#after Tim burned those bridges.

[lar-mx]

writing prompt #5

The room fell silent, Steph wasn't expecting the pain filled look they were giving her. The question repeated itself in her head a couple of times as her mind searched for a way to save the situation.

"I see you don't have an answer." The silence was still palpable in the room as well as the cold she felt when she saw those beautiful blue eyes lose their shine. "I should have known it was too good to be true, tell bru… Mr. Wayne that if he wanted to know about the projects so much, he could come ask for them himself instead of using a sugar trap." Steph tried to say something before an alert went off on Danny's phone, at which point she saw the panic that took over his eyes, before he ran to an adjacent hallway that led to a room, in which she was not. I had had the opportunity to enter. As she followed him she could see how Danny took a series of vials and several injections. She hesitated a moment before walking through the half-open door. At that moment she saw how he proceeded to apply several of the injections to a girl of about 5 or 6 years old. Steph knew just by seeing her that she was Danny's daughter. and some of the things they discovered while investigating the Nightingale medical company made a lot of sense.

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

"Hey, Babs,"

"Dick? It's late, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong!"

"I'm about to go on patrol, D, can this wait?"

A sigh. "No."

"What's wrong?"

"Blockbuster's after Oracle."

***

Gotham Proper is a thirty-three minute drive from Bludhaven. The drive to Bristol from Bludhaven is a fifty-one minute drive through Drescher, Burnside, Sumerset, Victoria Place, and Little Stockton before crossing the bridge over Gotham River into Bristol. Gotham Proper is made of four islands connected to each other and the mainland via several bridges. Technically, all of those cities and towns - as well as Charon and Brentwood - are sister cities like Bludhaven, but everyone counts them as a part of Gotham anyway.

Dick spent the entire drive alternating between sulking and panicking.

Danny would know. Ghosts, as he's come to understand, are beings made of emotion, meaning that he can sense emotions better than living beings. Though, he didn't need an empth ability to read the air around Dick.

'What if something happens while we're gone?" Dick asked for the nth time in the past few minutes, "What if Brutale decides to blow something up while I'm gone? What if Blockbuster starts something big?"

"Bigger than what he's already doing?" Danny didn't bother to look up from his conversation with Tim. "The fact that you can't even name specific examples proves that you're not actually worried about Blockbuster or Brutale."

"I'm worried about Brutale blowing something up, thank you very much."

"Yeah, 'something'. Who even is Brutale anyway? I don't think I know that name."

"No one you need to worry about." He moved into the right lane.

Danny turned his phone off and set it face down on his leg. "What are you really worried about, Dick? I've known you for five weeks now, and I've never seen you this worried about anything."

"You've known me for three weeks."

"No, you've known me for three weeks. I've known you for five weeks. And don't change the subject."

Dick sighed, running his left hand through his hair before dropping it back onto the steering wheel.

"Is it Bruce?"

"...yeah."

"You know he's at work, right?"

"Yeah, I- How do you know that?"

He waved his phone a bit. "I checked with Tim. So, it's just going to be Tim and Alfred at the Manor when we get there."

"You know Alfred?"

"I know of Alfred." Danny slapped his right shoulder, "Stop trying to change the subject!"

"I can't help it! Deflecting has worked pretty damn well for me up until this point!"

"Oh, yeah? Against who?"

"Literally everyone!"

"Everyone?"

A beat. "Okay, so maybe only most people, but that's not the point!"

"Doesn't matter what your point is because we're going back to talking about mine!" He huffed. "If you don't want to go straight to Wayne Manor, then stop by somewhere else. You had to have gained at least one friend in Gotham before you moved to Bludhaven."

Dick paused for a moment, eyeing the signs. They'd only been driving for twenty minutes. He could hang a right just before Sumerset to cross the New Trigate Bridge into Arkham Island, take another right onto Midtown and drive to Old Gotham to meet Babs/. Yeah, that'd be nice. But, the detour would increase the chance of running into Bruce later on in the day. Maybe he could have Bab's drive to the Manor?

"Is it too late to turn around?"

"Yes."

"Why are you even so insistent on going? You don't know anyone in Gotham!"

"I know Tim!" He argued. "Besides, healthy relationships are good in this kind of work."

Dick raised his eyebrow, glancing at Danny from the corner of his eye. "You wanna second to rethink that or..?"

Danny clicked his tongue. "Look, I know you don't want to talk to Bruce, and I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to apologize to Tim for snapping at him. If you end up with better relations here in Gotham, then that only works in your favor."

Dick groaned, ditching the turn onto New Trigate and continuing on through Sumerset. "Fine! But we're leaving before Bruce gets back. I can't stand him right now."

Danny smiled, a sad look in his eye. "Alright."

He knew very well that Dick's relationship was near irreparable. From what he'd gathered, from either overhearing or snooping, Bruce had been a pretty good dad and boss to Dick up until he'd turned seventeen. He hung up the Robin mantle when he was eighteen, appearing as Nightwing when he was nineteen. Bruce, apparently, hadn't taken this very well, but copped, adopint ong Jason Todd when Dick was twenty years old, giving him the Robin mantle a few months later.

According to Dick, when Jason was killed, he'd been off world. Bruce hadn't even called him to inform him, let alone tell him about the funeral. And, when Dick got back and heard what happened from Batgirl, he'd confronted Batman in the Batcave. Batman, apparently, though he's inclined to Dick's side, punched him the face and shifted the blame.

Danny doesn't blame Dick for being angry. Not for a second. He can't really relate, but he understands.

Entering Bristol, there was a shift in the air. Outside was stuffy and smelled like money. Inside the car, however, was tense. Dick's attitude shifted to his work smile. It was plastic.

This was going to be a long day.

He didn't say anything. Quietly, Danny messaged Tim, letting him know about the shift. Tim was quick to respond, letting Danny know that he was fully prepared for whatever was coming. Danny didn't think he was.

Danny knew that something was going to happen. The air was suddenly suffocating, the world fake manufactured to perfection.

"You alright there, bud?" Dick asked, his voice perfectly professional.

"Yeah, fine. I-I'm fine." Danny wanted this car to turn around.

Part 10 Part 12

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Isolation. Yan!Toby x Reader. Cw: Manipulation, mild mentions of violence at the end, small mention of drugging, kidnapping, imprisonment.

It was so easy to fall for his manipulation, and he knew that. Nobody would suspect him of it, after all, he was the emotional, bubbly member of the mansion, soft and sweet. He could never manipulate someone like that, Toby would never. It would be so wrong of him, and he was always trying to better himself. However, you could no longer deny that he'd fooled you, fooled everyone around you, and now you weren't sure you'd ever be able to get away from him again.

It started nearly a year ago, his targeted manipulation of you. You'd been going through a hard time, and he'd been your shoulder to cry on. He encouraged you to seek him out any time you felt sad, and he'd sit with you, hold you, and comfort you when you needed him. He attached himself to you like a leech, and you found yourself unable to get away from him, no matter how hard you tried. It had been confusing at first, how he always seemed to be around you, no matter where you went, even if you'd never told anyone where you were headed, but you dismissed it at the time, reasoning that the two of you did like hanging out in the same areas. You accepted him, and you allowed him to sink his claws into you.

He did his best to make sure you were only emotionally dependent on him; nobody knew you like he did, and nobody could comfort you as he could. You didn't need to go to anybody else, you didn't need to let anybody else in. Once he had enough sway on you, he started burning the bridges you'd already made. He'd become a little bird in your ear, spreading drama and lies about those around you in an effort to drive a wedge into your relationships, and it worked. You felt so embarrassed, looking back, at how easily and blindly you believed everything he told you, because you were just as clueless as everyone else. Why would Toby lie to you?

You'd believed him when he told you Jeff had been shit talking you behind your back, you'd believed him when he told you that Brian and Tim were starting to get jealous about how much time you were spending with Toby, you'd believed him when he said Slender had been considering replacing you with someone new. One by one, he took all of your friends away from you. He encouraged you to hide away from them, to stay by his side, to vent all your tears and frustrations to him and only him, after all, you couldn't trust anyone else in the mansion.

When the others would question Toby on your seemingly random isolation, Toby would shrug and say you were feeling tired, you wanted to be alone, and work was getting to be too much for you. He'd told them you wanted the space but were too anxious to ask for it, and so they believed him, because Toby had never lied to them before, and because Toby seemed to be doing a good job taking care of you. With you in pure isolation, it was all too easy for him to do as he pleased with you, and you naively never thought to question him. It was just so easy for him to put his plan into action.

"Why don't we run away together?" You recalled the excitement in his voice as he made his offer, but still, you weren't sure.

"Run away..? But where would we go? We won't be safe here without Slender's protection." You voiced your concern, and the disappointment that flashed in his eyes for a moment should have been enough to keep you concerned, but he was quick to put on another smile.

"I-I'll keep us safe! You don't have to w-worry!" He forced himself, trying to get you to blindly trust him as you always had, and you did. You fell for his sweet smile and warmth just as he knew you would.

Toby began planning how to get you out, and it went far smoother than he'd thought it would. He'd been moving your things in secret to a hidden little home he'd found and guarded, and all he had to do was get you there. The night before you were supposed to leave, he'd drugged the drink he brought you before bed, and once you were finally asleep, he put everything in motion. "Your" resignation letter that he'd typed up (with your signature he'd spent so much time learning how to forge signed at the bottom) had been placed upon Slender's desk for him to find in the morning. With you knocked out, it was so easy for him to carry you to your new home, and so easy to lock you into the chains bolted into the wall above your new bed. It made him sad to have to leave you, but he had to get back. He'd pressed a kiss to your lips, the first kiss you ever shared, and left you there, in your soundproofed, locked, and bolted prison.

Toby made his way back home and went to bed, waking when everyone else did in a panic over how you were missing. He cried and panicked with the rest of them, unsure of where you could have gone, and when everyone split up to search for you, Toby made his way alone back to your little house. He'd stay at the mansion most of the time for the next few weeks, but then he too would vanish, claiming to be too distraught over your disappearance. You were sobbing and screaming in fear when he got back, and when your eyes landed on him as he unbolted your door the confusion and betrayal in your eyes filled him with so much excitement.

"It's alright, you d-don't have to worry! I-I'll keep you safe!" He told you so proudly, beaming with joy as he crept over to you, sitting on top of your body and holding you tight.

You'd sad there in confusion, fear seeping into you as realization flowed into you that this had been his goal all along, and suddenly every single thing about him that you'd been dismissing or ignoring clicked into place. His discreet glares at others whenever they'd talk to you, the way he'd always have his hands on you, the way he always steered you away from other people and public places. All the lies, all the manipulation. You begged him, you begged him to let you go, to take you back. You told him you'd still stay with him, that you wouldn't tell anybody, but he just laughed above you, a laugh that chilled you to your core.

"O-of course y-you'll never leave me! I h-have you here! Forever!" He smiled a twisted, obsessive smile, and you tried and failed to shuffle away from him, but he remained heavy on your body, leaning over to whisper into your ear.

"All you need is me. Nobody else. You're never getting out of here." His voice was deeper than you'd ever heard it, and you made a noise in fear as you pressed yourself into the mattress, but he'd just giggled and nuzzled into you.

He began to kiss you, to feel you, to nip at your skin, but you sat motionless under him as you tried not to accept your fate. You couldn't ignore him forever, though. He wouldn't allow it. He'd do whatever it took to keep your attention on him permanently. Even if it meant he'd have to break a few of your bones or bite his way into your flesh to get you to speak to him or make noise. The pain you'd begun to feel in your body would be one you'd quickly grow familiar with, as Toby began to show you just how twisted and cruel he could truly be inside.

You couldn't escape someone as thoroughly distorted as him.

[samgirl98]

Mending a Family 11/?

Prev | Next

Jason and Jazz bond, and Dick has a sort-of revelation.

Jason sat by the table after saying goodbye to Roy, Raven, and Lian and putting Danny to bed. After the revelation of Mar’i, the adults had sobered a little, and it had gotten awkward. Thankfully, the kids kept playing though Danny would side-eye Jason every once in a while. His knowing look reminded Jason that Danny was a sixteen-year-old trapped in the body of a five-year-old.

Jazz sat across from him with two cups of tea. She gave one to Jason and asked, “How are you feeling?”

Jason frowned; how was he feeling? A part of him was disappointed, but he understood.

“Jazz, when I came back, I killed people. I hurt Tim. It makes sense that Dick never told me he had a daughter. I’m doing the same thing now with Danny! Besides, nobody in their right mind would let a murderer around their child.”

“Just because you understand and can rationalize it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

Jason smiled softly at her, “What are you, my psychiatrist, now?”

“I don’t have to be a psychiatrist to know this affected you more than you want to let on.”

Jason sighed, “I understand; really, I do. But what pisses me off is that Roy told me that Dick is obsessively looking for me. All of them are. How can they freeze me out of the family, not at least tell me, ‘Hey Jason, you’re an uncle,’ and then call me family and use that as an excuse to hunt me down like a rabid animal?”

Jazz sipped her tea, “I think they’re probably feeling guilty now because they managed to chase you away. From what I’ve heard, they like to be in control.”

Jason snorted, “Yeah, they’re all control freaks that have no issue invading others’ privacy. Starting with Daddy Bats.”

“Do you miss them,” she asked quietly.

“I do,” he answered in the same volume, “but I burned those bridges long ago.”

They stayed in silence for a while.

“I hope I’m not overstepping, but you have become my family. I see how you act around Danny, and I am grateful that you parent and love him the way a parent loves their child. Our parents weren’t the best, so I’m glad Danny will get a second chance at childhood, and it’s all thanks to you.”

Jason smiled, “Well, at least I’m doing right by Danny.”

“You think—you think you’ll ever talk to them again?”

“Not when there’s a chance they’ll take Danny away from me. They see me as unstable, but I won’t ever hurt Danny. I don’t know if I’m a bad parent, but Danny has helped me more than I’ve helped him, and he’s keeping me sane.”

Jazz shrugged, “I’m not precisely sane myself, and as long as you don’t verbally tell Danny he’s the only reason you feel your mental stability is better, then I see no harm in it. It’s bad when a parent puts that pressure on their child. However, I have a feeling you’re saner than you think you are.”

Jazz finished her tea.

“Besides, you can’t be judged by human standards.”

Jason rolled his eyes; he stopped explaining to Danny and Jazz that he was utterly, one hundred percent human.

“Do you really think I’m a good parent?”

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.

Jason sighed, “I miss my old family sometimes.”

“You want to talk about them?”

“I can’t talk much about the newer members, but Dick, he’s my oldest brother; he’s huggy, a huge jokester. There’s always a pun or quip coming out of his mouth. He didn’t; well, when I was younger, I thought he hated me. He was always yelling at Bruce, and most of the time, he ignored me, but eventually, he came around.”

“I remember one time he took me train surfing. It was so fun! I was hanging out with my older brother, my predecessor. He also stole Bruce’s car once and took me on a joyride after Bruce had grounded me.”

“There’s also Barbie. She helped me a lot with homework when I was younger. She’s—she’s also the only one that kept contact with me after all the shi—things I did. You remind me of her. She’s kind, same as you. And you both have red hair. She’s crazy smart like you are. The things she can do with computers,” Jason shook his head in disbelief.

“There’s Alfred. He’s like a grandfather to me. He taught me how to cook; he’s the one I miss the most, to be honest. I wouldn’t be surprised if he missed me, too, but he was giving me my space.”

Jason couldn’t bring himself to talk about Bruce. The man had been his father, but he had both disappointed Jason and been disappointed by Jason.

His biggest failure, Jason thought bitterly.

“Mom and dad,” Jazz started, took a deep breath, and continued, “Mom and dad, when they weren’t obsessed with their work, showed how much they cared for us in their way. Mom would make delicious fudge that got devoured quickly. Dad, he would call me his princess.”

“We’d go camping every summer until—until the portal opened. They had always been obsessed with ghosts, but they went into overdrive after the portal. They neglected us; Danny was being hurt. Eventually, it became too much, and Danny started detaching himself from everyone, including his friends, because he didn’t want anyone hurt.”

“I miss them sometimes, but I can never forgive them for what they did. They find out about Danny, and the first thing they do is attack! How could they?!”

Jazz was breathing hard, “How could they? They told us they loved us.”

Jazz started crying. Jason was stunned for a moment, and then he got up. He let Jazz cry on his shoulder.

Two broken people held on to each other. They may have lost an old family, but slowly, they would build a new one.

____

“Daddy!”

Dick opened his arms as his daughter flew into them. Kory floated right beside him and smiled softly at their three-year-old.

“Thanks for letting her stay with me for the week,” Dick said, “I needed this.”

“My pleasure. She wanted to see her daddy, anyway.”

Dick let Mar’i down and watched as she ran to her room.

“How’s the search going,” Kory asked.

Dick’s smile fell. They still hadn’t found any trace of Jason. Alfred was telling them to leave Jason alone and that he’ll contact them when he wants to. Roy stopped talking to Dick altogether, and Bruce was losing his mind.

“It’s not going well. Why, have you found anything?”

“No, sorry, but I haven’t been paying too much attention.”

“That’s okay. Wally and Superman are looking for him. We’ll find him, eventually.”

Mar’i decided to come out at that moment.

“Daddy, daddy, can we go see Grandpa Bruce,” she lisped, “and Uncles Timmy and Damian and aunties Cassie and Steph? Will Uncle Duke be there with the pretty lights?”

Dick felt a ping in his chest. His daughter hadn’t mentioned Jason. She had never met him, and Dick couldn’t help but feel guilty.  Would Jason have stayed if the family had tried to integrate him more? Was it because of them that he left?

That bothered Dick, questions. He wanted, needed to know why Jason left instead of coming to them.

Because you shut the door, his mind supplied.

It was right.

@idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @skulld3mort-1fan @theauthorandtheartist @emergentpanda-blog @jaggedheart11 @fisticuffsatapplebees @booberrylizard @fantasticbluebirdfan @thegatorsgooseoose @cyrwrites @kjoboo91 @crystallicedart @amaramizuki666 @spekulatiusmuffin @meira-3919 @kilasmess @bubblemixer @lexdamo @wonderland-daisy @mj-arts-n-stuff @amyheart19 @dolfay @the-church-grimm @undead-essence @aph-mable @lizisipancardo @purrloin77 @writer-extraodinaire @charlietheepic7 @sinfulloccultist @nootherusernameworked @coruscateselene @chaoticchange @itsberrydreemurstuff @gmkelz11 @feral-bunny31 @paroovian @thatonegaybitch68 @d4ydr34min9 @overtherose @fandomwandererer @vipower001 @thordottir45 @blackrabbitt3t @rosecinnamonbun @bianca-hooks123 @epilepticnerd @dat1angel @consouling @flamingenchiladadragon

[one-piece-aus]

Whumptober Day 5

Sabo x Reader

TW: Home invasion

[y/c] = your city

"Weakness." You punched Sabo into the lava and watched him burn to death.

"[Y/n] I was in the middle of collecting quartz," Sabo whined and respawned back at his base.

"Karma's a bitch," you laughed.

You were playing Minecraft with your online friend Sabo, who you've been playing online games with for the past 10 years. Started ever since you got Minecraft as a kid and played on servers, after playing a few mini-games you friended him, and eventually, you exchanged Discord users (when it became a thing). Yeah, yeah, the internet is a dangerous place, blah blah blah, Sabo was cool though, you trusted him, you've already done video calls with him, and honestly he's been there for you more than anyone else.

There were countless late nights where you two stayed up, gaming while discussing some deep topics. Sometimes they were philosophical nonsense, other times they were about struggles going on in life, you both cried over call during those kinds of nights. Safe to say you and Sabo's friendship was real, you just wished he lived near you so he could visit-

"Oh now I'm not going to share the surprise I was going to tell you," Sabo said when he teleported back to the nether.

"Surprise? What surprise?" You crouched your Minecraft character in front of him.

"Nooooo, I'm not going to say." Sabo walked around you and begun mining quartz once again.

"Come onnnnn, Sabo."

"Surprises are for nice spouses."

Ah, that's right, I forgot to mention your married Sabo in Minecraft, for "XP benefits" of course.

"I'll give you golden apples."

"Mhmmmmm."

"And... a three stacks of cookies."

"Well why didn't you just say so!" Sabo spun around and picked up the items you dropped for him before going on his merry way.

"Okay, now tell me," you said following after him.

"So you remember how I said my brothers and I planning to go on a trip over Christmas?" Sabo asked as he started to build a bridge over lava.

"Yeah, kinda sucks since that means you won't be able to play online," you grumble as you slowly crept behind him as he placed blocks. Playing with Sabo was all you looked forward to these days so him reminding you that you wouldn't be able to play with him during that time, you felt your mood deflate.

"Well guess where we're going."

"Uhhhh Tim Buck Two."

"No, we're going to [y/c]."

"Really!?" Your demeanour spun a 180, your excitement pulled a shiny smile across your face.

"I knew you'd be happy but I didn't think you'd get the same energy when you see your favourite blorbos on screen," Sabo laughed as the two of you were now bridging over a group of piglins on the ground.

"Because you are one of my little blorbo husbandos," you cooed knowing it'd fluster him.

"...I'd like to see you say that to me in person."

"You say that like I won't."

"[Y/n], you can barely ask an employee for help at the grocery store."

"Shush." You hit Sabo off the bridge and watched him fall to his doom, or so you thought. He placed a water block on the ground, in the nether. "Are you using your hacks again!?"

"You better move before I get back up and knock you off," Sabo warned.

"You won't dare."

"Or I would-" Sabo cut himself off when he heard something loud thud over on your end. "What was that?"

"Hm?" You were playing music in the background, talking to Sabo, and listening to Minecraft sounds with your noise-cancelling headphones so you didn't hear it.

"Something heavy fell over on your end."

"You're not messing with me are you?"

"Ace does that trick, not me."

"I wouldn't put it past you to use one of your brother's tricks."

"Okay, I'll stop building up-" Sabo ceased stacking blocks and looked up at your character. "You pause your game and check what fell over."

"Fine." You pause your game and start to take your headphones off.

