#THE MURDEROUS VERSIONS ARE BACK

[lunarsands]

ALSMP Fanfic: Hellbent Ch 1

Characters: Scott Major, MythicalSausage

Tags: Canon divergent, We’re way off the canon origin list now, featuring derivatives such as werewolf!Scott, guardian!Sausage, enderian!Scott, vampire!Sausage, wither!Scott, merling!Sausage, floran!Scott and including the return of blazeborn!Myth and gravital!Smajor

WARNINGS: Blood, Violence, Injury, Body Horror, Character Death, So Much Death that I’ll be here for days listing warnings for them all. We got water, we got fire, we got neuro-toxins, we got stabbing. Nothing is portrayed in graphic detail, but consider yourself warned! No Fluff Only Murder.

Summary: The cycle that started with a hungry vampire and an imprisoned angel comes full circle.

Scott and Sausage – now going by Smajor and Myth – have broken the cosmic respawn system with their continuous murder of each other, and more than ten lives later they are still at it. Even an encounter with peaceful versions of themselves in a limbo dimension doesn't deter them for long, but Myth at long last gains the upper hand. He has a choice: end the feud, or… Well, that’s it, that’s his only choice. But he’ll do it one way or another…

Sequel to Bloodfall, Witherrise, Fatemirrored, and Heavensent, with references to (and later picking up after) the crossover Mirror Mirror Break Our Fall.

Part Five of the Soul Liminality Series.

(Also available on Ao3! )

[A/N: Scratch what I said about Mirror Mirror not being canon to either fic universe, it’s now canon to this one. I’ve had this sitting in my pocket for a while and it finally came together, once again with brainstorming help from @cynthrey! You know you might have too many origins/types of death of those origins to keep track of in one fic when your friend goes and makes a spreadsheet.]

---

Chapter One

Fox blood wasn’t as good as angel blood, but as Smajor clamped his wolfish jaws down on Myth’s red-furred throat, he was just as happy to swallow down another of his nemesis’ lives. Both happening to be creatures of the forest – relatively speaking, for a werewolf -- had done little to deter Scott from sniffing him out once again and hunting him down. Myth usually tried to hide and strike when the opportunity presented itself; Smajor just actively killed on sight most of the time. He admitted to admiring Myth’s newfound skill – regardless of what he became – to remain quiet, but it rarely saved him for long.

Scott had come to resent first the loss of his lovely, delicious prisoner, and then at the betrayal when vampire became angel and Myth’s own reaction had been unyielding vengeance. It seemed like they had managed to be allies for all of five minutes, and the rest of the time it was just sheer hatred for each other. Even when they came back as something that had similar traits – although the cosmic roll of the dice proclaimed them never to be the same thing at the same time – there was instant animosity. The battle of back-and-forth murder had been going on for so long that they had started losing track of some of what they had been – except for the ones that had precipitated everything. It was even hard to remember how many times they had died, so they settled on keeping count of how many times they had killed the other.

Sausage – after reluctantly accepting the moniker of ‘Myth’ because Smajor wouldn’t call him anything else now, swearing to obliterate him until he was nothing but some legend in a forgotten story – had been scratching tally marks into the metal arm guard he somehow always regenerated with whether he was humanoid or animal. Scott, meanwhile, dubbed himself ‘Smajor’ after one time when Myth had tried to call him a ‘major pain in the ass’ with his dying breath and slurred the first word instead.

Smajor had a scrap of leather that he kept on him, and currently added a new tally mark with a claw before licking the blood from his chops. Well, that was a nice even twenty in number of kills. He left Myth’s body alone for the moment, trotting away behind some trees, amused by the thought of letting him regenerate and try to escape again, then maybe he would howl and chase him through the forest for a while until biting into him again. He did very much enjoy whenever he turned into something with a good set of sharp teeth.

A few moments later he heard Myth begin to cough, then gasp. He smiled. Sounded like maybe he had become a merling and was having a little trouble breathing. There was a lake nearby… Maybe he would make it. Smajor decided to wait, and then he followed the sounds. As much as he liked killing Myth with his own hands, an unfortunate roll of the dice that led to side effects was just as fun to see, and hear, play out.

Myth turned out to be faster than he expected, however, and he heard the splash before he himself was near to the lake. He also underestimated how fast his nemesis could now swim, because as Smajor stepped out from the trees onto the lake shore, a figure was darting from the opposite shore into that tree line. Ah. Myth knew these woods, too. He would know where the next body of water was. He wouldn’t allow himself to be limited to one little puddle to be picked off when he surfaced.

Smajor smiled again and began loping around the edge of the lake. He could pick up the fishy trail and simply sniff him out no matter how many bodies of water he tried to cross. This would be a nice game. There was nowhere for Myth to go – neither of them had any place they really called home anymore, just a few hidden caches set up here and there when time permitted. Yet even that was difficult to do when one of them was destroying the landscape with their powers in pursuit of the other.

Nowhere and no one was safe at this point. The others had long since learned that if they saw either of them coming it was time to also run and hide. The few exceptions were when someone else more powerful got involved and tried to stop them, but that tended to result in double death, and another new start of the chase with different powers.

Meanwhile, Myth’d had it in his head for a while that if he could just get the right combination of abilities, he might be able to keep Smajor on a metaphorical chain long enough to take the fight out of him – or put him where he would be forced to do nothing but think about how pointless this unending feud was.

Turning into a Temple Guardian-type mer this round gave him an idea: he knew he could gain additional abilities by slaying an Elder Guardian, so he was now making a beeline for the nearest ocean via every source of water he could think of that could sustain him on the way. It would be a wondrous miracle if he could get his hands on a bucket of water and some Aqua Affinity gear along the way, but he knew he wouldn’t have much chance of finding a place to make them himself and spend precious minutes trying to roll for them in an enchanting table.

Smajor would catch up to him, as was inevitable, so he might as well go straight for an ocean monument to be prepared ahead of time with as much of an arsenal as he could get from one. It was harrowing a few times when he almost came up short between the abrupt end of a river and the next small lake, but he kept pushing himself. Eventually he would find a river that led out into the ocean, and he could get a reprieve out in deeper waters.

It did cross his mind to try to live out his life in the possible safety of a remote biome with abilities that Smajor couldn’t interfere with, but in all honesty, Myth wouldn’t put it past his nemesis to pick a way to end himself just to get new powers that would allow him to continue the chase. With the other, actual Temple Guardians and the Elder Guardians, Myth might possibly have some additional protection… However, he would prefer to not have the constant threat hanging over his head altogether.

One of these times things would have to work out in his favor for longer than a few hours.

And so, after wresting a trident from a Drowned, he made his way into a monument, unbothered by the effects of his current brethren, and slew the Elder Guardian. Once he absorbed its powers, he started making plans for how to deal with Smajor. There was the obvious: hit him with fatigue, then drag him down to the monument and secure him there, where a horrible process could be repeated until Smajor gained an aquatic-based body. Then Myth would have to think of something else, because there was every chance Smajor could have some ability that allowed him to escape, and of course he would kill Myth on the way out – or turn the tables on him, and trap him in the exact same spot.

