#and analyse any other material brought to them?

[fishluring]

making an astronomy/meteoritics iterator oc when i know fuckall or at least just very basic things about those things was maybe a mistake. Looking up stuff for reference/inspo like haha i like your funny words magic man

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Editorial Vocabulary

definitions of terms during the writing, editing and publishing process

Acknowledgements: Text in which the author thanks those who’ve supported them.

Action beat: Short description that comes before, between or just after dialogue.

Adjective: A word that describes a noun.

Adverb: A word that describes a verb.

Adverbial phrase: A group of words that describe a verb.

Afterword: A concluding section, often reflecting on the book’s creation or providing additional context.

Anaphora: The deliberate repetition of words or phrases at the beginning of successive clauses for artistic effect.

Antagonist: An adversary. The character who creates obstacles and challenges for the protagonist, or behaves in a hostile fashion towards the protagonist.

Anti-protagonist: A protagonist whose own actions create opposition and conflict, often within themselves or against their own goals.

Apostrophe: A punctuation mark used to indicate possession, omission and, occasionally, a plural.

Appendix: Space in a book for material that doesn’t fit comfortably in the main text.

Asyndeton: Literary device through which a sentence’s structure follows the following pattern: A, B, C.

B-C

Back matter: Also end matter. Elements reserved for the back of a book, including appendix, glossary, endnotes, bibliography and index.

Beta reader: Test-reader who provides feedback on book.

Bibliography: List of all works cited in book, and any other work of interest to the reader.

Chapter drop: The space above and below the chapter title.

Character arc: Narrative that shows how a character changes and develops.

Characterization: The process of revealing a character's personality, traits and motives through actions and dialogue.

Colon: Punctuation mark that introduces additional/qualifying information about the clause it follows.

Comma splice: Two independent clauses joined by a comma rather than a conjunction or an alternative punctuation mark.

Conjunction: A word that connects clauses or sentences (e.g. ‘and’, ‘but’, ‘if’, ‘then’)

Copyediting: A review of grammar, punctuation, and spelling, ensuring consistency and accuracy in the manuscript's language.

Critique: Also manuscript evaluation. Report analysing a book’s strengths and weaknesses.

D

Denouement: The final part of the book in which all the plot strands are brought together and resolved.

Deuteragonist: A sidekick or confidante character who has the most influence on the protagonist, often helping them solve problems and overcome obstacles. Can be critical to driving the plot.

Developmental editing: Also structural editing. The improvement of a manuscript's structure, content, and overall narrative, focusing on big-picture elements. Attends to plot, characterisation, narration and pacing.

Dialogue tag: Also speech tag. Words that indicate which character is speaking (e.g. John said).

Dialogue: The lines characters speak in a book.

Diversity reader: Also sensitivity reader. Test-reader who checks for misrepresentation in books.

Double-page spread: Also DPS. The view of a printed book or PDF when opened so that the left- and right-hand pages are both visible.

Drama: The conflicts, emotional intensity, and impactful events that drive the plot and engage readers emotionally. The focus is on character relationships, motivations, and the consequences of their actions.

Dropped capital: Decorative first letter of the first word on the first line in a chapter. Larger than the rest of the text and drops down two lines or more.

E-F

Ellipsis: Punctuation mark that indicates a trailing-off or a pause.

End matter: Also back matter. Elements reserved for the back of a book, including appendix, glossary, endnotes, bibliography and index.

Endnote: Additional useful information at the end of a chapter or book.

Filter word: Verb that tells rather than shows (e.g. ‘noticed’, ‘seemed’, ‘spotted’, ‘saw’).

Folio: Somewhat old-fashioned term for page number. Also used to refer to a page.

Footnote: Additional useful information at the bottom of a page.

Foreword: A recommendation of the work written by someone other than the author.

Fourth wall: In books, the conceptual space between the characters and the readers.

Free indirect speech: Also free indirect style and free indirect discourse. Third-person narrative that holds the essence of first person thought or dialogue.

Front matter: Also prelims. Includes part title and title pages, foreword, preface and acknowledgements.

Full point: Period or full stop.

Full stop: Period or full point.

G-L

Glossary: Alphabetical list of important terms with explanations or definitions.

Habitual past tense: Uses ‘would’ or ‘used to’ with a verb to indicate events that happened routinely in a time past.

Half-title page: The first page of a book with any text on it; in a printed book, always a right-hand page. Contains only the main title of the book.

Head-hopping: Jumping from one character’s thoughts and internal experiences to another’s. Indicates viewpoint has been dropped.

Imprint: Publisher’s name.

Independent clause: A group of words that contains a subject and a predicate.

Index: Alphabetical list of all topics, themes, key terms and cited author names covered in the book, and the corresponding page numbers.

Information dump: Also word dump. Information that’s necessary to the story but isn’t artfully delivered, or weaved creatively into the narrative and dialogue.

Line editing: Also stylistic editing. The refining of a manuscript's language, focusing on consistency, clarity, flow and style at sentence level.

M-O

Maid-and-butler dialogue: Dialogue in which one character tells another something they already know so the reader can access backstory.

Manuscript evaluation: Also critique. Report analysing a book’s strengths and weaknesses.

Narrative arc: Also story arc. The structure and shape of a story.

Narrative authenticity: The believability and truthfulness of a story so that the characters and events feel real within the framework of the novel’s world.

Narrative distance: Also psychic distance. How close the reader feels to a character’s thoughts, emotions and experiences within a story.

Narrative: Story. The part of the book that’s narrated, excluding the dialogue.

Narrative style: The author's unique manner of storytelling, encompassing language, tone, viewpoint and other structural choices.

Narrative voice: The style, tone, and personality through which a narrator or character tells a story to readers.

Numerals, Arabic: 1, 2, 3 etc.

Numerals, Roman: i, ii, iii etc.

Omniscient: All-knowing. Refers to a viewpoint style in fiction writing.

Overwriting: Using too many words on the page. Often characterized by repetition and redundancy.

P

Page proofs: A file that’s reached a stage in the publishing process where the text and images of a manuscript have been laid out in their final format.

Pantser: A writer who doesn’t outline or plan story structure, but flies by the seat of their pants.

Period: Full stop or full point.

Perspective character: Also viewpoint character. The character through whose eyes the story is primarily told. The narrative lens through which readers experience events, thoughts, and emotions within the story.

Plot: The sequence of events in a novel.

Point of view: Also viewpoint and POV. Describes whose head we’re in when we read a book, or whose perspective we experience the story from.

Polysyndeton: Literary device through which a sentence’s structure follows the following pattern: A and B and C.

Predicate: The part of a sentence that contains a verb and that tells us something about what the subject’s doing or what they are.

Preface: An explanation of the purpose, scope and content of a book, and written by the author.

Prelims: Also front matter. Includes part title and title pages, foreword, preface and acknowledgements.

Pronoun: A word that replaces a noun (e.g. I, you, he, she, we, me, it, this, that, them those, myself, who, whom). Pronouns can act and be acted upon like any noun.

Proofreading: The final pre-publication quality-control stage of editing where any final literal errors and layout problems are flagged up. Comes after developmental editing, stylistic line editing and copyediting.

Proper noun: A named person, place or organization. Always takes an initial capital letter.

Protagonist: The leading character in a novel, often facing central conflicts and driving action.

Psychic distance: Also narrative distance. How close the reader feels to a character’s thoughts, emotions and experiences within a story.

Purple prose: Overblown, poorly structured writing with strings of extraneous and often multisyllabic adjectives and adverbs.

Q-R

Quotation mark: Also speech mark. Punctuation that indicates the spoken word. Singles or doubles are acceptable.

Recto: The right-hand page of a book.

References: List of all the works cited in your book.

Roman typeface: Not italic.

Running head: Text that runs across the top of a page (e.g. title of the book, chapter title, author’s name).

S

Scene: a distinct segment or building block where specific actions and events unfold in a setting.

Scene technique: The use of dialogue, action, setting, and tension to craft compelling moments in the story.

Semi-colon: A punctuation mark that indicates a stronger pause than a comma between two main clauses.

Sensitivity reader: Also diversity reader. Test-reader who checks for misrepresentation in books.

Speech mark: Also quotation mark. Punctuation that indicates the spoken word. Singles or doubles are acceptable.

Speech tag: Also dialogue tag. Words that indicate which character is speaking (e.g. John said).

Story arc: Also narrative arc. The structure and shape of a story.

Structural editing: Also developmental editing. The improvement of a manuscript's structure, content, and overall narrative, focusing on big-picture elements. Attends to plot, characterisation, narration and pacing.