"Wait!"

"Whaaaat?"

"Turn your camera on."

"Why?"

"It's... I just got a bad feeling."

"Okay..." You shrugged off Sabo's uneasiness and turned on your camera before taking off your headphones and started looking around your room to see what fell.

"Must've fell outside," you muttered heading toward your bedroom door and opening it.

Sabo couldn't see what was outside your door, whatever stood out there made you slam your shut and scramble to push your dresser in front of the door. Goosebumps crawled over his skin as realization hit him that shit is hitting the fan. He fumbled on his end to grab his phone and rapidly tapped buttons.

"Sabo..." You were now back in front of the computer, the dresser completely blocking the door. "Call the cops."

"Way ahead of you," Sabo said as the phone began ringing. "What's going on?"

"There's...there's a guy in...in my house." You could hardly pull your words together since your brain is currently spinning around to find the way for you to survive. "He...he's throwing things around... I think...I think he saw me." You started typing your address to Sabo so he could tell the cops where to go, you sent it before but it'd take too long for him to scroll up to find it. 

Sabo muted himself, probably so he wouldn't be heard talking to the cops. You backed away from the computer again, this time grabbing your bookshelf full of manga and pushing it in front of your door. Once that also blocked the door, you glanced around for more things to push in front of the door but the only heavy stuff left was your bed and desk which could be hiding places that the intruder could look around, and any few seconds he wasn't finding you was a second more of survival.

You picked up your headset and put it back on, Sabo was still muted. You clicked on the Minecraft tab so it'd cover your screen and he- if the invader came into your room- wouldn't know your camera was on with a witness. You took your phone just in case, making sure it was on silent and hid in the closet, making sure no sound came when you closed the door. You climbed into your laundry basket, burying yourself under your dirty clothes, for once grateful you forgot to do laundry.

"Okay, the cops are on their way- [Y/N]?? Where are you [Y/n]???" Sabo felt his heart drop.

"i'm in the closet," you whispered.

"Why didn't you climb out your window?"

"don't you remember that i told you the lock is broken? i live on the 10th, that's suicide," you whisper-shouted.

"Just stay on call, okay, police will be there soon."

"...okay."

Your meek voice squeezed Sabo's heart, his wish he was there to deal with the guy himself, or at this to be there to reassure you everything is going to be okay. Alas, all he could do was sit there on the other end of the screen, helpless as you both listened to something banging on your door.

Tag: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

[rubydubydoo122]

Jason gets de-aged because I've seen fics of Tim or Dick being de-aged, and Bruce losing his memory, but no one has realized the potential for angst if you de-age Jason.

Bruce couldn’t do this. Sure he fights criminals on a daily basis, he’s fought aliens, hell, he’s been to space, for crying out loud. But he could not look at his dead- undead son. He could barely look at Jason as a 21 year old, much less looking how he had weeks before he died. 

“Bruce, I know this is hard, but–”

“No, Dick, you don’t, because you were off planet to even know what was happening.” It was a low blow. Bruce knew that. He knew he was burning bridges, but he wanted to be alone. He didn’t want his kids to see him break down. He could fix those bridges later. 

For a moment, Bruce could see the fiery 20 year old Dick desperately trying to be let loose, but then Dick glanced at his siblings, “Why don’t you guys go upstairs, while Bruce and I talk things through.” Dick wasn’t asking though, and they knew.

So the four of them headed up the stairs, leaving Bruce with Dick and Alfred.

“Are you going to slap me halfway across the cave again? Are you going to take away my keys again? We’ve been down this road before, Bruce. It wasn’t fun for either of us.” Dick leaned against the table and crossed his arms, “The only reason I’m not screaming at you right now is because I know that I have to be here for those kids. Cass, Tim, Steph, Duke, Damian . They need me here, but Jason? Jason doesn’t need me , he needs you . He wants you.”

Bruce thought about all the things that had driven a wall between him and his second son. “No he–”

Dick groaned, “B, when he saw me come out of the Batmobile instead of you, I could see his expression crumble.”

“When he realized you were in the cave, he was so eager to see you, Master Bruce. He was hurt when you barely acknowledged him.” Alfred placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, “The boy upstairs is not the broody Red Hood nor the Robin who died in that warehouse yet. He’s the child you brought into this manor to make sure he was loved. The boy, who despite all the darkness around him, still managed to shine brighter than the sun. We’re not saying this situation will be easy, Lad, but you have to try. For Jason.”

“I don't know if I can .”

“Jesus Christ. I forgot you don’t speak Emotions . Fine. I’ll give you a language you understand.” Dick went over to the computer and opened a new Mission planner “Mission: Fun Sized Jason. Rule number 1, Don’t make him upset. Rule number 2, don’t brood more than usual. Rule number 3, Don’t let Jason know something’s up between your relationship with him because that will probably break Rule number 1. Mission Objective, keep Jason happy until we can get him back to full size. Alfred is allowed to add rules and Objectives. Understood?”

And suddenly, Bruce had a little empathy for Damian’s Robin under Dick’s Batman. “Got it.” Bruce gave his oldest son a slight smile. “Honestly, this might be my hardest mission yet.”

Dick and Alfred shared a look, “You’ll do fine, Master Bruce.”

“I’m gonna check up on everyone, I can come back down once I’m done, if you want.”

“I’ll be fine, Chum, I’m just going to call Zatanna and finish putting a bit of info in.”

Dick nodded, “Alright.” He made his way to the stairs, “Goodnight Alfred, Goodnight Bruce, tell Z I said hi.”

Dick’s first destination was the kitchen. It was usually the first place Cass and Steph went after patrol. Because Steph grabs a midnight waffle for her ride home. 

Though when he got to the kitchen, it was just Cass sitting on  the counter with a mug of tea in her hands. She tilted her head, the question of are you ok clear as day. 

If Dick tried to lie, Cass would just see through him. He sat down next to her, “Everything went well with Bruce, it’s just that…”

“It’s strange, conflicting. Seeing Jason.”

“Yeah.”

“He is a cute child.” Cass rested her head on Dicks shoulder. And Dick rested his hand on hers. “Tiny.”

“Yeah,” Dick chuckled, “Like no one would’ve expected Jason to be as tall as Bruce.”

They sat together in silence until Duke came into the kitchen, and Dick patted the space next to him as an invitation. 

“I’ve been thinking, if you, or Bruce, or even Alred, need me to keep Jason company while you take a moment to work through… memories, I’d be happy to do it. I don’t have any history with him, we’re close enough to the same age.”

Dick patted Duke’s shoulder, “You’re a good brother. Just don’t let Bruce throw him on you too much because I’m trying to get him to try .”

“Maybe it’ll be easier for Bruce after he gets over the initial shock. Even Damian was shocked. He didn't even try to stab Jason. He was wearing Jason’s jacket.”

Right! Damian! And it was strange. He was having a very different reaction than Dick had expected. Dick had to talk to him, but first “Did you get a picture?”

A grin spread across Duke’s face. “I already sent it in the groupchat.”

Dick hopped off the counter, “Lovely. I’m gonna go check on him. And then I’ll check on Jason.”

“Anything you need us to do?”

“Um.. yes, there is one thing.” Dick paused for effect, “Go to bed.”

Damian was leaning on Titus in the corner of his room, with Alfred the cat in his lap. It was a strange revelation that his Akhi was his wayward brother all along. Yet, it also made perfect sense. They both were in the League, and Todd had said something about mother taking him in.  He just did not expect Todd to be Akhi . He didn’t even think that Akhi was still alive. One day Damian had been drawing next to him and the next he was gone. Akhi had two modes; Stay still, or protect. He would immediately fight whoever Damian was supposed to spar and pull him out of reach of any attackers. Akhi would hold Damian while mother was busy, or sit next to him, or follow him if Damian started to wander too far. Yet he rarely ever spoke. Maybe that’s why he never drew the connection between Todd and Akhi. Because even though Todd could be silent if he wanted to, he spouted out the signature Robin quips like second nature. Or yelled at father, taking shot after shot, barely giving father a chance to speak. And above all else, behind Todd’s eyes you could see the calculations, you could see him taking in his surroundings or contemplating risks he was willing to take in the moment, you could see him playing out plans in his head to see every possible outcome. Whereas Akhi had alway had a far off look. Like his mind was never really there. 

There was a knock at the open door, Dick leaning on the door frame, “Are you ok, Damian?”

“Tt.” He started drawing swirls into Alfreds fur, and then smoothed them out.

Dick moved to sit next to Damian. They sat in silence, though it felt like Damian could hear Dick staring with concern.

Damian spared a glance at Dick, “Todd spent time in the League. At Nanda Parbat. Under my mother’s care. With me.” Alfred’s fur was suddenly a lot more interesting than it had been minutes ago, “I didn’t even know it was him, not until a couple of hours ago. I’m the son of the greatest detective, and I didn’t even realize that my Akhi was my brother.” It was making him feel young, seeing Todd like this again, “I thought they killed him, but I- I guess they put him in the Lazerus pit after that, and then he couldn’t come back, because he had to come here, but I wish mother had– Todd, He protected me, Baba . It was only for a little while, but he protected me. He showed me kindness.” Damian met Dick’s eyes which were slightly glossy.

“Well, that does sound like Jason. He’s always had a soft spot for kids.” Dick let out a wet laugh, “He was like… your Guardian Angel.”

“That was horrible Richard. Not funny at all.” Yet Damian could feel a soft smile pulling at his lips, “But yes. He was.” 

“It’s his Bruncle instincts.”

Damian frowned, “Bruncle?”

Dick grinned “Brother-uncle. Since you see me as your Baba .”

he groaned and shoved Dick out of his pet cuddling area, “Nope. That’s it. You do not get any more speaking privileges for the rest of the day.” though he could feel a warmth spreading across his chest. 

“Come on-”

“Nope. Bye! Bye!”

“But–”

“Goodnight, Baba .”

And Damian could see Dick completely melt, “Goodnight, Bibic.”

The first thing Jason did after he stormed upstairs was grab his journal from the hidden drawer in his dresser. Screw Bruce, he was going to figure out what happened to him. 

The only problem was the dates only went to April 25, 2018. He didn’t even finish the notebook. The entries didn’t seem like something was wrong–

Sheila Haywood .

There was a gun pointed at his back as betrayal and shock sunk into his stomach. “I lied.”

A blonde woman turned away from him while lighting a cigarette.

He read through the page. Sheila Haywood was…his mom? But what about his Mami? The one who raised him? Does that make her his step-mom? 

Jason scrambled back to the drawer to take out a pen and flipped to the next page. He was going to figure this out. 

First off, Bruce was a lot colder. Like close to Kelvin cold. 

Second, all the scars. There’s a certain amount of scars that made sense for whole vigilante gig, but the amount he had was closer to the amount torture victims had. 

Third, If Ms. Haywood was his mom, is Jason in her custody now? Well, he’s 20, so probably not currently, but did he have to leave Bruce? Is that why his room is pretty much the same? 

Fourth, Why was he at the League of Assassins? If he asked Damian would he give him a straight answer?

He heard footsteps coming down the hall, and almost immediately jumped up. And then relaxed when he realized they were Dicks, and they were stopping at the room before his.

He crept closer to the wall to try to catch the words.

“...But I- I guess they put him in the Lazarus Pit…”

Oh.

Guess he had his answer to number four. Though why would he need one? Did it have to do with number two? Maybe number two should be number one, but he’d already written in pen. 

That also probably answered why his eyes were more green than blue. And the white streak. It did feel a bit too emo for him.

He heard a laugh come from the other side of the wall and felt a twinge of jealousy flare in the pit of his stomach. Sure, he and Dick had their good moments, but it wasn’t usually that easy. There was still tension that loomed over any attempts of brotherly bonding. Sometimes Jason wishes Bruce actually introduced him to Dick before he took up the mantle of Robin, because maybe then they’d be closer brothers.

“Goodnight, Baba.” And just like that a wave of guilt washed over him because he had thoroughly misinterpreted their relationship. Jason honestly thought Damian was Bruce’s. They had very similar facial structures. 

And then there was a knock at the door, before it slowly opened, “Hey, Jason–”

“I didn’t realize you were Damian’s dad.”

Dick just gaped like a fish, “I– what?”

“I was under the impression Bruce was the kid’s dad, baba.” Jason swatted Dick with the back of his hand.

“Oh.” Dick laughed, “No. He’s Bruce’s. He’s also twelve.”

“So?” Jason shrugged, “You’re like, 30. It’s possible. And why else would he call you Baba?”

“Stop calling me old! I’m 27! Also, your math makes that barely legal.”

“‘Barely legal’ does not stop Talia Al-Ghul.”  Jason frowned. He thinks he was 18 when that happened. “Hold up, I’m not 18 yet.”

Dick was suddenly standing ramrod straight, “Excuse me, what?” 

That was his scary voice. Abort, abort, abort , “Why was I in the Lazarus Pit?”

“How much of our conversation did you catch?”

“I zoned out after Lazarus.”

Dick crossed his arms and huffed, “No, we’re going back to Talia–”

“Is Bruce depressed because he lost custody of me to Sheila Haywood?”

And that seemed to send a slap across Dick’s face, “How do you know about Sheila Haywood?”

Jason crossed his arms “I’m a detective, Dick.”

Except so was Dick, and he immediately spotted the journal on Jason’s bed. “It was in your journal?”

Jason nodded.

“What’s the last date in there?” Dick sat down on the edge of the bed.

Jason went to go sit next to him. “April 25, 2018”

Dick nodded, his normally clear blue eyes looked stormy.

“Something bad happened, didn’t it?” 

Dick looked like he was contemplating something, and then turned to face Jason, “I’m only going to tell you this because I know if your older version was here he would tell you.” Dick took a deep breath, “You would say, “I ain’t tellin’ you shit, you don’t need to know.” You would do that while leaning against a wall or something.”

Jason blinked at Dick, because that buildup was rude. “I wouldn’t say that! Also, it’s me . I would tell a younger version of me every moment of my life. I’m pretty sure an older version of myself would too.”

“Look, Jason, I was in space at the time. I don’t know all of the details, and Bruce never felt like filling me in on it.”

“What about the report?”

“Ok, yeah, I’ve seen it, but you know the reports are nothing like actually being there, or hearing the story. And it’s never something you or Bruce want to talk about. You’ll probably get the memory back once you’re back to full size.”

Jason huffed and pulled himself into his sheets. “You’re no longer my favorite sibling. You are dead last. Getting my hopes up that you would give me an answer. That was just cruel.”At least he knew there were reports on the bar computer about what happened. He could sneak down there and figure this out himself. 

“Eh, fifth place is not that bad.” Dick stood up, “or are we counting Stephanie?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re still in last.” Jason turned over to face Dick as he was leaving, “Though, I do accept bribes.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Goodnight, Little Wing.”

“‘Night, Dickiebird.”

[notdexterousatall]

An angst idea that I really love when it comes to Batman and Jason Todd is Bruce (and/or other people) separating the idea of Jason-the-boy-wonder and Jason-the-Red-Hood into two different people. Not in, like, an identity-reclaiming way on Jason's part, but in a hurtful, delusional way against Jason's wishes. Jason always having known himself as himself, but Bruce being unable to handle the idea of his son coming back "wrong", killing people, and coming to believe that this man, the Red Hood, must not really be his son.

An aside - here's a fic series rec if that's something you also like: Abraham Fails His Test by chucklesbuckles on Ao3. It's very good.

So I've got a fic idea I'm putting together for this premise:

Batman, the various Robins/Batgirls, perhaps even the Justice League, are fighting some sort of large-scale threat. In the course of this, Bruce does something to, presumably, earn the gratitude of one of DC's Greek gods. This god/goddess tells Bruce that in exchange, they will grant him a gift - a son for a son. (Let's say Bruce saved the life of one of their demigod children at the cost of injury to himself.) And so, after the battle is over, they snap their fingers and before the Justice League appears Jason. Jason as Robin, specifically, as he was before the bomb went off. Still gravely injured but not so much that he couldn't live with prompt medical care - the son that Bruce had lost.

Meanwhile, off to the side, stands the Red Hood, who still isn't really on speaking terms with his family but agreed to help out with the threat (secretly hoping to rebuild a few bridges he'd burned, as he's been doing for a few months at that point.)

Now, the god/goddess who does this isn't someone inherently untrustworthy, like Eris. This is a deity with a good(ish) reputation. Someone who could actually pull a miracle like that off with just a snap of their fingers. Maybe Zeus, Hades, Athena, Hera, Hestia, or Aphrodite. (It's a bit hard to pick Hera... because of her whole THING with demigods, or one of the virgin goddesses, if I go with the "saving a demigod son" idea, but they could be made to work.) Either way, someone with a bent towards justice, family, or love. Believable granters of the gift of returning a dead son to life. (I'm leaning towards Hades.)

(Note: this is the point at which I admit I know nearly nothing about DC's Greek gods other than what their Wikipedia articles includes, so I'm probably leaning hard on more Percy Jackson type depictions of the gods and what Wikipedia says about their actual depiction in ancient Greek myths. I feel no guilt in ignoring whatever DC comics says except for what I like. Maybe this is where I go with my Jason-Todd-son-of-Aphrodite-AU?)

So everyone looks at Robin!Jason, seemingly brought back from the dead by the god of the dead, and at Red Hood!Jason, murderer and breaker of his family's hearts, and goes, "oh, the Red Hood is an imposter! That makes sense, considering everything about him." Then someone arrests Red Hood for all those murders he committed (and also for impersonating Robin.)

Red Hood gets carted off to Arkham and Bruce gets his presumably-real Jason to the hospital, to be joyfully reunited with his father, older brother, and new younger siblings (although Tim may be older than him since he's about fifteen, and Cass is also older than him but is in Hong Kong, probably.)

Red Hood Jason knows he's the real deal, however. (At least, he thinks he is. Right? Holy identity crisis, Batman!) Shortly thereafter, he breaks out of Arkham and sneaks back to the manor to confront imposter Robin in the dead of night.

But imposter Robin seems to know everything Jason did when he died. And he acts just like Jason did when he was still a stupid fifteen year old. And he's just as horrified by the Red Hood as Jason always figured he-as-Robin would be if Jason ever got punted backwards in time (not an unreasonable confrontation to fear, Jason tells himself, considering the multiversal road trip bullshit he recently had with Donna and Kyle.) Jason is almost convinced.

And then imposter Robin tells Jason that, considering how Jason as the Red Hood has let his anger and hatred consume him, he has decided to forgive the Joker.

And that's BULLSHIT. Jason's identity crisis is over - he's 100% positive that Robin is an imposter. Because Jason, especially right after his beat down in Ethiopia, would NEVER forgive the Joker. Because the Joker is evil, and Jason knows that he can't forgive evil and live with himself.

But Jason has to leave or he'll get arrested again - and now that Batman doesn't think he's his son, he won't be pulling punches, especially if he catches him near his "baby". So Jason heads for the one person he knows will believe him: Talia, because of her involvement in Jason's real resurrection.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Bat clan are desperate to (re-)form their familial bonds with the REAL Jason Todd. But, while they don't know it, over time, it becomes clear that the new Jason isn't a gift. He's a punishment - a lesson - a haunting - for failing to show sufficient gratitude for the return of a lost son from the grave.

(Because of the BATARANG, Bruce, Hades let Jason go for reasons-to-be-revealed and you try to send him right back??)

[mybworlds]

CHAPTER 1

Pairing: Tim Rockford x F!Reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: Tim Rockford usually works alone and has a bad temper, one day after another woman was found dead he started to believe there's a serial killer around, maybe a useful help will come from an aspiring mystery writer.

Series warnings: use of you, violence graphic, slow burn, angst, fluff, mutual pining, eventual smut (18+ MDNI).

Masterlist

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Summer, Austin, TX

That day it was hot as hell, Tim Rockford looked towards the bridge and then he observed the trees surrounding it, he stuck a cigarette between his lips without lighting it. The ground at that point was damn dry, it would have been difficult to spot any footprints. He approached the victim again, her gaze, those wide eyes caused him an unknown shiver that reverberated down his spine. She was not his first case, she was not the first victim, but somehow he felt like a fucking newbie.

"Hey boss," the young recruit who had been called to join him a few months before greeted him.

"'morning," he returned the greeting.

"That's awful, whatcha think?" he asked observing his boss.

"Dunno yet." he replied scratching his chin and taking the cigarette from his lips and putting it back in the pack "Found anythin' 'bout her?" he asked kneeling next to the victim.

"Her name was Alicia McNail, 23. She lived in Austin since a couple of months, she moved from Nevada to study architecture," he started to share informations about her, but Tim wasn't listening anymore. He observed her fingernails and he noticed mug on victim's chaps.

"What d' ya see?" Tim asked to the young boy who was holding his little notebook in his hands.

"Uhm, maybe--" he looked at the young man next to him, he shook his head noticing that the boy didn't even know where to look.

"You're as useful as intelligent!" he blurted out impatiently.

"Sorry, boss, but don't know where--" he started shaking his hands.

"'S there somethin' that should not be here?" he asked directing the recruit's attention.

"Yeah, well-- she's half naked,” Tim nodded "her hair is a mess and full of mud,"

"Bingo!" Rockford exclaimed "Which means?" he asked again.

"She was killed somewhere else." the boy replied.

"Right!" Rockford exclaimed again, pointing a finger at the young man. “And, what else?”

"Drag marks are missing."

"Yeah, bu' she may've been dumped here." Rockford suggested.

"Correct, but there's no tire marks or signs that someone left her here." the other replied.

"So, what d' ya hypothesize?" Tim asked again.

"Dunno, boss. It looks like she was dumped here from-- uhm a ghost. It scares me to death." the young man added with a sigh and a contrite expression.

Tim looked at the young man who really had a scared expression, he decided not to say anything else "Have the forensics take photos, tell 'em I want photos of the ground, of the place, anything. Any detail, even the most insignificant one. If necessary also photos of the river water!" he ordered, turning his back on the victim and approaching his car, he opened the door and entered.

Then he left the crime scene, he had to drink. He concentrated more when he indulged in a few glasses of scotch or whiskey.

