Winchesters live across the street, things get even stranger...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 3,300ish

Warnings: language

A/N: I wrote this quite a while ago (pre-finale awhile ago) when one of my theories for the show ending would involve a time reset. A bit of a different read than my usual stuff!

______

A large boom made your eyes fly open. You sat up, finding yourself in a dark bedroom. You took a deep breath, brain trying to decide on processing what was in front of you and what had just happened.

It went with the later for the moment, eyes closing once more. Your big epic battle with Chuck, saving the world from ending, taking out the big bad of big bads. You knew it had happened. You remembered the day of. Everyone prepared for the worst, knowing that none of you were making it out alive. 

For a split second you allowed yourself to take in the bedroom. Perhaps it was a memory and you were in heaven. But it didn’t look familiar and the loud thunder outside the window didn’t seem like a particularly happy memory if it was one. Something was nagging at you though that you hadn’t died. You threw back the covers and swung your legs over the side of the bed, wide eyed when you took in the sight.

A pair of very short legs with pink and purple unicorn pajamas were somehow attached to you. You glanced down, a short sleeve purple shirt with another unicorn on it, your arms tiny. You pulled down the right side of your pants and your shirt up, no anti-possession tattoo on your hip. 

“What the fuck,” you whispered, eyes adjusting to the darkness more. You spotted a lamp on a nightstand and switched it on. Immediately you sat back against the pillows, swallowing hard as you saw the white bedspread, the lavender walls, stuffed animals in a pile in the corner, a small bookcase of toys and games and what looked like Dr. Seus books. “Oh no.”

You looked around the room and got up, finally exiting it and finding yourself in a dim hallway, the sound of TV going downstairs. You swallowed again and saw an open door to a bathroom. There was a step stool in front of the vanity as you climbed up, finally able to look at yourself.

Your very much five year old self.

“Oh, what the fuck,” you said, quickly hopping off the stool and rushing out the door, heading for the stairs. You went down them quickly, looking around a moment before you spotted a front door.

“Y/N,” you heard from down a hall, a man holding a beer walking over with a tired smile. “That is the third time tonight you’ve snuck down after bedtime. I told you, it’s just a storm, kiddo.”

“I-” you said before he set the beer down on a front table and he picked you up, resting you on his hip.

“Honey. Please go to bed for daddy? Please?” he asked as he carried you up the stairs and down the hall towards your room.

“O-okay,” you said, figuring playing along for the moment was the best move. The guy definitely wasn’t your dad and you had no idea where the fuck you were. If you were indeed only five, you were going to need a better game plan before you snuck off. He sat you down on your bed and pulled the covers over you, kissing your forehead before he turned off the light. “Dad?”

“Yeah, Y/N?” he asked quietly.

“How old am I?” you asked.

“Are you excited for your birthday tomorrow?” he teased. “Is that why you’re up so much tonight, cutie?”

“Uh, huh?” you said, the man smiling as he sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re turning five tomorrow. All your friends from school are gonna come over so you better stay upstairs and let mommy and me finish wrapping your birthday presents, alright?”

“Okay,” you said. You got a hug from him and it felt...nice. Maybe it was some kind of dream or something but you were nearly positive that you’d all shown up to face off against Chuck. Hadn’t that been the end of you? 

Hadn’t you died? Or if you’d lived...wouldn’t you still be an adult?

You gave your apparent father a forced smile as he left the room and pulled your door shut. You slumped back against the soft bed, glancing over to the window, the storm raging outside. 

You needed to figure out what the hell was going on and fast.

You groaned as you woke up the next morning, the sun filtering in. You sighed and pushed back the covers, throwing your head back when you caught a small calendar on the wall.

“No, no,” you whined. 

The stark red 1984 stared at you violently on the page and you wanted to cry, unbelievably so. You wanted Dean and Sam and Cas and Jack. You wanted the boys. You wanted it to be 2020. You wanted to go home to your bed and the bunker and be okay again.

Then it hit you that apparently it was 1984. September 1984. Last you checked, you had not turned five in September 1984. After taking a deep breath you reminded yourself that so far, this was not your childhood bedroom and that man from the night before was not your childhood father.

“Somebody fucked with the timeline,” you said to yourself, going over to your small dresser and getting dressed. You were less than thrilled with the options but you managed to pull on a pair of thick black tights, a pink and orange flannel and a pair of socks with circles on them. You found a hair tie in the bathroom and started to work on brushing it and putting it up when you saw your new dad walk by.

“Well good morning, birthday girl,” he said, cocking his head at you. “You want to wear that today?”

“Yes,” you said, working on your hair.

“I thought you wanted the pink dress,” he said.

“No,” you said, deciding minimal conversation was the best bet for now. You finished throwing your hair up and looked in the mirror satisfied.

“Well look at you. Doing your hair all by yourself,” he said as you reached for a toothbrush. It dawned on you that most five year olds didn’t do their hair by themself, not when it involved things like messy buns. You shrugged and hopped off the stool, your dad smirking. “I didn’t see you brush your teeth young lady.”

You rolled your eyes and went back up, brushing them as he watched.

“Alright, birthday girl. What would you like for breakfast? Your choice,” he said.

“Cheese omelette and bacon,” you said as you went past. He chuckled as he picked you up.

“What refined tastes from the big girl,” he said. “Try not to grow up too fast on me now.”

You pursed your lips when he wasn’t looking and forced yourself to wrap your arms around his neck and rest your head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” he said, kissing the top of your head. You still weren’t positive who he was yet but he was a whole lot kinder than your father ever was. You snuggled him harder, the man pulling out a cellphone at the bottom of the stairs.

The most recent iphone if you weren’t mistaken. 

You had to bite your tongue as he took a selfie of the two of you. He set you down and you cocked your head when he started to head away from a front room and down a hall towards what looked like a kitchen and family room area.

1984. Smartphone. Those two things did not go together.

Maybe it wasn’t 1984 afterall? But why the calendar?

“Birthday girl wants a cheese omelette and bacon,” he said. You quickly caught up and saw a woman with a big smile.

“No pink dress today, honey? That’s been the plan for weeks I thought,” she said, giving you a kiss before she went to the fridge. Double doors, stainless steel. You saw a 70” screen smart TV on the wall in the family room and excused yourself to the bathroom, finding a half bath by the front door. 

“Maybe it’s a djin,” you said to yourself. “Maybe it’s all in my head. Maybe we never even went and fought Chuck...or maybe I have finally lost it.”

You sighed and left the bathroom, walking past one of the front windows when you saw her.

Baby.

She was parked in the driveway across the street, a modern day SUV in the spot next to her along with a pickup truck. You opened the front door and stepped onto a front porch, hearing footsteps behind you.

“I know you’re excited but you will see Dean after breakfast okay?” said your dad.

“Dean?” you asked. “Winchester?”

“You best friends with some other Dean I don’t know about?” he teased as he shut the door. “Now go eat your breakfast, sweetie.”

You wolfed down your food, your parents taking their time, asking about how excited you were for your party that afternoon. The Winchesters were going to watch you so they could set up which was no bother to you. You needed to find the boys and talk to them fast.

“Alright, alright,” said your mom when you looked at the door again. “You would think you two could go more than twelve hours apart.”

“Those two are so getting married someday,” your dad said quietly as you slipped on a pair of velcro sneakers by the door. You opened it and started to head down the path to the driveway, hearing a tsk when you were halfway down. “Y/N. Hold up. What’s the rule about the road?”

“Uh, look both ways?” you asked as he caught up quickly.

“Yes,” he said. He grabbed your hand and you glanced up at him, seeing him smile as he looked up and down the street. “Okay. Now we can go. We gotta do that so you don’t get hurt, remember?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you said as you walked.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” he said, dropping your hand once you were in their driveway. You ran up it and to the front door, ringing the doorbell. You saw John answer, a much younger John than you were used to. He opened the door wide and you saw Dean behind him. You weren’t sure who moved first but you sprinted towards him and gave him a giant hug, Dean returning it.

“Hey,” you said quietly.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered and you instantly relaxed. That was your Dean. Your Dean was now apparently a five year old boy but that was your Dean. 

“You two are being more adorable than usual today, huh?” said John.

“She was very excited to see Dean,” said your dad with a shrug. “Thanks for watching her this morning.”

“It’s never a problem, Dan,” said John as Dean started to pull you upstairs with him. “Try to be quiet for Sammy, guys.”

“I know, dad,” said Dean. You jogged up the flight up steps with him and down a hall, running into a bedroom before he shut a door.

“Dean,” you said, getting pulled into another hug from him and a kiss on the lips.

“Sorry. That’s probably really weird given our current situation,” said Dean.

“I love you. Kisses aren’t weird,” you said, giving him one back, Dean and you holding onto one another for a moment. “What the fuck is going on?”

“From what Sammy and I have figured, the whole timeline has been screwed up. Do you remember anything about what happened with Chuck?” he asked.

“No. You?” he asked.

“Not really. I don’t think he’s alive anymore though,” he said.

“How do you know that?” you asked. The door to the room opened and you saw a toddler walk in, barely tall enough to shut it.

“Y/N. This is Sam. He’s two apparently,” said Dean.

“Sammy?” you asked.

“Yes but I have to share with Cas,” said Sam. “Otherwise I can’t talk or get around this good.”

“Hello,” said a deeper voice, your gaze going back to Dean.

“You see what I’ve been dealing with since last night?” he said.

“Cas, what is going on? Why are we little kids? Why the hell does my new dad have an iphone in freaking ‘84?” you asked.

“The timeline we knew was reset. Completely. That kind of power could have only come from a few sources. I take the fact we are all still alive as proof that Chuck is either dead or has been sealed away,” said Castiel. “As a result, some things have changed. Most things seem the same but technology now is as you all knew it. It seems that whoever sent us all back here attempted to do this for our benefit.”

“Jack would have done that for us,” you said, both of them nodding. “You think he sent us back in time?”

“We’re his family. It’s not crazy to think the kid sent us back to have a second chance. I mean, our mom is alive,” said Dean. “She should have died a year ago. I don’t exactly remember what went down but maybe in this new timeline, she never made a demon deal.”

“Guys,” said Jack, suddenly in the room and sitting down on Dean’s bed. “You could have just asked.”

“What is going on?” you asked as you walked over and gave him a hug.

“Amara, who I think is my great-grandma? She and I...after everything that went down with Chuck, I asked her if we could fix it,” said Jack.

“Fix what, Jack?” asked Sam.

“Everything. So we did. There’s still demons and angels and all that guys but monsters are gone. It’s not perfect here but it’s better off than what we had before,” said Jack.

“Why are we children?” asked Dean.

“He wants us to have childhoods,” you said, Jack smiling. “Jack…”

“You guys were my parents. You still always will be. But you all have trauma. I can’t take it away but you deserve to have normal lives,” he said.

“Okay. That’s great and all but can I least be potty trained?” asked Sam. “Or like, at least five?”

“I can do three,” said Jack. “That would make today your seventh birthday then, Y/N.”

“Yeah, by the way, today is totally not my birthday,” you said. Jack tilted his head and smiled. “What?”

“Yes it is. The year is wrong, I’ll give you that but today is definitely your birthday,” he said.

“Jackie,” you said, closing your eyes. “Today isn’t my birthday. I have no idea who those people-”

“Y/N. Those are your parents. Your real parents,” said Jack.

“My dad was never-”

“That guy wasn’t your dad,” said Jack. Your face fell and you stared at him. 

“Um, what?” said Dean. He took your hand and you looked around. “Her real dad was a piece of crap.”

“Her real dad is actually a really good guy. The parents you grew up with Y/N, in your old life, those weren’t your parents,” he said.

“Well what hap-” you said, the door creaking open. All of a sudden you felt a smidge taller, Dean and Sam growing a bit too, Jack missing. You spun around and saw Mary smiling as she brought in a tray.

“Hey you three. Who wants a snack?” she asked. You stared at her, Sam stepping on Dean’s foot.

“Sammy,” said Dean, pouting at his little brother. 