Style sheet: In which an author or editor records stylistic and language preferences, and tracks who’s who, what’s where, and when X, Y and Z happens.

Stylistic editing: Also line editing. The refining of a manuscript's language, focusing on consistency, clarity, flow and style at sentence level.

Subject: The thing in a sentence that’s doing or being something.

Subplot: A secondary storyline that supports and enhances the main plot of a narrative.

Suspense: The tension, uncertainty and anticipation created by withholding information, raising stakes or placing characters in imminent danger. Readers are kept guessing or forced to ask questions.

Syndeton: Literary device through which a sentence’s structure follows the following pattern: A, B and C (or A, B, and C).

T

Talking-heads syndrome: Dialogue that isn’t grounded in the environment or the characters’ responses to that environment.

Tense: The form a verb takes to indicate when an action happened in relation to the telling of it.

Tension: The emotional strain or suspense created by unresolved conflicts, stakes or uncertainties that keep readers engaged.

Tertiary character: A functional character who gives the story realism and depth, but doesn’t significantly impact on or influence the plot or the development of the other characters.

Theme: The novel’s central idea or message about life, society, or human nature.

Title page: Includes full title (and subtitle if there is one), author’s name, publisher’s name, logo, volume number, and edition.

Transgressor: A character who commits morally, socially, or legally questionable acts.

Tritagonist: Third most important character, who often provide regular emotional or physical support, but don’t determine how the story develops.

U-W

Unreliable dialogue: Dialogue that doesn’t match a character’s true voice, mood or intent.

Unreliable narrator: A character whose telling of the story cannot be taken at face value. They may be naïve, confused, or deliberately manipulative.

Verb, intransitive: A verb that doesn’t have a direct object (e.g. ‘I giggled’).

Verb, transitive: A verb that has a direct object (e.g. ‘wrote’ in ‘I wrote a book’).

Verb: A word that describes doing. Can refer to a physical action (e.g. to dig), a mental action (e.g. to wonder) or a state of being (e.g. to be).

Verso: The left-hand page of a book.

Viewpoint: Also point of view or POV. Describes whose head we’re in when we read a book.

Viewpoint character: Also perspective character. The character through whose eyes the story is primarily told, and the narrative lens through which readers experience events, thoughts, and emotions within the story.

Vocative: The form of address for a character directly referred to in dialogue.

Word dump: Also information dump. Information that’s necessary to the story but isn’t artfully delivered, or weaved creatively into the narrative and dialogue.

Source More: On Editing ⚜ Word Lists

[peachywritess]

happiness looks good on you ー knj

☁️ genre: long-term lovers, estabilished relationship, fluff, kind of domestic!au, namjoon being a supportive husband.

☁️ pairings: husband!kim namjoon x artist!female!reader

☁️ warnings: there aren't any, just joonie being husband material, use of pet names such as jagiya, baby, love.

☁️ word count: 1,7k

☁️ author's note: just a small little thing i had in mind, not my best but i really liked writing this, i hope you like it bubs!!<3

Feedbacks are welcomed !

The brush plopped into the water jar, and a few drops of coloured liquid spilt on the wooden surface. Some ended up on your phone which lit up, the lock screen displaying your favourite picture: you and Namjoon holding a white teddy bear he had won at an amusement park. You remembered that day clearly: it was your first anniversary.

You had captured the moment with a polaroid camera Namjoon had bought as a gift, and you still hadn’t figured out how it worked so the shot came out far too bright. However, looking at that picture years later still brought a sense of warmth and nostalgia: you were both so young, inexperienced, and still seeking to understand each other. Seven years had passed since that day, and so many things had happened: your trip to Bali, rescuing two calico cats and naming them Zelda and Esme, your tour of Europe, and then your marriage.

Your house was full of memories and pictures from your numerous adventures like the one in the Italian Alps where you were too scared to cross a suspended bridge, and Namjoon had to carry you for more than a mile. Or the one in the french Blue Coast when he had mistaken tanning oil for sunscreen so you both had pretty bad sunburns for the entire week.

“I told you to buy sunscreen, Joonie - sunscreen!”

“It is! See, huile de bronzage.” He had panicked showing you the little brown bottle.

“It literally means tanning oil, Namjoon Kim!”

A smile shone on your lips ー reminiscing all of the wonderful memories you had made together. You missed his buzz cut, and how his short hair used to tingle your palms: when you were younger, Namjoon let you dye it in different colours. One time, you had opted for pretty pink flowers, and the dye had stayed on for months.

You loved that he couldn't give a damn about other people's judgement - in fact - he would always brag to his hyungs how talented his girlfriend was. Surely, he would let you know.

"Jagiya, you are so talented. Please dye my hair forever!"

You had majored in arts whereas Namjoon had chosen to open up a travel agency. Initially, it was not easy for either of you: you had only each other's support and getting through the month was always difficult.

Namjoon stayed out late to advertise his shop, but despite this he would always stay up all night watching you finalise one of your paintings, making sure to bring you a glass of water about every half hour because "it's important to stay hydrated when you are working hard."

He would try his best to stay awake by telling you about his day, showering you with compliments and then attempting to analyse what you were painting. You would quietly listen to him, some mhmh's and mhh's in response and occasionally interrupt his chatter to tell him to get some rest. Yet each time he reiterated the same phrase: 'I'll stay awake as long as you do, love'.

And so within minutes he would fall asleep on the couch and you would bring a blanket and a pillow for him to be comfortable.

But now, his hair had grown out and you had practically lost the sparks you usually felt when you painted. Finishing a canvas was now something you had to do - and really didn't enjoy at all.

“You have one month, Y/N. Then I will shred the contract to pieces, understood?”

You listened in silence as your boss complained over the phone, her voice a few octaves higher.

“I mean, what happened to you? Do you think I pay lazy and unmotivated people? Our company seeks talent and commitment, and I’m afraid you no longer have any of these requirements.”

You sharply inhaled pinching the bridge of your nose, back resting against the chair as Namjoon stood right behind you, he too in silence. His hands were placed on your shoulders, which he stroked softly.

“I understand, Mrs Han. I am working on a piece at the moment, and I swear that it will be done in less than a month-” 

You took all of your courage to speak - that woman truly scared you. Ms Han was the director of the agency you worked for, whose aim was to sell artwork at a premium price. She was a fifty-year-old woman with a passion for belittling her employees and underpaying them.

“No more promises, I don’t care. I just want that piece at the end of this month.” She interrupted you, and you sighed.

Just know that this is your last chance.”

And just like that she hung up, leaving you lost in a limbo of disbelief and terror: you could not afford to lose this job. 

Yes, it probably wasn't the best job on the planet, but you hadn't yet realised your dream of opening your own atelier, and this company - although not particularly ethical - was a sure ticket to gaining a small amount of notoriety in the industry.

“Wow, what a bitch.” Namjoon proclaimed breaking the silence and bringing a small smile to your lips. 

“Damn right she is.”

You groaned, squinting your eyes shut, before running your hands down your face - in a gesture of sheer exasperation. “I could end her whole career if I wanted to.”

“Then do that, baby. You have nothing to lose, she does.”

You let your head fall back, resting it on the chair, finally meeting your boyfriend's gaze. He was smiling, and his dimples looked so adorable you wanted to squeeze his cheeks.

“Um, probably my job, Joonie?”

“Yeah, that’s a good point.”

Namjoon leaned forward until you were close enough to look directly into his eyes, then left a soft kiss on your forehead. You closed your eyes, savouring that brief moment of tranquillity. His attention then shifted to the canvas in front of you - a few lines of red paint already starting to dry up - and observed it thoroughly without saying a word.

"Do you remember when you accepted the job offer?" He questioned.

"Mhmh, what about it?"

"And do you also remember what you told me?"

You bit your lower lip, scratching your chin with your index finger.

You had said a million, no, a billion things to Namjoon before you signed that contract.

"Um, wish me luck?" You said in a slightly questioning tone, and your husband facepalmed.

With a swift movement, he turned the chair you were sitting on allowing you to look him directly in the eyes. That gesture made you blush and you stared at him with doe eyes.

"No, jagi, not the correct answer." He tilted his head, soft jet-black locks brushing his forehead. "You promised me you wouldn't let them change you."

You were struggling, and that broke his heart.

Namjoon knew you were desperately trying to paint something, anything that would please your boss. He had examined the shift in your brushstrokes from time to time, and they didn’t seem to belong to you. They were abrupt and quick, whereas you always directed them with gentle movements.

He was not seeing you on that canvas, instead, he was seeing a version you had been forced to become.

"Is it worth it, love? Do you want to become a machine for them to make more money?"