The ice cubes touched the officer's teeth, and that's when Tim remembered another detail: the victim's broken teeth. Her body was covered in mud, there were even traces in her hair, her nails and teeth were broken, but there was something that clashed with the violent image that Tim had before his eyes.

What was that?

He walked back and forth in front of the evidence board, what was he missing?

The photos of all the previous victims were there, their glassy eyes seemed to stare at him, there were unfortunately so many things in common between them: age, sex, the mug in their hair, all of them had been found half-naked, there were no footprints on their bodies, no footprints around their bodies. The ground then in those days was particularly dry, which did not help the investigation.

"Fuck!" he blurted out.

Someone knocked on the door, "YES?!" almost screamed Rockford turning suddenly toward the door that opened a few seconds later. It was that pain in the ass from the morning again "Boss," he said as he walked in, "there's a phone call for you, apparently there's a person who will be assist you for the next few days." he informed him in a trembling voice.

Tim rolled his eyes and huffed "Who the fuck is he?" he asked unceremoniously.

"Dunno, apparently she's a young journalist or something who…"

Tim dismissed him by moving a hand as if to tell him to leave him alone and the young man obeyed, when Rockford did that it was better to leave him alone. The Detective didn't give a damn who would come, even the Pope could have come at that moment he wouldn't have cared. He had this bloody horrible case on his hands and he couldn't get his head around it, it was driving him crazy.

You had been writing since you were a little girl, first writing on pen and paper and always leaving around the house your notebooks on which you delighted in telling the most different stories. Your parents had noticed from an early age this predilection of yours and this marked imagination to the point of pushing you to attend courses, masters and whatever else just to help you achieve that goal and make your dream come true.

Unfortunately, however, your dreams had collided with reality, in fact, everywhere you turned you found dozens and dozens of aspiring writers and therefore in the end no one was really interested in publishing your novels since they were defined as already read or not interesting enough or still too far from reality. Fantasy or romance novels were no longer going the way they were a few years ago, people wanted to read something real, according to the many possible publishers you had relied on to publish your work. As the years went by you were getting more and more desperate because you wanted to write, you had the need to write, but no one seemed to want to listen to you. You were about to give up when your father proposed what you had always refused which was to introduce you to a friend of his who worked in certain offices in police departments and whom your father had called a big shot, a guy named Craig Parker.

You had always hated recommendations, but then you told yourself that deep down your father just wants you to meet this man who will probably share some data just so he can make you draw from reality and make your stories more authentic. You told yourself and repeated to yourself as you walked into the police offices and looked around as if you were a thief about to be caught stealing. You looked around, but no one seemed to pay attention to you, you saw two officers behind a desk on the phone, two were making photocopies, another was making coffee, yet another looked scared and contrite, then there were several offices with closed doors. You approached the younger policeman who, as soon as he heard you approach him, almost jerked out of his chair, you smiled at him with a sorry look and reassured him about your intentions.

You still smile at the memory of that day and the first meeting you had with Agent Paul Hancock.

"I'm here to see Commander Craig Parker," you said as you looked the young man in the face.

"Y - yes, um, it's that way. Shall - shall I take you there?" the young man asked as he got up from his chair and before you could answer, he led you down some corridors filled with offices from which you could hear the phone ringing in the distance.

"Here." he said as he knocked on a door on which was written "Commander C. Parker," a deep voice invited the officer to enter, which the young man immediately did, you heard him introduce himself and then leave the room, "Go in," he said with a polite wave of his hand.

"Thank you." you said with a nod and a shy smile and then entered.

The man in front of you was a big man of almost 6 feet, dark skin, black eyes, graying hair, and a strong physique.

You remember feeling a great sense of fascination at standing in front of the man who certainly knew your father and who knows maybe he knew you as well or by name or maybe who knows maybe you had even met when you were little.

"'Morning," You said shyly with a small smile.

The big man smiled at you, revealing very white teeth and almost assuming a funny expression.

"Please, have a seat," he said, pointing to a chair in front of his desk; you agreed to sit down. You still remember the uneasy feeling you felt at being seated in that chair, you even remember the sweat beaded your forehead. You swallowed uncertain about what to say.

You looked around and observed the countless certificates posted on his wall, the dozens of pieces of paperwork stacked on the furniture behind him, then went back to observing the man standing there with his hands crossed and looking serene. You lowered your gaze and cleared your throat, the man finally understood your discomfort because he decided to add, "I knew your father since college, we were great friends. Y' know, we always kept in touch. Your father is a sincere, good man to whom I owe so much." he confided making you look up "When he asked me to help his daughter, well," he just spread his arms wide "how could I say no?" he smiled at you and you weakly returned that smile.

"Um, is it…legal what…?" you began to ask, unsure about the words to use. You were still talking to a Commander!

"Let's say you'd technically be here as a consultant, or something like that," he answered your question.

You furrowed your brow, "Um, but isn't a consultant someone who specializes in helping you police to solve crimes, frauds or whatever?"

"Yeah, but for your father and therefore for his daughter, we're going to pretend that you're," you were about to ask him if he could do that, if it was within his power, but again he was the one who anticipated your question you were about to ask, "of course it's something that'll remain between me, you and the man you're going to assist who obviously needs to know who you are,"

"Of course, yes."

It was obvious, you were just there to draw on the reality of the facts, to get insights to be able to write about, not to really solve cases.

"Obviously anything you hear or see, keep it to yourself, and of course if one day, when you write, it occurs to you to mention these events, be as discreet as you can be." you nodded "Got it?"

"Yes." you replied in a low voice.

What are you getting into?

"Well, now d' you want to meet the man you're going to assist?" he asked as he got up from his chair revealing himself again in his impressiveness, you also got up from your chair and with a nod he invited you to follow him. Behind him you felt so little, his footsteps echoed down the hallway, when you thought he was going to lead you to a basement or something, he stopped in front of a glass door, behind it was a man walking back and forth across the room. He had broad shoulders, dark hair, an angular nose, and chewed the bar line of glasses.

The Commander knocked a couple of times and then entered, you politely waited outside, the door was open and technically you could enter considering they were talking about you, but you just stood there shaking hands, the only thing you heard clearly, beyond Parker's introduction of you, was the annoyed and rancorous tone of the other man in the room who gave you a piercing head-to-toe look that made you duck your head and the words, "Don't need she playing Nancy Drew next to me."

You'd have laughed if he wasn't talking about you, but since he'd given you that nickname at first glance you were hurt, only later you'd take it as a compliment, but much later.

[finnickodaiir]

Jumping on the "re-listening and rating each song on all the 11 albums" trend, because it sounds fun <3. I'm starting with Debut! Disclaimer, I'm not rating the pop mix of Teardrops On My Guitar because it's just a remix, and it shouldn't have existed!

1. Tim McGraw. "He said the way my blue eyes shined put those Georgia stars to shame that night. I said, 'That's a lie,'" is quite a way to open your first album! I think it's underrated as hell, considering it's August 1.0 with the themes of doomed summer romance and hoping he'll look back fondly on her. It's still my favorite on Debut! Rating: 10/10.

2. Picture To Burn. I get why she might not be fond of this song anymore. After all, it is very much a petty teenage diss track, but it's a banger. And who hasn't wanted to erase the memories you have of someone you ended up hating? Rating: 8/10.

3. Teardrops On My Guitar. I get why some people might not connect with this song, I think that in order to fully appreciate it, you need to have once been a 15-year-old with an unrequited crush (and have listened to this song around this time) or have a blorbo who's a teen and has an unrequited crush. As someone who had an unrequited crush on a guy in my class when I was 15/16, that song hit back then, and now it's just a trip down memory lane, so I'm quite fond of this song and I think it has some gorgeous lyrics. "The only one who's got enough of me to break my heart" is easily my favorite lyric from this song. Rating: 8.5/10.

4. A Place In This World. Cute song, but I think the production is stronger than the writing here tbh. It's quite similar to The Outside, though I'd say APITW is more of a reassurance to her lonely self, whereas The Outside is her being more urgent about her loneliness. That being said, I believe The Outside does the job better, but that doesn't mean I dislike A Place In This World by any means, it's just not a favorite. Rating: 7/10

5. Cold As You. Absolutely deserves its spot as Taylor's favorite from Debut. It has some of her best lyrics from her earlier work. I'm still waiting for her to mash this up with Tolerate It on the piano... 😁. Rating: 10/10

6. The Outside. This song is for the people who were lonely in middle school and high school. You either get it or you don't get it. Rating: 8/10

7. Tied Together With A Smile. This one is a bit of a hit or miss for me. Not so much of a miss, more like "If I'm not in the mood, I'm a little bored during it." That being said, when I'm in the mood, it really hits. The lyric about giving love away like it's extra change is *chef's kiss*. Rating: 7.5/10.

8. Stay Beautiful. It's adorable, and I love the bridge, but overall, it's kinda just there for me. Rating: 6.5/10

9. Should've Said No. An absolute banger... ate and left no crumbs. I honestly think it should've been the enduring Debut hit rather than Our Song tbh... Rating: 10/10.

10. Mary's Song. You all be like, "Love when Taylor is on her storytelling mode," but then sleep on this song. Rating: 8/10

11. Our Song. It's a great song, but I think I overplayed it a bit. That being said, it should've been on the Eras Tour setlist. Rating: 8.5/10.

12. I'm Only Me When I'm With You. It also should've been on the setlist, such a banger! Rating: 8/10.

13. Invisible. I don't dislike this song at all, but I'm kinda confused as to why it's here when it's basically Teardrops On My Guitar 2.0, but not as good. I never really listen it to tbh :/. Rating: 6.0/10

14. A Perfectly Good Heart. Did this need to be on the album? I'd replace it with Sweet Tea and God's Graces because it feels like a full circle moment, considering that the album starts with her hoping her boyfriend will remember her fondly once summer ends, and Sweet Tea and God's Graces is about her looking back at all she has learned from that relationship and since then. So, holding out hope it will be the closing track on Debut TV 🙂. But back to APGH... it's not as bad as I think most people claim it is, but it's not really particularly good either. It's there, I guess. Rating: 5/10.

Overall score: 7.92/10

[this-is-all-unreal]

My Dear Friend

Part 11

Masterlist

    I never realized how quickly time passes when things are going well. It's almost cruel that time seems to move slower when you are experiencing something unpleasant. Dick trying to teach me how to do a backflip is one of those times when time seems to move slower. 

     "Just bend your back, no not like you are trying to touch your toes. like this, make a bridge." He says as he bends backwards effortlessly. I didn't understand how someone could bend like that. 

     "I don't think I can do that. What if my back breaks or my legs or something." I say as I sit on the blue gymnastics mat he's laid out on the floor of the gym. 

      "You won't break anything, come on. If I can teach Jason I can teach you." He says pulling on my arm to get me to stand on my feet. The mental image of Jason trying to do a flip in his creepy red mask while double fisting pistols gave me a pretty good laugh but I didn't think it was funny for too long because the idea of a 6'4 200lbs man jumping through the air while shooting wildly sounded down right terrifying the more I thought about it.

       "I don't need to know this. When has a backflip ever helped you?"

        "It helped me pick up a girl once." He says with a big grin. I attempted the back bend but my arms gave out and I fell on the top of my head. 

      "That was pretty close!" He was always so supportive even when he probably shouldn't be. We practiced for what felt like forever till I was rescued by Tim telling us Bruce wanted to talk to everyone. 

      We were all gathered in the living room closest to the front door. Bruce had a few suitcases with him. I was scared he was going to tell us we were going on another camping trip.

      "I know this is short notice but Alfred needs to help some old friends in England and I'm going as well to lend a hand." 

       "I thought I told you I could handle it, Master Bruce." Alfred said as he walked past the archway, suitcases under each arm. They had a very polite disagreement for a few seconds before Alfred gave up on trying to change his mind. 

        "Dick you are in charge of Margaret and Tim. Jason don't give Dick a hard time. It's only going to be a few days." Bruce says as he hands off his suitcase to Alfred who seems very eager to get going. 

      Bruce pulled Dick aside and whispered something to him. After Bruce and Alfred said their goodbyes and left for the jet. Jason walked off heading to his room and Tim followed up after him.

      "Ohh while the cats away the mice will play. How far is the closest casino do you think?"

      "Wait, we should get around for tonight. We are going to be majorly shorthand without Bruce." Dick said, calling up to the boys. 

       "We can't all patrol tonight. Who's gonna keep her from sticking a fork in an outlet or something?" Jason asked as he pointed down at me. Dick looked over at me for a second before smiling. 

     "She's gonna come out with us."

     "What?" Both Jason and I ask at once. 

     "Yeah. Bruce has been throwing something together for her. You know just in case." Bruce had said I wouldn't have to go onto the family business if I didn't want to. Has he been expecting me to change my mind about it? 

      "No offense Margaret but this is a horrible idea." Tim chimed in as he started to walk back down the stairs. 

      "I can be left home alone, you guys know that right?" It wasn't like I was completely helpless. I'd probably just sleep the whole time. They were completely over reacting. 

        "Yeah, you tell them. With them gone we can see which part of the house burns the fastest."

        "Stop it Felix, that's not funny." Normally I'd ignore him in public so I didn't look crazy but I had to nip this in the bud or he might just try. 

       "That's why you can't be left home alone. Bruce doesn't want you alone for too long with Felix." How long had that been the plan? I wish I hadn't heard that now I'm going to feel like none of them actually want to hang out with me. Dick seemed to realize his mistake quickly. "Not that he thinks Felix is dangerous. He is worried about Felix getting lonely. Ideal hands and what not."

       "Nice save." Jason sneered.  

      "He was thinking the name Magpie suited you well." Dick says as he opens the glass display case.

      "See they are expecting me to act up. Who am I to disappoint."

Everyone went down to the batcave. It hasn't changed much since I was here for the first time. Tim and Jason grabbed their suits to get change. On the very end next to the old Batgirl suit was a black, white, and blue suit. It looked like it had some built in armor to it. It had a long cape that connected to the arms. It was mostly black with accents of white. The underside of the cape was a blueish green. It came complete with a black domino mask. 

       "Do I get a suit? I'm going to be the one doing all the work."

      "I know Bruce is going to be disappointed he couldn't come out with you on your first night but I think he'll understand." I didn't want to do this but what could I do? Run hide? They would just catch me and drag me along. 

         "Please, I want to stay home. I'll sleep the whole night, don't make me go!" Begging couldn't hurt. Dick is a pushover. He frowned for a second but then handed me the suit. 

         "You are going to do great. You are gonna be with me all night. Nothings going to happen." Does he think I'm scared I won't do a good job? I'm scared I'm going to get killed. 

         Against my better judgment I get changed and meet the boys around the Batmobile. 

        "Wow you look um..." Tim was quickly cut off by an elbow in his side courtesy of Dick. "You look great." He finishes trying to cover for himself. The armor in the suit made me look so bulky and the domino mask had a small point at the nose making me look like I was some kind of buff bird.

        "Why is my cape connected like this?" I flap my arms around trying to demonstrate the issue. 

        "It's so if you let go of your grappling hook you can open your arms and glide rather than plummet to your death."

         "Jason what the hell don't say that!" Tim yells.

         "Should I lie to her? I almost dropped my hook the first night it happens." 

       "No no, the cape is not for that. Magpies are birds so you have wings. That's it, don't listen to Jason." Dick says looking proud he covered for Jason's bluntness so artfully. I didn't buy a word of it. 

       "Okay Jason you and Tim go south we will take north. If you run into anything that looks even remotely suspicious give the directions over the coms and we will be there. We play it safe and slow tonight. Worst case scenario I use this." Dick pulls out a watch. "The big guy himself gave it to me. He said it emits a frequency only he can hear. One press of this button and he'll be there."  

      "Whoa no way!" Tim exclaimed looking at the watch. 

       "I know right he gave it to-" the fan boying was interrupted by Jason revving the motor of his bike. 

      "Let's get this show on the road guys." He pulls on his mask and speeds out of the cave. Tim puts his helmet on cursing under his breath and gets on his own bike to chase after him. 

       "I'm so glad you're my partner tonight." Dick unlocks the Batmobile and we drive to the north end of the city. After parking we take to the rooftops. I had to cling to Dick for dear life as he used his grappling hook to climb the build. 

       Heights didn't bother me as much as I thought they would. After being carried by superman over Gotham City a roof top was nothing. Dick was pretty quiet. I could tell he took this all very seriously. The night was mostly calm. Dick would move us around a bit and stopped a few muggings but aside from that the streets were quiet. Tim and Jason seemed to be having a similar night. The sound of the police radio was starting to make me a bit edgy. Dick never let me out of his sight even when stopping muggers he'd look up to the rooftop to make sure I was still there. 

        "They still don't trust you. Can't say I blame them, I wouldn't trust you either. If I kidnapped someone there would be no way I'd let them out again." Felix was getting a tad antsy as well. 

        There was a crash on one of the bridges, something about laughing gas and clowns. The handheld radio came alive with chatter. Jason and Tim had already made it over there but Dick had to be careful when moving with me. He couldn't swing from buildings the way he normally could. We were miles from the Batmobile. He stops on another rooftop and looks down at me. 

      "I need to get over there. Can I leave you here? Just stay put and stay out of sight please." He sounded so worried it was hard not to agree. He was gone just as fast. He swung off into the distance becoming a small dot on the horizon. 

       "Wanna play tic-tac-toe?" I ask Felix as I sit down on the roof and use my finger to push around the dirt to make a board for us. 

         "Do I look like I want to play tic-tac-toe? Let's go see what's happening. I'm bored to tears up here." 

           "I can't leave if I wanted to. I can't use this thing." I say as I hold out the hook. 

      "Stand up, I'll get us down." I didn't like how that sounded but he wouldn't do anything that would jeopardize his existence at least not without provocation. So I nodded and stood up. 

      "Now what?"

     "Do you trust me?"

      "Sometimes." 

      "Just don't scream." I hear him move behind me. My feet started to lift from the roof. Before I knew it I was being dangled by my arms in the air. I stay as loose as I possibly can. I could feel hands under my armpits floating me up and over. Slowly I was lowered onto the street below. My feet touch solid ground again and my arms fall to my sides.

      "I didn't know you could do that!"

     "I wasn't sure I could either but that's a good trick to have up our sleeve eh?"

     I started to walk in the direction I saw dick swing off in. I wasn't sure where I was going but I figured I'd know when I was getting close. I ran past an alley and heard some kind of laughter coming from it. 

       "Stop" Felix said flatly as he pulled on my cape. I looked back at him to see what he wanted. "Something is down there."

       "So? It's a dark alley alot of things could be down there!" I say as I yank my cape away. Felix normally didn't get fixated on something like this. It sent a chill through me when the laughter seemed to get closer. Out of nowhere Felix started to laugh a little. 

        "Something isn't right." He said as he chuckled it was eerie to say the least. I started to fumble with my tool belt and found a small flashlight. I pulled it out and shined it down the alley. A man with his back turned to me was just standing there. He swayed a little as he stood. His outfit seemed familiar. It looked to be a tacky purple suit of some kind. I knew this wasn't good. I pressed my finger into my ear like I saw Dick do but I realized I wasn't even given a com. It was like a nightmare. Feeling so helpless all the while Felix was still laughing like a mad man. The police radio said there was some kind of laughing gas. Maybe this guy needs some help.

         "Hello?" I call out softly as I take a step closer to the tacky man. My heart pounded in my chest so fast it felt like if not for this armor on my chest it would leap right out. "Sir? Can I call someone?"  I froze in place. I didn't want to get within grabbing distance but he wasn't responding. I wasn't sure what to do.

[slowd1ving]

PENDULUM ✦ . 　⁺ xiii.

WHEN THE SUN HITS (SLOWDIVE)

"As the sun hits, she'll be waiting, With her cool things, and her heaven, Hey, hey lover, you're still burning, You're his song." wc: 12.3k

JOJO'S BIZARRE ADVENTURE MASTERLIST

PENDULUM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ・゜NEXT PART

( “Watch, I’m going to be the best scientist in the world, Doctor!” )

( One could chalk it up to the hopeful imaginings of a child. But you’re different. You’re filled with the adrenaline that comes after watching a superhero movie as a kid. You’re different , just like every other child is. )

( “I believe in you,” she replies, selecting another paper from her pile to begin grading. It’s quiet – save for the sound of red ball-point pen neatly allocating marks. Isn’t she going to say anything else? No, her mouth is set with a lucid calm that lets you know the conversation has finished. But it’s not over. It can’t be. )

( “Do you know any scientists, Doctor?” )

( Lessons have finished, but you’re not planning on trekking to that frigid house just yet. It seems some students have come to the same conclusion; they sit with their phones in their hands and their mouths open in mindless chatter with their friends. )

( “Don’t I know you?” she replies. A tidy ‘x’ emerges on the page. It feels very much like a clear blockade – like any other tired adult, she’s just agreeing with your imagination until you figure out the dismissal for yourself. )

( “I know a Dr Ferdinand as well,” she continues, thoughtfully. A bloody tick is adeptly crafted on the vellum. Maybe she has approved of you, after all. “If she’s still teaching at that university, you might be interested in her chemistry course.” )

( Dr Ferdinand. It’s a lovely dream. The summer holidays are fast-approaching, and you’re still a child peeling mandarins on the steps of the school building, thinking idly of the future. )

. 　⁺ ✦

( A dinner for one has never been so lonely. )

( A green, sickly-looking pea rolls off your plate. Microwaveable dinners used to be the unhealthy food that triggered the most nostalgia and comfort for you, but lately they’ve tasted like nothing but sawdust. Empty. Dry. Indigestible. )

( The seat opposite you in the tiny apartment kitchen is empty. No, it’s never empty. For the past month, it’s been your mother’s coat holder. Currently, it holds an antiquated Burberry piece that’s seen better days. And there, hanging from the ridge on the chair – just to the left – is her purse for when she goes out. You’ve looked inside; all it holds is a pack of Marlboros and a shitty lighter. )

( Where does she go? )

( Today, she didn’t take her stupid coat with her stupid bag with her stupid cigarettes and stupid lighter. You’ve stopped asking where her feet will take her; you’re afraid if you keep talking, those syllables will drive her away until she keeps walking. Away from you. Away from all you’ve known: these choking walls, these stupid insipid paintings she keeps up for no reason– )

( She’s changed. She was never close with you as a child, but that chasm has widened to something you can never patch up. Bridge building is not your strong suit, and neither is it hers. )

( You doubt these dinners for one will stop anytime soon. )

. 　⁺ ✦

“You’ve slept well.”