“Sammy, that’s not nice. You don’t hit your big brother,” said Mary.

“I didn’t!” said Sam, throwing his hands up.

“Is someone cranky?” asked Mary. She picked up Sam and he sighed, sticking his tongue out at Dean as she carried him away.

“I’m pretty sure that was his version of flipping you off,” you said.

“This may have a few benefits,” he smirked. You shrugged and sat on his bed, Dean taking a seat beside you, holding your hand still. “Okay. It’s gonna suck until we get older and can be together the way we want to but we’re both seven. Six more years and we can start making out and a few after that we can move onto other things and I’m gonna have the recovery time of a teenager which is gonna be awesome so…”

You sniffled and he pulled you into a hug, kissing your cheek.

“I know. I know it’ll be okay. But I’m gonna miss seeing you guys whenever I want and we’re always going to have to be lying and it turns out those people that raised me weren’t my real parents. They must have stolen me or what, I don’t know but those assholes are the whole reason I became a hunter, why I found you,” you said. Dean smiled and pushed a loose hair behind your ear.

“I’m right here. I will always be right here. We’re gonna live across the street from each other and-”

“What if my parents move? What if yours move?” you asked, sniffling again.

“Y/N. Sweetheart. You’re my soulmate. I will always find you,” he said.

“You’re so fucking corny,” you said, kissing him, laughing when it felt all kinds of funny and different. “I miss your scruff.”

“Tell me about it. You’re taller than me,” he said. “But like I was saying, you’re going to grow up with nice parents that love you and keep you safe, not one’s you’re afraid of.”

“We both get to start over. Sam too,” you said. “I wonder where Cas is though.”

“I did not agree to this,” said Cas, popping up from the other side of the bed. He was about Dean’s height, black hair and a plain t shirt on.

“Oh, he’s adorable!” you said.

“I am an angel of my asshole father,” said Cas, giving you a death glare.

“You are kinda cute,” said Dean with a laugh.

“I believe Jack has made me your older cousin who lives with you for some reason,” said Cas.

“Why do you get to be older?” scoffed Dean.

“I am millennia old, Dean. Do you think I enjoy being ten?” he asked.

“On the plus side, he’ll be able to buy beer for us someday,” you said. Cas rolled his eyes but you wiped off your face, Dean using his flannel shirt to get the rest. “I’m better now. I promise.”

“I doubt that,” said Dean. “Cas, are you still all angel powerful?”

“Yes. In fact, my powers seem to be fully restored,” he said.

“So if I ever asked you to sneak over Y/N for a sleepover,” said Dean with a smile.

“I can do that,” said Cas softly. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

“Thanks, buddy,” said Dean. Cas exited for a moment, Sam arguing about nap time down the hall from the sounds of it. “He’ll get to be a normal kid.”

“So will you,” you said. “I swear I so much as see you as trying to cook dinner before you hit double digits, Winchester.”

“I know. So, birthday girl, is there anything I can get you for your big day?” he teased. 

“I got you. I’m all good, Dean.”

______

[wuxiaphoenix]

Worldbuilding: Take It To The Streets

What kinds of street food does your world have?

As long as there have been cities, there have been street vendors. Likely longer. We have ancient accounts of various street stalls and foodsellers from China, the Greek city-states, the Roman Empire, the Aztecs, and probably lots of other places I don’t know about. Honestly, I’d lay odds that as soon as we hit Neolithic-size settlements and people gathering for festivals there was somebody with a fire, portable cooking utensils, and a dream.

These days we see street food as a convenience, and sometimes an annoyance. Given the cultural pervasiveness of microwaves, gas or electric stones, and even wood cookstoves, I think a lot of people underestimate how much skill goes into not just cooking, but in keeping that cooking safe for the rest of the community. It’s as simple as one, two, three.

One: The vast majority of cooking involves applying high levels of heat.

Two: Whenever you apply heat, you leave an opening for things to catch on fire.

Three: The more people you have cooking, the more chances things have to go up in smoke.

This is a matter of combinatorial probabilities. Say the chance of one person slipping and starting a fire in a year is... oh, one in ten thousand (0.0001). This is a 99.99% chance of not having a fire. Any one person could go a whole lifetime without starting a fire.

Now make it one hundred people cooking. That’s 0.9999 to the 100th power, or 0.9900. Meaning your chances of not having a fire that year are now... 99 out of 100. Still not that bad, but....

Ten thousand people cooking? The chance of not having a fire drops to 36.79%. Or almost a two-thirds chance you will have a fire that year.

Conclusion: If at all possible, you do not want everyone cooking.

(If you think this is only a past problem, look up turkey fryer explosions. Carelessness and stupidity with burning things is a human constant.)

This is also likely to be a problem in the future on shipboard or space stations. Confined spaces make all kinds of accidents more likely. It’s in everyone’s best interests to encourage klutzes out of the kitchen, and to suggest more cooking be done by those willing to master the skills to do it properly. Meaning, in any sane setting, skilled people need to be able to make a profit at it. And we’re back to street food.

Though we should also be back there for tasty reasons as well. Most people can learn to cook, but not everyone has the time or inclination to master whole cuisines and a world full of neat recipes. And some recipes, while in theory simple enough for a layman to cook, in practice take a lot of time and dishes and are so much more cost-effective if you make them in bulk instead of a meal for one, or even a few people. Ever make Philly cheesesteaks with all the classic toppings? Yeah. You can do it at home, but....

With street food you get tasty options from a bunch of different specialists, all of whom have to know what they’re doing or go out of business. You get to try different things, pick up a meal when you’re rushed, tired, or hurting, and have a friendly public spot you can arrange a meeting at with someone you don’t know well. To say nothing of the story drama possibilities for a stakeout or observation post, or a contact to pass info or gear as needed....

The streets of any story’s settlement should be interesting, because they have people. Make sure they also have snacks!

[teenagemutantninjatrauma]

So recently I was rewatching a few random Fast Forward episodes again (as one does when one is writing a massive AU about something) and BOY DO I NEED TO SHARE A THEORY

So like... Torbin Zixx, right.

This guy:

He gets introduced to us in the FF Bishop episode, of all times, as a mysterious vigilante who has avoided not only being captured but also getting caught clearly on any security footage anywhere! How strange! Anyways, Bishop introduces themselves to the turtles, Raph tries to attack his hologram, and the gang agrees to help Bishop catch this guy. Banger!

And then! We get to this shot.

Now, I don't know if this is a noticeable detail to anybody who like, has a life and isn't obsessed with this cartoon, BUT - boy does this face look familiar. The nose specifically is preeetty prominent.

YEAH I bet none of you were thinking THIS when watching that season (probably a good sign that you have better things to do), BUT I THINK.

ZIXX IS A BISHOP CLONE.

Consider the evidence - because there IS evidence, actually!

First of all, they get to stand back to back in the opening even though they both show up like twice? Three times? For mostly unrelated adventures? Why do they get to stand back to back instead of like, Zyxx getting a spot in the villain lineup that is also in the opening? He is ostensibly occasionally doing good but he’s mostly a trickster able to outsmart the turtles and get away - a trait Bishop has exhibited even when he almost fuckin died in Bishop's Gambit, by the way - so it feels meaningful to set him up here, back to back with Bishop of all people.

Second, they get introduced in the same episode, Bishop to Knight. I know we all rag on this season and the following season for not reaching the previous five seasons' standard, but I believe while Back To The Sewer was genuinely badly written, Fast Forward's issue was only that it wasn't given enough time to elaborate on all the things it set up - it is still written well. Things happen with intentions behind them, we are given as much closure as the show could manage, and so it feels like introducing two characters in the same episode has meaning. Combined with the shot from the opening, it really does feel to me like a point is being made here to compare the two.

Third, there is the parallel of both of them tricking Raph with their holograms - unintentionally and intentionally. It makes sense for Bishop, or someone made to think just like Bishop, to use new modern technology like this, because he's a resourceful bastard!

Look at him flinging himself at people he doesn't like. Me too, man.

"He and Bishop don't look alike!" - Well, not anymore they don't. But look at how Bishop used to look during the first five seasons, during his EPF era, and compare that to Zixx, and then compare Zixx to PGA era Bishop:

The nose, the face shape, the dual communicators? PGA era Bishop does look different and this could be attributed to either change of artstyle or the implication that his clone bodies have evolved and changed over the last century, but Zixx is a piece of who he used to be and has had to evolve differently, and thus looks the part.

(Additionally, we have already seen Bishop make clones of himself that didn't look exactly like his then-current body, when he made the Slayer army in Bishop's Gambit.)

This, by the way, would explain why there is no digital track of Zixx's face anywhere. Because hey, let's be real here - the opening of the episode is dedicated to how much information Bishop personally looks through.

If Zixx was indeed running around wearing Bishop's face, he'd want him gone, but Zixx, being a Bishop clone, would be smart enough not to get caught! Thus, the next best thing would be to get rid of any proof of similarity between them, hence these being the only picture Donnie, a de facto civillian, could find.

(Ironically, this could very well have lead to Zixx becoming the infamous enigma he is said to be in this world.)

They also fight alike, relying on acrobatics and on being able to push and pull their opponents around as needed. I am unfortunately too tired to get good screenshots/clips of this.

"But Zixx doesn't look human!"/"But Zixx has a different voice than Bishop!"/"But Zixx has green eyes!" - He's a vigilante in a scifi space show and has the face and voice of the most well known guy in all of space, is it truly a stretch to assume he might've gotten body modifications? We've already got one guy grafting alien DNA onto himself to survive and it's none other than Dr Baxter Stockman, notably another piece of Bishop's past that's come back to haunt him. Why not two?

You know this would also be in line with what I am now calling the Seeing Double Theme - Dark Turtles and a new Turtle Titan are in this story, confrontations of the future and the past self in some way, shape or form are a running theme of Fast Forward, so why wouldn’t there be a Bishop clone running around

No clue how or why Zixx would ditch the whole "protect all of Earth" mentality, but when Bishop reforms himself and swings into the extreme of establishing intergalactic peace to a point where he can't even be partial towards Earth anymore, does it not make sense narratively for his foil to swing the other way, become a typical "only looking out for myself" type of guy?

"It could also be said that maybe Zixx shows off traits that Bishop usually obfiscates, with the self-serving nature being a good example. We know all of Bishop's grand goals are really just covering for the fact that he's scared and wants to protect himself, right? If you look at the core of everything he does, it's to benefit himself. Zixx forgoes making up any justifications and says it like it is: he only cares about himself and what others can do for him." - additional comment, courtesy of THE Bishop Guy™, @violetvulpini, who's the reason I'm going this insane rn in the first place.

In conclusion, I strongly believe that Torbin Zixx is a Bishop clone gone rogue, similar in origin to the Slayer aka Rat King. He is Bishop shaped, he gets to stand next to Bishop in the opening like they're anime foils to each other, and it is SO interesting to explore.

This has been Trauma, and you've been Zixxed ✌️💜

BONUS: Headcanon territory!

Zixx's purpose was to be a "back-up" clone. Bishop has been recording his findings and work since at least the EPF era when we meet him, so maybe these recordings are then uploaded somewhere so that in case he dies and can't make the body transfer, a new clone is awoken and informed of his purpose. For some reason this system has at some point malfunctioned and awoken Zixx despite Bishop surviving - possibly during the collapse of the lab he and Stockman used to work in, or during the space war that gets vaguely mentioned at one point.

"clone six" or "version six" somehow becomes "Torbin Zixx"?

How did Zixx become a vigilante? Well, we know Bishop doesn't have human blood. Presumably the blue goop that we see him bleed at the end of Bishop's Gambit is something synthesized specifically for his body, so I imagine it would be VERY hard to come by. This, I think, would very easily lead to a life of crime he has more than the ideal set of skills for.

Bishop probably wants him obliterated but can't reasonably dedicate resources to catching or killing who he KNOWS is gonna be the ultimate most hard-to-kill guy in the known universe.