You sighed. He was right ー Namjoon was so right.

You had completely forgotten how it felt to make art, you had forgotten how it felt to be free. You had submitted to their rules because they had made empty promises from the start and you had believed them.

Namjoon crouched down, resting his hands on your knees. In that position, the light coming from the window illuminated his face as you gazed at him with pure admiration. He was glowing.

His brown eyes seemed to light up, turning a honey-like amber colour.

"Joonie..." You murmured as your hands gently grabbed his. "I can't lose this job, I just cannot."

"Y/N, you are the best thing to ever happen to me, you know that right?"

His thumbs softly rubbed the back of your hands, something he always did to comfort you. As he stroked he gently drew imaginary shapes like circles, flowers or hearts.

You hummed in response locking eyes with him.

"That's why I want the best for you. I want you to be happy because I can't bear the thought of you ever suffering. And what I truly wish for, is for you to find your love for art again, and-"

"Baby..."

"I don't want you to feel obligated because I swear to you Y/N, I will always support you no matter what," he then grabbed both your hands in his, and brought them to his lips. "but I wish you just left this job."

You smiled when Namjoon placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles. Despite all these years, he had never changed: he was still the same old romantic and you couldn't complain.

"I know, Joonie, but what if I can't find anything? What if... I don't make enough money to open the atelier?"

Namjoon lightly squeezed your hands, his eyes never leaving yours as one hand cupped your cheek, delicately caressing it.

"Jagiya, you are the most talented woman I've ever known, and you can do whatever you wish to do. You inspire me every day."

"I wouldn't even know where to start." You relaxed in his touch, letting out a breath.

The warmth of his hand unexpectedly left your cheek, and that's when you saw him searching for something in the pocket of his jeans.

"Perhaps, you could start with these."

You blinked quickly observing the object your husband was holding before your eyes. You raised your eyebrows in confusion, not understanding why he was showing you a pair of rusty keys.

Then, a wave of realisation hit you.

Namjoon immediately noticed your eyes turning glazy and your mouth opening slightly in an expression of pure wonder. You grabbed the keys with trembling hands and clutched them to your chest, heart racing.

"The place is a bit run down, but I am sure that in a few months, we will manage to make it perfect."

Without wasting a second you threw your arms around his neck, and tears of happiness fell from your eyes. You couldn't believe it: your dream had just come true.

"I love you so much, Joon, I- I can't believe it. I love you!"

Namjoon stroked your hair, unable to resist tearing up with you, holding you close to him. At that moment, all he wished was for time to stand still and remain like that forever.

"I love you too, princess."

Happiness looked so good on you.

©️ peachywritess 2023. All rights reserved.

Please consider reblogging my works if you like them! <3

[transfemlogan]

Let's Talk About "Watering Down Characters" (& Very Specifically Remus Sanders)

I am responding to THIS POST, "Why I think people should be allowed to “water down” Remus", by @radioactive-dazey and creating a discussion around this topic. I feel like the idea of changing a character's personality is heavily talked about and done within every fandom aaannd with this post being talked about, I want to step in and say some things because I have Many Things To Say.

And before anyone says shit: I am a ts criticiser, yes, but I criticise everything about the fandom and show— not just Thomas. IDGAF that we have "better things to talk about", I've been talking about those things for like 4 years now and now I'm criticising the fandom. I can do it all.

Feel free to respond with your own opinions if you're replying to me. Can't say I'll reply to them all, but I like hearing what people have to say.

I am very aware that watering down characters is an inherent part of fandom. No matter what fandom you join or what media you get into, there is always a huge part of that community that waters characters down, changes their entire personality, or writes them differently. I do agree that this is just What Happens when you are in fandom. Not everyone understands source material, not everyone has the same opinions when analysing a show, and not everyone cares about it that much.

Personally, I don't get why you would talk about a piece of media and change everything about it, because then you're not enjoying the media, you're enjoying something completely different. But this is fandom and people have fun in different ways and I agree that you need to learn when to look the other way and let people exist.

However, I run a critical blog and my fun is criticising.

"It can be hard to write intrusive thoughts in a respectful way, so people avoid it."

OP brings up that writers may not know how to write intrusive thoughts and so they avoid it, in order to not "writing wrong". Which is alright to do! You don't have to write about serious topics... BUT... if you are voluntarily choosing to write about a series that includes the topic that you don't know how to write about, maybe... you should take the time to learn how to write it.

If you don't want to write about intrusive thoughts, I don't think you should be forced to, but if you are writing a character that controls intrusive thoughts, it makes zero sense to completely remove that aspect when you simply should not write him.

It's brought up how mischaracterising Remus leads to the misunderstanding of intrusive thoughts themselves and stigma surrounding them. Changing Remus' character is fun and all, until we remember that he represents something very serious and important. It's something that actively impacts people. Which is my issue with "escapism" within fandom (touched on later in this post). When people actively ignore real issues happening within the fandom, or in this case, the real issues the series itself is about, by ignoring Remus' character, watering it down, or completely changing it, you are causing more harm to intrusive thoughts and the disorders that are connected to them.

Let's bring up an example: Jimmy from Mouthwashing.

Mouthwashing is a game about a very heavy topic: sexual assault. You play as Jimmy, the main perpetrator, though all the men in the game have a role to play (bystander affect, toxic masculinity, etc).

The fandom is already watering down these characters and topics. Introducing shipping to a game with characters that shouldn't be shipped; making the characters all sweet, perfect, stupid angels who didn't know any better; implying that if Anya had told someone else then she would've been saved, and it's her fault she told Curly in the first place. I could go on and on.

Obviously, Sanders Sides is about different topics. Obviously, Remus is not the same as Jimmy. This isn't a perfect comparison.

But it'd be completely strange if someone told you they were using Mouthwashing as a way to escape real-life issues. That they're writing Jimmy differently, or completely removing the sexual assault entirely, because it's "hard to write".

This is at best super fucking stupid, and at worse actively harmful (which it is). If you can't write the topic of SA, simply do not write for MW in the first place. The same applies with Sanders Sides, and any other piece of media.

"Writers use writing/fandom to escape real life and may not want to talk about those topics."

This is not an inherently wrong statement, but it does ask a question:

If you are joining a fandom to "escape real-life topics", why are you joining one that talks about those real-life topics?

Sanders Sides is a web-series that discusses morality, intrusive thoughts, anxiety, catholism, and other heavy-hitting topics. With the introduction of the dark sides, with certain plot points and arcs— Sanders Sides is very much about those "real-life topics". If you are trying to avoid writing about intrusive thoughts, writing for a show that talks heavily about intrusive thoughts and has an entire character that controls intrusive thoughts isn't... a bright idea.

I know there's this entire talk about using fandom to escape, which is something I have talked about repeatedly on this blog, mainly when we talk about racism within fandom. When you bring up serious topics, people flee and get upset because this is their "safe place", when in actuality, it's a safe place for them and no one else. They are using the phrase "escapism" and "safe place" as a way to spout racist rhetoric without consequences. We all know how I feel about the idea of "escaping through fandom."

The statement "I don't write Remus in character because I'm escaping real-life" makes me raise an eyebrow, because.... the entire show is about that. You're escaping through something that has exactly what you escaping from— that's like if I said I was avoiding my triggers by watching something that included my trigger.

The better answer is just don't watch.

It's the same sentiment I held throughout the fandom after Remus was introduced. "Can you please tag 'duke dont look' or 'remus tw'? He squicks me out." I respect your triggers and squicks and I acknowledge that sometimes they can stem from strange places and be "irrational", but... if your trigger is an entire character, it makes more sense to simply leave the fandom instead of ask everyone to collectively keep in mind your feelings.

If you don't want to write intrusive thoughts, that's okay and I respect this, but maybe you shouldn't be writing for Sanders Sides in the first place if you "can't handle" what the series is about.

I know Sanders Sides did not start off like that, I understand if it was a way to escape at the beginning stages of season one, but it is more serious now. If it's including topics you cannot handle, then you need to take care of yourself and leave.

This mentality of "this makes me uncomfortable, so I don't have to partake" is such an interesting one. Mainly because people think their uncomfortableness always stems from a good place, a place that isn't allowed to be questioned. You can't get mad when someone is feeling bad, because those are their emotions. "If I am feeling uncomfortable, you should respect me and let me be."

But the issue with this is that sometimes (a lot of the times) the things that make you uncomfortable aren't inherently an issue. Sometimes it is an underlying thing you need to work through. Sometimes it's good to step outside of your comfort zone.