Well, Myth needed to start somewhere, anyway, and this was at least one opportunity. As he was collecting some extra blocks from the monument itself to build a holding cell, he saw the sponges and realized a better option might be to actually keep Smajor alive down here, without risk of him becoming something that could survive in water. Myth then worked to create an extra area clear of water as a backup plan.

Soon, however, it dawned on him that he could even rest here. Smajor was currently limited to land, and if he did find a way through the water, he would first have to figure out where Myth had gone, and then have to get past the other Guardians. He allowed himself a smile and made a sweep of the monument, checking the locations of the cyclopean fish. He sonar-pinged a warning to them of a possible invader, telling them to stay on alert, then he returned to the center and burrowed into the sand to sleep. If Smajor made it through all that, Myth could still attempt to stay hidden.

~*~

Later on, he was awoken by agitated pinging from the Temple Guardians that hit his own sonar-like senses. They hadn’t noticed an intruder, but some type of ruckus on the surface was setting them off. Myth warily swam toward the outer rows of columns to make sure nothing was directly above him. He could tell that it was now nighttime from the extra darkness, although he could see through the water just fine. The sound itself wasn’t in the water, but was enough to be heard through it.

Howling.

Ah, there was a very frustrated werewolf nearby.

Myth gave a tired smile and began a careful ascent. He would have to creep through the shallows if Smajor was on shore, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he had gotten ahold of a boat just to keep pursuing his prey. Myth rather hoped for the latter so he could come up directly underneath and overturn it.

The words were muffled but the rage came through just fine. “Myth!! Show yourself, you coward!! Come and face me!!”

The noise bounced off his sonar as well, and that made it easier to find which direction it was coming from. And Smajor actually had been foolish enough – or overconfident enough – to row a boat out here. Myth sped upward and shoved both hands against one side of the bottom of the boat, nearly flipping it in one go. But it was enough to knock Smajor into the water. The wolfish menace attempted to grab for the boat; Myth was quicker and wrapped his scaly arms around him, immediately pulling him down. “If you decide not to struggle, I have a nice place for you to stay! You’ll like it, I promise. You can even yell at me all day there!”

Unable to speak lest he end up with a lungful of water all the faster, Smajor instead began thrashing his whole body. Myth used the pointy spines on both arms to dig into him to try to discourage this, but Smajor didn’t seem to care about the extra pain and kicked his legs next.  Myth’s hold was secure and they only sank deeper. Finally, Smajor snarled, releasing a rush of air bubbles as he tried to twist around and snap at his captor’s face. Myth responded with a tight squeeze of his arms, forcing out more of that precious air.

Smajor stopped struggling soon after that. Well, that works, too, Myth thought as he carried his nemesis down toward the monument. At least that makes this part easier. Yet before he got much closer, Smajor’s body vanished. Myth blinked. That had never happened so quickly after a death.  Usually there was more time before one of them regenerated as something new and then revived.

Then Myth spotted a flicker of purple particles, and he chuckled darkly to himself. Oh, huh. He’s Enderian now. That was like an automatic teleport. So he’ll die even faster if he’s pulled into water...

He turned to swim toward the nearest land mass this time. An enderman who accidentally ended up in a body of water always teleported to the first bit of sand and soil within range.

Even though he attempted to be cautious again and was ready to grab Smajor right away, as soon as his head cleared the water he could hear the sound of an aggroed enderman. A lanky, obsidian-skinned version of Smajor rushed at him, jaw unhinged as he screeched horribly and slashed at Myth’s face despite the water running off of him.

Myth sank back into the ocean’s surface but Smajor pursued, spitting and flinching as the water injured him, but was not deterred. One of his strikes finally landed and Myth yelled in pain. The Enderian grabbed him and started to haul him out of the water. Myth clutched at the gashes across his face, beginning to lose sight in his right eye. He then extended the sharp fin on his left arm and sliced Smajor across the chest, deep enough to expose the enderpearl at his heart.

Myth took hold of the pearl and yanked it out, throwing it in the next motion to teleport away and gain time to recover. However, being half-blinded as he was, he judged the direction incorrectly. He teleported out of the dying Smajor’s hold straight inland.

At least the pearl landed under a tree instead of on it. Not that it mattered all that much; Myth was in too much shock to try to make it back to water. He knew he would die there, laying gasping on the ground while he clutched his face with both hands. But at least he had gotten Smajor an extra time, as well. He used his last few breaths to pull a shaky left hand away from his eye and scratch two new tally marks into his arm guard with a sharp spine.

.

Myth revived sometime later relieved to find sight had returned to his right eye, but a touch revealed new, horizontal scars. He had suspected for a while that his body wasn’t regenerating one hundred percent, and this proved it, but at least he hadn’t lost the eye.

This time.

He decided the next thing he would do was to find a pond or something to check for certain how he looked. He wasn’t sure yet what he even was now, but it wasn’t aquatic fortunately, and he felt rather strong. It was also still nighttime, so he had the cover of darkness to sneak around in, although he did hope Smajor was nowhere nearby.

He found his steps moved faster than average, and it was reassuring to be able to dart past Creepers and skeletal archers. There might be a reason they didn’t seem to mind him, because nary an arrow was shot his way, but he chose not to worry about it.

Then it turned out he had much bigger concerns, when he finally reached a small stream and leaned over to have a look.

He had no reflection.

“Oh, gods. No. No… Anything but this…” His stomach churned at the revelation and he turned away to be sick behind the cover of a tall fern. He could feel his fangs as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He returned to the stream and made an attempt to clean up even without being able to see himself, pretending he was just washing off his own blood from the new scars.

Blood blood blood. The thought pounded through his head. He should go find some fresh blood, from someone with a lovely, beating heart…

No. Absolutely not.

He couldn’t cross the stream from ground level but he didn’t have the strength of will to try leaping yet. He would follow alongside it for now, and just eat raw beef or fish when he found some. He would have to contend with sunrise soon enough… and yet, he was also tempted to let the sun do its own work so he could become something else. Gods forbid he come across Smajor as this, too… but at least the other would be extremely unlikely to be an angel again. He didn’t need that kind of parallelism in his life ever again, nor did he have any interest in tasting his nemesis’ blood.

Myth felt lucky when he stumbled upon a small cave just as the sky began to lighten. Maybe it was a sign to tough this one out for a little longer. There was no evidence of it being an animal den, so he slipped inside and was able to move some large rocks over to the entrance to block it off so no one could stumble across him. He slept through the day, and instinctively woke at nightfall.

Unfortunately, hunger also awoke around the same time. His new senses were telling him that all sorts of warm, pulsing veins were out there beyond the cave. He began to clear away the rocks. He couldn’t fight it… He would have to do something. No people. He would not bite any people. Livestock were fair game; he could keep telling himself that, and everything would be fine.

The thought worked up until he saw lights from a village, and he soon heard the sound of a zombie beating on a door. He swallowed after his mouth reflexively salivated and he turned to dart off in a different direction to avoid the temptation, but a different flash of bluish-white light and an explosion drew his attention, and instead he crept closer. Someone else with supernatural powers was around, although he wasn’t sensing a living heartbeat to go along with it.

The light flashed again, and he recognized it. Wither. Was someone trying to make themself useful and was taking out the zombies to save the village? That seemed vaguely noble, and better than he had done as one.