The hard mattress beneath you creaked terribly as you turned to face the sunlight. Groggily, your eyes shifted open; this was a single room, so–

“What the fuck?”

Haloed against the stream of rays was none other than Mountain Tim, perched on the window like it was an average Tuesday to simply climb up two storeys. His face was solemn, yet there was undoubtedly amusement in the shine of his dark eyes. Warily, you pushed yourself up to lean against the oaken headboard; you wore only an undershirt and loose trousers to sleep, but you didn’t particularly care about modesty. 

“We need to talk,” he replied firmly. 

[Charming.]

“Look,” you waved a hand dismissively. “Could you not just knock?”

7:43

If you’d counted from earlier correctly, that’d be roughly two hours of sleep you’d managed to steal. 

[That’s right.]

“It’s extremely important.”

His tone had shifted; he’d leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees and hands clutching his pearly-white gloves tightly together, and his eyes were no longer filled with mirth. Hesitantly, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and kicked a stool in his direction. 

“Come in, then."

Your attempt to lighten the mood didn’t seem to help. 

Still, he took the chair. If you were being honest, you didn’t mind his robbery of your sleep. Despite your weary mind, the memories that occupied the dusty cavern weren’t pleasant in the slightest. I haven’t seen that woman in years.

“I won’t waste time with small talk.”

He was close. So close you could count each fine hair that wavered softly in the morning breeze. Unlike your recently mended clothes, his clothing was still rough – but nothing that was out of the ordinary for a race like this. 

“When did you acquire your ‘stand’?”

“I’m sorry?” you coughed out. His words buzzed in your ears: when did you acquire your stand? Your heart raced wildly, yet your mind struggled even with the increased rate of blood and oxygen. How did he find out? You hadn’t summoned Depeche Mode with him in direct sight, and you’d been extra careful to conceal it in Zeppeli’s presence especially. 

“You know what I mean,” he tilted his head expectantly, piercing you with that scrutinising gaze you’d only witnessed a few times upon meeting him. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost that directness of yours?”

[He’s already told you about his own stand, so he brings up a good point.]

Still, Depeche Mode was a closely guarded secret you’d kept. 

“Took me off guard, that’s all,” you rubbed your eyes to avoid looking into his for a few blissful seconds. “How’d you figure it out?”

“You weren’t fazed by the Devil’s Palm, nor by the revelation of my stand,” he listed off, still staring directly at you. This man… he really was unrelenting, wasn’t he?

[Told you he was scary.]

“That’s not exactly a solid reason, though,” you rested your chin on your palm, stifling a yawn. Really, he could’ve picked a much better time for discussion, one that– 

“The actual reason was this.”

He’d grabbed your left wrist and flipped it over to the tattoo. Despite the accusation, all you could feel was your pulse against his calloused hand. His hand was cold and rough, like he’d spent the night outside – which, in hindsight, he had. 

“You served me drinks, remember? I recall your moving tattoo, and later I remember Martha telling me it was just very intricate when I mentioned it,” he unfurled your fingers thoughtfully, and it seemed you’d lost the ability to speak. When was the last time someone had taken your hand like this? When was the last time you’d had friendly contact with anyone? “But I didn’t think I was mistaken – so I observed. The time on the face changed, from two to four to eight – until it couldn’t have possibly been a trick of the light.”

“So why the wait?” you asked evenly, placing your free hand on top of his. He glanced at it briefly in surprise, before looking back at you. It was strange. You always expected a revelation like this to come with tremors and chattering teeth, yet you felt much too tired to properly give a darn.

“I still wasn’t completely sure,” he admitted rather sheepishly. Was this the first time you were so close to him? You’d served drinks to him, sure, and you’d been crushed when he’d fallen into the pile of magnets, sure – but this was the first time you’d made a genuine connection . “After a few glasses, it might as well have been the light. I couldn’t exactly ask about it when I hadn’t been clean with you either– and it could’ve been anything, really, like a different type of spirit or magic or whatever–”

“So it wasn’t the actual actual reason, was it?” you interrupted his flood of words. He’s nervous. Behind him, a slow, warm breeze began to ripple through the plain white curtains – but it might as well have looked like the finest of cloth with the way you’d been staring at them. 

“You’re right, it’s not.”

Right. You waited, counting the dust motes swirling next to your eyes. 

“I saw your stand when you brought it out in the stables,” he shrugged, and the tension dissipated. That’s it? You wanted to laugh, you wanted to cry; all that build up had crumbled into a thin veil of disbelief. You couldn’t help it. 

Your shoulders began shaking in quiet laughter. 

“ Fuck, man,” you gasped. “That’s not even funny.”

“I suppose not,” he agreed amicably, though you could clearly see wry exhales of his own. Just like that, any of the solemnity in his face had been pierced through like gossamer webs by a carefree hand. Waved away. Dismissed. 

He brought up a good point – you should’ve been more careful when healing the sore muscles and various cuts and scrapes of Group Four. The mare had been patched up thoroughly, save the fatigue, but it was better to be surreptitious about it than possibly having your identity as a stand user revealed due to recklessness. 

You studied the face of one of your few friends in this wretched place. 

His eyes had shut in meditative peace. The air was still tinted with the smell of dust and sweat, but there was also a delicate frangipane aroma that curled from his hands and into the small room. It was an unexpectedly gentle thing to notice. You smiled. 

“Do you have any questions?”

“I mean, not so much as general curiosity,” those dark eyes fixed themselves on you once more, though the pressure was more inquisitive than anything. Even his hand – firm as it was in holding onto your wrist – had loosened into a mere clasp. “You can just take it out.”

“Never took you for the type,” you leaned backwards against the rough lime washed wall, adjusting your seat so you could breathe comfortably. It wasn’t at all necessary, yet somewhere within you still lurked the urge to not disappoint. This was absurd – it was bizarre ; you’d sworn to leave behind companionship when you’d arrived in this place, but here you were – breaking out into a stupid smile over a stupid joke with someone you’d only met a few weeks ago. Here you were, feeling that incorrigible warmth well up in your stomach. “You say that to everyone you meet?”

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” he said with utmost sincerity, and there it was. That tickle in your sternum, that stupid itch that cracked your face into a messy, bright smile you tried to hide. But that would be futile, wouldn’t it? You were using human fingers to cover something as obvious as sunlight – those rays still peaked through the fragile flesh with no more effort than stepping on an ant as a giant. 

That itch slowly died away, and you were left with the remaining bubbles that each popped – one by one. 

“Don’t be too freaked out.”

Depeche Mode, with its stupid clock eyes and stupid expressions, was nothing more than you . You didn’t meet his gaze, which no doubt would’ve been stupidly steady. 

The next moment was the one in which you’d formally acknowledge that rogue piece as an actual part of you. 

And in some ways, that was one of the most nerve wracking things you needed to face.

Like a coward, you kept your eyes shut. Coaxing the concentration took longer with an audience, but it started nonetheless. It began small: tiny waves ebbing and flowing against your solar plexus. Those waves grew larger and larger, until they catapulted into that familiar feeling of calling on Depeche Mode.

[ I’m here. ]

The man next to you let out a small hum of interest; you were acutely aware of the vibrations that travelled through his palm, resonating against your quickening pulse. 

“That’s new,” he appraised, and you could feel his head tilt through the warped transmission of Depeche Mode. If you had to describe it, it was more like a heat map: all blurred colours and no real shape–

“Ouch,” the monotone voice of Depeche Mode echoed in the tiny room just as you felt something poke your cheek. When you opened your eyes, startled, his finger was raised right at the side of that blank face – just beneath one of those clock eyes. 

“Your stand speaks!” Mountain Tim glanced at you thoughtfully, before turning his attention onto the floating head once more. Its eyes stared back at him impassively. “What else can you do?”

“Perform jigs.”

You scowled. 

“Reject unnatural states and hit things.”

Depeche Mode puffed out its non-existent chest. 

“That depends on a fifty-fifty chance with this slot machine, and that’s refreshed every five minutes from when I last spun it,” you added, lifting up your hand to show him the rectangular tattoo on your right palm. “It’s pretty stupid, I know–”

Cold fingertips grazed the colourful lines decorating your palm and wrists. Any syllables that dared escape did so as a shaky exhale ( “since-it’s-so-inefficient-but-you’ve-probably-realised-that-already” ). You knew he could feel your surprise in the language of your pulse, and you knew he knew that you knew. It was quite suddenly that you regretted not having at least your jacket on you – regular contact after years of none was getting to your head.

“Hmm.”

He tilted your hand this way and that, shaking it as if you were nothing more than a rag doll. “Reject unnatural states?”

The whirring had already begun. Spectral cogs had started their ghostly dance in the muscle – there, the slot machine was finally in use as two numbers fought probability to display themselves. He paused the incessant shaking; he brought your hand closer to his eyes so he could watch the lines whirl against each other. Bold against fragile. Water against stone. 

[First slot activated: Personal Jesus. Countdown has begun.]

Perfect.

“This is–” 

You already knew what he was seeing: a blank, opalescent head fitted with clock eyes donning a ludicrous nurse hat and holding that ludicrous syringe. Instead of watching Depeche Mode parading itself around the small space, you studied his parted lips and the way his eyes fixed themselves on the mannequin head. 

“Do you need anything mended?”

He swallowed. In this haven filled with dappling sunlight, you felt serene. Carefully, he unwound the bandages around his arms; there were the mismatched injuries he’d sustained from getting hit by that rocky avalanche – alongside those on his face and the deep, crushed-purple bruising that stained his tanned skin. 

“Depeche Mode.”

It was barely a whisper. You felt more than you saw your stand raise its prismatic syringe – on the contrary, you saw rather than felt his eyes widen at the sight. It almost made you break out into laughter once more. He glanced at you – once, twice in mild fear – before squeezing his eyes shut right as the tool passed through him. 

“It’s fine,” you told him calmly. “The effects should begin soon.”

“Right,” he coughed. Strange. This was the first time since that day on San Diego beach – when you’d first arrived in this place, this time – that you’d felt that peaceful warmth. That stupid day, when Depeche Mode had hit you with that syringe, and that amniotic fluid feeling. Gross. Bizarre. Soothing. 

“I can see the skin knitting itself back together,” he marvelled, turning his arms to watch Personal Jesus at work. No, this was no longer warmth; you’d identified the feeling making you feel all fuzzy and sticky. Pride. The sin settled on your shoulders like a cobwebbed shroud, yet you couldn’t help but smile widely. 

Pride.

Yes, that was an apt description for the fire coursing through your veins. 

. 　⁺ ✦

( Let the snow melt away and the fire die out. )

( You’ve been frequenting a place lately. It’s a quaint little grove downtown: filled with orange trees and apple trees, then some miscellaneous bushes of different berries you still haven’t worked up the courage to try from. You’ve drawn the small, jewel-coloured fruits, you’ve taken photographs that end up tapped out of existence, you’ve macerated them into a pitiful pulp in your growing fists – yet you still haven’t placed one on your tongue yet. )

( There’s nothing else to do in this idle autumn other than imagine the flavour spreading on your tongue. It’s only been a few months since your mother stopped taking you to the range, yet this indefinite pause feels more like a definite end. A full stop. You’ve done many things this summer, and none of them have been under her constant scrutiny. Freedom allows for such wasteful days like this. )

( These are the fields of Asphodel. A fitting reward after a life of doing nothing remarkable. )

( It’s bizarre, though. Freedom shouldn’t feel so void. )

( She’s never been particularly close, but it’s like she’s never existed. Those months since that day she disappeared, then came back the next day in completely different clothes – she’s been a spectre ever since. She doesn’t talk, and when she does, she doesn’t seem to recognise you. There is an epistemic distance between the two of you; she knows of you, but she’s lost all comprehension beyond that. )

( She’s the same person– )

( No, she can’t possibly be– )

( She has to be the same person. ) 

( “Can I sit next to you?” )

( Standing above you, with her braids swaying alongside each movement, is Lorelei. Your classmate from two or three years prior; you’ve lost track of the months. All you can remember of her is the sparkle in her eyes as she looked at you after asking a question during World History, but looking at her now is too much. )

( She’s radiant like the sun, yet anyone coming from that accursed class is a bitter reminder of Dr Amsa. You came to this grove to escape the tragedy of your mother; your past cannot help but follow you in different forms. You pluck a berry from the bush beside you. It’s a deep crimson, and pitifully smaller than its siblings. Maybe that’s your answer. )

( “Sure.” )

( “That’s a huckleberry you’re holding there, did you know? They’re edible.” You lift your head wearily from the crook of your elbow at her words, staring at the small berry you’re rolling around in your fingers. You don’t know why you trust her, but your teeth bite through the skin of the fruit regardless. )

( It’s sweet. )

( You decide that this trip hasn’t been a waste, after all. You decide that it’s interesting talking to Lorelei. She puts her warm hand on your shoulder. )

( Bygones be bygones. )

( Her lips taste of huckleberries, but her words are those of parting. Her parents are leaving the city for good after the recent purges of those working in the government. She’s not supposed to tell you this. )

( It’s your first kiss, yet it seems like someone’s held onto your heart instead. )

( It’s autumn, yet it seems like winter already with the way everything is crumbling away. )

( The snow has fallen once more. )

. 　⁺ ✦

He never understood it. The ties that bound people to a place as miserable as this – a grimy backwater town in the middle of the States – were something he couldn’t comprehend, no matter how much he puzzled and scratched at his chin over it. Alas, it wasn’t his job to understand, much like it wasn’t his job to question himself. 

“Congratulations on your very early arrival, sir,” a pudgy official (scratch that, two pudgy officials) greeted him from the splintering wooden stairs of a rundown hotel. He watched, boredly, as they scurried over each other like little rats to unfold a yellowed map of the region. With their matching, bristly haircuts, they looked rather like a set of two paint brushes – though that was neither here nor there. “This is a town specifically built as a checkpoint of the Steel Ball Run race.”

Ah. So there was nobody with particular ties to this dingy place, after all. 

“We were expecting to hear of the second-stage riders arriving tomorrow, but – well, according to our information, you’ve distanced yourself a day’s worth from Sandman… and… took a different…”

He tuned them out, scratching in his ear with a pinkie finger idly while they squeaked around his feet checking his horse’s nose print and his candidate number. Maybe they were more like lice – destined to make him itch with boredom. He glanced around. 

If there was nobody living here, then why were there four horses that he could see in those ramshackle stables?

“I’m not… first place?” 

“–you are currently in fifth place, Mr Oyecomova. Mr Mountain Tim, Brisk-and-Irate, Gyro Zeppeli and Johnny Joestar all arrived earlier – although, Gyro Zeppeli was arguing with Johnny Joestar that his horse had in fact arrived first by a ‘neck-length’! They wouldn’t stop, but as I reminded them, this was a checkpoint and not an actual goal, so their arguing was rather pointless… They did settle down, since it doesn’t affect their racing points–”

Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up shut up–

His fingers twitched. The man covered in tattoos sprung off his horse and picked up something very interesting on those steps. 

“Does a phone line or something similar go through here?”

A red, wax seal. The crest of the Napoli royal family. The king the king the king the king the king the–

God’s will. 

“There’s only the telegram–”

“And postal service!”

“–we also have tents and hotels for lodging with showers, restaurants, bars, blacksmiths and barbers, plus an array of different small shops.”

God’s will.

He vanished from their sight before they could even finish what they were saying. Pity. He should’ve left them with a parting gift of time as well. 

But that wouldn’t do. He’d heard what he needed, and it was time to find the thing he was looking for. 

Oyecomova surveyed the room with little interest. Two single beds, a high window, and some bags in the middle of it all–

Interesting. 

His palloured, ashen hands grasped the edge of a yellow satchel. 

Very interesting.

Within was a purple-black tablet, or maybe a folder. Emblazoned on its leather front was the full royal crest that was particularly notable on the uniforms of those executioners–

His eye twitched. 

“Someone I know? Whoops, I guess not. But why would you come into a stranger’s room and go through his stuff?”

Oyecomova glanced at the window. Perched on its ledge was someone he briefly recalled looking at on those trash newspapers that littered each stage – a tall, blond man who currently held a pistol pointed directly at him. The only interesting thing about the man was the striped zebra hat he wore, but that quickly grew boring too. 

Look at this cowboy guy. 

“I’m looking for Gyro Zeppeli. Where is he?” Oyecomova queried politely. Maybe the boring man could be polite too, and answer his question. 

“Looks like we have an idiot who doesn’t know how to converse,” the man mocked him. “Don’t you know you’ll fail the test if you answer a question with a question? Loser.”

“He received a letter here, Gyro Zeppeli did. There was wax for sealing letters at the office, there was,” Oyecomova thought aloud. The man behind him… what was his name? Mountain– no, it didn’t matter, not when he’d found the very thing he was looking for.

A dirty little letter, crumpled but still looking every bit made of the expensive parchment he knew it would be. The wax seal he’d picked up fell in beautifully with the remaining scraps of red left on the envelope. 

“Hey! Don’t you mess with me!” 

Mountain man ripped that grey skin off Oyecomova’s neck. He ignored it, much like he would ignore a fly buzzing a few feet away. Carefully, greedily, he opened that fateful envelope. “Just like I thought. He’d received a letter from the ‘King’s Servant’.”

‘I’ve prepared a Zombie Horse 50km north of here in the Red Canyon. The ‘Zombie Horse’ has the power to heal fatigue and wounds from the race. It will be of great help to you.’

“Zombie Horse…? What’s that?” Oyecomova scratched his chin in brief puzzlement. Whatever. He’d figure it out later. Matter-of-factly, he turned to face the unfortunate intruder. “Oh yes… just a warning, don’t let go of my skin. I’m just going to distance myself a little bit, you understand?”

The man’s eyes were wide with fear. Who knew, maybe he’d even wet himself in terror.

“It’s dangerous if you spread your fingers.”

Little clocks began growing from the man’s hands. 

“Oooh, now you’ve done it,” Oyecomova’s brows wrinkled in something that might’ve been a distant cousin to ‘worry’. Or maybe it wasn’t related at all. “I told you not to spread your fingers… after touching my body.”

He was out of the front door by now, while the fool was still by the window. Really, what good was all of that?

“I won’t allow anyone to race for the King. I will have you dead, Officer Zeppeli!” he vowed.

Behind him, the man exploded into itty-bitty little pieces. 

It was ten o’clock, and Oyecomova just had a wonderful start to the day.

. 　⁺ ✦

What a sad little town. The Machiavellian manoeuvres adopted by the Boom Booms had left you unable to appreciate the uniqueness that made the town so unique; you were too busy yawning to truly notice the crumbling stables and fragile infrastructure. 

It had been around two hours since Mountain Tim had first shown up at your window and woken you up. Currently, your palm read around half-past nine – a vile time to be awake and walking. He’d left, and you’d slowly gotten dressed. Vulnerability was covered by uniform. Flesh by armour. 

You’d buy a gun today. That was your resolution you’d made while washing your face with the lukewarm pitcher of water you’d found. After checking over Group Four, of course. If you concentrated, you could hear eagles hounding you. 

“Look who it is! You here to visit us?”

Shithead.

Dealing with him when danger didn’t force you together was not in your plans today; rankled thoroughly, you pointedly slung your cloth over your shoulder and walked towards Group Four. In your hands, you carried various brushes and two oils: for feeding and grooming the Appaloosa. After last night, she deserved every bit of the care you had packed and bought for this race. Still, you hadn’t expected to use it so soon–

“ Figlio di puttana – be that way, then!”

You ignored him. Last night was the most cooperative the two of you would probably be. It was a shame; you’d been foolish enough to hope it would bring about a tentative allyship, but it seemed the two of you would never be close without trading insults. 

Working with a bristled brush first, you attacked the clumps of sand and mud that dulled her dappled coat – it stood out particularly against the cream parts, and you couldn’t help but feel bad for the poor mare. As if she’d sensed your annoyance, she nosed at your sleeve for treats – leaving a fair bit of slobber on your jacket that you almost shed a tear about. 

It was soothing; targeting the sore muscles with warmed oil and a rubber brush was therapeutic in the way that eased your guilt over what transpired during the night. Group Four had deserved to rest by the fire last night and sleep, but the two of you had been pushed to the limit in the dark. Sure, you’d expected to run into people you’d have to fight – that was later rather than sooner, though. 

What really worried you, though, was that the Boom Booms hadn’t felt particularly scary. Of course, you’d felt the despair, the anger and the pain. You’d felt it all, yet you knew that family was far from being the strongest. 

You glanced over briefly at the other end of the stables. The ragtag group of the night was the first to arrive, so Johnny and Zeppeli were the only two others in the small building. The latter was busy tying up Valkyries mane with his tongue slightly past his green lips in utmost concentration, while Johnny was sponging down Slow Dancer’s cornflower-blue bridle. They looked peaceful. Away from the bloodied Devil’s Palm, Johnny had a small smile stuck on his face, while the lines furrowing Zeppeli’s brow were softened. 

It was… almost nice. 

You stroked Group Four’s velvety nose morosely. It was highly unlikely there’d be a chance like this to enjoy the sunlight, brief as it was. Though the stables were far from being a paradise, they were almost synonymous with the small life you’d made for yourself at San Diego. 

You missed Dr Ferdinand, you missed Diya, you missed Vincent and you missed Dolly. You missed your job at the lab, you missed serving drinks and writing those boring accounts, and you missed your past. 

Something had shifted, though. Whilst the resentment remained, here was a chance to make a change for your future. There’d be no more Dr Amsas in the threads of fate; no more people forced away from you due to the actions of one man. 

One man.

A singular human. 