I have agoraphobia, which is the fear of leaving my house and going outside. If I was constantly letting this fear control me, I would never leave my house. This feeling doesn't stem from a good place. I need to be comfortable leaving my house and I need to force myself out.

You don't let uncomfortableness or fear control your morals. Just because something makes you Feel Bad, doesn't mean it is Actually Bad.

Which is why I think this debate is brought up. It's always talked about how one feels about Remus, how one feels about intrusive thoughts.

"What if they don't like writing about it?" "What if they don't feel comfortable writing something they don't know?" "But Remus makes me uncomfortable, I can't accept him."

Your feelings, while okay to have, are not always "valid."

You can feel how you want about Remus, but no one is forcing you to write him. When you write fanfiction, you are voluntarily writing it. You are choosing to create content within the media.

If you don't like the content in Sanders Sides; if you don't know how to accurately write intrusive thoughts; if you won't learn how to accurately write them; if you can't handle the topics that are in the series, itself; then why are you here? Why are you choosing to write it? Why are you in the fandom?

Change him all you want, but a better option is simply don't write him in the first place. You have no reason to mischaracterise him when writing him is a chose you actively chose to do.

Sure, it boils down to personal interpretation and "what you want to write", but if your interpretation is going completely against what is represented in Sanders Sides, then what are you here for? Which wraps all the way around back to my own personal opinion on mischaracterising characters:

If you're changing the characters completely, then do you even like them or their story or source material?

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Chapter 3 - Before The Day Is Over

"Michael?" the red haired beauty asked from the bed, where she was embroidering a dress. "Why did Gallant kill his grandma?" Langdon was sitting on the chair, writing tirelessly at his laptop. His fingers stopped typing, and he blinked for a second, thinking of a proper answer that wouldn't upset her innocence... Too much. "He has been lied to, and oppressed, by a person whom he deemed trustworthy family. His lonesome neediness brought him to desperation once he found out his beloved grandmother sold his life, for a slim chance of living, knowing very well that Venable's rules prohibited fornication." he watched with careful eyes as the woman garbed in grey rags - O, how he hated that unseeming outfit on her. While all the most worthless of pieces of stale meat were enjoying fine silks and royal treatment, she was forced to scrub the floor with her own delicate hands, and see to their every capricious whim. Her fingers tightened their grasp around the soft material of the dress, and her brows furrowed. "And... Why would she tell on her own grandson? Why would she bring him to the gallows herself and cut the rope holding the guillotine above his neck? Acting as judge, jury and executioner from the shadows, against your own family... That is..." she bit that plump, pink bottom lip of hers, and how enticing she looked. "Because, my darling - People are inherently evil. When a situation such as this arrives, where their lives hangs in by a thin thread of hope, they would trample over each other like cattle, just to survive." the blond arose from the chair, and with his hands behind his back, he slowly paced along the bed. 

"But you said you could take all of us, or none. The matter of empty spots was not a problem. And you refused to disclose any such criteria of choosing. They all thought they had advantages and disadvantages over one another... Yet you clarified it was not the age, nor the body that you analysed, but who they are as persons. Acts of betrayal and the impulsivity of revenge did nothing to aid their case nor secure a spot to the Sanctuary." Michael found himself smiling at her. He missed such talks with her so much. It wasn't that she didn't understand the reason for people's evil actions, but that none had any justification, except the fickle emotions tainting their ration. Humans were so easily... Corrupted.

"That is just the nature of mankind, my darling, there is little one can do about it. God - If there even is one out there - Created us in his image, though he cursed us all, because of a single mistake that the first generation did. Even then, the snake with the silver tongue was able to bewitch those two into sinning... But was it the snake's fault for speaking the words it was created to whisper, or Adam and Eve's fault, for listening and choosing to disobey their father? Likewise, it is the gun's fault that one man died from a bullet, or the person pulling the trigger?" Katrina tilted her head upwards, her eyes meeting his own voluntarily, for the first time since they've been reunited. "I would much rather die than allow any harm to come your way, Michael." she admitted in such a delicate voice, that Michael's smile only widened in disbelief. Such a bold declaration of selfless, pure love was something that she would be capable of vocalising. In a swift move, Langdon found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands on her face, eyes wide in wonder, star-struck as though he was seeing Divine Providence, the same way a leper was cured by Jesus from his leprosy, and Lazarus was resurrected four days after his death. "I know, my sweet angel, I know." he said, planting a kiss on her forehead. "You have always been sacred." Michael reached for the needle and the dress, throwing them far away, in a corner. When the beauty attempted to protest, she was silenced by the man shifting his position to kneel between her legs, his hands holding her own.  "No, Michael, I-- I need to finish this dress before the Masquerade!" she whimpered. "I-I don't... I don't want to get punished for disobeying!" he could feel her trembling under his touch. "The last person who dared tell Venable that you are the leader here got... Severely punished." the fear she was so evidently displaying almost aroused him, were it not for the power trip of that wretch who dared terrify his beloved. "My love, what is there for you to fear anymore? Venable's word will mean nothing to you, once we've departed for the Sanctuary." he reassured tenderly. "Your beautiful fingers are bleeding, my darling. How many times have you pricked them, in you attempt at rushing the heavy work?" "Don't blame my incompetence on the work I have been assigned to do." she muttered, snatching her hands back and holding them to her chest. "Until the day that we leave, I have no choice but to obey the rules instilled, be them fair or not." "I will not allow you to do such a silly thing." the man chuckled, leaning closer to her. "You and I will go together to Venable's silly party, and you will be wearing the most beautiful dress there is, and your gorgeous hair will be let loose to dance around you every time I twirling you into my arms - All that, just to spite that self-important bitch who dared torment you." his voice, hushed yet dark, held an ominous tone to it.

Langdon's fingers gingerly trailed down, from her cheek to her jaw, and down to her neck, and to her cleavage, where he began unbuttoning the shirt-like dress with the colour of dust. She said nothing, though she needn't, as her cheeks were a shade of the deepest red. She felt the sash holding the apron over laxing and being set loose, and onto the ground. She felt so vulnerable, being unburdened by another, though she needn't be, as she had slept in his own shirt, just two or three nights prior. Why was it so different, so... Intimate, when another was doing it, looking so deep into her eyes, like a hawk watching its prey... No, rather, like an artist watching his most beloved masterpiece... His magnum opus. For Michael, the woman laying underneath him so timidly, like lamb with the softest, whitest fleece, was his salvation, the single spark of light in the endless pit of darkness, in which he felt himself succumbing like quicksand. She was that single, thin spider web string of silver hope on which he alone was clingy onto, like a man lost at desert, desperate for his oasis.

"Will you ever be able to forgive my unsightly behaviour, my love? I have been waiting so long... I have been pining so long... And search far and wide, agonising over the thought of having allowed you to be lost in this mayhem. I cannot bare living in a world without you, it is half a life, if even that much. Stumbling alone in the dark, without you was what most would describe as torment." his words were seducing, yet sincere. "I have wished to help you remember on your own, at the pace you needed for you to feel safe. I wished to earn your trust, naturally, and for you to develop your own feelings for me, the same as you did back then, when we were so young and impressionable, and so, so innocent." the man sighed, feeling his own arousal burning him hotter than the blight of hell, as though he was walking on brimstone. "But I cannot resist the temptation whenever you are around me. I feel suffocated with desire whenever I see your beauty, and my heart stops with love when those green eyes of yours gaze at me so tenderly. My whole body trembles with greedy concupiscence, just feeling your sweet perfume... And my skin immolates with every spot you touch." his body over hers, unveiled in the warmth of candlelight, the way God created them, Katrina's chest, glued to his own, could feel the rapid and uneven beating of Michael's heart. Her whole body felt incinerated with a hazy sensation of kindliness and heat, a sort of comfort that... Seemed to be transcend her into new planes of existence. "Michael?" she found herself whispering as she wrapped his slender arms gingerly around his torso, pulling him even closer to her, if that were even humanly possible. "Tell me something. Anything. I want to hear your voice." "I love you." the woman let out a soft gasp - She couldn't understand how, or why, but she could feel the honesty of his soul. "... Do you mean it?" she asked, wishing to feel the gentle caress of truth washing her in waves again. "I have loved you since the first time I saw you." he admittance was gospel. "Michael." she whispered. "My soul can... Feel... That your words hold candour. I cannot explain how or... Why... But I can feel it." Michael shifted his body so his own arms will be embracing his lover, one arm around her body, the other, serving as rest for her head. He leaned down to touch his forehead to her own. "As a witch, you were able to feel when people lied to you. It is a variation of one of the Seven Wonders, namely Divination. You are reaching new steps in your awakening, my love. Familiarity is helping you remember who you are." the adoration of his voice, praising and encouraging her so tenderly, made her feel as though she couldn't breathe, yet for once, it wasn't out of fear. It was an overwhelming sense of endearment and fondness. "Have we done this before?" the pink peonies in her cheeks glowed with heat, speaking so sinfully. "No." he smiled. "We were so young back then, and the world around us was dictating our every action. It is different now. It is just you and I, my sweet angel. Just you and I."