His assessment changed as soon as he caught a glimpse of the sunken eyes and bitter expression of the perpetrator, then he let out a loud laugh and stepped forward, baring the fangs he had desperately been trying to ignore. “So, it looks like irony is still on the cosmic table. We’re both back on the dark side at the same time. Do you want to put the warring behind us and team up again, Scott?” He purposely used the other’s former name.

Smajor gave a raspy laugh of his own, refraining from attacking right away. “Oh, that will go well, sure. Tell me, how many people have you bitten so far? I haven’t seen a trail of bodies anywhere, unless I managed to miss it completely. Not thirsty right now, are you? I was just doing this because I was bored, but if you want to have a snack before I raze this place, help yourself. Go ahead.” He smirked. “You ate plenty of souls before, now you can appreciate the taste of blood. Go on.” He gestured to one of the doors that were shut tight against the roaming undead. “You don’t have to worry about being invited in, I’ll blast it open for you.”

Myth refused to be baited into looking away from Smajor, although he could hear the heartbeat behind the door, speeding up with fear from realizing there were now additional dangers outside. He swallowed again but played it off with a shrug. “Nah. I’m good right now.”

“Fine. I’ll get back to what I was doing.” Smajor conjured a skull in one hand and threw it toward a blacksmith, exploding the wall and causing lava to start flowing onto the path. He raised his hand again to conjure another, then conjured a second one in the other hand.

He grinned to himself, then spun and flung both of them toward Myth before turning it into a repeating volley of thrown skulls.

The reluctant vampire was ready for him. Myth’s red eyes flashed as he marked Smajor, waiting, waiting… He switched places right before the first two skulls hit, leaving Smajor to be pummeled by his own explosions. For extra measure, Myth ran to the spilled lava, standing one step away before triggering the mark again after the volley ended, leaving a battered Smajor standing – just barely standing, that is – in the spot. He followed up by rushing over and shoving the wither backward into the lava pool.

Myth hoped it would be enough, but he wasn’t going to stick around to risk getting set on fire just to make sure the other stayed in the lava. He bounded away to the hill that overlooked the area and instead waited there to keep an eye on things. He would see if Smajor emerged as something different, then act afterward.

It wasn’t long before a figure that was decidedly on the green side stumbled out of the wreckage that he himself had caused. With his keen eyesight, Myth could see Smajor had flowers all over his hair, which seemed to be causing the newly created floran some distress. He chuckled and decided to go back down to confront him again, although he more so wanted to laugh at Smajor’s burgeoning temper tantrum to his face.

The floran was currently trying to rip all of the flowers out of his hair, but he stopped when he saw Myth approaching. “Of course this would be the one time you don’t run away. Go ahead, laugh your big, bad vampiric head off, then suck out whatever passes for blood that I have. Not like I can do anything to you with some pathetic little flowers. Just get it over with!” There wasn’t any less vitriol in his tone, despite the harmless-looking flowery exterior.

“Still not hungry,” Myth proclaimed blithely. “Maybe this is a sign for you to stop and smell the roses for a bit, maybe take some time to reflect and realize this cycle we’re stuck in doesn’t have to continue. You could settle down, raise a garden, maybe actually start caring about the land around you instead of treating it like an obstacle in the way of getting to me.”

“Oh, and you’ll just waltz off and claim a dark castle somewhere, feeding off the rest of the mere mortals around you? Remember, that eventually made someone come for me – if you want me to bring up more of the past. Maybe if you hadn’t come after my wings, none of this would have happened!”

“Oh, no, don’t you try to turn this around on me. You’re the one who won’t let it go. I will definitely find something better to do with my time than run around watching my back every second because you’re set on some unending vendetta.”

Smajor spread his green-dappled hands to indicate himself. “Look at me. This is useless. Do you want me to say ‘Congratulations, Sausage, you win!’ Because I won’t.”

“I know you won’t. And I don’t want you to. I just want you to bug off and not hurt anyone ever again.”

Smajor now held out one arm, where a smattering of pink tea roses had started to bloom. “Really? You think I can harm anyone with this happening to me?” He began brushing off the small flowers, only for more to blossom on the other arm. “Nether blast it, I can’t even control these things!”

Myth chuckled. “So, you literally have to stop and smell them. Look at that, a new hobby for you.”

“Yeah, and the other things that come with roses…” Smajor stopped fussing over his own arms and abruptly lunged at him. Myth felt a sharp pain in his chest and looked down, seeing the palm of the floran’s hand held outward and a giant thorn sticking out of it, piercing into the vampire’s heart.

Smajor smirked. “I can’t believe you fell for that and let your guard down so stupidly. As if I would ever be weak around you. Goodbye again, Myth. The most pathetic excuse for a vampire ever. You could have gloated after biting me, but I knew you wouldn’t. Wouldn’t want to experience all that trauma again by your own fangs, would you, dear angel? Off to dust you go. I’ll catch up to you later.”

Myth hated that the last thing he saw was that smug face as his body crumbled away beneath him. Now he wished he’d had the courage to bite him, just so Smajor would know how it felt to have the life and spirit drained out of him.

 [ Chapter Two ]

[egophiliac]

Thank you for having bee obsessed with fellow and gidel at some point the art is wonderful the jokes are fun and it fuels my newfound love for the newly turned teacher wannabe and his brother

"at some point" heavens no, these idiots have been living rent-free (they would have it no other way) in my brain all year, and will continue at least until skeleton man shows up to steal christmas our hearts. and probably well past that. 👍 years from now I will continue to wake up to incredibly stupid doodles of them that I have no clear memory of drawing and have to debate whether or not they're fit for other people's consumption.

(also thank you! 🧡💜🧡)

[vaguely-concerned]

are. are you telling me that if the romanced mage warden dies and alistair is king, he deadass stares greagoir down over her dead body and grants the circle of ferelden its autonomy after ordering it rebuilt somewhere safer. first you have to deliberately leave him behind so he won't die for you and then he does that for you once you're gone, even when you're broken up??? absolute and literal king behaviour of the highest order????? the actions speak louder than words of it all??????? I think I hauve covid

[lygma-nygma]

Being a batfam fan is funny because people will make a post like “here’s my headcanon-“ and it’s just something that’s directly canon to the story then post about major canon events and get everything wrong.

[j-liz]

HEADCANON: Becky 100% gets her first Tonitrus Bolt when she snaps and publicly cusses out a teacher for being a jerk.

You think so, huh?

[annasofthe11thdimension]

Alright, so this is basically...an art dump for all the pics i drew when i was trying to draft the ending i wanted my Odile looping Au 'Like a Wheel Ever Turning' which...is not even SLIGHTLY how this fic is going to end now, but while figuring that out i still like draw all this and had to do SOMETHING with it.

So figured I'd post it and be like 'hey! fun Odile looping act 5 boss fight vibes not connected to anything else!' since like...that basic IS what they are at this point lol.

The one cool idea i loved that i think is now FIRMLY ditched is the act 5 boss fight starts when Odile uses wish craft to splinter herself into two halves.

The 'old/current' her that is meant to be her coldly logical side, and a younger 'copy' version, which is meant to be the childish irrational side...that is what's stopping her just shutting down the time loop because she can't figure out how to be happy with her friends leaving.