The wooden brush in your hand creaked under the angry pressure of your fingers. You exhaled, and the grip turned loose once more. A plan, you contemplated – you needed something that would get you to your goal alive. You needed allies and information. Thoughtfully, your hands swatted away the horse hair that had ended up on your cargo pants. It wouldn’t do to dwell on possibilities so when you’d barely survived the last encounter with an enemy.

And that’s exactly why I need a plan.

The brief surge of adrenaline had ended – you were at peace once more. 

On a whim, you lifted your glove to check the time. 

9:57

Perfect. There was still plenty of time to allow the fatigued mare time for rest, while still stocking up on some non-perishables and weaponry. With one last goodbye to Group Four, you went to the tap at the front of the stables to wash off your brushes and gloves. 

“Hey, Johnny,” you greeted the jockey beside you. He, too, was using the tap to clean off his tack – too engrossed in his task to have looked up before. 

“Oh – hi there,” he smiled up at you – careful, like a hunter meticulously lining up their shot – and you could feel your heart contract slightly. “Sorry about Gyro; he’s still annoyed over losing that race today.”

“No worries–” the cold water streamed down your wrists and onto the packed dirt floor. “–I think we’ve got a rather dickhead-dickhead business partnership. I’m not taking it to heart.”

Johnny let out an exhale that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.

“You know I can hear you stronzi, right?” Zeppeli’s muffled voice filtered shakily from the tack room. He emerged, looking disgruntled as ever, but he met your eyes – and held your gaze. Incorrigibly, he didn’t scowl, nor look disgusted at the sight of you; rather, his facial muscles twitched into a phantom smile that went as quickly as it came.

He barked out a short laugh then, and you looked away to stifle one of your own. 

Still. There was something about this atmosphere – this tranquillity – that you couldn’t trust. Call it a gnawing unease, call it pessimism; no one could deny that beneath your jacket, goosebumps dotted your flesh and sent a perpetual chill through your arms and spine. 

What was going on?

( The seconds are ticking down – there’s barely any grains of sand left in the hourglass. Will you clutch at them? Will you try to save what you can’t? )  

( Will you be able to defy the flow of time? )

“ Shit, ” you cursed under your breath. Your head was becoming lighter and lighter, like someone had stuffed it with cotton wool and beaten the shit out of it with a baseball bat. 

“You good over there?” Zeppeli’s voice was filled with TV static.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” you stumbled. You pressed a damp, frigid glove to your forehead. Shit – what was going on? Thickly, you swallowed: tongue leaden like bullets. Each tick of the watch-hand on your palm reverberated through your skull, until your teeth chattered with its intensity under your bandanna. 

10:00

Just as the bell tolled the hour, everything exploded. 

. 　⁺ ✦

( Lately, it seems like everyone’s been leaving you. Is this ‘growing up’? Is this grief something you need to learn to live with? It’s dinnertime again, yet the seat before you is as barren as it ever was. The coat of the day is a Khaite Bontin, draped elegantly and crisply over the chair as though it was its own person. Stiff. Unapproachable. Steel grey. It might as well be your mother coming back to haunt you. )

( She’s still alive. You think, at least. But the mice scurrying around can’t tell you that. The fry wilting on your plate can’t assure you of that dream. Is it a dream? Have you been robbed of that too? )

( Even the nicotine and tar scent is slowly starting to recede into the shadows of the kitchen – the soot stains on the grimy walls have faded into an incomprehensible plume. The pack of Marlboros is still wrapped neatly in plastic inside her purse; you have an urge to light one, stick it in the ashtray and pretend it’s an incense stick for the dead. She might as well be a cadaver, but the stench will bring her back: cigarette tapping nervously in her fingers as she takes a shaky drag. )

 ( She’s not a ghost. )

( She can’t possibly be. )

. 　⁺ ✦

The barn doors were flung inwards as if they were nothing but cardboard – beckoning in an age of petrification. It felt as though you were gazing straight at Medusa herself. Your body, shaking as it was, had refused to move – to fight, to flee – instead choosing to stare at the hotel that had almost been completely blown away. 

Time resumed. 

Johnny was thrown from his wheelchair as the door collided into its metal frame. You wished you could’ve done something as his body barrelled straight into your side; yet, you couldn’t even brace yourself as you gazed upon the smoke billowing out the building. The taste spread on your tongue: ash, blood, and who knew what else. 

“What the fuck?” Johnny coughed out, waving a hand in front of his face to block out the dust and debris settling in the doorway. You wished you could answer. You wished you knew what was going on. 

Inhale. You scrambled to your feet. Exhale. You pulled on your goggles. 

Something white and blurred collided with your boot. Strange. In the morning light, it almost looked like an arm: soaking crimson blood into the dirt–

You retched. 

That was an arm – lifeblood spilling from arteries and yellowed muscle peeking through the pearly glove. It had been different when you watched those dramatised televisions shows about doctors and surgeons; in the past, you couldn’t smell the congealing liquid through the pixels. In the past, you couldn’t feel the warmth still in the limb as it leached through your boot. 

“– what happened–”

“–it’s an explosion, don’t get close–”

“Stay away! Why would a hotel suddenly explode like that–”

Tears filled your eyes as the metallic, coppery smell hit your uvula; each heave and toss of your stomach felt as though someone had grabbed it and was squeezing it experimentally. As the smoke cleared, the feeling worsened. The flavour of vomit was slowly pooling on your tongue. 

“Hey! What’s that?” 

Johnny’s question echoed in your mind, along with one of your own.

Where had you seen those gloves before?

It was like a curtain had been pulled back on a massacre. Limbs were strewn in a hellish pattern, while–

You recognised that shred of fabric. 

You’d seen it just this morning. 

“Hey… that’s–” Johnny’s voice held an unwelcome note of realisation, one that mirrored the bilious feeling welling within you. 

“ No, ” your voice had been stolen away, just like that. Just like that. The sun winked out behind the clouds for a brief moment – and time resumed its loathsome passage. 

“That’s Mountain Tim!”

One of your friends. 

Once more, blood from someone you cared deeply for was soaking into your shoes. 

When will it end?

You thought it’d change things, going back–

There was a sudden pressure around your ankle; like a vice, something entrapped your tendon and forced you to freeze in place. You would’ve buckled on the spot, had you not grabbed Zeppeli’s shoulder before you went down.

“Do you min–” he shot; upon pausing and regarding you in entirety, his syllables came to a grinding halt. It was fleeting. You barely understood what he said.

At your feet was the still-living hand of Mountain Tim. And unlike before, rope had emerged from the exposed muscle and fat. 

He’s alive.

“He’s alive!” Zeppeli echoed the tremulous cry in your mind. “He was able to scatter his body parts with the rope–”

Your hand pushed against tense muscle, and your heartbeat drummed against your skull. Outside the makeshift stables, the sun brazenly cast its rays onto you – yet you couldn’t even feel a fragment of its warmth. 

His jaw had been completely separated from the rest of his skull. Every ivory molar, each incisor you could easily count, wedged in flesh where they didn’t belong. He was a faithful marionette – strung through with his only hope for survival. 

The rope. 

“Don’t come any closer – both of you!” 

Mountain Tim’s voice was desperate: gargled with a macerated tongue and broken gums. His eyes were wide and wild when he stared, panic-stricken, at first you then Zeppeli – a last-ditch spell to ward the two of you off. 

Shit, you cursed silently. It had been no mere coincidence that the hotel blew up. Bombs of this calibre were years in the future: billowing in an arrhythmic sophistication far beyond these young years.

It had to be that.

“Get away!” he yelled urgently. “ Now!”  

It was too late. With the cover of dust clouds, the silhouette of an outreached hand was getting more and more visible in the shadow of a certain Gyro Zeppeli.

“ He’s got a Stand! He’s hiding close by – under no circumstances can you let him touch you!”

It was nice knowing you, you thought mournfully. 

Just as those cadaver fingers grazed the nails on Zeppeli’s hands, he twisted through the air: rippling the dirt around him into a shroud. Vainly, the pallored hand tried to claw at his boot – you couldn’t tell whether he’d caught at the spurs or not. 

“Man, that cowboy…” the silhouette commented blandly. “What the hell is up with his body?”

“ You–” Zeppeli choked out. His eyes were shaking and furious; yet still, the man crouched on the ground, nonplussed. 

If you had to describe him, he was birdlike: lean, draped in cherry-red that seemed to mimic feathers, and covered with a net as though a lucky hunter had caught him. The blank canvas of his face had emerged from neutrality for barely a whisper of a second – striped lips downturned in mild frustration – before he gazed vacantly at Zeppeli once more. 

“Gyro Zeppeli…” the stranger remarked. Resolution was too fleeting of a word to describe the look in his eyes. It was as if he was breathing the very essence of it, to the point where the emotion was casually imbued in each action – each glance. “Long time no see.”

Who the fuck is this?

Desperately, you tried to recall any sliver of information from the future – alas, it was all for naught. You’d drawn a blank. 

“Damnit Gyro! He grazed you–” Mountain Tim’s curse echoed in the rubble. “–he brushed you with his fingers!”

[ Don’t bring me out just yet. This man is dangerous. ]

Evidently, you replied sourly. 

“ What are these things?”

A chill went down your spine as you looked closer. 

Tiny bulbs had started growing from Zeppeli’s hand. Where ash had dusted his skin, they looked rather like miniature flowers. 

“ Gyro – he placed one of those pins on you! That’s his ability – you need to hold them down so you don’t explode–”

Of course , they weren’t flowers, but rather little impressions of slovenly clocks that dripped down from his sweat-soaked hands. You could see him swallow – could almost hear the crack of his jaw as it tightened in discomfort. 

“ Huh – what?” 

“Just hurry up and hold the pins down! It was the same with me – when the pins flew off, I exploded!” Mountain Tim yelled frantically. He was bloody and bruised, yet his body had slotted back into something recognizable once more. Still, the deep welts etched on his skin left you unable to look away.

Is it possible to shrink yourself?

[I don’t see why not. Are you saying to be unnoticeable whilst I heal him?]

That’s exactly what I’m suggesting, you gritted out critically. Surely, if some subconscious part of you could control the Stand’s appearance, it also extended to the size of the spirit. It might cost you some power output, but he’s not in bad enough condition to necessitate you at full size. 

[Yes, sarge.]

“ Man! So close,” he commented disappointedly, head craning this way and that as he dusted himself off. 

The whirring began. 

The showdown was stupidly cliche: a lanky, slightly-swaying fiend with a penchant for explosions; a rude cowboy adamant on keeping to his principles; and an outlander who looked on like always. Just like it should be. Half of you wanted to turn away; he’d survived this encounter in the previous timeline, and he would survive here too. There was no obligation binding you as a spectator, except for Mountain Tim. 

[First slot activated: Personal Jesus. Countdown has begun.]

Depeche Mode was cradled in the palm behind your back: bite-sized and fairly inconspicuous in the haze. You flung the little mannequin head in Mountain Tim’s general vicinity and prayed – prayed – it stayed unnoticed in the face of a man who wasn’t afraid to turn you into a live grenade. 

“He said long time no see, Zeppeli,” you spoke up. Those bored eyes settled on you briefly – much like oil on water – before sliding onto their target once more. “You know him?”

I should’ve just bought a gun, you mourned. Slowly, your boots crunched on the earth below you as your feet dragged backwards to where your friend lay. Once this was resolved, you’d blow some bucks on a bang. 

Glancing at Mountain Tim, you could see his eyes meet yours. Thank you, the creases at the outer corners said. His breath was still ragged, yet you couldn’t sense the imminent doom any longer. You looked away. 

“Yeah, his name’s Oyecomova,” Zeppeli furrowed his brows distractedly: consumed with the laborious task of keeping the clockwork pins in his hand. “Damned terrorist who tried to blow up the King’s carriage two years ago – His Majesty wasn’t in it but five others were killed. He was awaiting his execution when he’d escaped.”

Oyecomova, Oyecomova. You threw the name around experimentally in your mind, though there was nothing that bounced back. 

There were just some people who wouldn’t even be a footnote in the margins of history. 

“He had a bit of explosive powder on him – put it into a guard’s ear, killed him, escaped,” he continued, glaring at the culprit in question. 

“How’s your old man doing?” 

The culprit didn’t deign to acknowledge the new revelations. 

“Heard he retired from being an executioner.”

Executioner. 

It was out in the air now. The tennis ball had ricocheted from the racket. You didn’t dare risk looking at Johnny. 

“Taking responsibility for my jailbreak,” he crooned, tapping on striped lips with a painted nail. “That’s understandable – he really should feel responsible for a subordinate’s death.”

Zeppeli’s stony gaze didn’t deter him; you doubted anything save a well-timed meteorite could’ve done something to stop the words flowing. 

“Hot damn, was it God’s work that I managed to pass through the Arizona Desert! My skill with explosives became a special ability… I take it as a mission from God!” 

He’d grown more animated, raising his voice to a fervid degree. 

[ He should kill the user. ]

Your legs trembled, as if your chaps had cut off the circulation within. 

“Gyro–” Mountain Tim gritted out. “–the quickest way to get rid of the ability–”

He drew the breath as though it was his last.

“–is to kill the user!”

[Knew he had some sense.]

Silently, you marvelled at the taut resolution in the man’s bared teeth. His hand had been transmuted into a mass of cogs and time: ready to blow up as soon as he was found wanting. Even with the copious threads of sweat trickling down his face and the imminent threat so close, his mind was clearly working ferociously to compartmentalise the situation at hand. That kind of surgical precision really was something else – he hadn’t baulked at Mountain Tim’s words, nor had he given off any sort of true fear. The man was an executioner; something you absolutely couldn’t forget. 

Meanwhile, Oyecomova began bouncing to-and-fro experimentally, peering at you briefly, then back at Zeppeli, and back again. 

“It’s nice of you to politely explain all this, Mister Cowboy,” he sighed out, pressing a trembling hand to his ashen cheek. “But I’ve already disabled his right hand – just like a man in debt from borrowing from an underground loaner… totally futile and helpless.”

Something was sent careening as he widened his stance and planted both feet firmly in the dirt.

A… mouse?

Judging by Zeppeli’s face, he hadn’t been expecting the small rodent either. You couldn’t see the small thing clearly, but the high sun glinted true. Light had glanced off its back and within your sights. You swallowed nervously. 

“ Gyro! Get away from the mouse! It’s already become a bomb!” the boom of Mountain Tim’s shout pressed your legs into small, tepid movements. 

Shit. 

“ Hold down your fingers, no matter what! ”

You backed into the sun-warmed wall of a wooden house, feeling your head whir from the smell of smoke and gunpowder. Really, it hadn’t even been a proper explosion; yet you could feel your head ringing regardless. 

Drowsily, your gloved hand pressed against your temple; it pulled back with your fingertips smeared sanguine. 

How peculiar.

[ Stay awake, you dolt! ]

Oyecomova’s frosty gaze met yours; despite the dark spots in your vision, you thought you could make out the curl of his lips. What does that mean? You questioned, desperate and panicked. You thought you could feel the furrow of your brows. 

What could that possibly mean?

Your hands scrabbled for purchase against the rough-hewn wood, feeling nothing but splinters press up against your gloves. Stay awake, you echoed furiously. A bit deliriously. 

“– you won’t – get away –”

“ Oyecomova! ”

A foot had landed in your dappled vision. Whose was it?

You reached out for it, yet your body felt unexpectedly top-heavy. 

In the warm darkness that enveloped you, you thought you could feel warm, dry earth cradle your face. 

“ Barkeep! ”

. 　⁺ ✦

( “What am I going to do with you? ”)

( Mother’s voice isn’t harsh, nor is it reproachfully affectionate. Rather, the impersonal tone makes it seem as though she’s ticking another mindless task off her itinerary. Which, as of now, consists of fixing the mistakes of your angry hands as they curl around the rifle. )

( “Where were you yesterday?” )

( Your trembling voice rings pitifully small against the brusque wind of the range. )

( “Yesterday?” Her lips purse thoughtfully at your question. “Ah, the parent-teacher meeting?” )

( She didn’t attend last year, or the year before, for that matter. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever seen her there; her strict face and crisp suits have never touched the crowded environment of your school hall. )

( You don’t know why you’re bringing it up now. It’s never been an issue before. )

( You waited by the refreshment table as usual. You’re twelve now, so the pilfering nature of your fingers was restricted to only a few biscuits. A stray cup of tea. One spoonful of sugar, poured from the jar with a critical eye. Nobody’s watching out for decorum in a place like this. )

( It wasn’t until a teacher approached that you’d truly felt something was amiss. Her eyes were filled with a sympathy ill-suited to her wrinkled face. You wrinkled your nose back. )

(“ Did you come alone?” )

( “Yes,” you answered honestly. There’s no point in lying, not when there’s not even been a whisper of your mother’s presence here, since she enrolled you in this crumbling, paint-peeling building. Not even when you’re sick will she stroll in, heels colliding lightly against the marble floor. )

( “I see,” she looked at you appraisingly. It wasn’t a particularly friendly glance, but you disregarded it. “And what does she do for work?” )

( Ah. )

( She had you there. )

( You stare at your mother now. She stares back at you. )

( Isn’t there normally some sort of connection between mother and child? )

( In the stories you’ve read and the photos you’ve captured, familial relationships have always managed to be a subject, no matter how fleeting. Even when you’ve pored over arguments and hateful exchanges, there’s substance to those interactions. You simply don’t know anything about this being before you, not any more. )

( Here, it’s nothing more than a blank page. )

( You grit your teeth suddenly, turning away. )

( “No, it’s nothing.” )

. 　⁺ ✦

It’s nothing.

The last dregs of a dream long-past had vanished. 

Now, there was truly nothing left. 

Soft imprints of sunlight left themselves burning red through your eyelids: blood vessels alight with warmth. When you reached out blindly, you froze. There, on the pillow you’d been lying on, was an unmistakable cold patch of fabric. 

Were you… crying?

You opened your eyes, touching your face with hands that had clearly been stripped bare of gloves and washed. If you inhaled, you could smell the clinical scent of lye and soap that still traced your fingers. 

You could feel it; the salty residue that lingered on your finger and on your lips. 

Why were you crying?

They came unbidden, tears rolling down your face and smearing onto your fingers as they pressed into the valley of your under-eye. And for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out what had upset you so. 

Giving a cursory glance to your surroundings, all you could see was a row of cots identical to yours. The bedside table beside you held a pitcher of stale water and your bandanna. It appeared to be an infirmary you were in, judging by the gauze carefully wrapped around your head and arms. Faintly, you could see blood peaking from the light material, and you grimaced before turning away. 

You felt fine. With your sleeve, you roughly wiped your eyes. Tying your bandanna back on your face and swinging your legs off the rickety cot, you were about to stand when the rustle of paper in the pocket of your red jacket drew your attention. 

I’m sorry for leaving suddenly – if you’re wondering who cleaned your wounds and got you here, it was me. The only other person here is the doctor – he’s a friend of mine and won’t bother you. Gyro and Johnny went ahead. Stay safe. I can’t stay longer. I’m sorry. --Mountain Tim. 

You read the note – once, twice – skimming over the looping cursive before pocketing it once more. 

The lingering scent of frangipani still threaded the air. 

. 　⁺ ✦

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” he commented blandly. A heartbeat passed. He leaned forward against the counter, and you ignored him. 

( Two waves, destined to interfere destructively. A brief meeting – no sound, no sign of life. Continue. The waves pass on as though nothing had happened. )

The rifle you selected had a honey-coloured grain, rather like the floors at Vincent’s. Experimentally, you weighed the wood in your hand, examining the crude compartments as though you were shopping for fruits. 

“It’s a Carcano prototype, good sir,” the wheedling man behind the glass case wrung his hands together. His greasy eyes traced your confident posture. The prey had been assessed. You wouldn’t be found lacking. 

Italian-make, you noted dryly. You weren’t looking for a rifle, nor were you interested in fobbed-off prototypes. You didn’t know where this man had found this gun that had never been mass-produced, but neither did you care, really. 

“I’ll take a look at the revolvers,” you remarked disinterestedly, placing the firearm lightly on its perch. As the salesman waddled away, you took the opportunity to glance at the other cases. Nothing interesting, save some crude daggers you scoffed at silently. 

“I didn’t take you for the type to like weapons,” Diego appraised mildly. He, like a buzzing gnat, had trailed after you into the dingy building like it was his second home. And, based on his slimy nature, maybe it was. It was stupid. The two of you weren’t friends – not even tentative allies. Yet, as soon as he spotted you ducking into this store, he’d made it his mission to keep you company. “Got any plans to use them?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you hummed, still not turning his way. Your question was the first acknowledgement you’d made of his existence today. 

The instinctual fear that had plagued you upon seeing his face had simmered down into an abject discomfort. You thought you’d done a good job of convincing him that you were an average jockey with piddling abilities to boot, yet he’d followed you despite that impression. 

He let out a shallow laugh. You could feel his eyes settle on your shoulder blades as you paused in front of the back wall. 

Service revolver… Chamelot– Chamelot? Contemplatively, you attempted to cast your mind to when you’d opened a large antique catalogue; there’d been an extensive list of historical firearms listed upon the pages, and you’d have to rely on luck if you wanted a good selection. 

“Do you have the Chamelot–”

“ Chamelot-Delvigne ?” the salesman peered at you inquisitively, and you could feel your shoulders sag in relief as he supplied the name that had eluded your thoughts. You nodded once, curtly.

If there was one thing you prided yourself on, it was your ability to remember dates. 

“1874,” you added, crossing your fingers at the gamble. The pistol’s sleek build had caught your eye as a child – of course you’d take the opportunity to try it out when you could. The less you had to rely on your unreliable Stand, the better. 

“Ah, the officer’s edition?” 

Score.

“Yes.” Behind you, Diego whistled lowly.

“As you most likely know, sir, the officer’s edition possesses a lighter structure, while still retaining the high resistance to damage and high reliability,” he slid out a case with a bold M, 1874 embossed in gold upon it. 