Morning had arrived faster than expected, and Langdon's eyes shot open, his head tilted to the side. A velvety curtain of scarlet hair was draped all over the beautiful woman cuddled so peacefully in his arms. She hadn't woken up yet. It was the sole night when she hadn't been tormented by nightmares. Michael was satisfied with the outcome. Not only was his sweet angel sleeping so tranquil, but the events of the night kept replaying into his head, making his smile in delight. Every new expression that he's never had the privilege of witnessing before, and every honeyed thrill she sang to him made him shiver with lust and greed. What a sinner he was, indulging in every one of his hedonistic desires, with the woman he cherished endlessly - She made him feel insatiable, forever hungry, only for her. Though he wanted to spend more time bathing in her restful grace and feel her chest going up and down with every breath she took, to feel the soft crimson locks around his hand and he idly plays and caresses it...  He had work to do. So much work, that ultimately will lead to the supreme climax of each and every one of these worthless urchins dying a most painful death. They deserved it. They were all tainted. Disgusting. Predictable. 

They were all so flawlessly human.

Michael carefully got off the bed, admiring the way his beloved looked, swallowed in his dark, disheveled shirt, the blanket only half draped over her body, and he went to get ready to leave the room. He got off on tempting and toying with all these idiots. She was going to be safe in his room - After all, who'd dare sneak in? Except for the dumbass couple whom he indirectly seduced into searching for his well-written words and finding out the regulations on their own, and encouraging them to sin.

Whilst away, Langdon's door was kicked open, and from inside the room, the red haired Grey squealed in fright, jumping to her knees, wrapping her body instinctively with the blanket. Squinting her tired eyes, she saw Miss Mead and Venable, along with two other large, muscular women who served as henchmen. 

"You know the regulations, Grey." Venable spat, even more disgust, as it was Langdon she was fucking, and not one of the many survivors. "A smart person learns from other's mistakes, they say. Evidently, your spot as a Grey, along with your blatant disregard for the rules, proves that you have earned your spot here for your sheer stupidity." how could they know? Who told them? Who spied on them so shamelessly, like disgusting lechers? "Take her."

At once, the two henchwomen stomped by the bed and one slapped the ant's face so hard that she fell back on the bed, while the other one buried her meaty hand into the cascade of crimson hair, and with inhuman force, she dragged her off the bed. She wasn't allowed to get up and walked  by herself properly - Instead, the first one grabbed her other arm and they roughly got her to the punishing room, where she was thrown to the hard ground. "Do we kill her, Miss Venable?" "Not yet." the woman tapped her cane next to the pitiful form of the woman shaking violently with fear, her face wet with tears rapidly falling down. "Did you think you were smart? Shamelessly seducing and opening your legs for the Cooperative man, thinking he would bring you to the Sanctuary? You are a disgrace for womankind." Katrina looked so tiny and insignificant, huddled into the wall, hoping to just disappear from the world. "Do you know who told us?" the girl shook her head. "You should." Venable smiled venomously. "Langdon." "He didn't." Katrina spat in a tone low and harsh. Venable laughed mockingly. "You shouldn't delude yourself so desperately, stupid girl. Accept reality. Your plan failed, and Langdon abandoned you. In fact, he is pushing for a death sentence, all things considered. Perhaps you hadn't performed to his satisfaction." the three other women laughed tauntingly. "Stop lying. I can sense your lies from a mile away. I know it wasn't him." were it not for her new-found ability, the frightened lamb would have never dared, speak back to a person of authority... But somehow, she had faith and certainty that Michael hadn't betrayed her. Last night was genuine - All of it. Every little thing they did, every declaration, every confession - They were all sincere. Were it not for Michael, she wouldn't have had courage. She wouldn't have seen any meaning in protesting or fighting back. Loneliness was dark and depressing, and solitude was her greatest pain for so long, something beyond her control, something that eats away at her very soul, little by little, eroding at her very core. Michael was different. Michael knew her. Michael was SEEING her. Michael loved her.  "Delusional whore." Venable spat with anger. "Miss Mead." she called out her right hand's name. "The whip."

The burly woman smiled with sadistic glee as she took the black whip into her hand, and with extreme precision and accuracy, she cracked it against the expensive cashmere of Langdon's shirt hanging shapelessly from her body. Venable felt such perverse satisfaction, imagining the Cooperative wretch having flesh being torn from its bone from the repeated whipping, though the annoyingly pitched shriek from the sobbing ant was beginning to get on her nerves. "If you want this to stop, tell us what you know of Langdon." "Nothing! I know nothing! We j-just met! Wh-Why would h-he disclose c-clas-sified information t-to some G-Grey?!" the tortured soul stuttered in searing agony, but the torment went on, and on, and on, with more degrading comments and humiliation. "Stop! Please, stop! I can't take it anymore! It hurts! Please, I beg of you, stop! Stop! Stop! Stop!" but she was so lost in her own personal hell that she didn't hear the door opening, Venable and Mead leaving, letting the other two henchwomen finish the job. "STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!!!!!!!!!!!" her broken shriek that rawed her throat so much that it bled. And then it all stopped.

Only her distressed, broken weeps were echoing through the small, blindingly white room - For how long, she was unaware - But she heard her name being called, by the velvety voice of her lover, who was standing in the door frame, eyes wide with shock at the carnage painting the room like a religious mural. "My love?" though she was unable to move or look at him, she felt comforted by his presence. "What did they do to you?!" Michael rushed to her side, angrily stomping on the discarded leg of one of the torturers, and he fell next to his beloved. He wanted to throw his arms around her, but seeing his shirt being torn to ribbons and shreds. Her flesh was painted red, slashed and abused by the leather rope of the whip. How dare they commit such an atrocity? Didn't they know such folly deserved eternal torment in the deepest pits of hell? Had Dante Alighieri written Inferno for no reason? "I-It hurts so much, Mickey, it hurts so much. I f-feel so weak, I... I feel like -- Like I'm dying." she finally dared twist her aching body to hide in his arms, her fingers holding onto and wrinkling his coat with decrepit strength. "My darling -- Look at me. Look at me." he placed his hands on her pale cheeks, looking at her exhausted, sweaty face, hair aimlessly sticking to her face. "Remember how you healed me, my love? You can do so for yourself. Let me help you." her breathing was ragged and hot, gritting her teeth in sheer agony as Langdom gingerly removed the scraps of black shirt from her body, leaving her bare and vulnerable before his devilish eyes. "Do you trust me?" his hands held hers, giving them a reassuring squeeze, his lips almost touching her own. His whispery voice sent a shiver down her spine. "Venable said you were the one who betrayed me." she replied, a pained vibrato in her voice. "She said you were using me for your own lecherous needs, and that you have abandoned me." "And do you believe her?" the man frowned, feeling wrath taking over his senses. "No." Kat smiles delicately. "I knew she was lying." she continued, taking a few deep breaths to keep herself awake. "It only reinforced my trust in you." the man captured her lips, tasting like salted caramel from all the tears, distracting her from the slight sting of guiding her hands over her body. 