I mean, if you murder the part of you that WANTS the wish to come true, that's basically a 'get out of time loop free card' right? Right! Totally sound logic!

Yes the 'young' version of her firmly believes that she's real, and also also got memories going up to about age 21, and also that she ought to be in Ka Bue not HERE among these french weirdos.

Also yes again, a 'young' Odile is EXACTLY as unhinged about this as you'd expect a 21 year old to be upon finding out that apparently the 'real' her think murdering her is the correct solution to this problem!

The shift of the fight was meant to have the inverse 'colors' shift from one version to the other by the end, wrapping up with the point where the 'original' Odile is forced to have a heart to heart with the personification of her perceived 'worst' qualities.

Pretty sure the vibes for this ending was a lot more focused on the resolution of having deeply complex feeling about EXPRESSING emotion directly to other people. That along with a side helping of how isolating it is to be perceived as a 'real' adult such that you can't be weak enough to ask anyone for help. Because really if you can't even be that then why are you any different then when you were irritating mess of a youth?

Not saying any of that isn't still present in the story, but like...there is a LOT of other stuff going on, and those themes are now linked into many other ones too, and that's not even TOUCHING on how Loop's been...somewhat complicating my redrafting lol.

...Also I might have drawn/plotted this version before i knew about two-hats lol. THAT also is a factor.

Anyway! Still liked all of these enough to want to do SOMETHING with them, and figured this worked, so i could like map out my thoughts on them, even if i never got to write this.

[deadsetobsessions]

Pt. 4

Sorry this took so long. In the hospital still. Out of the hospital now!

For @unadulteratedsoulsweets

——

It had been early in the morning when she’d stepped foot in the manor. It was closer to noon, now, that found the reincarnation attentively sitting in one of the (if she remembered correctly from the blue prints) three massive kitchens located in Wayne manor.

She sat atop one of the island stools Damian had ushered her into, spaced a comfortable distance from the man that was her biological father in this life. Her mask dangled at her hip, a comfort she indulged in after unpacking her things. In truth, she’s had cookies before, but it had been so long since she’s tasted it that she might as well have never tried it before. Damian and Alfred Pennyworth worked with maximum efficiency, measuring out flour and sugar and chocolate like there were no tasks more important than this.

Alfred Pennyworth also avoided a specific cabinet that smelled slightly of metal polish and gun powder. It was kept away from the perishables.

Perhaps the manor was smaller and much more homely than the palace, but the reincarnate could see the sense in and approved of the various well-hidden caches of weapons around. Meant for non-lethal take downs, of course, but anything can be lethal if you tried hard enough. Or, considering the vigilante filled manor she had agreed to vacation in, anything could be lethal if one did not try hard enough to keep it non lethal.

The scrape of a spoon drew her attention back to Damian, waving away the off topic musings her mind had wandered into now that a large portion of her brain power was freed from the duty of fear.

She tracked how Damian existed within this space he had so clearly made for himself. He was… happier. Kinder. More. More at ease, more settled into his skin instead of where he stretched it to fit the cast of the Demon’s Heir. Simply, more. He was more Damian than he had been in the league.

When Damian was locked within the walls of the palace, his shoulders were always held straight. There’d been a- not quite darkness- cruelty in his eyes and gait that their grandfather had eagerly nurtured. His chin had remained lifted, his actions closed and callous. She’d feared, for while, that Damian would follow their grandfather’s footsteps. Until the day she saw him sneak a bird into his room to heal, her heart had trembled and grieved to see someone she loved imitate the worst parts of her abuser. It didn’t change the fact that she loved him, but it changed how she taught him.

But experience is a better teacher than she will ever be, and Damian had little chance to experience true kindness in the pits of the league.

Here, Damian is light. Perhaps less aware than he normally would have been, on the look out for fatal attacks as she had trained him to be within the league, but here he is free and safe and relaxed. It feels like she’s sitting in a haze, the chirps of birds and the clouded noon sun casting everything into an unreal light.

“Ukhti, assistance is requested.” Her brother holds out a bowl of dough. Her heart hurt with how happy it was. She squished the dough between her fingers like a child rediscovering her childhood. In some ways, she was.

——

As she watched Damian, in turn the others observed her. Bruce sat beside her, cataloguing every minuscule expression of his child, the first and the eldest, in an attempt to make up for lost time. And truly, it was minuscule. For all Bruce trained in micro-expressions and movements, his eldest- god, he had another daughter, the eldest- daughter remained a mystery from which he gleaned little of. Her face never lifted from that trained neutrality, having resettled back into it after first bite of b’stilla. He cradled the mug of coffee in his hands, the tang of grief and guilt roiling in his stomach as his daughter hesitantly but skillfully rolled a ball of dough.

“Pennyworth has divulged his secrets to me.” Damian plucked the ball from his sister’s hand, who allowed it with traces of… bemusement, perhaps? His eldest daughter flicked her eyes up in question, perhaps mildly amused. Even if she had more than two decades worth of training, Bruce was frustrated that he could not read her. She was his daughter.

Already he fails her. For too long, he had failed her.

“He chills the dough for a chewier cookie. I, and some of the others with adequate taste, prefer this texture. But which would you find adequate?”

His daughter flickered through that sign language again, the one he had no knowledge of. Considering he knew multiple from each continent, that was saying a lot. He was catching a few repeated signs, but nothing concrete.

Alfred waited patiently as they had their conversation, paying sharp attention to their motions. Bruce… felt like he was sitting next to Cassandra. He supposed they were the same, except his eldest daughter hadn’t gotten free.

“That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it.” Damian grumbled, resting his hands on the counter, making sure to keep it away from his meticulously clean clothes. “We’ll cook them immediately.”

Bruce, in a fit of inspired parenting, offered a compromise.

“We could do two batches. One for right now and save a batch for later.”

Unspoken were the words ‘so she can try the cookies now.’ Despite the silent nature of his intent, Bruce thought that Alfred and Damian understood anyways.

“A fine suggestion, Master Bruce.”

“Thanks, Alfred.”

——

She sensed them before she saw them. Her father had slipped out after his suggestion, no doubt intercepting his flock of traumatized orphans before they could pile in.

Perhaps she had inherited something from Bruce Wayne after, considering how many of them she’d taken under her wing. She rolled the ball of dough between oiled fingers in a haze. Faint memories, impressions of a life long faded, guided her hands as she smooshed the cookies to her preference.

“Penny for your thoughts, Miss Al-Ghul?”Alfred Pennyworth asked her.

‘A Pennyworth for my thoughts?’ She swapped sign language, eyes slyly watching for Damian’s reaction.

Damian, right on cue, clicked his tongue, looking defeated. Alfred, on the other hand, smiled wider.

“A Pennyworth for your thoughts indeed.”

Her humor faded into something softer. Longing. Melancholy.

‘It’s been a long time since I’ve made dessert for myself.’

She glanced at Damian, who was trying his best to pretend like he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation lest he caught another stray pun. ‘Or used it to inoculate poisons.’

“I see.” The butler patted his hands dry onto a towel, a sharp eye on Damian’s efforts at covering the dough meant for freezing. “I assure you that these cookies will remain poison free, have no worries about that. Now, would you like some tea?”