He steals Bishop's fancy car specifically just to piss him off <3

[anjuschiffer]

Amira Wayne - Chapter 25

..I'm trying best to finish this fic QwQ

TAGS: @toodaloo-kangaroo @vixen-uchiha @we-want-mini-mini @ramos123 @redscarlet95 @corabeth11 @anonymously-odd @officiallydarkgeek @galla0200 @jayjayspixiepop

Chapter 25: Family, Friends and Identities (4)

MASTERLIST | FIRST | PREV | AO3

-

Sabrina looked at her phone, staring at the blank screen in front of her. 

The time read 3:30. 

No call nor text from Marinette or the rest. 

“Sabrina, are you okay?” Sabrina stopped herself from flinching when her father spoke to her from her bedroom door. She was pretty sure he was exhausted from work and had retired to bed already. “What’s bothering you? That’s the 40th time you’ve moved that pin since you’ve made that board.” 

“Nothing’s- you’ve been counting the times I’ve been moving this pin?” Sabrina commented, looking at the board in front of her. The pin in question- a spotted red pin Sabrina had mentally labeled as ‘LB’. 

Ever since Chloe asked her a few months back to help her uncover Ladybird’s identity, Sabrina had made a board of her own to keep track of their information. 

To think her dad was keeping track of its placement while she could barely remember it herself. 

“Well, yes- rather, from the times I’ve been able to track its change in position: 40 times.” Roger walked up to the board, looking at the red strings tied around the different photos and reports that have been crossed out in red ink. “Trying to figure out Ladybird’s identity, aren’t you? I think you’ve made more progress than our own team before we were forced to stop.” 

Her dad tried unmasking Ladybird? “Although, I’m surprised you found this article.” 

“Which one?”

“This one.” Sabrina looked at the article her father was referring to. 

Creations Incorporated: Allies or Spies? “While we were aware of it, most of us at the office chose to ignore it. After all, the article was just a hate letter towards Ladybird and Chat Noir and the programs they created. So in the end, it was dismissed as one huge conspiracy theory. 

However, it’s resurfaced thanks to the recent violation of the PRM.”

“PRM?” Where did she hear that before?

“Protections and Rights of the Manipulated: an article that detailed every program that was created to protect the identities of the Victims after the third Hawkmoth incident.” Roger explained. 

Oh right, Ladybird had mentioned it before in passing during her briefing when Sabrina had first started as Multimouse.

“Did it resurface due to the recent leak of Victim identi-”

“The article resurfaced all because of M.Wayne.” Roger cut her off.

“M.Wayne? How did he-”

“The article mentioned how there was no way Ladybird or Chat Noir could fund the cooperation of their own accord unless they had a sponsor doing it for them.” Roger started. “After all, Creations Incorporated not only provides medical assistance to anyone who needs it, but also covers Victims financially and has funded the security network of Paris ever since the beginning of Hawkmoth’s terrorism which the writer found odd. 

After all, who has millions of dollars to spend like that?”

Sabrina looked at M.Wayne’s photo she took shortly after Marinette’s akumatization. The one where he was entering the bakery.

“Millionaires…billionaires…perhaps the military…”

“That’s what the writer of the article believed as well, but they weren’t able to get any evidence of it being funded by France’s military. So their next best option: billionaires. And while they managed to find a single piece of evidence of large quantities of money being wired to Creations Incorporate, the reporter was silenced shortly afterwards.”

“They killed him?” Sabrina asked, feeling the blood in face drain.

“They bought his silence.” Roger cleared up. “And then he stopped showing up to work.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” 

“But how does it tie back to M.Wayne?”

“Turns out a Wayne lawyer visited the reporter a few days before he went silent. And now that this evidence has surfaced, there’s more reporters who want to know M.Wayne’s relation with Creations Incorporated and Ladybird.”

Sabrina could only hum as she stared at the ABP, staring at all of the info-

She must’ve been staring at the board a bit too much as her father snapped her from her concentration with a simple hand to her shoulder.

“What did you notice?”

“Dad, can I ask you something?” Sabrina asked her father, walking up to the board and pulling off a photo she pulled off the web. She tried her best to scratch off the red paint over it although she knew that would barely help to look at the photo clearly. 

It was grainy after all. “What would you do if I got hurt? Or maybe kidnapped?”

“I would use the full extent of the law to make sure the person who hurt you pays for what they did!” Roger pledged. “I’ll make sure justice is served and that they will never hurt you again!” 

“Thanks Dad.” Sabrina smiled, happy to hear that her father would go to such extents for her. “Any family member would fight when it comes to someone they cherish, wouldn’t they?” Sabrina looked at the photo in her hand.

It was blurry but clearly showed Superman pulling back what she thinks was a furious M.Wayne, reaching out towards members of what Sabrina thinks are known as the Justice League. 

The angle in which the photo was taken wasn’t exactly the best but you could see something red dangling off of one of the member’s arms. 

A red polka dotted yo-yo within the green glow surrounding the member carrying a limp Ladybird.

At the time, Sabrina and Chloe didn’t take the picture seriously as they were only able to find one source regarding this incident and considering the source was just a random kid who happened to be passing by, the girls disclosed it as ‘inconclusive.’

But now…she thinks they will have to revisit this lead, especially after hearing what her father revealed to her.

Mr.Wayne had to be personally connected to Ladybird for him to react that way upon seeing her get taken away that way.

So personally connected as if she were-

“-your question has to do with what you pieced together?” Sabrina jumped from her thoughts the minute she registered her father’s voice asking her a question.

“It’s all speculation for now as there isn’t too much evidence, but-” Sabrina bit her tongue, turning her attention to the developing pain in her mouth instead of the things in her mind. “Did the funding Mr.Wayne provided only go for medical and network security? It didn’t, by any chance, go to other areas like infrastructure?” Sabrina couldn’t help but ask, mentally cursing herself for wanting to know whether her theory was going in the right direction. 

She watched her father cross his arms and close his eyes, a small hum escaping him as she continued to study his reaction to her question. With a small ‘hmph,’ he opened his eyes and shook his head. 

“He only funded medical and network security from what I can- wait. He did donate towards schools as well, your school being one of them. Now that I think of it, I think your school got the largest donation among the ones he donated to.”

“My school?” Sabrina asked, feeling the floor beneath her sink. 

“Well, it seems that most Victims that arose from the start of this whole Hawkmoth chaos ended up being students from Dupont, something Mr.Wayne seemed to have noticed. Thinking that perhaps Dupont’s students do not have enough funding to create proper outlets for their students to relieve stress, Mr.Wayne donated the money and sent contractors to help renovate some unused classrooms and create new spaces where you kids could destress. 

Speaking of, Principal Damocles mentioned to me the other day that the amount of students who became Victims did go down a bit thanks to these initiatives. Moreso, there has been an increase in students entering competitions and expanding their portfolios for scholarships thanks to the new abundance in resources created by Mr.Wayne’s donation.”

Sabrina could only stare at her father as she processed what he had just told her. 

While Chloe’s dad did sometimes donate to the school, or rather, gave the school funding to make sure the classroom Chloe was in had the best teaching materials available to them, Sabrina didn’t think that the recent upgrades in the school was thanks to Mr.Wayne's donations.

She didn’t know he even made dona-

“Dad, when did he start donating to Dupont again?”

“A few weeks after Hawkmoth started to akumatize Paris, so, two months.”

Sabrina closed her eyes, trying to zone out the sudden increase in her heartbeat.

Why is everything lining up too quickly? Why was everything making sense now?

The gadgets, the training, the purchase of an entire floor.

The unconcernment of money and the need to provide for others…

Mr.Wayne explained everything.

“-you okay?” Her father asked, causing Sabrina to jump upon opening her eyes when she realized her father's hand was blocking her vision. She now faced his worried eyes, scanning her own as if it held answers to his concern. “You don’t feel like you have a fever. Sabby, Beanie, are you feeling okay? You didn’t eat anything weird at the-”

“I-I’m fine Dad. I-I think I just need to sleep.” Sabrina managed to say despite the voices in her head telling her to say what’s on her mind. To tell him what she found out. 

To call someone. Anyone.

She needed to vent to someone, anyone.

Anyone but Chloe.

Sabrina froze at the thought. 

Chloe’s hiding something. So is Adrien.

So then, who? 

Who do I go to?

“-taking you to the doctor’s.” Sabrina heard her father say, seeing him texting someone as he said it.

“N-no! I’m fine!” Sabrina lowered her father’s phone from his view. “I’m fine Dad, really. I mean, it’s been a long night. It’s almost four in the morning, and I think I’m at my limit. I’ve almost been awake for 24 hours after all.” She tried to play off despite her entire body screaming at her to tell him.

Tell him the truth. 

“Again?” Roger sighed, shaking his head. “Beanie, you can’t keep this habit up. It was one thing when you did it as a kid but now? It’s not good for your health.”

“I know.” Sabrina said with a strained smile, her father ruffling her hair as he made his way out her room.

“Get some sleep. And don’t think about staying up for another hour. I’ll be back to make sure you’re not up reading reports, alright?”

“Alright.” 

“Good night then.”

“Good night Dad.” Sabrina watched as her father closed the door, hearing the shutting of the door echo around her room. 

Now, alone in her room, her mind drifted back to the dots she finally stringed together.

Mr.Wayne is a relative of Ladybird and she’s a student at Dupont…

He started donating only after the start of Hawkmoth’s appearance meaning only one student who started the school year at that time had to be Ladybird…

And there was only one student who fit that criteria.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

And yet, who can she go to talk about this with? Who?

Nino. 

There was him…

With a second to waste, Sabrina grabbed her phone and texted Nino.

’Nino, I need your help. If you’re free tomorrow, meet me here when you can. I’ll explain it to you if you come tomorrow.’

Sabrina finished adding her address and looked at the text, her finger hovering over the arrow next to the text bubble. 

She had to send it.

She had to.

She pressed the button and turned her phone off, knowing if she continued to see it, she would start to regret sending it.  

She made her way to her bed and closed her eyes, missing the texts Nino sent her shortly after she drifted to sleep. 

‘It sounds really important, especially if you’re sending a message this late at night.’

’I’ll try to get there around noon.’

’Is that okay?’

’Actually, I’ll be there around 10. There’s something I need to ask you as well.’ 

A moment passed before another text entered her phone. It was from Chloe.

‘Bri! Turn on your tv, now!’

-

Damian looked at his sister, watching as she laid on the floor, curled up in a ball while a hairless feline hissed at him. It would back up whenever he tried to get closer to it, Damian deciding to just stay in his place for now.

Not completely knowing what to do, he crouched to the cat’s eye level before quickly picking the cat by the fat on its neck, placing the kitten in his arms. At first the cat clawed at him and hissed before realizing he wasn’t going to harm him.

Once the kitten started to settle in his arms and let out a quiet purr, Damian decided to quickly look around the room. He eyed the mess of papers on Amira’s desk and glanced at the whiteboards scattered around the room that were covered to the edges with notes written in marker and taped photos.

Returning his attention to her desk, he noticed camera footage playing on one screen while the other showed a map of who knows what. As for the papers, he would have to get closer to see what was written but judging from the colorful inks and wrinkles on some of them, Damian had to guess they weren’t legal documents.

Then, there was the odd string dangling from the side of the loft bed.

“How did you get in here?” Amira asked, slowly sitting up, Damian finally returning his attention to his-

“Were you crying?”

“What does it matter to you?” She croaked as she stood up, the cat in Damian’s arm jumping off and headed towards her, nuzzling its face against her legs.

“You should never expose your weak-”

“Does Dad know you’re here? And you didn’t answer my first question.” Amira pointed out, Damian looking to the side to avoid her eyes. “How did you-”

“Through the skylight.” He answered, looking back at his sister, stopping himself from resuming his scolding. Her eyes were puffy from what he believes had been an hour of constant crying, the corners of her eye homing flakes of dried up tears. 

But judging from the regularity in her voice, she saved herself from complete ridiculement by not yelling or screaming while she was crying. “And no. I came here to find out why you came to Paris instead of-”

“I thought I told you I had other duties-” She tried to remind him.