"Good." he muttered, his lips moving along her jaw, and to her neck, in trails of romantic kisses. "It was Andre." he admitted the truth, gazing lustfully through hooded lids at the lewd and salacious imagery before him, an angel covered in blood, smearing it all over her body, like a temptress succubus attempting to seduce him. "He was jealous on us." he continued, inhaling a sharp breath, arousal heightening his senses. "The other two were told on, by him also. Nearly died." with each trace of her wounds, they would heal rapidly, until no sign of whip, nor scar existed on her soft flesh. "Venable cooked and fed him his lover, who cheated on him. If he cannot have sexual gratification, no one is allowed to know bliss." "Fool." Kat moaned, feeling her strength returning, bit by bit. "Will you take him with us?" "Not even in his dreams." Michael scoffed, and once all of her injuries were healed, he brought her into an embrace, uncaring of the blood stains on his expensive, elegant clothes. "Nobody who hurts my sweet angel should hold any hope of living." he scoffed, taking off his coat and wrapping her in it, like a blanket. "Let us return to my room, sweetling." he picked her up in his arms with ease, only to realise his mistake, as he exposed her to the eviscerated bodies of the henchwomen, body parts splattered everywhere.  "Wh-Who did this...?" the girl whimpered, bewildered and unable to comprehend what she was seeing. "You did." he smiled tenderly at her. "No, I -- I couldn't have! How could I?" she gasped, looking in disbelief. "There is a limit to the pains a delicate angel like yourself can endure. You must have been so desperate to make it all stop, that your innate powers acted up on their own to protect you." he explained, swiftly stepping out of the accursed chamber. "Will you ever have it in your heart  to forgive me for not being there to protect you?" he placed her on the bed, his eyes desperate and sorrowful for his failure. "What is there to forgive, Mickey? You were not there - I know you would have intervened. I know you would have saved me." she smiled tenderly at him. "Would I be too daring, were I to ask to wear your shirt instead? I love the material of it." Michael chuckled, amused, as his nimble finger unbuttoned his shirt and helped her dress it. "May I... Also... Ask for one of your rings?" Michael looked down at his hands, and picked the smallest one he had, before gingerly slipping it on her thumb.  "You used to wear jewellery every time we met. Rings and bracelets and necklaces..." his nostalgic smile seemed to afflict her also. "But my favourite accessory of yours have always been..." with a swish of his wrist, he created a flower crown made out of black roses, and placed it on top of her head. "Flowers." "I really love flowers." she smiled bashfully, looking down as her fingers delicately traced the ring on her thumb. "Thank you, Michael."

Doomsday was approaching at an unexpectedly fast pace, and the Halloween Masquerade that got everyone so excited was knocking at their door. Venable thought she was being smart, she thought the poisoned apple plan was her own witty idea. If she cannot be saved, no one else can. If only she knew she was the one being played, and the tale of Snow White was going to have a tragically fatalistic tale - For everyone but Snow White, that is. The ugly hag was going to get painfully dismembered by the Prince, and she will never get the chance to harm his beloved Snow White princess. The seven dumb dwarves can die, for all he cared - None meant anything to him. It was only her. Only his angel.

"Would you like me to tell you another one of the angel and demon's adventure, my sweet flower?" the man asked, getting in bed next to his beloved. "No." she turned to him, her palm placed on his bare chest. "I want you to tell me of our adventures, instead. No more metaphors or allegories. Just us. Kat and Mickey." Michael looked at her, and he offered a boyish grin, engulfing her in his arms. "I would be delighted to!" he felt so giddy, like a child being gifted a puppy. "It all happened so long ago, when we were young children, and you found me in the forest..."

< Previous Chapter

Next Chapter >

[lixenn]

OCtober 2024 day 27: fear

For today I decided to write a little snippet featuring René and his anxiety since fear is pretty much part of his life 24/7.

TW: minor self harm and anxiety? attack (René is not having a great time 😔)

The trembling wouldn’t stop.

Five minutes and 45 seconds.

The breathing exercises didn’t help, distractions just made him miserable and there weren’t anymore nails left to bite at.

René might have a problem.

A small one. Barely a blib on other people’s radar. Not significant in any way but a problem nonetheless but that was nothing new.

6 minutes.

His hands were still shaking, he should probably. Just … stop, but he reached the point where tremors were on the last place of his priority list.

The experiment failed again. Seven times. All of them gone to shit. He’d followed the protocol to the letter, replicated the entire process from the exact materials to the environmental conditions but still. No dice. Which made no logical sense because René knew it should have worked. He’d seen it with his own eyes, analysed the data and the results spoke for themselves, but one success meant nothing in science. Without statistics there’s no proof, no proof meant no conclusive result and no result was failure.

René was sick of failing.

Sick of experiments, sick of lab, sick of numbers that made no sense.

Sick. Sick. Sicksicksicksicksick.

The trembling stopped but only because he was gripping his hair too hard for there to be any room for further movement. The stinging pain was a slight relief against his spiralling thoughts, so he tugged, harsh. Once. Twice. His scalp burned and some hairs gave away to his grip. René let go, staring at the strawberry red strands woven between his fingers. His vision was obstructed by tears, partly from the pain but mostly result of frustration and being overwhelmed.

The urge to rip, scratch, bite bubbled up again, but René caught himself before he dove of the deep end.

I-

I need.

I need Cilmi.

Cilmi would fix it. Cilmi always fixed it. When anxiety crept up on him in the dark, when fear dragged him down and chained him to despair.

Cilmi will fix it.

Climbing to his feet was hard. Taking a step forward was harder and actually entering the hallway was nearly impossible but René managed. Somehow. He always managed. He needed to. Because his mind never left him alone, anxiety a constant companion ever since he’d been small and with time he learned to cope with his treacherous brain. But there were bad days and worse days and days where he could barely get out of bad without hyperventilating.

Today was bad but not …. the worst.

Because Cilmi was still there. As long as his best friend was still in reach, René could handle the trap falls of life.

The door to the library – oaken, heavy and still splattered with drops of blood – was a welcome sight to René’s tired eyes.

Nearly there.

The smell of books, a mixture of paper, ink and a smattering of dust, brought tears into his eyes again. It smelt like home. Safe.

René homed in on Cilmi, who had looked up from his book as soon as the silence of his sanctum had been disturbed by the squeaking of the door. His dark eyes catalogued everything, the wet cheeks, messy hair, trembling lip and blood crusted nails. No judgement, no disgust, no pity. Cilmi just registered everything that René’s appearance had to offer, came to a conclusion and carefully closed his book.

In a matter of seconds his friend stood before him, taking over his entire vision. A heavy hand dropped onto his hand, the weight familiar and unmistakable, the careful ruffle a stark contrast to his earlier pain.

Cilmi was always careful with him. Careful and kind.

And with the very same kindness he enveloped René in his Flames and ordered:

“Sleep.”

Reality fell away, making space for the bliss of unconsciousness and René let himself fall into a dreamless sleep.

Thanks.

[duxbelisarius]

The Dance of the Dragons: A Military Analysis (Pt. 5)

At long last, we finally arrive at the battles of the Dance! A huge thanks once again to those of you that have been following from the start; if you’re just coming across this series now, I’ll direct you to the Master Post, which lists my previous analyses!

Part 5 will offer brief analysis of the use of intelligence in the Dance, but will focus primarily on the first campaigns of the war: Stone Hedge and Rook’s Rest. I will examine the strategic and tactical decisions made by the commanders of both factions, as well as assess logistics where pertinent. A definition of terms is helpful first, as I will be making use of the terms strategy and tactics; in the context of European Warfare between 1740 and 1813, Claus Telp defines strategy and tactics as follows:

‘Strategy’ is the art of war at the strategic level, concerned with political decisions such as the definition of the war aim, the mobilization of manpower and material, the planning and conduct of campaigns and the determination of the purpose as well as the context of battle. ‘Tactics’ is the art of war at the tactical level, concerned with fighting a battle in pursuit of the strategic purpose.

Intelligence gathering and espionage in the Dance suffers from the same illogical events and poor writing by George (shout out to reddit users /u/Tribune_Aguila and /u/leonie46 for drawing attention to this). While Daemon, Mysaria and Larys Strong exert a sizeable influence on the Dance via their networks of spies and informants, their effectiveness depends on whether the plot needs them. Despite commanding the Gold Cloaks for a year and a half from 104 to 105 AC, after which he was absent for the war in the Stepstones and then was in exile from 112 AC to 120 AC, we’re to believe that Daemon’s standing in the unit is great enough to use the entire force as a fifth column in the taking of King’s Landing. Of course Larys Strong fails to detect this despite being Master of Whispers and former Royal Confessor, possessing knowledge of and contacts within the city that allows him to sneak Aegon II out of the city when it falls to Rhaenyra, and to seize control of the city from her during the Storming of the Dragonpit. Gyldan tells us that Daemon had a ‘mole’ within the Green Council, and this may well have been Larys Strong, but this information ultimately amounts to nothing and is never brought up again. This inconsistent use of intel underlines a major problem with how George writes the Dance: No matter how skilled or a effective a character or characters are portrayed to be, their quality varies considerably based on how they further George’s plot, so that their qualities are liable to deteriorate at the author’s convenience.

Referencing our timeline from Part 3, open hostilities only began a month or so after Viserys death, but the beginnings of the Stone Hedge campaign can be traced back to just after Rhaenyra’s coronation. On the 12th day of the 3rd Moon (March 12th; dates will hereafter be rendered in our calendar), Daemon and Caraxes captured Harrenhal and began gathering a host of Riverlords loyal to the Black cause. Gyldan states that Harrenhal was lightly garrisoned due to Larys Strong being in King’s Landing, implying that the bulk of the Strong household forces were with him at least. Even having lost territories during the reign of Maegor the Cruel, Harrenhal is still the largest castle in the Riverlands with substantial lands within it’s fief, but we are never told of any Strong forces fighting on Aegon’s behalf. House Bracken and Vance of Atranta are the only Riverlord houses we know of that supported Aegon, with the Tullys opting for neutrality and most of their other bannermen rallying to Daemon. 