She shook her head. ‘I’ll make it myself later. Thank you.’

“Very well, Miss-”

“Hi, Alfred. Making cookies?”

Her hands continued to work on her tray, placing cookie dough on the tray with military precision. Damian remained relaxed, though watchful of her reaction.

“That’s correct, Master Tim.”

Tim shuffled over to her, and she turned. Ah, her partial benefactor.

“Little photographer.” She smiled, slightly. Her eyes, however, were warm. Alfred stilled for a brief second at her voice.

“Hi. It’s been a while.” Tim plopped down on the seat next to her. His whole body screamed of nostalgia. It’s odd to see the little scrawny Bristol boy grow into a full fledged vigilante. It seemed like yesterday she was keeping him from slipping on Gotham’s manifestations of its rot and plummeting down on its stone heart.

She hummed. ‘Not too long.’

“What is that supposed to mean? When had you met Drake, recently?”

She glanced at the little- not so little- photographer.

“She helped me bring B back.” Tim lied. She didn’t like how easily he lied to Damian… but on account of her fondness for him, she let it slide.

“Did you, Miss Al-Ghul?” Alfred wiped his hands on the hand towel he carried. “Then I suppose we owe you our sincere thanks.”

She blinked slowly.

‘I didn’t do much. I kept him alive just the once.’

“That is a harder task than one might think, Miss Al-Ghul. Master Tim has, arguably, the worst self preservation instincts out of the life risking vigilantes I have known.” And he has known many, Alfred seemed to imply.

She tilted her head in acknowledgement.

“Hey! What is this? Gang up on Tim day?”

“I would participate in that even if it wasn’t,” Damian stated, packing the frozen cookies away in the corner. “Come and help, Drake. My ukht is about to have her first cookies and we will bake it to perfection. Bring the tray.”

Tim scoffed but slid the tray away from her, Alfred seamlessly dropping a napkin for her to wipe off the dough from her fingertips.

“Thanks, by the way. For saving Z and Owens.”

‘They were my assassins. Even if you did manage to sway them to your cause.’ She tapped the marble island, before opening her mouth. “Thank you. For destroying his pit options. It helped me kill Ra’s.”

In her peripherals, Damian settled back, disgruntled but willing to rest his curiosity as gratitude towards Tim’s part in her freedom overrode his need for answers.

Tim stilled. “…What are friends for, right?”

‘Of course, little photographer.’ She relaxed as her, arguably first, friend and now brother popped the tray into the oven.

“Anyways, they sent me in here to see if you’re ready to meet the rest of them.”

“And they said that?” Damian scoffed, coming around the island to stand beside her as she slipped off the stool.

“Nah, they actually wanted me to subtly vibe check her, but it’s not like she wouldn’t catch me doing it.”

“Ukhti’s ‘vibes’ are perfectly fine,” Damian said crabbily, crossing his arms defensively. She tapped the back of Damian’s neck and he relaxed.

‘Thank you for the… assessment of my character and general disposition.’ She signed dryly.

“Ugh, I should’ve made the connection. Your syntax is exactly like Damian’s.” Tim joked, dodging the punch Damian aimed at his nonexistent spleen.

The reincarnation huffed. ‘I spoke perhaps three words to you.’

“And how many people use disposition on a regular basis?”

“I do, Drake!”

“I know, Damian. That was the point, you little walking thesaurus.”

——

They left Alfred in the kitchen, the man all but shooing them away so he could get working on lunch, and made their way to a sitting room. The floor was covered in a plush blue carpet, a fact that made itself vividly present to the reincarnation when she placed her foot on it, the fabric brushing the back of her heels. She was too trained to allow the slip to visible, but for a microsecond, the memories of kneeling and choking clawed their way past her defenses. She made note of the trigger and moved on, compartmentalizing that fact for later.

“It’s you,” Nightwing breathed out, tensing. The others behind him freeze, even more alert than their regular state. Bruce whipped his head towards him, sharp and searching.

“Nightwing.” She greeted. She felt a kinship with this vigilante turned brother. She watched him soar and fall alongside the little photographer. She watched him grow new wings and watched them get tainted with blood and fear and grim hope. She lived vicariously through him, he who flew when she was chained. In some ways, she had ended up watching his back for a long time, both in yearning for the ease he was allowed at her father’s side and to protect the vulnerable back that knew not of its openness. Bruce inhaled deeply at her voice.

Dick stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. She does not disembowel him for it. Instead, she allowed the giant octopus hug her new oldest little brother gave her. There was no aggression in his countenance. Only relief and gratitude.

“You know Dick?” The little, ah, no, she doesn’t want to sound like Ra’s, Tim asked. Dick tensed, clearly unwilling to speak about it. She stepped in.

“I met him once. Eliminated a spider for him on a rooftop. I did not think he would remember.”

“Is that why you were so adamant on knowing who ukhti was?” Damian demanded, scowling. She immediately freed an arm and wrapped it around his shoulders. Damian ducked away with a rather petulant scowl. "Not because of my safety but because she crushed an arachnid for you?"

Dick nodded at him before looking up at her. “I really hated that spider. It was super scary. Thank you for getting rid of it.”

In lieu of an answer, she gently hugged him back.

“I get the feeling.” She said solemnly, voice coming out soft and borne of an implicit understanding. ‘Talk later,’ she signed to him.

“I was not aware you were afraid of spiders, ukht,” Damian muttered. “Though, Richard, I would believe.”

“Hey!”

Dick detached himself and pasted on a mostly genuine smile. “Oh! You should meet the others!”

He turned to the rest of Bruce Wayne’s wards and children to cheerfully point them out.

“This is Duke! He’s Alfred’s favorite grandkid, because he hasn’t burnt down the kitchen yet and reports when he’s injured.”

“Hey. Nice to meet you.” Duke Thomas raised a hand, smiling. “The bar was literally on the floor with you people. ‘Sides, Jason did just fine.”

The reincarnate nodded. Yes, she knew of him, though her memories were hazy. It had been over two decades, after all.

Dick steamrolled onwards. “This is Stephanie-”

“But you can call me Steph!” Stephanie Brown interjected, bouncing in her seat. Despite her bubbly demeanor, her gaze was sharp. Seeing. She liked that sharpness. It was tempered by the same rough and tumble kindness she’d seen in Grave- ah, Jason.

Spoiler, her memories reminded her. It was a soothing distraction from the anxious memories of the league. She found herself collecting little hints and information about this family. Her family, even if it were tentatively so. She caught Bruce staring at them intently, visibly anxious about this meeting.

‘A pleasure to meet you.’

“So… what do we call you?” Steph tilted her head. Hm. A tell Ra’s would have beaten out of her, had Stephanie had the misfortune of being in his presence for more than a day.

“Al Ghul will be adequate.” Damian cut in. The glance he threw her promised a discussion upon the topic of her name. Later, it promised.

“Wow. That’s kind of impersonal though.”

“Steph!”

“What?! I’m not wrong.”

“Anyways!” Dick loudly said over the two bickering kids. “That’s actually it for now.”

“The rest aren’t here as of this moment, but they’ll be around for dinner.”

A white lie. She studied Bruce for a moment before acquiescing. He meant no harm. Despite his capability to inflict harm, his willingness to do so, she could not read a single instance of ill will in him. Not, at least, towards her. She allowed the lie to slide.