The azure sheen on the silver body reflected off your eyes. You swallowed once, twice, feeling an indescribable euphoria well up inside of you. All this time spent near guns, and this was the first time you beheld a weapon that didn’t immediately remind you of your mother. Instead, you could feel the whims of childhood coalescing into the sleek firearm before you. 

Carefully, you lifted the pistol with no small amount of reverence. The cylinder had to be manually rotated when loading, but the hammer and trigger could both be reached with ease. This, if you remembered correctly, was the first universal handgun in France; it had played a role in guerilla resistance in the occupied country, and had been widely regarded as a trustworthy pistol. 

“I’ll take it.”

As Diego watched you rummage around in your hiker’s bag for money, you could sense him itching to ask a question. Naturally, you ignored him. 

“What a curious bag,” he observed, contours of his lips twisting into a sardonic smile. You paused, then unzipped the bag at your fruitless endeavour. 

There, nestled between a pot and extra shirt, was your brown wallet.

But where were those troublesome containers of sand?

They were the reason you were in this situation in the first place; the objective to return with samples from the Arizona Desert was the root cause behind you being caught in the Devil’s Palm. 

Frowning, you extended your arm deeper into the pack: nothing. 

Your fingertips couldn’t feel the smooth plastic of the boxes. 

When did you lose them?

The last time I remember seeing them–

During the long night, your bag had fallen apart. You had spotted the containers nestled against the sand in the Devil’s Palm – and then?

The Devil’s Palm had accepted your accidental sacrifice. 

You could feel the laughter bubble up at the realisation. Shaking your head, you counted out the required payment for the weapon and an artful leather holster – the coins clicked onto the glass display case with a lightness that belied your cheerfulness.

Goodbye and good riddance. 

“A friend gifted it to me,” you replied at long last; the reply betrayed the smile in your voice. It was a polymer construction – a plastic and polyester monstrosity that wouldn’t be seen for a century. Any sporting store would carry at least a few dozen, but here, it was the first of its kind. 

“What an interesting make,” Diego prodded the bag, and you gave him a disgusted look before swinging it back over your shoulder. 

“We’re not friends. Don’t touch my things,” you snapped, clipping the holster onto your belt with a ferocity that surprised even you. A strange, tight feeling emerged in your gut as you stared him down; that bag was Dr Ferdinand’s – one of the last remnants of your world. The festering discomfort in your stomach had been replaced by a seething fury.

[So you do have a spine.] Depeche Mode’s tone had a hint of grudging respect. 

“Alright, I get it,” his hands were up in supplication, lips pouted in a slimy apology that almost made you snort derisively. It was his eyes that gave him away; the quiet coiling of mockery and kindling anger that had never left him. 

“I suppose you’ve chosen where you stand,” he bared his teeth in a chilling smile. His earlier, false good humour had completely dissipated now. 

By all rights, your stomach should’ve contracted at the hateful look in his eyes. It was much too similar to the glance he’d shown at Vincent’s, but you weren’t the same person. You weren’t going to cower like some kicked dog. 

You matched his gaze evenly, as a competitor. No, you didn’t need an ally who nurtured impossible levels of hatred in his heart; even though you didn’t want someone you could be close to, the slippery trap of his lies went too far in that extreme. 

You’d been afraid to poke the sleeping serpent for far too long. 

“Absolutely.” A challenge. 

Besides, you weren’t here to win – there was no need to actually compete with him, anyway. You were shameless enough to lose face, and not lose a bit of sleep over it. Who cared? This man, in the future, was withered ashes; you, on the other hand, were still full of blood vessels and flesh and life. So, who was the real loser here?

“You’re still here?” you jabbed, intent on still loitering around the store while you could. It wasn’t everyday you could smell the familiar gun-powder and cold steel scent, and you intended to enjoy it while you could. 

“Am I making you nervous?” he sneered, running a finger along the edge of an ornate dagger. It was a frivolous thing, with a brittle blade and practically dripping with glass jewels.

How fitting. It was rather like the man standing in front of you.

You spared him a withering glance. 

“Good sirs, I’d appreciate the two of you not destroying my store in a fight,” the owner wheezed, wiping his drenched forehead with a chequered handkerchief. “Please sort out your differences elsewhere.”

Surprisingly enough, he had a backbone. 

“We won’t be fighting,” you scratched your ear calmly, peering down at the poor man. At the sudden eye contact, his sallow skin produced even more sweat. “I’m not interested in small fry like that.”

[That is so hypocritical of you.]

Internally, you were rebuking yourself. Alright, you’d lied; you weren’t shameless enough to lose face and not lose sleep over it. But to this extent – you really were digging your own grave. Clearly, Diego thought the same; he scoffed, lips curled downwards venomously. 

“And who are you ?”

I beat you, didn’t I? You almost let it slip. The words were on the tip of your tongue. You swallowed them down hastily; after all, it had been the work of your Stand that you pulled through, not any skill of your own. 

Besides, you weren’t concerned with winning.

Therefore, you settled for the next low blow. 

“I meant short fry,” you waved dismissively, as if that had been your meaning all along. “I’m not interested in fighting short fry.”

[That doesn’t even make sense.]

Clearly, he shared the same sentiment; though, you could see his scowl deepen, etching and marring his face into shadowed planes. 

“Your stupidity knows no bounds,” he summarised laconically, dropping his hand to his side. It seemed he’d gotten tired of the back-and-forth. “If you’re going to insult me, at least do it properly.”

[For once, I agree with him. Isn’t it better for a jockey to be short?]

Can it? You glared at his receding figure as he slung his jacket over his shoulder and left, not sparing a glance back. 

“Whatever,” you sighed and pinched at the bridge of your nose. Why couldn’t it have been Mountain Tim that you came across in this pitiful store? 

“Might I interest you in any other weaponry?” 

His hopeful face, coupled with that wheedling tone, made you baulk in disgust. 

“Beat it,” you ground out. At the harsh delivery, his eyes widened and he backed into the curtain in the back, before remembering this was his store. 

By the time he’d come out with his fists shaking and his lips poised to deliver a scolding, you’d vanished, as though you were nothing more than a ghost. 

. 　⁺ ✦

The man named Stroheim lay soundlessly in the sand. His body – more metal than flesh – had been crushed to painful death by stone cylinders of Gyro’s making. And presently, his carcass was easy pickings for the jackals of Arizona. 

Johnny looked away. 

It had been just moments prior that he stared down the barrel of a German pistol, staring at Death square in the eyes. Years ago, he’d caught the fluttering glimpse of the Reaper; a flash of black cloth, the fleeting glint of a scythe as it came for his brother. 

He’d seen the brush of charcoal fabric just now, tugged by the wind like a plume of smoke. 

His hands clutched at the sand, curling and uncurling as sweat traced his face and neck. Nonchalantly, Gyro mounted Valkyrie, steel balls at his holsters. Not a hair out of place, not a muscle out of line as he scooped up his reins with practised indifference. 

It was stupid. Johnny was stupid to think there’d be anyone reasonable in this race. This applied to him especially; what kind of deranged lunatic entered the race sane? 

No. There was a singularity; offering a pot of stew and being dragged into their mess in return. Someone ordinary, who’d bled the same red but felt too alien to be in this race. Someone who shouldn’t be here. This race was for those pushing the boundaries of insanity . 

“These… terrorists,” he coughed out, easily propping himself up with strong arms. They fit right in. “Your home country – what in the world?”

Gyro was silent as he regarded him. Though his expression was peaceful, his green lips were in that hardened line that belied his unwillingness to speak. 

( Speak, fool. I’ve put all my trust in you, risked my life alongside yours – so, please. Tell me what’s going on. )

His own lips, coated with a staining blue, trembled as he carefully watched the Italian. A whirlwind of political and international intrigue – hadn’t he earned the right to know what threatened the two of them? Yes, the two of them – Johnny couldn’t back down before his fingertips brushed his goal. 

The two of them. 

There was an ever-present rift between them, even when Johnny clung furiously to everything Gyro represented. He knew Gyro was an executioner, he knew the man could kill swiftly and easily even without the judgement of his lord. He also knew that Gyro stood firmly by his own principles and beliefs. 

Well, he could believe in that too.

Could he?

( Can’t you trust me? I’d give my life for what I desire, can’t you believe in my conviction? )

“What’s going on? Crossing the content is a symbol of victory for a nation – I get that,” he bit out, feeling the sweat slick his palms and press uncomfortably against the dry sand. “Why do they keep attacking you like that? Oyecomova, now Stroheim – it’s a deeper connection – isn’t this only a race? There must be something deeper between those terrorists and ‘your country’!” 

Those eyes gazed at him coolly, before being obscured by his slatted hat once more. Johnny could no longer see his expression, only the short, curt words that followed. 

“I am a servant of the King. Should I win, the King will grant ‘amnesty’. That is all – if you feel you’re at risk, I suggest travelling separately.”

He didn’t look back. 

It was only when he was several lengths away that Johnny looked down. 

There was a deep cut on his left palm. Frowning, he poked at the flesh with an exasperated finger. 

“I cut myself when I fell off the horse,” he rationalised, puzzling over the wound. Yet, strangely enough, there wasn’t any pain; even when his hand had pressed against the coarse granules of sand, there hadn’t been any irritation, nor the gritting ache that would’ve doubtlessly emerged. 

“What?”

It seemed he pressed too hard. The festering, rusty stench of blood suddenly filled his nose; the ridges of flesh distorted and tugged, until the gap in his arm burrowed downwards.

“What the hell?” Johnny pursed his lips. The blood traced each finger, neatly above his ulna and radius. A crude, skeletal drawing. And still, he felt no pain. 

Rather, it felt like something in his arm was pressing to get out. 

It was from the deep ravine marring his arm that something slimy, something bruised and something completely foreign slipped out. 

( A mummified hand, coated in blood and an oozing film that doesn’t fit with its dry-looking nature. It is no more than a husk; all the blood vessels protrude from the malnourished, purple flesh. This is no more than a cadaver, but why does one feel a sense of expectation from it? Forget fear – one cannot help but be drawn to the limb that promises glory, promises holiness beyond comparison. )

“ Gyro! ”

. 　⁺ ✦

Deeply, you breathed in the familiar scent of saddle and tack. While you’d initially grumbled to Depeche Mode at the lack of sleep and continuous travel, it had been without bite. You were ahead of the main party. You’d rested a full night at this checkpoint. And most importantly, you’d purchased something more reliable than your Stand. 

Clad in fatigues and a bandanna covering your face, you looked like a piss-poor attempt at a portrayal of a military defector. Now, with a wide-brimmed hat, pistol at your belt and a starry badge on your lapel, it looked like aliens had decided to piece together a movie of varying human genres: a bizarre soldier-Western-comedy-thriller. 

“Group Four, be honest,” you pleaded. With your fingers deftly undoing the knots in the Appaloosa’s mane, she could only stare at you from the side as though you shot her mother in front of her. “Do I look silly to you?”

[And you’re wondering why I look the way I do?]

A poorly-concealed snort sounded from nearby, and your fingers froze. 

“Do you want to fight?” You whipped round – fingers needlessly tangling in Group Four’s mane – and stilled once more. There, half-concealed behind a stable door, was that blond head you’d been itching to avoid. Beneath those criss-cross diamonds, the muscles of his back shifted as he leisurely wiped away at Silver Bullet’s nose. You couldn’t see his expression – but you could imagine it: lips pulled into a disdainful smile; thin, haughty brows obscuring the eyes that were so full of themselves. 

You weren’t actually expecting a reply; it seemed the directness Vincent had imparted upon had lashed out of its own accord. 

You turned back, unsatisfied. 

“Look at you–” like quicksilver, his laugh moved bright and heavy through the air.  “–are you really that vain you’re asking your horse if you look silly?”

“Do you want to fight?” you demanded once more. Scalding irritation seeped and churned beneath your skin; incandescent embers were clutched in your fists. 

“Did you replace your brains with bullets?” he hummed: voice loud enough to carry across the small stables, yet light enough to make your skin prickle with discomfort. Yuck. “I’d assume that’s why you’re conversing with a horse.”

“It’s not my fault you don’t trust your horse’s opinion,” you seethed, gripping the comb so tightly you felt the sharp pain of nails digging crescents into flesh. “Maybe you might’ve actually won if you did.”

Your words echoed in the empty stables, weaving amidst the freshly put up rafters. Slowly, you turned – the man was long gone, leaving only Silver Bullet resting contentedly in her stall. 

“ Fuckface , ” you swore, then left yourself. 

. 　⁺ ✦

I need someone who knows something about that damned corpse. 

The sand shifted easily beneath Group Four’s thunderous hooves. 

You chewed your lip, contemplatively, with the adhered fabric on your face sticking at every jut and motion. There was nothing from the future you’d experienced that had information on a mystical corpse. Archeological interest was limited to the whims of the news pages you occasionally frequented: a casual interest, nothing more, nothing less. 

“I’m hopeless,” you breathed, fireworks burning under your nails as they dug into leather reins. 

You could’ve laughed. You might’ve cried.

If it were anyone else – anyone else – they would’ve done a better job. All that knowledge from the future, yet you still had no clue how to proceed. Like a wild beast forced into docility, you’d been complacent and kept low – hidden. 

What was I doing for all those weeks?

Your hands had deftly spun amber bottles and pressed coins to wood. Your lips had probed for any unusual happenings from the patrons, disguised as idle curiosity. You’d been poised to act; carved into stone, waiting for the breath to finally bring you to life. 

What a shame.

You’d gotten used to the domesticity at Vincent’s. The urgency never hit you in that four-walled room, with your wardrobe and your bed and your desk and your little family. 

You didn’t know what you were doing. Who would? Information was firmly out of reach, let alone any thoughts of intercepting the corpse from that terrifying man. 

You’re a scientist, damn it. No wonder nobody respects you here, if you can’t even use that. You hated admitting it, but Depeche Mode was right when it told you to bide your time. Knowledge about the President and the corpse was buried in this sepulchral race, and there had been nothing to indicate anything out of the ordinary so far. 

Sooner or later, someone would slip up. 

Think.

“There’s bound to be a large group working for him,” you murmured, slowing Group Four to a loping canter beneath the beating sun. “As well as those who have stumbled across parts.”

Parts? You wet your parched lips with your tongue. Did it have parts? Had it been whole all along? 

“I think it’s in parts.” Delirious . The lip of your canteen dribbled over with water, soaking through the shirt underneath your red jacket. “If it was whole, it wouldn’t have caused so much trouble. Yes, it’s much easier to find an integer than fractions.”

There were bound to be others who knew about it. 

“That group is most likely to have similar abilities to mine.” Squinting, you gazed at your compass and yellowed map. Am I going the right way? “Those with Stands are more likely to come into contact anyway. Maybe it’s like Newton’s law of attraction.”

( The weight of our souls is heavier. )

“Which means I really can bide my time until a confrontation happens.”

( Black holes, destined to consume everything in their path and leave nothing behind until they too are nothing. )

There was a cold weight at your hip now, pressing metal against bone and wood against sinew. It was a grim reminder of this reality; death would be shrouding you from now on. 

“Should I act alone?” 

The breeze stung your cheeks as you closed your eyes, warm fingers of air brushing beneath the material and cradling your face. 

“No,” you answered your own question curtly. Who did you think you were? 

I seem to have forgotten the brutality I’ve seen here. Those who surrounded you were more ruthless than you could ever be. Their fates had long been penned into a flowing cycle of violence, flowing and churning with the corpse at the epicentre.  

If there was anyone you could make use of, it would be those who went through this perpetual motion already.

“I’ll make my allies.” Though it was meagre, the shining gold of victory passed briefly through your heart. Group Four catapulted into the familiar, vicious pace of her gallop. “The race has only just begun.”

[ I’m glad you’re back. ]

Me too. 

Your thoughts stilled. Only one adage remained. 

I’ll be home soon.

. 　⁺ ✦

[miles2g0]

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPS.

Thanks for the tag @a-canceled-stamp for another tag! 💕💕💕

For this one, I’ll post a snippet from each of the WIPs in the last post. Asks are still welcome for more info. :)

- Tim red hood, reverse robins His—he’s—Jason’s talking about his photos. Of Batman and Robin. They were in his room when he died. Hidden in a compartment in his closet. “Alfred found them,” Jason explained. “He has a bunch framed, all over the Manor. Damian kept some—he keeps them in his apartment. There’s one on his damn fridge, Tim. He does miss you.”

- Renegade au "I also trained Red Hood when he was working with the League of Assassins." He didn't know where the sudden pettiness came from, but he couldn't help but add details. "I gave him his first gun. Taught him how to hold it, how to shoot. An FN 509 compact tactical. He liked the size and weight—he hadn't hit his growth spurt yet, his hands were still so small—" "That's enough."  It took a minute for Batman to compose himself. Renegade felt a rogue flare of satisfaction. 

- all birds have talons 2 - edited: He'd killed those two men right in front of her. He'd killed them, and that poor, broken little girl looked back up at him with stars in her eyes. Sasha had stood there with someone else's blood splattered on her hospital gown and looked at a remorseless murderer like he'd hung the moon.  And she hadn't stopped following him around since.

- villains win au Dick found him in Roman's office. He was—he was in a dog crate. A large one, but Jason was big. There was no room for him to fully sit up or stretch his legs, so he lay curled on his side. There was no lock on the cage and—that meant that something was very wrong.

- homeless Tim That winter had scared him so bad he'd stayed home for a full six months after. It was the longest Tim had been home since he'd turned twelve. He'd paid for it, but it was better than dying in the cold. But it, inevitably, didn't last. It took his dad breaking his arm to have him climbing out his window this time. As soon as it had healed enough that he didn't technically...probably need it in a cast anymore, he'd sawed it off on his own and found himself right back across the bridge to Gotham proper.

- blurred blue bleeding But the pain was a cleanse. He understood, after. It was a necessary evil. He'd grown up away from the Court, where he never should have, and it had sullied him. It made him too soft, tangled him up with too many people. Relationships outside of the Court were a weakness, a liability. The pain had cleansed his mind and soul of all of that. He felt like a weight had been lifted, like he could think clearly for the first time. So now he obeyed because he wanted to. Because the Court was all he had, all he needed. And if he disobeyed he would be decommissioned, and he didn't want to be rejected by his family. He wanted to be useful to his masters. He couldn't disappoint them. So when they sent him after Jason Todd, he just nodded and picked up his blades.

- mazes in our minds He was startled awake again by the jarring sensation of something touching him. Hands burning against his cold, paper thin skin, and he bucked away from them, flailing wildly again for the walls, for his safe corner. But it wasn't there and the hands came back again following him but he was too weak to fight, muscles atrophied from lack of use. He tried to scramble away but his arms and legs wouldn't take his weight and he rolled uselessly against that terrible, soft ground. There were sounds assaulting his ears—frantic voices. Jumbled words swimming around his head, but they didn't mean anything, words hadn't meant anything to him in a long time.

- bar hopping Jun slid his arm closer to where Tim's was resting on the bar so that their forearms were almost brushing. An invitation for contact, but not a violation of boundaries. Tim could easily move away if he wasn't comfortable. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Jun said simply. Tim pressed his lips together. Then he shifted and his arm was pressed against Jun's. His raw nerves chafed at the contact, but he forced himself to breathe through it and the warmth of Jun's skin slowly began to overtake that feeling. He hadn't really known the other boy long enough for this kind of intimate contact yet, but he was surprised to find that it didn't feel... uncomfortable. The power of tequila. And vodka. And whatever was in that shot Jason had pushed into his hands earlier.

[newagesispage]

                                                                    OCTOBER           2023 

THE RIB PAGE 

The Wall Street Journal has proclaimed the economy is great!! This country is doing better than expected, at least until the republican shutdown takes us down. Why are we so disapproving when inflation is down and jobs are plentiful?? 

***** 

Dream Scenario is the new Nick Cage film with Tim Meadows, Julianne Nicholson and Michael Cera. There is already buzz!! 

***** 

Shawn Fain, President of the UAW was treated a bit snarky by Margret Brennan on Face the Nation. 

***** 

We need to be looking at more privacy in the new cars coming off the line. They are loading them with privacy invaders. ** About 5% of the price of a car is labor. During the bailout, workers gave up their cost- of- living increases. It is time to make that right now that the auto makers are doing better. 

***** 

Chuck Todd left Meet the Press and was replaced with Kristen Welker. * * Hey.. CBS Sunday morning: You have always been pretty diverse, but it seems most of your guests anymore are old white people. What gives? 

***** 

Marty Baron has a new book: Collision of Power about Bezos and the Washington Post. 

***** 

Michelle Dockery has wed Jasper Waller- Bridge. 

***** 

It seems that Usher will take the halftime show at Super Bowl LVIII 

***** 

Days alert: Oh, this Victor has another son story is a great idea. We all knew there was another. ** Kassie DePaiva was on the other day. It was great to see her again. She is also bringing Blair (OLTL)to General Hospital! **I love the Donovan family being back. I wish they could stay!! C’mon Patsy Pease!!!! ** Where does Kate keep all her clothes at the pub?? She must have a storage unit nearby. 

***** 

Smuckers is buying Hostess. 

***** 

Check out the Peoria Fight Club: Guns down Gloves up 

***** 

Rudy Giuliani has been sued by his lawyer and he is not paying the legal fees he owes to Ruby Freeman. 

***** 

The republicans are debating. The other top 7 candidates poll at about 35% all together, same as Trump by himself. ** Trump has called for the execution of Gen. Mark Milley. Milley made a speech a few days later calling out wanna- be dictators.  

***** 

I am shocked but at the last minute we have a stop gap for 45 days to avoid the Government shutdown. There is nothing about Ukraine in there. At least the military and Federal employees will get paid. It was ridic that the reps for about 2% of the country were holding us hostage. Those same people are actively trying to take him down. Word is that Matt Gaetz and Kevin McCarthy can’t stand each other. ** I don’t remember the journalist but they mentioned Mitch McConnell and his senior moments as it looking like his soul was leaving his body or that he was buffering.  

***** 

Lachlan Murdoch is the sole chairman of News Corp. 