A glaring omission through most of the narrative at this time, is how the arrival of autumn affected mobilization efforts outside the North. Gyldan tells us that Jacaerys arrived in Winterfell with autumn well advanced, and based on our calculations in Part 3 along with a distance map, the journey Dragonstone-The Eyrie-Sisterton-White Harbour-Winterfell should have taken him three to four days at least assuming a journey of c.1000 miles at 30 mph plus time for stops in the Eyrie, Sisterton and White Harbour. This means autumn in Westeros would have begun within a week of Rhaenyra’s coronation (and would last until the first half of 130 AC), while fighting began in early April following the torture and execution of Blood for the murder of Prince Jaehaerys. There was already deep snow around Winterfell when Jace arrived, and even if the the climate further south was too warm for snow we should at least expect rain, sleet and cooler temperatures. Cregan Stark was already preparing for winter at that point, and we should expect this to have been the case in the agriculture-focused Riverlands; and yet Daemon seems to have had no difficulty raising troops, with many grabbing “a pitchfork or a hoe and a crude wooden shield” and marching to Harrenhal, according to Gyldan.

The opening blows of the Stone Hedge campaign were struck by the Blacks, when raiders of House Blackwood attacked villages on Bracken land, destroying septs and homes, crops and livestock. Amos Bracken, son of Lord Humfrey Bracken and heir to Stone Hedge, leads forces to retaliate; these are ambushed by Blackwood troops at a nearby mill, leading to the Battle of the Burning Mill. As alluded to in Part 2, George resorts to an absence of security repeatedly to justify the outcomes of his battles, and Burning Mill begins this trend. Amos Bracken and Lord Samwell Blackwood are both killed, and grievous losses are suffered by both sides; Raylon Rivers, Amos Bracken’s bastard half-brother, leads the remnants of the Bracken host back to Stone Hedge. While the Brackens’ forces were fighting at the Burning Mill, forces from House Darry, Piper, Roote and Frey captured Stone Hedge with the aid of Daemon and Caraxes, and Rivers is forced to surrender to spare the lives of Humfrey Bracken and his family. 

Thus ended the first campaign of the Dance in the Riverlands, as we are told that Aegon’s supporters there followed suit with the Brackens and surrendered. We have little to work with in the way of tactical analysis, but the brief account we’re given raises serious questions. We know that House Vance of Atranta also supported Aegon, and that House Vance and Bracken controlled more land and could raise larger armies than House Tully. Even if that army was divided between Atranta and Wayfarer’s Rest in the case of the Vances, such forces should still have required time and effort to subdue. George has yet to show us where Atranta and Stone Hedge are located on in-world maps, but Atlas of Ice and Fire’s locations for them seems reasonable; despite their forces a likely close proximity, both houses are subdued without much effort and never again take up arms against the Blacks. Daemon makes effective use of Caraxes in forcing the surrender of Stone Hedge, but we only hear of Daeron utilizing his dragon in this way during the rest of the Dance, once again demonstrating the sub-optimal use of dragons by both factions. 

The involvement of House Frey in the capture of Stone Hedge is by far the most questionable inclusion by George; we have no estimates for the forces available to the Darrys, Rootes or Pipers, but we do know that House Frey has the same advantages over the Tullys as Vance and Bracken. It’s more than likely that they would have been the largest component of Daemon’s forces at Stone Hedge, which begs the question as to how they managed to get there at all. A little over half a month passes between Rhaenyra’s coronation and the outbreak of hostilities, almost the exact amount of time it would take to travel from King’s Landing to Harrenhal, while House Frey’s seat at The Twins would take twice that time to reach. The Freys would need time to muster their forces and even if they conducted a forced march to Harrenhal, they would still then have to march the length of the Trident to reach Stone Hedge and would have to fight if need be. This is where George’s inconsistency with the weather is especially telling, as inclement weather would endanger the harvest and thus delay any muster by the Riverlords; we are also told later that rain and mud delayed Aemond and Criston Cole’s march on Harrenhal, with Aemond and the bulk of the army arriving there 20 days after setting out from King’s Landing. 

The rivers offer an easy solution to this problem, though introducing river travel to the narrative of the Dance creates further problems as well shall see later. Maester Yandel’s Riverlands chapter in TWOIAF stresses the importance of the Trident and it’s tributaries; mile-long lines of poleboats are “not unknown” on the rivers, while the use of the Trident and it’s tributaries by the Ironborn longboats was crucial to the founding of the Kingdom of House Hoare. Traveling on the Green Fork means the Frey forces would only have to cross the Trident and make a short march to Harrenhal, making this the most likely outcome. The rivers are a solution to this issue but introducing them in such a way requires the narrative to be consistent in the role they play from this point on, which proves not to be the case.

This brings us to the final major campaign of 129 AC, Rook’s Rest; the goal of this campaign was to force the submission of Rhaenyra’s supporters on the mainland of the Crownlands. The impetus for the campaign came from a list assembled by Larys Strong of all of Rhaenyra’s Crowndlands supporters, which likely included Rosby, Stokeworth, Darklyn, Staunton, Crabb, Brune, Celtigar and Hayford. Lords Hayford and Harte were executed after refusing to renounce their support for Rhaenyra, but Harte is never mentioned again in the narrative, while only Rosby, Stokeworth, Darklyn and Staunton are attacked by Criston Cole. With 100 knights, 500 men-at-arms and 1800 Swellswords under his command, Criston Cole marched on Rosby and Stokeworth first, whose lords had sworn new oaths of allegiance to Aegon and so added their forces to Cole’s. Duskendale, the seat of House Darklyn, is taken by surprise and sacked, with Lord Darklyn being beheaded and his forces joining up with Cole. As with Burning Mill, we have no idea what constitutes surprise, especially not in the case of a 3000+ strong host attacking a castle; most likely they attacked during the night, or were able to secure the gates and prevent them from being closed. The Battle of Rook’s Rest itself is dominated by the battle between Rhaenys and Aemond and Aegon II, and part three addresses my issues with the use of dragons during the campaign. 

From a strategic perspective, the Greens and the Blacks had essentially traded blows with the Stone Hedge and Rook’s Rest campaigns, although the end of 129 AC found Rhaenyra in a far stronger position than Aegon II. While Daemon had succeeded in securing the Riverlands and stamping out any of Aegon’s support there, Criston Cole had robbed the Blacks of many of their loyal houses in the Crownlands. Nonetheless, Rook’s Rest was a pyrrhic victory for the Greens owing to the injuries suffered by Aegon II and Sunfyre; while Rhaenyra continued to be cut-off from her allies on the mainland, Daemon’s actions in the Riverlands combined with the support of the North, Vale and northern Reach also cut off Aegon his allies in the Westerlands and Oldtown. The stage was set for a rapid escalation of the war in 130 AC, which would bring the Blacks to the brink of victory.

[muqsspace]

BLOG POST 2

In this week’s lecture. It explains about Digital Citizenship. What is Digital Citizenship? It is the ability to utilise technology sensibly, securely, and politely is known as digital citizenship. It refers to the capacity to safeguard private information on the internet, reduce the risks brought on by cyberthreats or other online threats, and use information and media in a polite, informed, and lawful manner (Lcom 2023). For this week’s post. It will further explain the components of Digital Citizenship.

The first component of digital citizenship is Internet safety. With how the internet has been used widely in this world of modern technology, safety is always a first in everything regardless of what are the aspects of life that exist. Crime exists everywhere, like the real world. Crime also happens on the internet and that is why internet safety is a must. Despite their connections, these subjects are distinct concepts. Internet safety includes specific dos and don'ts to protect kids, while digital citizenship curriculum focusses on how behavior and actions spread and affect others on the online and the ways users should conduct themselves as good citizens of this digital world (Twomey n.d). There are many safety precautions when it comes to internet activities to ensure the users data is safe and protected. For example, always use a strong password. Even with a strong password, users are advised not to use password that is related to themselves to increase the security of the account. When it comes to scams and such, it can happen in creative ways. Therefore, users are advised to be aware of what link they encounter and not to simply click on any link as they could be a phishing link. As for scam calls, it is best to first listen to the caller and analyse it. If the caller sounds very suspicious, it is best to end call. And never answer yes or no as hackers might already have the user’s data and they only need verification to use the data.