‘I wish to see the grounds.’ She put a hand on Damian’s shoulder. He knew what it meant for her to retreat to the wilderness. Nature, where most things were free and where one does not often find Ra’s after he’d had a taste for luxury.

“We will go to the gardens. Ukhti wishes to explore.” Despite the rather curt way he pronounced it, Damian had stepped closer to her side in a gesture of concern. The pit inside of her stomach eased.

“Sounds good! Let’s go!” Steph bounced out of her seat.

“We could tell you stories,” Tim offered from behind her.

“Yeah, like that one time Dick face planted onto one of Poison Ivy’s flower beds because he was distracted by an ice cream truck.” Duke grinned, eyes crinkling.

“Hey! That ice cream truck was full of Scarecrow thugs!”

“And they weren’t worth an Ivy-lecture. I’m surprised she didn’t skin you and make a pot out of your bones, Dick.” Tim yawned.

“Ooo, we should tell her about the time I hit you in the face with a brick!”

“Literally what more is there to that story, Steph?” Tim grumbled.

“I would like to hear this tale,” Damian said, beginning to tug his ukht towards the garden. The rest of the group followed.

“Actually, why don’t we tell her about the time you tried getting Batcow to the barn and he just sat down? Didn’t you bargain with her for an hour, Damian?”

“Tt!”

Duke leaned back and took in the chaos he unfolded with a twinkling grin and Bruce’s sigh bolstering him. And if their newest and oldest addition to the family relaxed in his chaos, well, that was between him and her.

——

Cassandra found her in the gardens, the both of them weaving in between the foliage like light footed cats. Her contingent of Bats were behind them, watching the two former assassins approach each other.

Cassandra had frozen, mirroring the reincarnator’s stillness.

“Ukhti.” The word was torn out of Cass’ throat, filled with tears and relief.

“Cassandra,” she called, fond and kind and loving. Damian’s eyes darted between his sisters. They knew each other. How? She called his ukht, ukhti. A title he had assumed only he could use.

Cassandra scrambled and launched herself at her, silent sobs shaking her frame.

“Hello, Cass,” she caught the flying vigilante, crushing her first little sister into a tight hug. “Freedom suits you, habibti.”

Cass trembles in her arms, hands clutching at the fabric on her shoulder blades like Damian’s. Her eyes softened, and she rested her chin on Cass’s head.

“You know Cassandra too, ukhti?”

She nodded.

“Ukhti named me.” Cass said, voice wobbly. ‘Cass. Cassandra.’ Cass did her name sign. The one she had taught the slip of a girl back when Cass was stuck in a senseless prison and she was only free in terms of movement.

‘First word too.’ She smiled, proud of Cass and how far she’s come. Cassandra reads the pride in her language, the safety and kindness that she’d never forgotten even after traversing the world for years before arriving home, and she burrowed deeper into the hug.

“Oh. I see.”

“Two ukhts.” She smiled at Damian.

Cass shook her head, but before Damian could settle into his hurt at her supposed rejection, Cass explained her confusion. “Ukhti is your name? I’m Cass.”

“Ukhti means older sister.” Damian informed her.

Cass blinked and looked back at the reincarnation. Her shoulders relaxed and drew back, eyes softening and body loosened from its confusion. She smiled, bright as the sun, and deftly clambered around to perch on her older sister’s back.

“Two.” She declared. And truly, the reincarnation was weak to her younger siblings because that was that. Cass declared it so, and it shall be so. Damian grumbled but seemed like they agreed.

“How did you two meet?” Bruce piped up, intent and surprisingly considerate.

“Saved me,” Cass sighed, resting her chin on her ukht’s head. ‘From father and the league. Taught me to speak, a little. My name. Cass. Taught me..’ Cass paused. “Taught me I am not a weapon.”

The former assassin carrying Cass on a piggy back ride hummed in agreement.

“Oh.” The rest of the family glanced at each other. Dick had his shiny teary eyes on, the ones he got when Jason initiated a hang out.

“Not a weapon,” Cass repeated, pressing firmly on her ukht’s head.

A less sure hum. Cass scowled.

“No. Bad,” Cass scolded. “Not a weapon.”

An acquiescing hum, full of fondness and exasperation.

Cassandra Cain will take that answer. For now.

“You named Cass?” Duke asked. Bruce looked at them with gentle eyes.

“After a heroine I knew.” She replied, shifting. Cass hugged her tighter, intently listening. “She was strong. Lethal if need be. But… kind. She had an inherently kind heart. Full of love. Like Cass.”

“Oh, that’s really.. that’s really sweet.”

Cass hugged her ukht closer, touched. She had never known why she had been given the name, but finding out that it was after a heroine her sister looked up to made the day that much brighter. Hopeful. Honored.

“You have not told me this story,” Damian said.

‘I will. One day.’

——

Jason found her at the lunch table. Along with the rest of the brood. Except for, jarringly, an alien named Jarro.

“He’s our alien brother!” Duke said. He smiled, and it was a smile of unassuming harmlessness. A well crafted mask that she knew better than to be fooled by.

She offered three long blinks that had Cassandra, stuck like a limpet on the reincarnator’s back, muffling a laugh.

“Telling truth,” Cass whispered, sentences punctuated by giggles.

She hummed, shifting to more securely carry Cass on her back. Damian sighed and dutifully carried Cassandra’s pack. She smiled at her little brother, who straightened. Adorable. All of her siblings were adorable. She would kill for them. Ah, right. They frown upon murder here. So had she, once. Before Ra’s broke that part of her heart and forced her hands to commit evils that grew gnarled vines through her very soul.

“Oh.” She blinked.

“Hm?”

“Killing is… a choice.” The conversations around them fell silent. Cass’ arms tightened around her shoulders.

“We don’t have to do it, anymore,” Damian agreed. Yes, he understood what it was like, to be raised to kill and suddenly having the option not to.

“Did you not want to kill, before?” Bruce asked, suddenly a bit closer. Her mind was slipping, she realized. It felt… safe, to slip.

‘If I did not,’ she admitted, like throwing stones off of a lock-laden bridge. ‘Damian would bear the consequences.’

She sounded… young. Afraid. Two things she had always been and were never allowed to be.

Bruce Wayne looked at her like his heart was breaking, like he wished he could shoulder her pain on top of the weight of the world he willingly carried since his parents died. This, she is reminded, was why she swore Damian to secrecy regarding her existence. She wondered if he had ever taken the burden of more grief than he could bear.

‘And I could not say no, regardless,” she told them, absent and tired.

She wondered if she would be the one to break him, should she allow him a glimpse of the scars on her back.

“I could have taken it.” Damian grabbed her arm, clutching at her sleeve once more.

“No,” she whispered, haunted. ‘Not while I drew breath, habibi.’

“You don’t have to kill here. We’re all very good with no murder.” Tim reminded her firmly.

“Unless it’s the Joker.” Steph chimed in, bubbly smile gentled into something kinder.

“Unless it’s him.” Duke agreed. His eyes were more serious now.