***** 

Aerosmith has postponed their farewell tour until 2024. The Peace Out Tour with openers, The Black Crowes will wait for Steven Tyler to mend. The singer has vocal cord damage and a fractured larynx. 

***** 

Chris Bell and Carson Hocevar are really kicking ass in Nascar. I bet one of them will take the whole prize within a season or two. 

***** 

Gary Busey, now admitted to hitting a woman’s car in a parking lot. She chased him down as he wasn’t so forth coming on the day but now agrees it was him. 

***** 

The Exorcist is back with Believer. ** William Friedkin’s final film is Showtime, about the Caine Mutiny court martial. 

***** 

After much backlash, Drew Barrymore put her show on hold. ** The writers have reached a provisional deal so some shows will start coming back. SAG-AFTRA is still on strike. ** Bill Maher was going to come back early but changed his mind. He officially came back Sept. 29 with Ron DeSantis.  

***** 

Burning Man turned into a giant, dangerous mud pit. There were 2 months of rain in 2 days. People were trapped in the middle of the desert and it could take 6 hours to drive out. Yikes! Large gatherings seem more and more a bad idea.  

***** 

The Strand has published ‘Another day in Paradise’ by Truman Capote. The recently found handwritten short story from the 50’s is about a woman in Sicily. ** Next up is Feud: Capote vs. The Swans from Ryann Murphy! 

***** 

Duane Davis has been arrested in connection with the death of Tupac Shakur in 1996. 

***** 

Jann Wenner has a new book ,The Masters of Rock. In a NY Time interview, he was asked why he chose all the white guys and that he could have included a black or female musician for the book. He answered, “The people had to meet a couple criteria, but it was just kind of my personal interest and love of them. Inso far as the women, just none of them were as articulate enough on this intellectual level.” The Rock and Roll Hall of fame has announced his removal from their board of directors. Cyndi Lauper commented, “He’s a little senile.” ** Favre? Santana? Chappelle? Maher? Wenner? What happens? 

***** 

New Jersey Senator Robert Menedez has been indicted for allegedly accepting hundreds of thousands of dollars in bribes. 

***** 

A trailer for a show for Tucker Carlson was seen on state run Russiya 24. 

***** 

Will Pauly Shore play Richard Simmons in the movie of his life? 

***** 

There is a new character in the Pooh universe, a little female pup named Carmen. 

***** 

Four months ago, Oscar Mayer renamed the hot dog truck the Frankmobile to celebrate the new recipe for beef franks. People did not like that, so it is the Weinermobile once again. 

***** 

Get out and give someone else a chance.- Harry Truman and Igor 

***** 

Elon Musk seems to have a burr under his saddle about the Anti- Defamation league. ** And why is the government giving this man so much power and money??**His friend, Bill Maher was also worked up but about the writer’s strike. Maher also seems to be in conflict with Howard Stern. 

***** 

Sexual assault news: Danny Masterson was sentenced to 30 years to life in prison for rape. His friends, Ashton Kutcher and Mila Kunis and about 50 others wrote letters to the judge for leniency. Kutcher has now resigned from Thorn, an anti-child sex abuse organization that he co-founded with Demi Moore.** Rumors have now come to the surface for Russell Brand. He denies the stories of Rape, emotional abuse and sexual assault. 

***** 

N’Sync reunited at the VMA’s. They won’t tour but have a new recording for the first time in 10 years. 

***** 

The new cast of Dancing with the Stars is: Barry Williams, Mira Sorvino, Adrian Peterson, Jamie Lynn Spears, Tyson Beckford, Alyson Hannagan and Matt Walsh. 

***** 

A recent fossil find may be the missing link between birds and dinosaurs. Fujianvenator Prodigious is estimated to be 30 million years older than any confirmed bird fossil. 

***** 

Will Tommy Tubberville ever care about the military members and their families that he is cheating out of promotions? There are about 300 military promotions just waiting. Tubberville is endangering the welfare of this country. Don’t use abortion as an excuse. 

***** 

Wilbert Boyce, the last shoe shiner in Savannah, Ga. Has retired. 

***** 

The re- do of the Wonder Years was cancelled. That was a great show! Dule’ Hill is a dream! 

***** 

Joe Hagan has a new article: Robert Kennedy Jr’s mad mad mad mad world. It would appear that Kennedy is pretty hostile to all. Is he all conspiracies and mental illness?? Tucker Carlson and Steve Bannon love him. What else is there to know? 

*****i 

Matt Gaetz had a bit of a melt- down as he pushed to begin impeachment inquiries into Joe Biden. There is absolutely no evidence of wrongdoing, no financial gain. Will Kevin McCarthy lose his seat or be the puppet of his MAGA co-horts? He has promised so much to so many. The house is wasting everyone’s time. The Senate won’t support their nonsense as we wait for the rebels to do some real business.** Hunter Biden has been indicted for guns. Isn’t it funny that the republicans are pushing this gun thing when they seem to want to give guns to everyone else, just not Hunter Biden? Their own laws are making it hard to charge him. And, why do we want to zero in on the President’s children? They used to be off limits. UGH! 

***** 

R.I.P. Richard Davis, Bill Pinkney, Franne Lee, Marrakesh earthquake victims, Gary Wright, Jimmy Buffet, Robert Klane, Bill Richardson, Fernando Botero, Eva Fahidi, Dianne Feinstein, David McCallum, Michael Mcgrath, Billy Miller, Sir Michael Gambon, Terry Kirkman Larry Chance and David Sheckler. 

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Father of Mine – 1/2

Character: Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Summary: With the tragic passing of her mother, Y/N learns to the truth of who her father is. 

Word Count: 4,000+

Warnings: Family death, cancer, absent father, cremation 

A/N: The reader is described as tall in this fic. Bruce Wayne is 6′2 and I’m tall, so I’m indulging myself with no apologies. Read it or don’t. 

“Do you want to say anything before we…” the operator asked her.

“No,” Y/N answered quickly.

“Oh, my assistant forgot to give you this,” the operator gave her a shy smile as he handed her a small cardboard box.

She opened it to find all of her mother’s jewelry that had been on her body at the funeral.

“Thank you,” Y/N told him.

“Ready?” The operator asked.

He had been so kind throughout the whole process. It was obvious he was used to people breaking down and being extremely emotional. 

But Y/N had been stoic, almost concerningly so. 

Though he wasn’t one to judge. Everyone grieved differently.

With the pull of a handle, Y/N watched her mother’s body going into the chamber.

“It will be a few hours,” the operator told her.

He meant it will it will take a few hours for her mother’s body to burn to ash. Then they would hand her a tacky vase with her remains.

Y/N just nodded. “I’ll go for a walk.”

As soon as she was outside, Y/N called her mother’s executor.

“Ms. Y/L/N, I was just about to call you.”

“I’m at the crematory,” she told him. “I figured we should discuss the bills that still need to be paid for.”

“Yes, of course. As I mentioned to you before, your mother’s life insurance covers quite a lot of it…” his words died out.

“But it’s still not enough,” Y/N finished for him. “I’ll get the money.”

She wasn’t exactly rich, but she also wasn’t living paycheck to paycheck. But people never realized how much money it cost for loved ones to die. It was honestly ridiculous.

“You might want to consider taking out a loan,” he tried to suggest gently.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Another thing, Ms. Y/L/N. There was an envelope with a name on it. And your mother left instructions on delivering the envelope to them.”

She stopped her pacing. 

“What name is on the envelope?” Y/N asked.

There was a pause.

“Bruce Wayne.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed.

Of course she knew who Bruce Wayne was – everyone in Gotham did, as well as most of the country. He was a billionaire playboy, only making headlines when he was a mess. But every once in awhile his philanthropy would sneak in there. Y/N always assumed those were only to help recover his image and not because he was a good person.

“You still there?” The executor asked.

“Yeah. I’m just a bit confused. But please pass it along to him, if that’s what my mom wanted.”

“I can’t. The instructions specifically say for you to deliver the envelop to him in person.”

“In person?” Y/N groaned in annoyance as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

Why did all of this have to be so god damn complicated?

“Yes. Her instructions are…oddly specific."

“Fine,” she huffed. “I’ll pick up everything from your office before the work day ends.”

——————

Y/N stared at the envelop that she’d tossed on her coffee table as she sipped a rather large glass of red wine.

She was wracking her brain trying to think of a time when her mom mentioned knowing Bruce Wayne. But Y/N would’ve remembered her mom saying his name – even in passing. It’s not a name that one can drop casually.

Y/N pulled up her phone and googled him. But she looked at his history. Yes, he was from Gotham, as was her mom, but so were 10 million other people.

But then Y/N’s scrolling paused when she realized they went to the same high school: Gotham Academy. Not only that, they graduated in the same year.

‘Were they friends?’ Y/N wondered.

But just classmates or friends still didn’t seem to warrant a handwritten letter to be delivered after one’s death.

Y/N didn’t open the envelope.

Her mother’s instructions specifically told her not to. And if she put in that much of an effort to get this done after her death, Y/N wasn’t going to ignore such a request.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t curious.

“Fuck,” Y/N sighed before throwing back the rest of her wine.

——————

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t grant you access to the building without your name being in the system by the company you’re visiting,” the building receptionist told her for the third time.

“I understand. But I called his office 30 fucking times and they refuse to put me through to him or get me an appointment,” Y/N practically growled.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I already called their office to say you were here and they didn’t recognize your name. I can’t let you through to the elevators.”

Y/N’s gaze flickered to the security guard who stood a few feet away. He was eyeing her now that there was clearly an argument going on.

Y/N wanted to roll her eyes. She had a good foot on him – even without her heels on. And he looked like he couldn’t run a 50 yard dash without passing out or vomiting. If he thought he was going to physically stop her, he had another thing coming.

“Listen, I am not some crazy fucking stalker. My mom knew Bruce Wayne and in her will she asked me to deliver this to him,” Y/N’s voice lowered and became disturbingly calm. “I don’t want to be here just as much as you don’t want to have this conversation.”

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to calm down,” the security guard finally stepped forward.

“Oh, fuck off,” Y/N rolled her eyes at the rent-a-cop.

“Ma’am, I’ll have to ask you to leave,” he continued.

“Call me ma’am one more fucking time…” Y/N growled.

But the security guard was taking a step to her.

“Excuse me. What seems to be the problem here?” A voice suddenly interrupted.

Everyone turned to see a young man – younger than Y/N – glaring at the security guard just as he was about to grab Y/N.

“M-Mr. Drake, we were just escorting this young woman from the premises,” the guard stuttered out.

Everyone at the building knew every member of the Wayne family. But unlike his siblings, Tim Drake was at the office almost every day. As one should be when they’re the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company.

“For what reason?” Tim Drake asked.

“She insists on seeing Mr. Wayne. But she doesn’t have an appointment. For security reasons, I cannot let her through, obviously, unless the company she is visiting has put her into their system and the building’s system,” the receptionist explained nervously.

Y/N frowned as if she was bored of the whole thing.

Tim stepped forward. “May I ask what your business with Bruce Wayne is?”

Now that he was closer, Y/N noticed how exhausted he looked. He was handsome still, of course. But she wondered when he last got a good night’s sleep. He was shorter than her, probably standing at 5’5. And she still believed he was younger than her, which was wild seeing as he was already the CEO and couldn’t be older than 24.

Y/N sighed before she grabbed the envelope from her black leather satchel, and showed that Bruce Wayne’s name was handwritten on it.

“My mother wished me to personally deliver this to him.”

Tim tilted his head slightly. “Why isn’t she doing it?”

“Because she’s dead,” she shot back without emotion.

But Tim’s face became sympathetic. “I’m sorry. I should’ve assumed…”

“It’s fine,” Y/N quickly cut him off before he could continue.

She was so tired of being on the receiving end of people’s sympathy. It didn’t help. And the words stopped holding any meaning to her.

“But I’m sorry. Bruce isn’t in today. And he probably won’t be coming to the office for the rest of the week.”

“Oh,” was all she responded with.

Of course Bruce Wayne didn’t come to work. Why would he?

This was a stupid idea. And now she had made a scene because of it.

“But if you give me your information, I will personally let him know that you are trying to reach him.”

“Really?” Y/N asked in shock.

Tim smiled at her surprise. “Of course.”

“Here’s my card,” she quickly grabbed one from her wallet and then a pen. “All my info is on that.” She wrote something on the back. “And that’s my mom’s name.”

He took it from her and nodded. “What was your mother’s relationship with Bruce?”

Y/N shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea. I’ve been trying to figure it out. Apparently they graduated in the same high school class. But that’s all I was able to find.”

He nodded.

“Thank you…Mr. Drake. For your help. Really,” she urged.

“Please, it’s just Tim.” Then he glared at the receptionist and security guard. “For you it is, at least.”

“Thank you again,” Y/N felt like saying it 30 more times still wouldn’t be enough.

“You don’t have to thank me. Someone will be in touch. Have a good day, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Y/N,” she corrected with a smile before she nodded and started backing away.

He smiled at her correction and gave a final nod.

——————

Y/N didn’t expect to hear from anyone for at least a week.

If the Wayne family was one thing, it was busy.

They probably had parties to go to, meetings to attend, private jets taking them around the world whenever they wished.

Why would they ever prioritize a meeting with her, a stranger?

So imagine her surprise when she received a call from an unrecognized number the same day she gave Tim Drake her card.

“Hello?” She answered.

Usually she would let any unknown number go to voicemail.

“Hello,” a British voice answered. “Am I speaking with Ms. Y/F/N Y/L/N?”

“This is she,” Y/N sat up straighter on her couch.

“This is Alfred Pennyworth. I work for Master Wayne and manage all his personal appointments. I was told by Master Tim that you wished to meet with him?”

“Uhhh. Yes. Yes, I do. Is that…is that possible?”

“Would you be able to stop by Wayne Manor on Friday afternoon?”

Y/N already knew she had nothing going on that would stop her from getting this done. But she still paused to pretend to think about it.

“Yes, Friday afternoon should be fine. Are you sure he doesn’t just want me to stop by Wayne Enterprises?”

It felt oddly intimate to stop by Wayne Manor. Wouldn’t they want to meet her in a more secure location like a corporate building with security that already hated her?

“He is quite certain. Should I send a car for you Ms. Y/L/N?”

A car?

Y/N felt even more out of her depth now.

“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary. I’ll be there.”

“I look forward to meeting you, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Thanks,” she answered before hanging up and realizing that probably wasn’t the proper response to such a polite goodbye.

——————

“I haven’t heard that name since high school,” Bruce had muttered as he stared at the business card for what felt like the thousandth time.

“Yes, and the end of your relationship did not end on the best of terms,” Alfred commented.

Y/M’s/N Y/L/N had been Bruce’s high school sweetheart.

An she had seen the last moments of Bruce’s normal life. 

Upon graduation, Bruce decided to leave Gotham and that’s how his second life was founded. The two of them broke up before the summer after graduation had even ended.

Well, “Breakup” was a strong word.

Bruce stopped answering her calls.

She was his first love and he continued to love her.

But once Bruce realized where his life was going and who he wanted to be, he knew he couldn’t drag her into it. She deserved better.

And Bruce was a coward about relationships then. Maybe he still was.

“I am certain you did a thorough background check on her already,” Alfred commented with a smirk.

Bruce took in a breath before listing off all of her accomplishments. “Y/F/N Y/L/N. Graduated number one in her class at Gotham Academy. She was the star of the track team, breaking the regional record for fastest time in 100m, 200m, and 400m races. Also captain of her soccer team. Attended NYU’s photography program before dropping out after a year. Now she’s a professional photography. Her work’s been featured in Vogue, New York Times, National Geographic…amongst others.”

“Rather an impressive woman,” Alfred said.

Bruce nodded.

“I should get the tea and coffee ready for her arrival.” And with that, Alfred left Bruce in the drawing room.

30 minutes later, the doorbell rang.

Bruce glanced down at his watch: she was right on time.

He heard Alfred saying his pleasantries before he heard the clicking of her heels as she rounded the corner to enter the room he was waiting in.

For being a famous photographer, she could’ve been a runway model with her height and the way she walked into the room, completely owning it. She wore four-inch heels, only adding to her natural tallness. And her bright, red coat only added to her presence.

For a split second, Bruce was convinced that he was looking at an Amazon. Diana immediately flashed into his mind for a split second. Perhaps that was what Y/M’s/N needed help with: to get her daughter to her real people. But how would she have known Bruce Wayne had such connections? Unless she knew Batman’s true identity…

As soon as Y/N spotted him in the room, he rose from his seat.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” Bruce greeted.

He took a step forward and held out his hand.

“You guys really love the formalities.” She said it with a dark evenness, but it was clearly a joke. “Y/N is fine, Mr. Wayne,” she added as she shook his hand.

“In that case, it’s Bruce,” he countered with a soft smirk.

There was something so familiar about her. But Bruce knew they’d never met. 

“Thank you for seeing me. I don’t want to waste anymore of your time,” Y/N quickly got to it. She opened her purse to grab the envelope.

“My mom wanted you to have this. And she wanted to make sure I was the one to give it to you,” Y/N explained as she offered it to him.

Bruce took it carefully, but didn’t open it. “Yes, I heard about her passing. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she said hurriedly, making it obvious to Bruce that she did not want nor need his condolences.

Bruce nodded slowly.

There was a pause.

“Do you know what it says?” He asked her lightly.

She shook her head. “I wasn’t supposed to read it.”

“I see.”

“I should really be going. I have a flight to catch later tonight.” Most people that visited Wayne Manor wished to stay there forever. Or their curiosity got the best of them and their eyes took in every little detail.

But Y/N looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. And she wanted to get out as soon as she possibly could.

“Thank you again for seeing me,” she rushed out.

Without waiting for his answer, Y/N turned and started walking out of the room.

But she only got a few steps before she stopped.

Bruce watched her shoulders tense and her body move as she was clearly taking in deep breath.

Slowly, Y/N turned around to face him.

“Were you friends?”

Bruce gave her a watery smile. “She was my girlfriend in high school.”

Y/N seemed annoyed by that answer. “She never mentioned you. Not once.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed at that and his eyes zoned out as if he was revising the past in his mind. “I’m not entirely surprised. Things didn’t really end well between us.”

She nodded slowly. “Goodbye, Mr. Wayne.”

And Y/N turned and strutted out of the room without looking back.

As soon as Bruce heard her cab drive away, he ripped open the envelope and pulled out a letter.

He barely noticed that Dick had walked into the room. “May I ask…Who was the extremely attractive and tall woman that just walked out?”

But Bruce didn’t hear him as his eyes raced across the letter. His heart sped as he continued reading.

“Bruce?” Dick asked after being ignored. “Is she your next conquest or what?”

It wasn’t until Bruce was done reading the letter for the third time that he finally looked up and acknowledged Dick.

Alfred had also walked into the room, unbeknownst to Bruce.

“You OK?” Dick asked, now concerned with how silent Bruce had become.

“Master Wayne?” Alfred also urged.

“That was…my daughter,” Bruce finally muttered.

Dick blinked before his eyes grew wide in shock.

Alfred seemed less surprised, almost as if he had already put that together.

“Excuse me,” Bruce told them and exited the room.

———

Dick and Alfred must’ve warned the rest of the family not to bother Bruce in the cave. Usually he would’ve been disturbed by now.

Bruce had been at the computer for hours.

Alfred was the first person to come down, carrying a tray with dinner and tea.

The butler wasn’t surprised to find Y/N’s face all over the screens.

If Bruce had left any available information hidden before inviting Y/N to the manor, it was all out there now. Bruce knew everything about Y/F/N Y/L/N that was public knowledge – probably even some things that were not.

“You know, you did not seem all that surprised,” Bruce said to Alfred as he put the tray of food down next to him.

“Seemed rather obvious, didn’t it?”

Bruce quickly turned to look at him. “It did?”

Alfred smirked. “Her eyes,” was all he said.

“The color?”

Alfred shook his head. “As soon as she walked into the manor, they were reading me.” He tilted his head in Bruce’s direction. “Observation. Perception. Attention to detail...That is all you, Master Wayne.”

“The way she held herself,” Alfred continued, "Shoulders held back, head high, walking with purpose. No hesitation.”

“Also me?” Bruce asked.

Alfred simply nodded.  

“I don’t think she liked me very much,” Bruce sighed.

He didn’t know how he felt about that yet.

“A lot of people think you don’t like them when you first meet them,” Alfred countered. “Because I don’t trust them yet.”

Alfred raised his brows and silently ask him, ‘Don’t you see my point?’

Bruce rubbed his face and reached for the tea on the tray, ignoring all the food.

“I don’t know why you’re so entertained by this, Alfred.”

“Yes, I was entertained. I just saw a younger, female version of you, Master Wayne.”

“I abandoned her,” Bruce shot.

“You didn’t know she existed,” Alfred corrected.

“And why do you think that is?”

Alfred’s face dropped a little bit when he noticed the envelope discarded on the far end of Bruce’s desktop.

He looked down at the ground as he asked, “Might I ask what the letter said?”

Bruce glared at the letter as if touching it would burn him.

But after a moment, he grabbed it and quickly handed it to Alfred.

Bruce,

If this letter has finally reached you, it is because I have passed.

I must admit that I wrote this letter mostly in the event that I leave my daughter before she is an adult. But once Y/N turned 18, I decided to still pass this along to you.

There is no easy way to tell you this, so I will get to the point.

The young woman who delivered this letter to you is your daughter, Bruce.

Y/F/N Y/M/N Y/L/N.

When I found out I was pregnant with her, I was only 18. We had just graduated high school. You had started traveling. You called less and less. And you grew more distant – physically and emotionally. Eventually, you stopped answering my calls altogether. I left you a voicemail, only saying that I so desperately needed to talk to you, that I needed you.

But you never called me back.

With no words at all, you made it very clear that you no longer wanted anything to do with me.

But there I was, a teenager who was pregnant with our child.

I would be lying if I said I never considered terminating my pregnancy. I was scared and you broke my heart. All I wanted to do was erase you from my life.

But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Once I decided what my future was going to be, I also decided that I did not want you to have any part in it.