“Duties that seemed to have gone awry.” Damian then walked to the string that had been bothering him this entire time.

“Don’t touch-!” Despite hearing his sister’s late warning, he tugged on it, causing a large map to drop to the floor. Lines of red marker streaks, an array of notes and photos as well as a large hand drawn circle were slowly analyzed as Damian skimmed the map.

Names, dates, times, faces - with each case Damian read, the more he wondered what exactly it was that his sister was dealing with that caused her to be in Paris for the past four months.

It was as if she was looking for someone in particular. 

“Agustus: akumatization # 3. Akumatization?” Damian asked, watching Amira try and push him away from the map. “What is all this? What is an akumatization? I never-” He could feel her hand on his shoulder attempting to tug him away.

“It’s nothing you-”

“I should know about this. I am your-”

“Stop meddling in my business!” Amira shouted, finally shoving him strong enough to send him two steps back. “Leave!”

“It is my business when your name is part of these akumatizations as well.” Amira froze, Damian wondering why she reacted that way. “If it is an issue you’re trying to solve, how did you get yourself involved?” Damian furrowed his brows. “Did you let yourself-“

“You know nothing!” Amira yelled, pushing Damian away and fumbled to roll the map back up. “How dare you just barge into my room and-”

“So why are you here?” Damian decided to divert, watching as his sister stopped fussing with the map in her hands. She stood there, silently. “From the looks of it, you should not have any reason to be here.

You are the Wayne heir and should have no reason to be outside of Gotham. 

 And while I know our father has several business venture throughout the world, you never once showed interest into his Pa-”

“What does it matter to you?” Amira asked, going back to putting the map away. “Let me guess, it’s your birthright-” the map fell out of her hand. “You know what? Just take it all then!” Amira turned to him. “If you want the company so badly, then take it! 

Father would never give it to me anyways!” Damian watched as she slowly lowered her head to look at the floor. “Not after what happened-“

“What are you talking about? Not let you-“ What nonsense was she talking about? Why was hse giving up so easily? “It is equally your birthright as it is mine. You said it yourself the day we first met. 

That you are willing to take over Wayne Enterprise as you are Father’s biological child.” Damian grabbed her shoulders. “So why are you giving up now? For what reason?

I was looking forward to the challenges you-“

“Challenges?” Amira whispered. “Why would I ever dare to challenge you? Rather, I have no right to challenge you when I could barely defeat my current enemy.” She let out a dry laugh. “Who would you want to challenge someone who let her enemy get the best of her?”

“What enemy?” Damian asked, trying to rack his knowledge around his sister. Trying to remember every piece of information he was able to scrape up while at the manor.

The certificates with a different name, her actual name embroidered onto her nursery items, the file of her school in the Batcomputer…

He sorted through the names of her classmates, club members, school staff…

But nothing ever indicated her having a rival, a nemesis she had to fight.

Fight…fighting…akumatization…

He turned his attention back to the map.

He scanned the thing, his eyes landing on a photo of a man with white hair who looked to be around their father’s age. Right under the photo he read the single note she had written for him. “Hawkmoth?  This is the man who you lost against?”

No, there was no way his sister lost to this feeble looking-

“I’m a failure, aren’t I?” Amira stood next to him, Damian noticing a haze in her eyes. “I thought I was ready to take up a mantle. I thought I had enough training to take him on.” Amira gripped her chest. “And I went and blew it.”

Damian looked at his sister and then at the map she had. 

It seemed like she had managed to find out her enemy’s identity. 

She had his location…

Where did she screw up?

This would’ve never happened had she been taught the Al Ghul’s-

But she doesn’t consider herself one.

She had voiced her distaste for their grandfather and his mindset. She hated the man. 

And yet…

Someone has to teach her how to deal with a threat like Hawkmoth properly.

Their father’s teachings failed her… there was only one thing left to do. 

“I will help you.” Damian vowed. “While the League does not endorse the concept of helping others for their lack of competence, that does not mean I am not capable of providing assistance if it means getting the mission done.” He explained when he noticed Amira looking at him as if she heard wrong. 

“But doesn’t- why-“ Amira sputtered out, Damian seeing her confusion written on her face. “What do you get out of this?”

“Father has failed to teach you the proper-“

“Dad didn’t-“

“-so I will show you the proper way to dispose of-“

“Proper? Dispose? What-“

“In other words, I will help you find Hawkmoth and dispose of him.”

“You can’t just-”

“Permanently.” Damian added, eyeing the photo on the map next to them, grabbing it and crumbling in his hand before tossing it into the garbage bin.

“No!” Amira yelled, “We are not killing-

“Then how else do you plan on stopping his madness? On harming your-” Damian paused, “friends.” He managed to spit out.

“It’s not as easy as it seems, Damian.” Amira huffed. “I had to take precautions into consideration and-” Damian scoffed. 

“Consideration? Amira, your mission is to-”

“I had to make sure I planned everything correct-”

“Planned? As in a few days?” Of course, depending on the type of mission she would have to plan it her strategy to bring full success. 

“What? No. It took me months-”

“Months? For this?” Damian huffed, “Why are you taking so long to complete your mission?” She had to be lying. “Are you stalling? I thought you were our father’s daughter, my sister. Why is it taking you so long to get rid of him? If it were me, I would’ve-“

“Killing him isn’t an option here, Damian. Killing isn't the solution to my problem, or rather, to any problem. There are other better, humane options.” She stressed out. 

“Killing him would ensure that this problem would never happen again. It would-“

“Killing Hawkmoth would mean hurting my friend!” Amira raised her voice. 

“Hawkmoth is a threat to-“

“He’s my friend’s father, Damian! His father!” Amira screamed, Damian wondering why she was getting so worked up over this detail. Why was she worrying about the aftermath? “I can’t kill him! He’s the only close family he has!”

“If you have known his identity for this long, then why haven’t you-” 

“Are you even listening to me Damian? How the hell do I tell Adrien that his father is Hawkmoth?” Damian remained silent as he watched unshed tears continue to pool into his sister’s eyes.  

But not even a second later, they began to fall. 

A sniffle escaped her. “Tell me Damian. How am I supposed to do this without hurting anyone?

To go to one of my close friends and tell him, ‘Hey Adrien, Hawkmoth is your father, did you know that?” A dry chuckle escaped her. “What about his mother? Did you know Gabriel has had her in a capsule several meters underground for the past year? 

As in, the mother everyone has believed to have died because his dad made a huge deal over her illness?”

He watched as she crouched to the floor, holding onto herself for dear life, as if that would comfort her in some sort of way. “Or even if I don’t tell him, let him join the battle, how do you expect me to just stand there and watch the events unfold for themselves? 

How do you expect me to stand there and watch my friend fall apart?” Amira asked him as if he had the answers which, to his annoyance, he did not have for her. 

Because, this was pointless. 

Why should she care about the consequences of her decisions if it means getting rid of the enemy once and for all? “Or even if he doesn’t join the fight, how will I break it to him as he watches his father get arrested? 

Tell him that his only option left was to live with his aunt in England until he’s of age…would Adrien ever forgive me for doing that to him? And- oh god. Chloe! 

Would she ever forgive me for doing that to him? To her? To us?”

Damian watched as his sister let out a wail. “Knowing her, I know she wouldn’t. I’d be lucky if she’d still talk to me afterwards…if either of them talked to me…oh! And don’t get me started on Nino and Sabrina...”

She slumped completely to the floor, bringing her knees in to rest her head on them. Quiet shudders escaped her, her hands tightening their grip on her legs. 

Damian didn’t know whether to approach her or let her be. Better yet, he didn’t understand why she’s bothering to clean up after her decision. 

Her focus should be on the result, not whatever got her it nor the consequences. 

She was too attached to these people, the reason why she’s like this now…failing...

She had to realize that sometimes there are decisions she will not be able to ponder too much about. Decisions that no matter which she took will always have consequences and loose ends. 

Just like her friend’s attendance in-

“ ‘Let him join,’ ” Damian quoted, turning to see his sister’s reaction to his quick discovery. 

Nothing so far. “You mentioned your friend joining the fight…are you saying this friend of yours is a vigilante of Paris?” He watched Amira stiffen. 

He couldn’t believe it.

While he couldn’t find much about his sister’s involvement and duties in Paris, he did have an abundance of information on the current situation of Paris itself and seeing the chaos of papers in his sister’s room, it wasn’t hard to connect the dots. 

His sister is a vigilante of Paris. Not of Gotham, but of Paris. 

What led her here of all places, he wasn’t sure but that wasn’t his main concern. His main concern was the person who was in front of him because…is this really the same girl he meet days ago? 

This wasn’t her, was it?

Was this really his sister? 

Was this really her?

“You seem to know at least one of their identities, but what about them? Do they know that you know their identities? Do they know yours?”

He watched as his sister looked up to him, panic having already settled in her eyes. 

Was she really not aware of her slip ups?

“I- Damian. No, they don’t- I do-” Amira curled back into herself, Damian no longer able to stand watching his sister crumble like this.

This was unacceptable. 

Where was the sister who yelled at him and told him he didn’t deserve to be Robin? Where was the sister that Father was so proud of?

Where was the one who punched him in his face and dared to put him in his place?

“Get up.” He commanded her, only she didn’t budge. “Get up.” When she didn’t move, he grabbed her arm and lifted her up with ease, surprising himself and her, judging from the widening of her eyes.

He guessed she wasn’t expecting him to do that to her because he certainly wasn’t expecting to be able to lift his sister that easily. “Get up. It’s unbecoming of you to-”

“Leave me!” Amira yelled, attempting to pull herself from his grip. “Why do you want to help me? What do you have to gain from this?”

Why was he doing this? It’s not like he had anything to gain from-

Maybe not gain, but certainly he would be able to get at least something from his guidance.

Reaching into his tunic, he was grateful for storing the drawing there.

“Because I need answers.” He told her, Amira’s failing coming to a stop, “Who is this?” He asked, showing her a sketch of the portrait he saw back at the manor. 

He didn’t fail to notice the widening of her eyes when she took it into her hands. 

“Where did you see this?”

“In the manor.” He admitted. “But I can’t exactly drag a four foot portrait across the sea to show it to you. So I had to draw it.”

“You…drew this?” She asked in what he thought was amazement, Damian feeling his pride soar. “It looks exactly like the pho-“

“What photo? Are you referring to-“

“-the photo attached to the portrait?” “-the photo my mother gave to me.” The two simultaneously finished off. 

“Your mother?” “Portrait?”

“The portrait.” He told her again. Did she not know of the portrait? “I found it in the manor while- why does it matter?”

“Because like I said, she’s my mother.” 

“Your mother?” Damian whispered, taking back the small sketch. 

“I don’t know what portrait you’re referring to but it looks exactly like the small photo my mother gave to me recently.”

If Amira was saying that the lady was her mother, then…did that mean…

When Amira remained silent for a while, Damian turned to see his sister, confused as to why she looked like she wanted to cry again. “What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’ve never seen her before?”

“If I had known who she was, I wouldn’t have asked you, now would I?”

He watched as she hesitated to speak, the closing and shutting of her mouth irritating him. “You act as if-“

“Ra’s never spoke of her to you?”

Damian shut his mouth. 

Ra’s knows this person? He knows who their mother was?

“No.” He answered a bit too quietly for his liking. 

“As I said before, she’s my mother. Her name is Talia Al Ghul, Ra’s Al Ghul’s daughter.” Damian heard his surroundings get quieter. “And if you’re telling me that you're my blood brother…then, then that means she’s your mother too.”

There it was again, that odd, annoying pit in his chest. 

“So… she’s our mother…So why weren’t you raised at- ”

“She had me outside of the League’s headquarters and left me with Father when I was barely a year old,” Amira softly said, a frown on her face as she looked distantly at the portrait. “She did it to protect me from Ra’s. To stop him from potentially killing me.”

“You keep mentioning our grandfather wanting to kill you. Why would he want to kill-”

“‘Ra’s may be many things, but a liar he is not.’ Or so Talia quotes.” Amira softly spoke, “he gave our mother the choice to either send me off to our father or have me killed by his hands. 