“No,” Bruce replied, tired. Heavier, in a way that made sour tang of guilt scratch the back of her tongue. She hadn’t meant to give him the weight of knowledge, but she had inadvertently done so with the things she had and hadn’t said. He wasn’t the world’s- she glanced at Tim, who quirked a smile at her- second best detective for no reason.

“Yes, but you’re not ready for that conversation.” Dick snapped, lightheartedly.

Ah. That’s what was off.

They’re kind. They choose to be and they inherently are kind.

It showed. And she wasn’t used to that.

“Lunch.” Cassandra reminded them. She was a solid, grounding presence at the reincarnator’s back.

“Oh, Jason said he’s on the way.” Duke commented, nodding when she quickly did a subtle thank you sign.

“Why does he text you and not me?” Dick whined.

“Wow, man. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because of the emoji wall you send?”

“They’re nice! How else are you supposed to know what I’m feeling, right, Cass?”

Cass nodded and gave a thumbs up from her place on ukhti’s back.

“See?!”

“I love you Cass, but you also use a wall of understandable emojis. Dick just spams them.” Steph retorted.

The reincarnator turned to Damian, a silent question in her eyes. He sighed. “Yes, the imbeciles argue all of the time.”

She nodded and the group made their way to the green house for lunch, bickering all the while.

When they get there, Jason Todd, along with Alfred Pennyworth were already at the table.

“Grave.” She greeted as Cass slipped off her back.

“Ain’t no fucking way, Trainer?” Jason leapt to his feet. It was odd, seeing him in casual clothes. Ra’s had kept him in armor most of the time.

“You know each other?”

“At this point, who doesn’t ukht know would be an easier question.” Damian grumbled. She tapped him on the head twice, a light reprimand.

‘Grave was part of your guard,’ she told him. ‘He protected you well.’

“You’re the demon brat’s older sister? That makes so much fucking sense.”

She felt her eyes go cold, lifting to stare at Grave’s rapidly paling face. He visibly backtracks.

“Uh- I mean, you’re Damian’s older sister?”

She regarded him for a beat longer before blinking, ice melting away at the change. The nickname chafed at her neck, too close from a fate she gave everything to save Damian from.

Her head dipped into a small nod.

“Wild.” Jason sat back down. “So, uh, how are you handling the pit?”

‘I am not.’ She informed him, settling down in her seat. Damian claimed the spot next to her and Cass quickly took the other, much to Bruce’s chagrin. Tim plopped down to the seat next to Cass, eyes zeroing onto the chamomile tea Alfred had set out for him.

Duke smiled at Bruce before sitting next to Jason, Steph skipping over and sitting next Dick and Jason at the same time.

“Ukhti managed to get rid of the side effects,” Damian informed the table at large.

Her little bat had the worst ability to make sure attention focused on her, the reincarnation groused. She sighed.

“How?” Clearly, Grave had forgotten how much she beat him into the sparring mat because he leaned forward to glare at her. Well, she hadn’t wanted him too afraid of her.

‘Magic.’

His face fell at the assumed non answer, but Damian’s nod had the entire table once more expectant.

She sighed and began weaving her magic.

——

She stalked through the shadows of the manor, at ease. Bruce and the others had left on patrol, hours ago. She was clad in her sleeping clothes, one of her less favored clothes. Her hands would get dirty again tonight but she was long past the point of lingering on those regrets.

“Miss al-Ghul,” Alfred turned as she stepped towards him, having made sure she made adequate noise as a forewarning. “Having a good night?”

She tilted her head, eyes inquisitively peering at the spotless china display behind the butler.

“Ah, you must be curious about the fine ceramics we have currently displayed,” Alfred smiled. “Would you be so kind as to indulge an old butler on this topic?”

She had an idea about the kind of gift Alfred Pennyworth would appreciate.

——

“Uh, whatcha got there?”

She blinked, pulling bloodied hands away from her clothes where she had been inspecting them. The assassin that caused the damage on her clothes laid beneath her feet, still and lifeless. She blinked again.

Nightwing, Dick, stood in front of her, freshly showered from his patrol.

Some form of long forgotten instinct rose from the dry rotted fabric of her faded memories had her responding, ‘A smoothie.’

“…That’s… not a smoothie,” Dick said as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “I’m pretty sure that’s an assassin?”

She shrugged. “He was after Damian. To force him into being the Demon’s head.” She paused. ‘I am tying up loose ends.’

Dick considered her. And the he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Right, okay. I’ll help you get rid of the evidence.”

She waved him off, clicking her fingers and looking over the room with critical eyes as the body and traces of the fight disappeared.

“Woah, handy.”

‘Very,’ she agreed. ‘Did you need something?’

He made a face. “That’s weird. It’s usually me asking that,” he muttered. “Uh, yeah. I just… wanted to thank you again. And uh, let you know that the others don’t know so if you could not tell them, that would be great?”

With a huff, she reached over and up to gently ruffle his hair. ‘Of course. Damian did not know either.’

“Right,” he breathed. “You get it.”

She gave him a knowing look. “Been avoiding thinking about it?”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

She looked at him, silent. Offering a space to listen, and a quiet promise to offer no judgement.

“I don’t- it- I could have stopped her,” he told her, guilt and shame and the lingering whispering voice Catalina burrowing into his ears and heart.

And when he started, it seemed to him like he couldn’t stop. Dick told her of the things he felt as she got on top of him, of how numb and far away things were. How, if it rained, he couldn’t be in the quiet because it made him relive it.

“But… but you stopped her so I shouldn’t even be like this!”

‘It wasn’t your fault.’ She told him, the first thing she’s said since he’s started talking. ‘The only one at fault was her. You trusted her to stop. She did not. Her crimes were not yours to bear.’

She paused, taking in the refusal she could read on his face. “If someone beats another person, would you blame the person who was beaten?”

“No!”

‘Then you are kind. But you are so kind to others, why not yourself?’

Dick fell silent.

“I killed Ra’s,” she reminded him. “He allowed many others to partake in my body without my agreement.”

She leaned towards him, the admittance of something she had not even told Damian ringing painfully in her heart but made all the easier to say by the fact that one of her little brothers (the free, first Robin, the son who stood by Bruce’s side when she could not) needed her. “He himself partook in me. And yet,” she added, when Dick looked up. ‘It is difficult to forget. I am still afraid when I step onto the carpet on the sitting room.’

“The carpet? The rug? The fluffy one?” He asked, confused.

“It is like… your rain and silence,” she crossed her arms. ‘That and the sound of rustling silk reminds me of his chambers.’

“Oh.”

‘I killed him and it will not go away. Would you blame me for that?’

“No, that’s how healing is- oh.”

“Be kind, to yourself.”

His chin trembled. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Ukhti.”

“Ukhti,” he parroted, aiming a watery and small smile her way.

She held out her arms and, with Dick’s tacit understanding, tucked him beneath her wings like she did with Damian. “Thank you for offering to get rid of the body, habibi. But I would not want you to get in trouble.”

“Eh, I’ve helped Jason deal with worse.”

‘Comforting.”

“I know, right?”

——

“Why the hell do you keep calling me Grave?” Jason asked her, grumbling as he tried to wire his new helmet after the last one got damaged.

She leaned back, basking in the sun on the new rugs. After their conversation, Dick had set fire to every fluffy rug in the house-

“What the hell, dude?!” Duke gaped as he watched Dick cheerfully toss an expensive rug into the impressive bonfire they had going on.