I knew even if you pretended to play the doting father and the committed partner, you would grow tired of us eventually. You would resent me and our child for bringing you down. And you would brush us aside for yourself.

I realized I would rather Y/N have no father at all than one who would only disappoint her over and over again.

To this day, I truly believe I did the right thing for all three of us.

There are not enough words to explain the complicated woman that Y/N grew up to be. But I will try my best. I think I owe you that at least. 

Or maybe you have no interest.

I don’t know how she became so much like you, even when I never so much as showed her a picture of you or uttered your name.

She enjoys being alone – almost to her own detriment. I constantly catch her repressing her feelings, always staying strong for everyone else. It reminds me of you. She’s assertive and confident, never letting anything stand in the way of what she wants. Sometimes I don’t think she’s scared of anything. It worries me, just like it worried me when I thought the same of you.

I truly don’t know what you will do with this information.

But…if you have any desire to form some sort of relationship with her, then you should know this: she will not make it easy for you. She will push you away. And she might even hate you. I raised her to never need a man in her life, and she’ll make sure you know that.

I don’t expect anything from you. I never did.

But I would just like to know there might be someone who will be there for her should she need them.

Goodbye, Bruce.

Alfred slowly handed the letter back to Bruce when he was finished.

“I pushed her away because I knew what I was about to become,” Bruce explained darkly. “And I didn’t want her anywhere near it. She would’ve been in danger.”

“Y/N, as well,” Alfred added.

“But had I known…if I just listened to her–”

“Master Wayne, I thought we had agreed to never linger on the ‘what ifs.’”

That sure silenced Bruce.

“Now, what do you plan on doing, Master Wayne?”

———

Y/N frowned when her phone started vibrating and she recognized the name of her mom’s executor on her phone screen.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Y/L/N, how are you?”

“Fine. How are you?” She was quick, wanting to get this over with. Surely, he had bad news. Another medical bill came in or some other expense that slipped by them.

“Good, good. Just curious…have you placed any payments to our various claims?”

“Uhhh…no. But I’m working on it.”

Y/N hadn’t expected to get a call nagging about paying bills.

“No, no, no. You misunderstand. They’ve all been paid,” the executor explained.

Y/N sat up straighter in her chair. “What? That’s not possible.”

“An anonymous donor. They somehow got record of all your outstanding payments and covered all of them.”

Y/N was stunned to silence.

“Ms. Y/L/N…this is a good thing.”

She blinked and shook her head. “Right. Yes, of course. I just…thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank this guardian angel of yours.”

---------------------

Part 2

Let me know what you think!!!

[rubydubydoo122]

Jason gets de-aged because I've seen fics of Tim or Dick being de-aged, and Bruce losing his memory, but no one has realized the potential for angst if you de-age Jason.

When Jason woke up to the familiar ceiling of the batcave, feeling… whole. 

He remembered everything. 

He remembered dying, crawling out of his grave, and jumping out of the Lazarus Pit. He remembered the moment Talia showed him pictures of Tim as Robin, he remembered planting the bomb under the Batmobile. He remembered every single thing that happened in the past five years. 

And he remembered things from before. Things he had forgotten due to the blunt force head trauma. He had forgotten about the nights they would spend in the library after Jason had a nightmare. He had forgotten about the moments he had with Dick where they would team up against Bruce, like real brothers. He had forgotten about most of the good moments he had while living at the manor. At his home. And they were really good memories. 

He didn’t know whether to cry in relief or guilt or mourning, because that was just another thing to add to the list of things that the Joker took away from him. The memories of all the good things. 

He covered his face with his arm and he could tell by the size and weight of it that he was back to normal. 

Back to being the Red Hood. The real lone-wolf vigilante in Gotham because he had burned bridges with anyone who had cared about him. What a fucking asshole. 

“Jay, Lad, you’re awake.” He heard the squeak of the chair that they kept in the medbay, “How are you feeling?”

He didn’t lift his arm up to look at Bruce. Fuck, Jason had collapsed in front of his grave. He probably given Bruce an aneurysm. A week ago, he would’ve laughed, but now… he just felt guilty. “I'm sorry.” He meant that for a million different things. He’s sorry for trying to kill half of the family. He’s sorry for digging up Bruce’s trauma. He’s sorry for believing that Bruce didn’t love him. 

“Jason, I’m sorry—“

“Bruce. I know we have a lot to talk about, but can you give me, like… a couple minutes to sort out my brain?”

The chair squeaked again, but Bruce didn’t say anything. 

Jason sat up to look at Bruce, who was sitting in the chair, stunned. “Sorry, I just thought you would be… more upset.”

“I am upset.” Because even though he was lost in a tornado of emotions he could tell that upset was one of the major fronts. 

“I didn’t mean to make it seem like I cared about the younger version of you more than—“

“That’s not why I’m upset.” Maybe a week ago, but not really right now. “I’m more upset that all of you made the collective decision to keep my death from me.” He paused looking for the right words, “I— younger me really thought I made it. I thought I got to perform in the school musical, open acceptance letters, I thought I got to walk across the stage and move into a dorm.” He felt his eyes burn in shame as he looked down at his hands. The hands that were once stained in Tim’s blood. The hands that once held a gun aimed at Damian, “I thought I would’ve been a good older brother, and you all just let me believe that. And I get it,” he looked back up at the stalactites hanging from the ceiling, “telling 15 year old me that, despite everything, I still didn’t make it, it would’ve been hard, but it was worse to realize that I never really got those things.” He took a deep breath, “I’m not angry at you. Not anymore. And there’s more we need to talk about, but I think I’m going to need to sleep on some things before we do.”

Jason looked back at Bruce, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Bruce this… vulnerable. “Yes. Ok. Yeah, take as much time as you need.” But Bruce took Jason’s hands in his, “Just- know that I’m proud of you. For all that you’ve been through, and all that you’ve overcome, you still have a good heart. You have always had a good heart.”

“I love you, Dad. And I see now how much you love me too.”

Jason found Dick in his room. He doesn’t know what possessed him to come to Dick first— he was planning on sitting in the library, bawling his eyes out, and then talk with Bruce about whatever he wanted to talk about. Yet here he was, standing in Dicks doorway, feeling like he was 13 again, wondering if Dicks “I’m always here to talk if you need to,” was real. 

Turns out, everyone in the manor, besides Bruce and Alfred, were already there. 

They were all curled up in some way against Dick. Damian under his right arm, Tim under his left. Cass was curled around Tim, but had her head resting on Dicks shoulder, and Duke was laying perpendicularly across Dicks legs, though he was clutching Zitka tightly in his arms. 

There was also part of him that felt kind of left out. Realizing how close everyone was except for him. And he knew that was his fault. He had burned the bridges before he could even try to cross them. Now all he could do was gaze at the city from across the river. 

No. 

He’s been building a new bridge. Getting closer and closer to the city. To this family. He wouldn’t mess it up again. Because the 12 year old kid who jacked the Batmobiles tires deserved a home. The 13 year old kid who had been in the middle of a custody tug of war deserved a family. The 15 year old who ran away from home desperate to find a mother deserves love. 

“Jason!” Dick shot up, effectively ruining the cuddle pile, and drawing attention to him lurking at the doorway. Though, he wouldn’t be surprised if Cass already knew he was there. 

There was a collective look of relief throughout the group, even from Damian. Of all people. 

He shoved the knot that was in his stomach down and opted for a laugh, “I have fought valiantly, and I have reclaimed puberty from the wicked witch of the west.”

He was almost knocked over by everyone coming in for a group hug. 

“You little lying bastard.” He felt Duke's hand swat the back of his head, “man, it took us a whole hour to figure out that none of us knew where you were. Dick was about to kick down your door when Bruce came up with the key.”

Of all the old memories that Jason had gotten back, Bruce had never intruded on Jason’s space without him wanting to. He didn’t even think he had a key. So why…

“And then, Bruce brought you back unconscious. We thought you were gonna die again, but then you magically poofed back into your giant ass self, and—“

“Breathe!” Because he knew Tim would keep rambling, “and I just woke up, give me a minute.” Because he was expecting just Dick to be in his room. Not everyone. And as much as he cares for the whole entourage, he doesn’t think he has the energy to.. stay strong for them. He just wanted his big brother. Dick was his big brother first. 

And thank god for Cass’s people reading skills, because she cupped Jason’s cheek and offered him a small smile, “Might be big again, but you’re our little brother.” She glanced to Dick, and then guided Tim, Duke and Damian out of the room, closing the door behind her. 

Jason suddenly felt like he was still 15. Like he hadn’t been changed back. Like he was transported back in time to before everything had become so messy. 

Dick studied his face,  “What’s wrong?” He patted the space next to him on his bed. Just like that time Jason had gone to Titans Tower after Bruce had said he wasn’t Jason’s father. 

He sat down next to Dick, and then scooted down, so that he could comfortably rest his head on his chest. He could feel his face twitch, holding back the knot in his stomach that had risen into his throat. 

How could he have forgotten how much Dick cared? Maybe he wasn’t around that much, but he cared . He cared so much . 

He felt his expression crumple and fall. How could he have forgotten how much Dick tried?

Dick rubbed little circles into his back, as Jason muffled his sons into his shirt. Just like he had done when Jason wasn’t able to help Gloria Stanson. A couple nights before he left for space. He didn’t ask, or push, just waited. 

“I- I remember everything . I used to only be able to remember the bad. Now I remember…all the good too.” He stared at the tree outside of the window they used to climb together, “I remember now that even though you weren’t here often, you were a good brother. You were a really good brother. And I feel like shit for thinking you’ve always hated me, because—“

“Jason, can I be honest with you?” Dick dabbed at the tears that had fallen from Jason’s face. “I kind of assumed. When you wouldn’t get an inside joke, or when I would bring up something, and you would just stare blankly. I never felt offended when you didn't know, just upset with myself that I didn’t make more time, because maybe then certain memories would stick.” He traced the scar on Jason’s temple, “and I think a lot about how you were the one who reminded me how to love freely.” 

Jason looked up to make eye contact with Dick, “I was wondering how you went from angry at Bruce and the world to adopting the kids Bruce adopted.”

Dick chuckled, “I passed the angry child mantle down to you too. It comes with the post-Robin era.” He continued to trace the scar, “but seriously. Bruce having the emotional competency of a turnip while I was growing up really affected the way I connected with people. Then you came along, this kid, who despite having nothing but the clothes on his back, still loved with his whole heart. You were a lot like my parents in that sense. You turned Robin into a legacy, and I couldn’t think of a better person to have done that.” 

Jason turned away, “Fuck you. You’re making me cry.” They stayed like that in silence for a bit. “I, uh, found my old phone. And I listened to a bunch of the voicemails.”

He felt Dick tense up for a moment, “Oh?”

“You were Batman? Like I knew you were Batman with Damian, but I didn’t realize you were also Batman with Tim.”

He felt Dick relax under him, “That was not the direction I expected you to take.”

“I’m prioritizing.”

“Yeah, I was. It was only for a couple months, but I hated every moment of it then. Alfred was in England, and Bruce was training to get his strength up. I guess the good part was Tim. That was when we really got close. I think that was when I actually started to see him as my little brother.” Dick paused, “Though, if you’re bringing this up as a Segway to why make Damian Robin if you and Tim already had the Batman/Robin thing in the past, I did it because I saw Tim as an equal when it came to vigilantism. The Batman and Robin dynamic wouldn’t work with us.”

“Yeah… that makes sense.” Jason paused, “you killed the Joker?”

“Yeah.” Dick rested his head on top of Jason’s, “and just so you know, Bruce also came close right after he killed you. Close to the point where Clark had to stop him.”

“I never really wanted Bruce to kill the Joker. I just wanted him to prove he cared. If he had given me a hug, I probably would’ve stopped everything. I gotta tell him that.” He sat up, “Bro, Bruce said he was proud of me. I think he’s still following that mission to keep me happy.”

Dick snorted, “How do you know about that?”

“I snooped.” He shrugged and put his head back on Dicks chest, “I think we should make one for how Bruce should take care of all of us. And then make one for Tim to eat three meals a day and get at least five hours of sleep per day.” 

“But, seriously, we probably do.” He felt Dick start to fiddle with one of the bat charms in his hair as they fell back into silence. “Talia?”

Jason didn’t say anything. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything that you don’t want to, but I’m here if you want to talk about it.” Dick let out a breath, “You… listened to the voicemails, you know I… I won’t judge.”

Jason nodded and reached out to stroke Zitkas trunk, “I know I’m your… little brother, but you can talk to me too if you want to. It won’t change how I see you.”

Dick moved Zitka so she was closer to both of them, “yeah I know.”

Jason sighed, “I… I didn’t know how old I was until your birthday back in March. I simultaneously felt too old but too young. For everything.” 

“Yeah. Yeah. I get that.”

There was a long stretch of silence. It was the first time in a while that both of them had a heart to heart. It was the first time in a long time since they had an understanding between each other. 

“Is it bad? That I still see her as a mother?”

“Sheila?”

“Well, yeah, I guess,” because even after the betrayal, he still knew she did it because she didn’t really have any other choice, “but I was talking about Talia.”

“Oh.” He heard Dicks jaw click. 

“So yeah?”

“No, it's not that.” Dick gave it some thought. Choosing his words carefully, “I mean, she took care of you when no one else did, so it makes sense, but…every adult figure in your life has let you down in some way, and you deserve so much better than that.”

Jason thought about it for a minute. His papi had turned to a life of crime, his mami fell victim to heroin. Sheila had chosen her own life and reputation over Jason, and Talia kinda just… took Jason in to score points with Bruce.

Bruce… Bruce could never fully be his dad. Not anymore. Not with all the bad blood. Not when Batman would always be more important. “It’s, uh, I guess it’s too late now, but I’ll never regret the three years I spent calling this manor my home. They were probably the best years of my life.” He pressed at a vein on Dicks hand. “Alfred and Bruce were good for me, though. They just… didn’t expect me to come back, which is understandable, but that was when I needed them the most.” He pulled Zitka in close, “Sometimes, I wonder what things would’ve been like if Bruce had found me instead of Talia.”

“I wonder that all the time too.” Dick continued to rub circles into Jason’s back, “You know, you’ll always be my little brother. My first little sibling. No matter how far apart we grow from each other, or if you annoy the shit out of me, You’ll always have a home in my heart. I promise.”

Jason stayed quiet while he basked in the comfort of his older brother for a while. Soaking in the feeling, making up for the years lost without it. “I love you too.”

After Jason was done talking to Dick he went straight to the kitchen. For one, he was hungry, because magic sucks, and he also felt the need to do something. Specifically, bake a strawberry cake. Because of course he had forgotten about his tradition with Alfred. Even during his past Birthday he had spent in Gotham, he didn’t— he didn’t even celebrate at all. He remembered it was his birthday, he just didn’t know how many candles to put on the cake. 

Jason just wanted to do this with Alfred. Like old times. Of course, Alfred was still out getting the groceries, and it felt like he’d been out for years, but nonetheless, he was a grown man allowed in the kitchen. So he started getting out the ingredients for the cake. 

Except they did not have any strawberries. Which put a real stickler in Jason’s plan because the fresh strawberries were the best part. They added a burst of tartness with each bit and balanced out the sweetness of the buttercream. 

Just then Alfred came through the kitchen with a brown paper bag. He looked from Jason to the countertop that had a neat array of ingredients and then back to Jason with a smile. Alfred set down the bag and reached into it. “I suppose we had the same idea, my boy.” He pulled out two boxes of the fancy strawberries he always got. “You’re going to have to double the recipe.” Alfred pulled out two more boxes. 

“Alright, Alfred.” Jason smiled back, and exchanged the bowl he’d originally taken out for a bigger one. Even though Alfred was working on dinner and Jason was working on the cake, they fell back into their old rhythm. 

One by one his siblings started filing in. First Cass, who nabbed a strawberry. Then Damian, who Jason may or may not have discretely gotten flour on his face, making him look absolutely adorable. And while Jason was pouring the batter into the pan Duke, Tim, walked in, so he had given them the bowl and spoon to clean off. 

He got started on the buttercream, slowly adding the strawberry compote that he’d made before he’d made the batter, when a finger made its way into the bowl, and then swiped his nose. 

He swatted at Dick when he tried to get another dollop to taste, “Nope. Nuh uh. Getchur fingers away from my buttercream.”

“Come on! Duke and Tim got to lick the batter!”

“And I was going to give this spatula to you, but if you're being impatient, it’s going to Cass.” 

Dick huffed and rounded the counter, sitting on the chair next to Cass. 

Tim and Damian were bickering, and Duke was adding comments that seemed to be egging on both sides. The subtle agent of chaos. 

Jason took the cake out of the oven and put it on a rack to cool. He made his way back to Alfred, who had just put the stove on simmer, and held his hand, “Thank you, Alfred.” 

“Whatever for, my boy?”

Jason observed everyone in the room. Cass ruffling Tim’s hair, and Duke finally cracking. Dick wiping the flour off of Damian’s face while he huffed about not tolerating this childish behavior. Bruce leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen with a fond smile on his face. “Wishing for this. For Bruce to have people to live for. For wishing for me back.”

Alfred smiled and looked at Jason, “I always assumed it was you who made it happen. Using your magic to put everyone in a place to meet eventually before coming back to us yourself. And I am so so grateful that you did.”

And Jason knew Alfred meant it. Because it was Alfred. It was Alfred who loved them all so much that they were all just as much his kids as they were Bruce’s. Bruce might’ve built this family, but Alfred held it steady. 

Jason rested his head on Alfred’s shoulder. “You mean so much to me, Alfred.”

Alfred brought a hand up to cup Jason’s cheek, “However much I mean to you, I can assure you, you mean infinitely more to me.”

And Jason knew that. He picked his head up to look at Alfred, and gave him a smirk, “Does this mean I’m your favorite?”

Alfred raised his eyebrows, “I care for you all equally.”

Jason could feel himself grin from ear to ear, because yup. He was definitely Alfred’s favorite, “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.” 

He went back over to the cake and started frosting it, casting another look at everyone in the room. He made eye contact with Bruce and offered him a smile, and he returned it. 

If someone had asked Jason a week ago if he considered these people his family he probably would have shot them in the face. He’d been so afraid his entire life that the home he’d founded would never be permanent. He had thought in the past five years he had lost the love he had gained. He thought it had all died along with him. Except it hadn’t. It had grown so much bigger and was waiting to engulf him back into the fold. Jason was finally ready to walk back into it.

The door opened, and Stephanie Brown slid across the wood and used Bruce to stop her momentum, “Guess who’s ready to collect blackmail consisting of Sunshine–” She paused and caught sight of him, “Jason! You’re a giant again.” She huffed, “I was going to convince little you that I was your favorite.”

“Blondie, you scared little me.” He held up the piping bag with the strawberry compote, “Quick, what should I write on the cake.”

Steph walked over and punched his shoulder, “ I lived, Bitches! All caps. ‘X’s to dot the ‘I’s.”

“You do know your don’t dot capital ‘I’s right?” Jason looked over to Alfred for permission.

“Well, Master Jason, You did live. Let the bitches know.”

The whole room erupted into howls of laughter, as Jason grinned and piped the words onto the cake, “Hell yeah, I lived Bitches.”

[dathen]

I love your analysis and comparing fandom’s interpretation of Jon to how he acts in canon. Something that interests me, in season 1 Jon was *trying* to seem more skeptical than he was because he was afraid, and then the fandom latched onto it and ran with saying Jon denies everything. In season 2 Jon is paranoid and sometimes aiming it in the wrong direction but often aiming it in the *right* direction. But because his wrongful paranoia of Tim and Martin at this time is what’s highlighted by other characters and himself when looking back at it. Jon swears he’ll never do it again and he’ll trust the others and he won’t burn anymore bridges but by then it’s too late, and so it’s what’s remembered by the fandom and gets blown up while the fact that Jon also rightfully suspected NotSasha (and Elias) gets forgotten. I just think it’s interesting how it seems like Jon’s own perception of himself (or purposeful way of presenting himself in the case of S1) seems to have affected how the fandom views him despite us having canon evidence to the contrary.

Absolutely! This one has three main factors I feel need to be taken into consideration for fairness’ sake:

First, it’s an audio medium where many details are conveyed a split second at a time. Me going through transcripts to compile a season summary is going to get a lot more detail and accuracy than someone just listening through. TMA is also especially sparse on narration and repetition, and often the details are pretty spread out; for instance, it may have been years since people listened to the episode that confirms that Sasha didn’t have an information science degree, and the episode where she and Tim say they felt like she should have gotten the job.

Second, the writers seem to have this…excessive aversion to coddling their protagonist? To the point where he will be berated over and over for faults he shared with others (the nonconsensual surgery, which was Basira’s idea and on her orders), or vague “he deserves my hatred, I just won’t give specifics” (s5 Melanie). He gets dragged over the coals for suspecting his coworkers of being murderers, but there’s no hint of the same for Tim suspecting Jon of murdering Sasha. Jon’s faked skepticism gets much more spotlight and correction than Sasha and Melanie’s genuine skepticism (“Prentiss danger is exaggerated” or “everything supernatural is fake except ghosts only”). Jon’s friend makes fun of him for accepting the Head Archivist position while unqualified, while Sasha’s friend jokingly offers to kill for her so she can get the position she is also unqualified for. Jon hating Martin for no reason is his biggest sin and the first thing he needs to grow from, but Melanie hating Jon for no reason gets validation instead of pushback.

(Or like my earlier post discussed, both Jon and Martin break their promises in the finale, but because only Martin gets accusatory over it, the perception is that only Jon broke a promise.)

Third, a lot of fans joined after the end of season 4 and binged to catch up, which means they’re a lot more likely to rush through the first two seasons to get to the meatier plot and romance, then absorb their understanding of those seasons through fanfic and joke posts. And boy, do the joke posts making fun of Jon ever get traction.

THAT SAID….I honestly have never seen a fandom so eager to dunk on and diminish the protagonist to this degree, and will never wrap my head around why “Jon is so stupid and everything is his fault and everyone is better than him” is such a source of humor and delight for so many people :// So my work is cut out for me!!