There was no keeping me in the League’s grounds when he had no use for me…”

“No use? Al Ghul blood runs through our veins.” Damian started. “So just like me, you have the right to be heir to-“

“If that were the case, then I shouldn’t be here, should I?” Amira asked. “If I had the same birthright as you, I would’ve been raised alongside you, shouldn’t I have? 

I should’ve been by your side.

Instead, here I am. 

Outside of the League. 

With our father. 

Not by your side. 

So, what does that mean?” Amira asked him, leaving Damian for a loss of words. 

He didn’t know what that meant and just thinking about what it could mean…it meant having to analyze the years of training and ideologies he thought to be right. 

It meant questioning his grandfather’s wisdom… which was something no one dared to question. 

Not even himself. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Amira’s phone going off, Damian watching Amira ignore it. 

“You’re not going to pick it up?”

“It’s probably Dad or my friends trying to check on me.” 

“Give it.” Damian ordered, which surprisingly Amira did. By the time he was given it, the ringing stopped, allowing him to see the amount of missed texts and calls she got from their Father and her, what he assumed to be, her friends 

He read the text from a so-called ‘Kuschelbär’ before running to her desk, scanning it before turning to Amira. 

“Connect me to a tabloid channel. Now.”

-

The minute Bruce got a phone call from who-knows-who, Jason and Selina watched him grab his coat and bolt off only to come back in a panic. They watched as Bruce pulled out his phone and spoke with Alfred in a hush tone when Selina had enough.

“Bruce, what’s going on?” She asked as she stood in front of him, hearing Alfred’s voice quiet down on the other side. “You need to tell us what that phone call was about so that we can help-”

“Damain hacked the zeta tubes and is in Paris.”

“Damian?” Jason asked, looking at Selina for answers, only to get an equally confused look back. “Who’s Damian?”

Selina heard a loud sigh and click, watching Bruce’s face scrunch up a bit. Oh. She knew that face a bit too well for her liking. Rather, she’s seen this face before…months ago when it came to a certain someone.

“Is Damian another kid of yours we should know about?” Selina challenged.

“You have another kid who’s your actual flesh and- oh God.” Jason looked at Bruce appalled. “Just how many women did you sleep with and had ki-”

“He’s from the same-” Bruce cleared his throat. “He’s Amira’s twin brother. Somehow.”

“What do you mean somehow?” Selina asked, her mind lingering on Jason’s comment from earlier. Would there be more women turning up with kids who were Bruce’s?

“Yeah, what does ‘somehow ‘ mean?” Jason questioned. “ ‘Somehow’ here seems to be that you’re not sure how Damian was born and yet if he’s supposed to be Amira’s twin, doesn’t that mean they should’ve been born the same day? Shouldn’t he have been born from-” Jason found himself realizing something. “He is Talia’s kid…right? Talia knows about him…doesn’t she?”

While venturing with Jason, Talia always spoke to him of the limited memories she had of Amira when she was an infant. She told him with great details of her birth and her struggle with keeping her away from Ra’s harm. And yet, in all those stories, she never once mentioned another child…not once…

Selina felt her chest twist at the information given to her. 

To not know of your own child’s birth…of their existence while being separated from the one you did know about… 

She could only imagine the pain that could bring…

Bruce’s phone rang again, snapping everyone from their stupor, Bruce answering with a quick greeting, a scowling forming on his face the longer he held his phone to his ear. He lowered it a second later.

“Jason, turn on the tv.”

Jason did as he was told, flipping through the channels before Bruce told him to stop.

A clip showing Bruce and Selina entering the mayor’s New Year party was playing on the screen before it minimized and showed the faces of the people presenting the clip.

“-telling you, there’s got to be more than just a party invite for Mr.Wayne to be seen here in Paris tonight. Sure, he has always been seen going around the world from time to time to check on his other branches, but tonight? Bruce has never been seen interacting with people completely out of his circle like Mayor Bourgeois and his family.

So to suddenly appear at a local party like this?

I’m telling you Alec, there’s something more to this than what we know.” Bob Roth commented as he leaned back into his chair.

“And let me tell you, I think you’re absolutely right Bob.” The other show guest -Jerry- added. “ I had the chance to speak with him tonight for a while, happily giving us the deets to his wedding, but tonight. Tonight, I could tell his mind wasn’t with us. For the first portion of our conversation, he was looking across the room even though Selina was right beside him. Someone had caught his attention for him to act that way.”

“Wait,” Alec leaned forward.  “You’re not saying-”

“Oh I am!” Jerry said with a smirk.  “I think Mr.Wayne was meeting someone-”

Alec raised a hand, stopping Jerry from finishing his thought.

“My producer is telling me we have M.Wayne on the line- ladies and gentlemen. Please welcome, M.Wayne!”

-

“I should’ve known you were Chat Noir. I mean, it was all there!” Chloe huffed. “The witty remarks, the bad cat puns-“

“Hey! They’re not that bad!” Adrien defended, pouting a bit. “For the record they were made with proper timing and execution and always made- 

Plagg! Stop messing with that already!” Adrien scolded the Kwami, grabbing the remote he was gnawing on. “You already broke my other remote, don’t go breaking-“

The sound of the tv turning into the latest channel filled the room, a pair of gossip hosts laughing before it abruptly stopped. 

“Welcome M.Wayne!” Alec eagerly welcomed the new guest, Adrien and Chloe wondering if they heard the host correctly. 

Behind the host, where the party clip was playing, was replaced with a simple photo of Bruce with a phone symbol next to it. “Before we begin, can I just say that it’s such an honor to have such an esteemed guest such as yourself with us tonight! I would’ve thought you were all tired out after the New Years Party at the Palace! What are you doing up so late , may I ask?”

Bruce laughed.

“Alec, I’m flattered to hear that. And tired, oh absolutely! But I couldn’t help but have to intervene after hearing the current rumors regarding my soon-to-be wife- what? No, Selina, I'm not going to stop introducing you like that.”

“Oh, Mlle Kyle is there with you?” Alec asked with a grin, knowing tonight’s show was going to be hit. Oh! He could already see the view count!

“Selina is here alright although she’s getting ready to head to bed. Something about needing her beauty sleep.” At that, everyone laughed, although Jerry’s was strained. If you paid attention enough, you could see beads of sweat forming on his face. 

“Well, just from this small chat, we can clearly tell you’re in love with Mlle Kyle. On that note, what do you have to say on M. Badeaux’s theory of you having another-”

“While I was distracted tonight regarding another person’s presence, it definitely wasn’t another woman who caught my attention.”

“Oh, so then what-”

“As M.Roth and M.Badeaux so kindly pointed out,” both men paled at the call out, “I’ve been traveling to Paris more frequently this year due to new business ventures but also due to some more…personal issues.”

“And these personal issues just so happen to involve the mayor of Paris?” Bob dared to ask. “If you ask me, it sounds like you’re just making excus-”

“Well, with the most recent akuma attack affecting my kid’s school, as a parent I had to-”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Jerry interrupted Bruce. “What do you mean by kid?” Jerry looked at Bob who shrugged while Alec remained silent with a sparkle in his eye. “M.Wayne with all due respect, what do you mean by kid? As far as we know, your eldest has long graduated from school and-”

“Well, as a parent, I’ve always been supportive of all of my kids’ dreams, backing them up in whatever dream they have. And for my youngest, I sent them here to Paris to help them figure out what they wanted to-”

“Could this child be Jason by any chance?” Alec asked. “ Last we heard about him, you pulled him out of school due to some injures he inquired from-”

“Oh, Jason isn’t my youngest.” Bruce nonchalantly said, the studio growing silent. “My daughter is.”

-

“-my daughter is.” Amira stared at the screen as her father’s voice echoed throughout the room. 

Damian watched as tears trailed down her face, a sob escaping her as she silently wiped her face.  

While he couldn’t figure out if she was crying from joy or from fear, one thing was for sure.

He hated the lump that was forming in his throat and the odd sinking in his chest.

NEXT

[thesillydoll]

GOS2 SPOILERS

Theory #??? What, 4?

Well.

While crying over how beautiful Ineffable Bureaucracy was, I commented that Anna seemed very socially awkward, and Shelley seemed more forthcoming. I wasn't trying to be disrespectful to Anna or her Beelzebub, in fact I love it. I feel very identified. However, it also seemed strange to me. Why did it change so much?

I mean, we were supposed to have an explanation for Beelzebub's new face, but we only got "They needed a change" "This old thing?" and other comments.

I remember we all talked about how Beelzebub tried to smile in s1. They made strange gestures with them mouth, grimaces, which we collectively interpret as 'attempted smile'.

But now they can smile and make sheep eyes?

I mean, they're in love, that shit (love) does weird things to you. it changes you . . I guess. (See this from my more aromantic side.) But this is all very 'Female Makeover Trope'. . . If we were in some cis comedy. We are not ( i doubt Neil knows what straight means) and I feel that there is something beyond Beel's face/personality change.

They're still Lord Beelzebub and terrifies everyone. Their first meeting with Gabe after the nopocalypse is fluid, somewhat tense, but much more bearable than their previous conversation.

How do we go from our Beelzebub, who we love being socially awkward, to Beelzebub pulling a fly off his tongue? (Very attractive, sorry).

Shelley is amazing, very romantic. Gabe is the one who doesn't know how to feel. A different dynamic than what we would think of Anna with Jon. I can imagine Anna, doing something different. Straighter in the chair, always pending and alert. Looking up at Gabe with those amazing, cold blue eyes. Struggling to smile. Anna and Jon are the definition of Dark curls/ Watercolors eyes. (Gabe at Job's, he's very dark curls, and Beel, well, watercolor eyes) Also, Gabe smiles with all his teeth, as the song says, and the dynamic 'How to smile without looking like a serial killer, 101' would be very beautiful.

I understand. They'll say "Shelley wanted to do her thing". But the script is very precise about its intimacy. The flashbacks wouldn't be the same if Shelley didn't have those beautiful sheep eyes.

Also, Neil made canon a couple taken from fanfictions. 6 minutes was enough for us hahaha. I'm sure Neil had at least a general idea of how we handle Beel in the fics. He wanted to make his own story, but it doesn't seem consistent with the character of the first season.

(I repeat, we know little about Beel, but they're an exceptional demon in many ways compared to the dump they runs.)

My crazy theory, here we go, is that Beel was planning on running off with Gabe. They even seems to hint that they would give their position to Crowley, and they are desperate to find Gabriel. And Gabriel makes warnings regarding something that he should give to Aziraphale and that never materializes.

Beelzebub seems to have planned everything to run at the slightest opportunity. Even knowing about the 'extreme sanctions' for those who help Gabriel, (being erased from the Book of Life), they're run the risk.

Or they just changed their faces just bc. Who knows? Maybe, Neil. Probably, Neil.

It would be a shame not to fix these small "fails/spots" (I don't think Neil or Douglas make it) in the third.

Something must have disturbed Satan and God (or her voice) for them to come together. We know that after they fell in love, they had their own ideas about the Nopocalypse. Gabriel refused to destroy the Earth, mostly because it was their dollhouse.

I mean, they saw an angel endure the flames of Hell and a demon swim in holy water. I would have erased them from the Book of Life and continued with the war.

Maybe God intervened. We do not know. But it should have been talked about. Maybe that's why Gabe and Beel needed to get together. Perhaps the plan was to destroy Zira and Crowley. Or investigate at least.

What doesn't surprise me is Beel's taste in music. They have the best artists in Hell, surely they went through the Bach's torture at some time.

Those kinds of things seem congruent to me. What turns out that the script in general seems incoherent to me.

What do you think? I'm on my 4th cup of coffee and haven't slept in quite a while. I'm going crazy?

Either way, if you read my verbiage, I expect responses.

Kisses, Tor.

[getvalentined]

A-Z ask game: O(tailored) bc I would like to slide you a song[String Theocracy, Library of Ruina], R, U please!