“Ukhti doesn’t like fluffy rugs,” Dick said with a straight face. Damian dragged another roll to the bonfire with a scowl. “Alfred Approved project, if you want to join~!”

Duke stared at him… and picked up a roll to toss into the fire.

- and bought new ones using Bruce’s credit cards.

“You got some of your memories back, in the league.” She hummed. “You liked reading. Poems.”

“What does that even have to do with Grave?”

“I remembered one. A line. Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there, I do not sleep…”

Jason twisted around. “Are you kidding me?”

She continued. “Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there. I did not die.”

“But I did die.”

She shrugged. ‘People still remembered you. Gotham and Bruce cried at your loss. I saw it.’

She straightened and smiled a small smile at him. ‘Besides. You got better.’

Jason snorted. “You too, I guess.”

She hummed an agreement, eyes slipping closed in the warm light of the sun, relief after a long second life of cowering in the shadows of a man more like a demon than he was a grandfather.

[fukutomichi]

Shimmer Lake (2017) directed by Oren Uziel Benjamin Walker as Zeke Sikes

[keykidpilipili]

John: I don't want to kill Yellow! Could you imagine wanting to kill a part of yourself?!

Arthur fixated on killing Larson because of his own self hatred over Faroe's death: ........... No that would be crazy.

[reverentwormpriest]

"sorry about the blood in your mouth i wish it was mine" moment

[em-bandaid-boy]

Alr I have three things to ask- -ahem- 1. Artstyle: 1000000/10. 2. For the somewhat smol comic where Uzi learns N killed her mom, would she go to V to cry/be sad? Idk? And 3. DRAW THEM (Uzi, N, and ,V) AS SPOOPY. I HAVE MANY M.A.P. IDEAS. Contact meh if you're kinda interested in collabing WI me :3

1: Thank you!

Jumping to 3, for reasons: I would love to make Halloween themed art! It's mostly a matter of having the time and actually doing it lol.

2. Lore! I'm gonna go over the alternate part 2 ending to that comic so if you're not that invested you can skip it lol

Ok I'm like half asleep ok stay with me lol. Basically it was originally going to be that Uzi would end up talking to her mom about it once Nori found out that she rejected N. Uzi overheard the news from listening in to Nori and Khan. Her mom says she didn't want Uzi to hear her say that because she knows how much she and N care about each other, and she didn't want it to ruin their relationship, and she was sorry that the news hurt Uzi and N.

Despite Nori and Khan having their doubts about their daughter dating a murder drone, N managed to gain their trust during the final battle with Cyn (especially Nori herself, who saw firsthand N's unwillingness to harm Uzi even when she was possessed and attacking them.) N is obviously still guilty of everything he's done in the past but he played a major hand in helping to right the wrongs he and the other disassembly drones did. It's also clear he's not exactly proud of what he's done, but they've seen how much he's helped Uzi and how happy and comfortable she is with him.

Nori tells Uzi that N's hand in her death is an issue between her and N, and it is not Uzi's responsibility to take care of in any way. She explains that yes, it hurt to remember that it was her daughter's boyfriend whose actions led to her demise, but she ultimately understood why he took the actions he did, and was wiling to look past it for the sake of her daughter's happiness. She then tells Uzi that she should not feel it is her responsibility to punish N or distance herself on behalf of her mom, but also that if she really feels that she can't forgive him, then that was okay, too. Knowing what N really means to her, she urges Uzi to think and choose what she *really* wants, rather than what she feels she *should* do.

This prompts Uzi to consider it from every angle, and she seeks out N to talk to him. Much like in episode 3 he again believes he is "too dangerous" and he still thinks Uzi hates him and doesn't want him around. His insecurity is at an all time high, and he's clearly not doing well.

Uzi explains some of the things she and her mom talked about, and apologized for being so harsh, but she does acknowledge her own feelings on the matter. She explains that it hurt to find out her boyfriend's actions took her mother away from her, but talking to Nori reminded her that N didn't necessarily have a choice in what he did. She also acknowledges the amazing things N has done for her, and that she is overall glad that she met him.

N apologizes, empathizing with Uzi's grief over having lost her mother. He then explains that he's also aware of what his own situation was, but he had become even more ashamed over how insignificant the lives he'd taken were to him at that time. He tells Uzi that that side of himself constantly weighs on his mind, and despite all the good he's done, he feels like a monster.

Uzi reaches out to reassure him, in a moment that shows her forgiveness. It would parallel the scene where N comforts Uzi in episode 4(when they are falling), but with the roles reversed. Everything gets sappy and blah blah they're both apologizing and comforting each other and! Happy ending they kiss or something. Sorry I got lazy lol.

Am I going to make it a real comic? No unfortunately lol. But I might do something with some of these elements. Idk we'll find out later ig.

[mad-hunts]

thinking about making a merrymaker that isn't, in fact, a joker fan-boy like they made him in the comics for some damn reason (LOL) and whom appears to he ironically nicknamed that until you really observe him / get close to him because this man tends to celebrate when he kills someone like some SICK and TWISTED menace to society since to him, this is the only way to keep his daughter alive.

this is because he saved her when she was on the verge of death by making a deal with a death god which ended with him basically becoming a zombie BC this would prevent them from getting in trouble for messing with the living as they ALSO have people they answer to... and this was a loophole to do that + he offered himself up to do literally ANYTHING to bring her back, which made this death god go 'HMM. anything, huh?'

and as a result, made him subsequently become this god's champion by bringing them souls that had somehow escaped them over the years, so yeahhh. eventually, his debt to them will be 'paid off,' but there are a SURPRISING amount of souls out there that have cheated death.

now, how are we feeling about this idea, ladies, gentlemen, and enbies? OH + he's also russian and oozes black stuff from his eyes as a result of being a zombie, as well as wears a plague doctor costume while delivering his uhh. Victims to this death god. so, i'm keeping his motif from the comics, but pretty much everything else about him is drastically different 💀 and he's also a pathologist + surgeon / researcher instead of a psychiatrist

[universalcaffination]

#20: The Vulcan Academy Murders (1984)

Lets play a game called "i removed the plot related context of a scene to make it gay"

[skitskatdacat63]

I don't think I can ever emotionally recover from these

[fountainpenguin]

Extremely funny to me that PiglinMyNose's character journey is "Death game with SnifferMyFeet" followed by "Eating pancakes in Decked Out 2" followed by "Tagging after Joel in Hermitcraft Season 10" followed by "Recording murder mystery skits."

Every time NameMC gives us a new PiglinMyNose skin, I just imagine he's busy with his acting work and SnifferMyFeet is sitting in an empty auditorium with a big sign that says '10' and he's like "WOO-HOO! Yeah! I know him!"

He would probably do this if Joel's intro skits were a live theater performance too. And he'd be dragged out by other Hermits while kicking and yelling.

Later you find out he's sprawled atop the concessions bar just idly kicking his feet and waiting for the show to finish. He misses his friend.

[winepresswrath]

i am going to wind up on team #justiceforarmand but it's going to be so situational. justice for armand specifically during the period of time louis is all "oooh who needs labels." a very different kind of justice for armand on matters pertaining to claudia.