O - Choose a song at random. Which ship or character does it remind you of?

I looked up the song and I'm assuming it's this!

I was gonna say that I was getting huge A Turtle's Heart vibes off this, then I realized it was the same person so that explains it. I'm not a huge fan of the track itself* but those lyrics!

I'm going with Genesis, for sure, specifically Genesis to Zack.

Cut it off, cut down your loss All that stubborn loyalty is gonna get you killed In a world built on convenient theories For the puppets on TV There is comfort in the strings If you're gonna control me At least make it interesting theatrically [...] Cut it off, you've already lost All that precious bravery is gonna get you hurt In a world that feeds on the minority May that self-centered belief lead you to peace If you're gonna replace me At least have the audacity to kill me thoroughly

I'm not sure there's anything I could say to explain that interpretation that these lyrics don't already say loud and clear. Thank you for sharing it with me!

* I'm not generally a fan of jazz, and this song is really jazzy; also the way Mili mispronounces words to fit a rhythm that they could have fit anyway is pretty egregious in this track, and that's the thing that keeps me from listening to more of her music. The combination of the two makes me a bit "ehhhh," but that's just me! It's a really solid track, just not my vibe. THOSE LYRICS THOUGH, GODDAMN.

R - Which friendship/platonic relationship is your favorite in fandom?

Answered here! A little convoluted because for me, all ships are friendships regardless of whether there's a romantic context.

U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites.

Oh this is a fun one!

1. Vincent Valentine (FFVII) is my favorite character in all of fiction and I've explained the why of that a couple times over the years, but suffice to say there is just nothing like finding a character with whom you resonate so intensely that you can love them even more after over a quarter century than you did when you first discovered them as a child.

2. Harle (Chrono Cross) is way up there! I love her entire character arc, starting as an agent of human destruction who falls in love with the very person she was created to kill, and holding that love so tightly that the horrifying superweapon she was fused into uses magic to sing him the song he needs to save the entity responsible for the destruction of her own people. Harle is my favorite female character ever, even moreso than Miyazaki's Nausicaä, which is saying a lot coming from me.

3. Turo (Pokemon Violet) will be my third. Not Professor Turo, mind you, the other Turo, the one who actually gave a shit about the safety of others, who loved the son that wasn't actually his so much that he gave everything to make sure the world he lived in would be safe. I have a soft spot for characters willing to give themselves up for love, and familial figures determined to set things right even if it means they won't get to live with the family they're saving will make me sob every single time. I'm not normally into mainline Pokemon titles (I like Arceus, Gale of Darkness, Snap, etc.) but Turo is literally what sold me on this one and it turned out to be one of the best story experiences I'd had in years (even outside his part).

I wanted to include a Zelda character, but I realized that's basically impossible because I love too many of them to choose one as a favorite. I managed to narrow it down in my head to Midna, King Rauru, or Nabooru, and then I thought of Mipha for .027 seconds and literally burst into tears because I love her so much and I can't not talk about her if I'm talking about favorite Zelda characters—and I decided I couldn't do that so I set that franchise down for this one.

[ for the A to Z ask game ]

[adventuringblind]

Drive With You Forever

Chapter Fourteen: The Rise and the Fall

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc x Lando Norris x Reader x Oscar Piastri

Chapter summary: Charles has a theory, Lando and Oscar get a better car, they group takes a trip to America to learn more about our reader

Warnings: Ferrari strategists, blood, mentions of death, gore, mentions of past abuse and neglect, medical abuse and malpractice, no graphic descriptions but r*ape is alluded too, panic attacks, mentions of sickness, cults, witchcraft is mentioned along with burnings

Notes: This one was hard. It gets really dark so please read the warnings.

Also, thank you for all the support for my writing! I'm terrible at responding to comments, but I want you to know that I see them and I appreciate every single one of you!

Previous <-

Masterlist

It’s always weird when things go back to normal. It feels temporary. Like she’ll never be able to rest easy because something else is going to happen.

Even when they’re here, relaxing after a race.

Things had been so crazy lately that none of them wanted to join in on the after party. Instead, they all lay comfortably with each other.

"So I have a theory." States Charles. His body splayed out at the foot of the bed. Next to him is Oscar. Max is laying the correct direction woth his legs over the top of the other two. Then Lando and Y/N are leaning against the bed, curled into each other on the floor.

"That's dangerous." Snickers Max. He receives a scowl from the Monegasque.

"What's your theory, Charlie?" Pipes the girl on the floor. It's never mattered the idea or thought. She always wants to hear it.

"At least one person wants to hear it." He grumbles. "Anyway, y/n has four entirely different abilities, and now she has four partners. Do you think it was meant to be?"

"It is an odd coincidence." States Oscar. He looks up from his phone and considers the statement.

"We could see if there's more to it than you know." Lando says into her hair.

It's not something she would've considered a year ago. But now, with everything she's survived, maybe it would be worth a look around. Show her boys where she used to live.

It's not pretty by any means, but it is a part of her.

~

Before they could take a trip to her home, they had to get through Silverstone. Lando is excited the car upgrades are doing their job and Oscar is absolutely petrified.

It doesn’t show on the camera or when he’s in the car, but when they catch him before the race after qualifying third, he looks terrified.

Charles and Max were upset they couldn’t get to him, ,raving it to the other two to make sure he’s properly encouraged before the race starts.

She standing in front of him holding his face with her hands. It could almost be intimidating if she wasn’t complimenting every fiber of his existence. She does it to all of them on bad days and it never fails to make them smile.

“Os, you are an amazing driver. There isn’t anything that can change that. Now you just have a car to prove that you’ve always been good.”

She kisses his forehead before he’s called to get into his car. Lando makes sure to also give him a pep talk before his engineers have to drag him away.

She bolts back to the Redbull garage. She has her own job to do. Even though she spends majority of her time watching the race in the screen, she dies still analyze data.

It proves difficult, however, when three of her lovers are in the top three places. She had to bite her tongue to hold in her excitement.

Then the unlucky safety car. She knew Oscar would be disappointed, but he's still in fourth.

Max crosses first, followed by Lando. The two are absolutely ecstatic. She can see the mild disappointment when Oscar isn't in the third spot.

Charles is definitely upset with how his race went. He'll need cheering up as well. Finishing ninth and having his strategy messed over again was not something he'd wanted this weekend.

She runs off to find Charles and Oscar first. They're waiting just outside the weigh station and she can see the both with sollum looks.

"I don't care what anyone says. You two were amazing despite the difficulties."

Charles just hugs her. He's tired and words are hard. Her embrace is relaxing and all he needs right now.

When the two are consoled for the moment, she knows she has to let them go. Their media duties are still part of the job even if they hate them.

She gets to leave with Charles first. Oscar and Lando are still finishing up media duties, and Max is doing his best to avoid them but failing.

Charles crashes as soon as he's in the room. Face planting on the bed and screaming into the pillows.

She sits next to him and plays with his hair. "I wish I could just be happy for Max and Lando- even Oscar!"

"It's okay to be upset, Sharl. Feelings have a way of escaping like that." She whispers to him gently. She ponders for a moment. "Maybe a cheat meal is in order."

Charles lifts his gaze from the bed to her and smiles. "I think you're a genius."

~

The other three come back much later than expected. The three of them are far too exhausted to do anything else but sleep.

Max opens the door for the three of them and is met with the lovely smell of food. He didn't realize how hungry he was until now.

The two who'd left earlier are sprawled out with a blanket on the floor. They'd found that tables in hotels never have enough chairs. The floor has become their table in these scenarios.

"Welcome back! We got dinner!"

The stresses of the day, the highs and the lows, fade into the back of everyone's minds. Their company enough for each other.

~

They'd left for America the next morning. She'd begged Sébastien to come with them, and he'd accepted. Though he was meeting them there.

None of them had seen her home before. The boys made sure she knew she could back out at any time. But it's almost as if she needs this. To finally close the lid on the box.

Sure, there may he a group of people after her now, but her father can't touch her. She has the freedom to go searching for her own answers.

Seb landed before them, so he was waiting for them when they landed. She jogged to hreet him and threw herself into his arms.

Seb had barely talked to Oscar in the past, and now they've had some video calls as a group, but nothing major. So, he settles for a hand shake and a warm greeting. "These four treating you well?"

"Always room for improvement." Oscar laughs as the other four feign hurt and shock.

"I think we're going to get along fantastic."

The ride from the airport to the property is ridiculous. A handful of back roads and small towns make for fun stops, but it's still long.

She'd had to message Guenther about the address. She'd never needed to learn it, so she never had. She only knew property lines.

Finally, they're turning down a familiar overgrown dirt driveway. Everyone can see her body tense up.

"Are you okay? Should we stop here?" Asks the Brit. He's trying not to let his worry for her show, but his voice fails him.

"No, I'm fine. It's still about a mile from this point."

The land is overgrown and eery. It's not long til they can see the warehouse in the distance. It was larger than they'd imagined. Lando had pictured something like a shed and Oscar just ran with that idea. Charles thought maybe a prison or one of those abandoned hospitals. Max didn’t care, he just knew whatever it was couldn’t be good.

The building itself looked menacing. The sides are covered with vines and there were random bits of debris scattered around the property. It looks both unsafe and unsanitary.

Seb stops the car a few arid away from the entrance. Everyone getting out of the SUV, except for her. Charles comes around the side and opens her door. “Mon amour, we don’t have to go any further.”

“I want too, just need a minute.” She sighs. Charles can see the glaringly obvious unease in her eyes. He laces her fingers with his and lets her take her time getting out of the vehicle. He refuses to let go even after she’s out.

They walk hand in hand to the metal door that everyone assumes is the entrance. Max has set himself in front of everyone, nothing unusual, but he kept Lando and Oscar behind him instead of letting them walk with him. The gloomy feeling of the building not helping protective nature.

Max attempts to get the door open. His attempt being foiled by things in the way. She watches on as the five males struggle to get it open.

“What the hell is behind this thing?” Asks a heaving Lando.

“Shelves I reckon.” Guesses the Aussie.

then the door busts open and then tumble down to the floor in a heap. “It was locked actually.” Smirks the female. “took me a minutes to get it open.”

Charles groans and shoves himself out from underneath the pile. “We loosened it for you.”

~

The building is just as eery inside as out. The group stick close to eachother as they explore about.

The female leads them to where the braker box is. All of them practically keel over when she gets on the lights.

The sight they are met with is terrifying. Almost as if they walked into some sort of horror movie.

There are bodies tagged and lined up, which explains the rotting smell. Machinery litters the ground. Bigger machines that none of them know the purpose of are in their own sections of the warehouse.

"It's not what you were expecting..." She fidgets with her fingers.

"I don't think it's about what we were expecting. I think that all of us hate that you had to live like this." Oscar explains carefully. Charles had yet to let go of her, and Oscar now sits himself on her other side.

Lando peeks his head around another set of shelves. "It almost looks like he was part of a cult." He scrunchs his nose in disgust.

"I wouldn't be shocked if he was." She points to a set of stairs. "My room and his office are up that way."

The group trek up the stairs and are met with a set of office style rooms. She leads the all the way down the hall to the furthest door on the right. She pushes open the door and inside is her room, exactly how she’d left it. The screen is even still missing from when she took it out. “This is my room.”

Her partners and adopted father file into the room. It’s not a large room and there is not much to look at. A mattress on the floor and some old books is as exciting as it gets.

They are all rendered speechless and she doesn’t know what to do. So she takes them to the next room. The door across the hall is filled with machinery. What they used to help with the F1 cars. The bigger machines are scattered about, but this room help some of the smaller testing components. “I spent a lot of time in here.” She smiles at them to hopefully lighten the mood.

She steps out again and points at the door beside it. “That one is where he used to hold the corpses. Since the Haas team was here often enough he didn’t want them to be seen.” Then she sighs again and starts back down the hall. “The rest is really for storage. My father spent majority of his time in the lower levels.”

“We can stop now if you need. Or take a break and get some air.” Suggests Seb. His fatherly instincts tell him this may be to much for her right now.

She shakes her head no. “I’ve just always hated the basement. It’s where he keeps all the important things.”

Max eyes her skeptically. “Important things?”

“Like food and my mothers corpse. The only way I could get food is to try and bring her back.” She shrugs. She can hear Max suppressing an angry growl.

They make their way to the stairs on the opposite end of the building. The lighting down below considerably darker then the upper floors.

The basement room looks as if it’s been carved out. Like it wasn’t here originally. At the center lies a beautifully adorned casket. She gestures to it. “This is my mom. I’ll spare you the disgust and not open that.”

The other side of the room houses a desk with books and a laptop. She’d forgotten he had that. She’d gotten caught on numerous occasions trying to use it. She eyes the laptop and then slips it into her bag. Something Seb had made her bring just incase she did find anything she wanted to take with her.

The laptop is newer then she remembers. Something like what she used for work.

The vials that he’d been injecting her with to supposedly rewrite her DNA are still sitting on a metal table, along with other medical tools.

She steps over to it. The bed he used to operate wasn’t a a traditional one. It was another casket sent on top of a table. He’d used it to remind her of why he was doing it, what her mother had felt, where she lays now permanently.

She can feel the walls closing in as she opens it. The woods inside still stained red. Memories of the times he’d cut her open just to sew her back up.

The vague sensation of teeth and hands on her skin fills her senses as the ground falls out from under her.

~

Max is the first to hear her breathing quicken. He’s standing almost next to her, observing, taking in every piece of information. Charles had gone with Seb and Oscar to explore a different offshoot. Seb had noticed weird writing on the wall and wanted to investigate.

They were right down the hall so Max wasn’t to worried about them. His attention now completely on the female.

She shrieks. Her body goes rigid. Then she’s falling the the ground.

Max catches her and Lando slides down next to them. Both look between her and each other. A dull pulsing light emitting from her skin but her hands and trailing all the way to her chest.

The other three come back into the room and frantically look around. “What happened.”

“She was looking at something, froze, then fell over.”

Lando can’t even get words off his tongue. Max can see him struggling and knows he needs to get everyone out of the building. “Seb can you help get Lan out of here?” Seb nods and drags the Brit back up the stairs. He would’ve sent Oscar with him since his demeanor seemed to calm the other, but ever since the bunker incident, Oscar was more panicked when away from her.

Charles and Max haul her up the stairs and out of the building while Oscar guides and moves things out of the way. He also took her bag so they didn’t have to deal with it swinging back and forth.

Finally they are able to drape her body across the middle seat of the SUV. The glow now diminishing but the girl’s condition seemingly getting worse. The blood, sweat, and tears they are used to seeing are being intensified.

Seb manages to get Lando to breathe then the five are able to discuss.

“I think her father may have been a cult leader.” Confesses Seb. The Germans eyes are sad and distraught but he’s doing his best to remain calm.

Oscar is sitting with the females head in his lap. He’s almost defensively holding her body, something they all noticed he started doing after they were rescued. “We found a book about her mom. Looks like the same handwriting in all the notes.”

“The scariest part is that she endured the same things.” Charles runs his palms over his bare skin, a nervous tick that Max tried to keep him from doing because he rubbed his skin raw. “She could do similar things to her, it seems. Whatever happened after is hard to piece together. She wasn’t meant to get pregnant, I don’t think, at least not when she did.”

“She served as some sort of alter. They did things that ar unspeakable.”

Max stands behind Charles and holds his hands to hopefully ease the need to turn his skin red. “Do you think the cult is who’s after her now? If they need her to complete whatever rituals they’re doing, it would make sense they’d want her back.”

“I think that she is more to them then any of us could’ve guessed.”

~

The ride back to the airport was long and contemplative. They decided not to go back to Monaco for now and instead head with Seb to Germany. The female still had yet to wake up and Lando is becoming increasingly more aware war of every time she inhales.

He sits in the back seat with Charles, leaning into the monegasque’s shoulder. “Do you think she’ll be ok?” He asks.

“Pretty sure nothing can get her at this point. Plus, she’s already looking better.” Charles reassures him. Yet the sinking feeling in his gut is still there.

They have too carry her into the plane. Lando watches on as Max bundles her in his arms and carries her inside. Lando jumps on the opportunity to sit with her. He eases her body into his, grateful that she’s not burning up anymore.

They sleep most the ride home, aside from Charles who is picking through the found journals. Lando is finally able to rest his mind to the feeling of her steady heartbeat against his hand.

~

Hanna is in full mother mode as soon as her husband, daughter, and her daughters four partners step through the door.

She has them set the unconscious female in the room they keep for them should they visit. She's quick to clean her up and change her clothes into comething comfortable. She doesn't let any of the boys near her, much to their protest.

It's quiet around the house. Nobody knows what to say. Where are they supposed to go from here?

Seb pulls the laptop out of the girls bag and finds a suitable charger. He knows he'll have to pick through it eventually. He just hopes she'll be awake before then.

"What if she doesn't wake up?" Lando is the first to voice his concern. "I know she always does... but this feels different."

"Don't say such things, Lando." Charles has kept himself curled up in an empty corner of the living area. He's dealt with so much loss already that he doesn't think he could take another. He's been spiraling since she's been out of sight, and it's visible in everything he does. "My question is why they wouldn't put her father away to begin with if he's leading a cult?"

"They may not have known. It seems they've been around for some time, and since Haas was paying him for work, I don't doubt there was money involved." Seb leans futher back into his chair. Even he is panicking. Though he's trying to remain calm for the youngers sake.

Max can't take it anymore and gets up from his place on the sofa and plant himself next to Charles. He wraps the Monegasque in his arms protectively. His body doesn't relax all the way, but the tears he'd been holding back now find Max's shirt.

Oscar is pacing. He's been pacing. He hasn't stopped moving since the female left his sight, and he's on the verge of toppling over mentally.

He's been mumbling this to himself. Definitely not things they've heard him say before. They all look as him with worried expressions.

"Jack?" He freezes at the nickname. Then he finds a place next to Lando who'd called for him.

The look in his eyes is one they've grown used to. He's thinking through a problem. Looking for every tiny detail. "They were talking about things in front of me while I was drugged." He declares.

Now it's everyone else's turn to freeze. They hadn't pushed Oscar to talk about things. He'd been doing that with his therapist. They'd almost that forced on him after he couldn't get past the separation anxiety. Thankfully, he had complied and was doing better mentally when he wasn't with one of them.

Now, to hear him openly state such a thing is both promising and terrifying.

They continue to just listen and let him work at his own pace. Lando plays with his fingers to remind him he's here with them and safe.

"There were complications with the birth. They knew her mother was getting older, so they would need a replacement, but she ended up in labor early so they couldn't finish."

"The journal also gives detailed instructions about what the process was that created them." Charles adds into the conversation. Pieces are starting to click together now. "It's dated back from forever ago as well. Something about starting from a line of witches, supposedly."

"But why do they need her specifically?" Max leans in closer to Charles. The unease and addiment need to keep his lovers safe is doing nothing for his own anxiety.

Seb leans forward now. He's pondering what he found as well, trying to link every bit of information. "Because she's the last of the bloodline." Seb only gets stares in return.

"Explain, please." Despite all of them being confused, Lando is the only one brave enought to voice it.

"Well, since I've picked her up when she was fifteen, it's always been men that she's talked about. There were never any females in the picture, I believe. So she might be the last of her bloodline."

"The journals sort of prove that as well. The history of it is muddled and doesn't make sense, but there is a story written about a lone female survivor during a burning. Some of the men who had already fancied her decided to use her in whatever ways they deemed neccecary, but she only ever bore one child." Charles recalls the story but cringes while doing so. He was sparing them the most gruesome details. "I think they took is as a sign and continued the tradition."

"Then why would he make it so she can't have a child?" Again, Lando asks the questions that confuse all of them.

"Anger makes you do unfathomable things." Seb sighs.

~

It doesn’t take long for the computer to charge. Everyone sits at the dining room table as seb opens it up for the first time. All of them are shocked it’s not locked. The man obviously didn’t think it was going anywhere.

Seb looks through some files and they can see him getting paler by the second. “There are videos and pictures on here and a few emails back and forth with a couple people but that’s all.” Then he pales out completely. “Hanna, can you make sure the kids stay upstairs?” Seb turns the computer toward her for a mere second and she looks sick.

“Don’t go too far, please.” She pleads, then hurries off upstairs. It’s an agreement that he’ll stop if he can’t take it. A plea that he won't invade too much of their adoptive daughters' privacy.

“If you guys want to see this that we’ll make so all of us only do this once. Otherwise we can figure it out.”

“What have you seen so far?” Questions Max. His nerves are increasing with every second and his leg is bouncing rapidly underneath the table.

Again, Seb looks like he might vomit. “I’ve already see photos of what they did. It’s not good and she’s completely exposed in most of it.”

All of them collectively swallow.

~

All of them felt sick watching the screen, listening to the screams. They moved past a majority it to the parts where a man (presumably her father) was monologuing.

He wasn’t meant to fall for her. Only meant to do what was necessary and give them a continuing line. When she died prematurely, he went into a completely psychotic state of mind.

Everything they did that involved the mother seemed bad enough. It only escalated for the female that’s currently unconscious.

then he revealed his plan.

Make her strong enough to bring back his beloved. Make sure she can’t have any children so they don’t have a choice if they want to attempt to continue in their faith of these miraculous beings.

And he caught every second of it.

Every ritual.

Every procedure.

Every time they took something from her.

They all felt sick. The rage mixed with violent sickness shaking all the males to their core.

They just want their toy back.

And they wouldn’t rest until they had her back.

~

Next ->

@styles-sunflower @purplephantomwolf @boiohboii @reblog-princess-blog @jjsprobablywrong @jayda12 @faithm120601 @eugene-emt-roe @lpab @yaaadii @80sloverry @spongebeck3101 @eviethetheatrefreak @chanshintien @vellicora @hollie911 @pretty-little-bunny382728

[realcatalina]

Why do you think the portrait of Catherine/Mary has a K (in the necklace) AND a C (on the bodice)? It's my last real sticking point in the identity debate, especially after you pointed out the pomegranate sepals. (According to the Mary theorists, the C stands for Castile, and the K for Karolus, to signify her betrothal to Charles V)

You pretty much summerized it. I don't think I can add that much.

Jewelry with initials refering to either person's name, their title or their spouse was very popular at the time.

In Catherine's case:

K for Katherine

C for Catalina(her name in Spanish, and potentially it being smaller than K, signalling she is looking forward to her life in England, is more accepting of English ways while her spanish roots are not forgotten, but are bit smaller now...)

or pottentially for Castile (her mother's realm)-not that likely.

In Mary's case:

K for Karolus(latin version of Charles)-for Mary's bethrohed

C for Castile (whom Charles was heir to)

Mary was for long while bethrohed(and married to proxy) to Catherine's nephew who was later Holy Roman Emperor(Charles V). He was heir of his mother Joanna I of Castile, and thus Mary as Charles's bethrohed was styled as Princess of Castile.

(Why not princess of Spain? King Ferdinand of Aragon was alive...thus charles was heir of just Castile at the moment, his mother was heir of Aragon...)

Thus initials would fit both women.

I have to additionally point out that according to Dr Kemperdick the C-initial is not C but E.

Those letters used to look alike and you could confuse them:

Dr Kemperdick seems like credible source for me, and probably have been involved in exhbition of Sittow's work he later wrote review about ...could have seen it in person and would have certainly have way more experience of reading out weirdly shaped letters in paintings than I do...so I believe might be an E-initial.

Potentially an alteration or minor damage crucial spot within that letter could make it seem as one or other letter. So I am not really sure which one is it.

But even if it was E-initial it fits both women.

E-for Elizabeth. -For their mothers. Isabella and Elizabeth are same name in just different language.

And since Katherine wrote her name with K and not C, it's possible she'd also use her mother's initial with E, instead of I.

For example Elizabeth I wore B-necklace. We have only few historical examples of people wearing their parents initial, it certainly wasn't very common. So i think it unlikely

Update: i was told this is photoshopped, so no example of Elizabeth wearing B necklace:

(I am already checking credibility photos way more than other people. Give me a break.)

Also E for England or E for España (Spain-thanks Isadomna) would be a very logical choice and it's possible that it was used because it could refer to both.

Hence initials fit both women, but actually they are also used as basis for third theory of who it is-Isabella of Castile.

(idealized and portrayed as much younger than Sittow could have met her)

With K and C both standing for Castile(in some languages it is written with K) . And idk why one would not use same letter in both cases! But E for España could be...

But tbh the theory is kind of ridiculous. Painted younger, ...ok? But wrong features and fashion of diffrent country when Sittow met her and could have drawn her from life?-Ridiculous!

Tbh if you wish to go for theory initials fit other women in Catherine's family-go for Joanna!

K-for Karolus(Charles) her eldest son

C-for Castile

or E for España

+she is married to Netherlands, thus why couldn't she wear Netherlandish outfit?

(Features would be wrong again, but you know initials would work out.)

Thus my conclusion is that you cannot solve the mystery based upon initials. One has to rely on symbolism of other details within the painting and dating of the outfit. And if anybody believes it is same thing Catherine's nieces are wearing in 1510s-they need to have their eyes checked...it's similiar, but certainly not same, diverging quite a bit..(thus more than few years difference.)

I think several of my past posts would be interesting for you if you're intrested in Catherine of Aragon vs Mary Rose debate:

Real looks of Catherine of Aragon-Part 1

Real looks of Catherine of Aragon-Part 2: Why Mr Matthews should have never been believed

(Mr Mathews is guy who came up with Mary Rose nonsense.)

Scallops as symbol

or in debate of which paintings are c.1514 paintings of Mary Rose Tudor as Princess of Castile:

Is this woman Isabella I of Castile or Mary Rose Tudor, Queen of France?-part 1

Isabella I vs Mary Rose Tudor:part 2- Could it actually be Juana?

and relating to this:

Sisters in law 1: Mary Rose Tudor, Queen of France-depictions and hair colour:Part 1

Sisters in law 1: Mary Rose Tudor, Queen of France-depictions:Part 2

This is not Catherine Willougby!

(yes, that is a name of post.)

additional posts regarding debate of Mary Rose vs Queen Isabella:

Her family Part 2-Isabella I of Castile-paintings, iluminations, stonework

Her family Part 3-Juana I’s depictions

...Write to me if you have any aditional questions.

[jekinabox]

@mapalsyrup

You haven't finished Scarlet yet but fuck it imma tell you shit and just try to leave out as many spoilers as I can because DLC bois

-Basically: Riddler Khu (well known pokemon game data-miner and teaser) posted stuff about the DLC having some pretty cool mechanics

-RK says something about the hexagon w/ eyes on tera jewels having to do w/ the third legendary

-RK talks about mega evolution being different from z-moves, dynamaxing & terastallizing in a way that seems to suggest that the difference it that all are caused by pokemon except mega evolutions

-You know how Paldea is Spain? The connecting area between Spain + France appears in maps in-game but cant be accessed in game.

People assume that this is where the dlc will take place.

Kalos is based on France, and also doesn't contain that area, so its not off-limits to use/make

-The thing many people assume to be linked the third legendary, mentioned in the scarlet/violet book and some lab entries, has a hexagonal pattern and/or shape

People have theorized that this could point to Zygarde (Kalos legendary)

No one else has mentioned this (as far as I know) somehow but the image in the scarlet/violet book does kinda have a Zygarde-ish shape

the letter amount it has in the name in the lab is 1 off, but it may have some different nick-name or the letter amount might not just fully correspond, since the scarlet/violet book has that issues. People are thinking it might get a mega-evo w/ a 6 letter name but idk

-someone talked about how Area Zero has the same initials as the guy behind the story of X&Y, and RK responded with a reference to the guy's floette that was in the code but never the game., which may or may not have to do with floette and/or AZ being in the dlc

That guy's evil scheme was apparently a giant crystal cannon

Floettes can be spotted in Area Zero

-Delphox (a Kalos starter's final evo) is once of the pokemon I saw was going to be transferable to S/V from Home in 2023

-Diance & Carbink (crystal pokemon w/ links to Kalos) will also be transferable

-2023 will be the 10th anniversary of X & Y coming out in 2013

-Dex entry of Roaring Moon (Scarlet Paradox Salamence) references mega salamence

-While the first impression I got was that the hexagon legendary was behind the paradoxes, if Zygarde is in the game, it may be under control or trying to stop the paradoxes(bcuz order pokemon) and would be helped during the game

Perhaps Zygarde cells could be found around the world like roaming gimmighoul

-I really wanna see Yveltal, the LIFE DRAINING pokemon that can WIPE OUT AN ENTIRE FOREST, in an open world game. Imagine the dystopia.

-Volcanion's (Kalos legendary that people have been complaining didn't get to do anything) move was removed/replaced for S/V pokemon.

It does look very mechanical.

-Paldea is mentioned "defending against neighboring countries" or smthn similar in the history, and a war was mentioned in Kalos lore

-This could just be for profit & loving Charizard's sake but the OP Tera Raid Charizard might be a secret teaser (since its one of the few pokemon with 2 mega evos)

-idk exactly what this means, but Geeta's final pokemon has been laughed at bcuz its meant to be a set-up pokemon for the beginning of battles, but its the species you need to farm in order to get the Tera Blast TM & is found deep in Area Zero, which is specifically called out by the game (idr who, but Penny and/or Arven ask about wtf it is) + RK also mentioned her as an option when he made a poll about who people thought would be the dlc villian

-Another option was Heath; he has a cyclizar(like how Miraidon + Koraidon are paradox cyclizar) and with the lore+theories so far, it kinda makes sense but not really so idk this either

-also may or may not do anything- but the scarlet book has a drawing of a paradox pokemon that looks like a mix between Suicune, Raiku, & Entei, and the violet one is a mix between Virizon, Coballion & Terakion. The book claims it was drawn by one of the explorers based on paradox pokemon because the ones they saw inspired him, but idk, some of the current knowledge and theories (that I can't say bcuz spoilers) may suggest not

edit: the war mentioned in Kalos was stopped w/ the ultimate weapon crystal cannon that AZ brings back, and Area Zero is also called Ground Zero(area below/above an exploding nuke), so the post about "THEY NUKED MADRID" might've been right

[salt-and-vynegar]

Labyrinth Pavilion Notes

The rooms in the Labyrinth are a harder version than the ones in the Bright Pavilion, in my opinion.

The basic mechanic is: Don’t get spotted, and reach the exit within the time limit.

In theory, it seems simple enough, but in practice, it gets really hard, really quick. It gets especially hard if you try to collect everything in one go. 

But the good news is, there is more than one way to finish each of these rooms. There’s no right answer, but it’s being able to get the collectibles and escape. That’s what counts.

Additional ideas for routes: @vynegar’s write up here, Athyme’s guide here, and Youtube video links from Sara and Yang (1, 2, 3, 4)

Once you complete and gather the collectibles from the Way of Adversity and the Way of Truth rooms, the final challenge for the Ink Study room is unlocked. Once you complete and gather the collectibles from the Way of Mystery and the Way of choices, the final challenge for the Bright Pavilion is unlocked.

There doesn’t seem to be any Easter Eggs for this pavilion either, but the little banter in the opening is still fun to see with each suitor.

I’ll link the routes I took for the different rooms under the cut, since it is spoilers, but there are a couple of things I’ve noticed while doing the rooms.

For certain rooms, you’re not always safe where you start or at the exits. Figuring out where your safe places are to wait out/hide out are a must. This is very important in rooms where the exits are being patrolled as well.

Watch the patrols on both ends carefully. Sometimes a space that was safe on one go around will not become safe later on. Just because you’re not controlling a character doesn’t mean they can’t get caught.

If you bang into any of the people on patrol, you will get caught and the game will end. However, if you walk near them while their light is not on you, you can sneak by them. This also works for distance - you may be able to sneak by a guard if you’re pretty far away from their line of sight/flashlight.

I recommend not being too adventurous, unless you have a way out or a way to come back and try again. Hiding behind screens and looping around people to get around them are some of the best maneuvers, if you can manage them. It can be really nerve-wracking though.

Even when it looks like there’s no way through, make sure to check the patrol routes carefully. You may find out that a guard’s range is narrower than you think. 

Also, things can change as the clock counts down - what was inaccessible can become accessible. As the time winds down, you may find an opening, even when backed into a corner. So keep a close eye on your surroundings. 

Be very careful when choosing what mechanisms you activate and when. Sometimes, you don’t need to activate everything to get all the collectibles and complete the room.

Breathe and stay calm. There is enough time to get everything. Since this sneaking game relies a lot on the touchscreen control, if you’re able to keep your hands steady as you go through the rooms and make your maneuvers, it will help you out in the long run.

To unlock the final challenge for the Labyrinth Pavilion, you need to obtain all of the collectibles from the First Try, Second Try, and Third Try areas from the Vault Section.

SPOILERS: The routes I took to get the collectibles

(If you’re using the app, highlight and copy the link, then paste it in an internet browser. The video should pop up.)

Way of Adversity

Way of Truth

Way of Mystery

Way of Choices

To see the answer to The Insatiable Journey (The Labyrinth Pavilion Challenge), I’ve made a post on it here.

[fvckangcl]

(—) ★ spotted!! ANGEL GRIFFIN on the cover of this week’s most recent tabloid! many say that the 31 year old looks like CASEY DEIDRICK but i don’t really see it. while  the NHL LA KINGS CAPTAIN is known for being GENEROUS my inside sources say that they have a tendency to be FICKLE i swear, every time i think of them, i hear the song EGO BY BEYONCE  { he/him - cismale} - penned sophie, 26, cisfemale, she/her

if you ask people who knew angel before the NHL what he was like, you’d get a very different answer to the version from the people that knew him after. 

despite the fact he grew up larger than life, very obviously one of the bigger kids in the group. angel was always gentle, growing up in small town Minnesota he had a very simple outlook on life and what he was going to get out of it. he was going to marry hannah, the girl he had been in love with since the third grade, and he was going to take over the ranch that his parents owned as the oldest son. 

he’d got it all figured out, from a very young age and people laughed that he was beyond his years with his life plans. they didn’t waiver though, not even when he started hockey practice, it was for fun at first, he and some of the boys joined as a joke, only at his sized, with his speed? it turned out that angel had something the rest of the kids didn’t have and sooner rather than later he was spending less time breathing in the fresh country air and his lungs were used to nothing but the crisp ice. 

when he got into the university of minnesota on a full ride for hockey no one was more shocked than himself but hannah was smart enough to join him and the two of them went out into the world from their small town together. for four years he didn’t see a change in his plan, just an extension of time and soon enough he and hannah would be home again. 

then the draft happened, he’d finished college, been told by just about everyone that he would be stupid not to enter and show how it had managed to slip him and his easy life style that he really was that good. when he was drafted into the LA kings as the 9th pick of the draft no one was more shocked them himself, no one was less impressed than hannah. as it turned out, she hadn’t loved the idea of him playing hockey ever but had thought it was always something he would do for a while not forever, she wanted to build a home, find herself back in their small town and she couldn’t with him drafted. 

angel came home to a note lent against the old vase of flowers he’d gotten her before he had travelled for the draft and just life that life as he knew it changed. and so did he. he let the guys on the team take him out, he filled out the muscle he had been carrying through college into a full man. 

when the puck bunnies and brand deals came he gave himself away to every single one of them and slowly but surely over the years angel has become less and less the gentleman that he was known for. 

these days he’s the NHL bad boy, he get’s rookies under his wing and more action than they’ve been in their little lives and he’s always the first to throw gloves and check someone into the boards if they mess with his team. 

since he was 22 angel has lived his life truly believing hockey is the only thing he needs besides good sex and good beer and he intends to live out his life with that theory.