Secondly, verifying sources. Before the internet, society is used to information being spread slowly. But with technology, information can now be spread in a blink of an eye. And since information sharing is now faster than ever. Misinformation can happen at any given moment. This will cause disruption in society if users are not careful with the information that they share. It's imperative that professionals adopt a critical mindset and see the value of confirming the veracity and authenticity of the material they encounter (Kariuki 2023). With critical thinking, users can help to prevent misinformation to be spread. These steps will help to ensure that whatever information that a user come across is proper. Before sharing, it is best to fact-check the information and to not just simply believe what people online have shared or posted. Research on said information and make sure that whatever is shared is accurate. While fact-checking is important. Reliability is equally as important. It is recommended that users identify whether the origin of the information is published by a reliable website/account. There are a lot of people who create multiple accounts or even a website just to publish fake news to the online community and that causes disruption. As for students, especially those who are continuing their studies in the higher education. They are advised to ensure their citations is a proper citation and that the resources they gathered are from a reputable source. Other than making sure students learn to be a responsible digital citizen, they can also save their marks on their assignments.

Third concept is managing inappropriate content. With internet. There are many information and contents that can be found online and can be searched in the matter of seconds. One of them is inappropriate content. What exactly is considered as inappropriate content? This can vary differently by age. But to narrow it down for a student perspective, it is content like the dark web, adult websites, weapons etc. These are websites that are very inappropriate to students. Even if they do not know how to search for these contents, they may accidentally stumble across these contents. Raising awareness and instructing others on how to be good digital citizens are important aspects of being a good digital citizen. Teach teenagers how to constructively discuss harmful internet activity with their friends. Assist them in recognising when something has gotten too far for them to manage alone and in understanding boundaries (Shannon n.d). Adults should help raise awareness on this issue. Always supervise their children’s online activity. Adults are responsible to nurture their children’s childhood and let them enjoy it as they should. As users, when come across with inappropriate content, it is recommended to report the content and adjust their profile and choose what content that users want and do not want to see.

In conclusion, being a good digital citizen is important for everyone to ensure a fun, interactive and safe environment for others, especially for children to use. This also keeps the internet safe to use for everyone. The government should also improve the cyber security so that the people are assured that their data is well kept secure.

REFERENCES

Kariuki, C, 2023, Navigating the Digital Era: The Power of Verifying Information, LinkedIn, 22 May, viewed 4 October 2024, <https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/navigating-digital-era-power-verifying-information>.

Lcom Team, 2023, What is Digital Citizenship & What Does It Include?, Learning.com, 11 July, viewed 4 October 2024, <https://www.learning.com/blog/what-is-digital-citizenship/#:~:text=Digital%20citizenship%20is%20the%20ability,respectful%2C%20knowledgeable%20and%20legal%20way>.

Safe Space, 2020, Inappropriate Content [Image], Safe Space,  28 May, viewed 4 October 2024, < https://www.safespace.qa/en/topic/inappropriate-content>.

SAFESITTER, n.d, 9 Lessons to Teach Children About Digital Citizenship [Image], SAFESITTER, viewed 4 October 2024, <https://safesitter.org/digital-citizenship/>.

Shannon, J, n.d, Digital Citizenship: 7 Steps to Keep Our Kids Safe Online, JONNYSHANNON, viewed 4 October 2024, <https://www.jonnyshannon.com/blog/a-guide-to-teaching-smart-digital-citizenship-how-to-keep-kids-and-teens-safe-online#:~:text=Teach%20kids%20and%20teens%20how,to%20take%20the%20next%20step.>

Stark, R, 2023, Internet safety 101: 10 Simple Rules to Keep You Safe [Image], Acer Corner, viewed 4 October 2024, <https://blog.acer.com/en/discussion/500/internet-safety-101-10-simple-rules-to-keep-you-safe-2023>.

Thompson, J, 2023, Opinion: Are We Having a Moral Panic Over Misinformation? [Image], UNDARK, 26 October, viewed 4 October 2024, <https://undark.org/2023/10/26/opinion-misinformation-moral-panic/>.

Twomey, K, n.d, Digital Citizenship and Internet Safety: Essentials for Responsible Online Behavior, StoryboardThat, viewed 4 October 2024, <https://www.storyboardthat.com/articles/e/digital-citzenship>.

[mourningcandles]

i believe u mentioned a platonic hanahaki au in the tags of a reblog at one point... if u wanted to expand more on that i found it very interesting of a concept....

Let’s play a game. Send me a potential AU and I’ll tell you five fun facts that would happen in a story. (Or more, if I've already thought of that AU.)

Five worldbuilding fun facts

Hanahaki in this AU became endemic to London not long after the war on Hell, with it having been brought back from the front lines by lovelorn soldiers.

Mr Hearts/Mr Apples allows for the trade of the resulting flowers. It's a brisk and bloody business, but there is no competition with other Masters.

Different varieties of flowers are associated with different sorts of longing, so heartbreakers may break someone's heart just right to sow the seeds for rarities, then enlist a partner to collect. The resulting blooms are falsely advertised as surface-grown, of course. This trade somewhat undercuts the smuggling of sunlight and Surface blooms.

Society's demand for Surface flowers has lessened. For over a decade, flowers have been associated with disease. However, hanahaki is still romanticised due to Victorians already having been obsessed with both the meaning of flowers and coughing dramatically on a chaise lounge.

Hanahaki is not strictly romantic. It is instead tied to any concealed love or longing, including friendship and grief.

Five character fun facts

Furnace Ancona's big secret in this AU is that she has chronic hanahaki, rather than the result of the accident with the Discordance. She still deals with some of the same accusations of having been in love with Cornelius as in canon.

Furnace wears a little neckerchief so she can discreetly collect and dispose of her flowers.

Idris Peters has multiple factors contributing to their illness, but they have trouble parsing their own feelings on a normal day. For this reason, they keep a notebook to track the species and number of the flowers they cough up each day. They then analyse the data to try to discern what is troubling them, like some manner of augury.

If she finds herself without anywhere to put her flowers in public, Furnace will either hold them in her mouth or swallow them. This leaves her either unable to speak or at risk of poisoning herself, but she considers it to be better than risking her condition being used as blackmail material.

Cornelius has no idea that Furnace is so tormented by his death at the Hurlers and his subsequent betrayals as he fosters dissent in the union. She never told him how much their friendship had meant to her. She never told him a lot of things. How can he help a woman who never told him how?

[ssaalexblake]

I mean this in the nicest way as it's possible to mean something objectively kind of dickish, but at some point, the absolute cynical Need to assume that the people in charge of the media you consume are just bumbling fools never knowing what they're doing only makes the people assuming that look, uh, not super smart, and has absolutely zero bearing on the creators. That this happens on meta posts that Literally Explain what's going on and people still fail to comprehend that the work of a few different people all pitching in and agreeing on it would have been necessary for it to happen, doesn't help. And yes, it's a thing that's happened a whole bunch of times on my posts alone, let alone on random ones.

Me: hey look how theyre showing that 13's messed up!

Person: lol I doubt the showrunner knows that!

Sure, Jan. The 89 times he wrote 13 being as messed up as all the other doctors were just flukes for his blonde fairy-princess of good mental health and goodness regeneration 🤷

Well buddy, that's Your problem. It's one thing to see a messy as hell narrative with no clear ending or moral to it (think of the new star wars trilogy) and clock it was totally on the fly and that anything profound was likely to be an accident (I use this example cuz they admit this is what happened). It's another to look at a complete narrative that includes foreshadowing from the very beginning that tracks all the way to the end, written by a guy who is open about having planned it for a while, who has said that he has A story to tell and then he was done and left, and then go 'yeah he has no idea what he was doing'.

I have no idea when cynicism became the suave fandom thing in Any situation even if none is warranted, but it doesn't actually make people look cool and unaffected if that's what you're all going for, it just makes it look like you're incapable of making separate judgements on a case by case basis. I am cynical as hell over certain things because I actually thought about them and decided I was. I am not like this for everything bc not everything deserves cynicism. Sometimes, it doesn't actually matter what was or what was not intentional to start with. Anybody who has created anything, ever, has unintentionally started something and it turned out to be something they pursued. It just works like that sometimes! It's not a problem!

But if you can Honestly look at 13 doing all that messed up crap she did with no introspection over it and think it was the writer not realising she was being messed up because they didn't hold your hand and point it out every single time like they do in peppa pig, despite the fact that the character is Always to some degree messed up and this tracks with the show outside the era, and Fail entirely to consider that her lack of repentance in 13 was an actual consistent character trait and that you should use your brain to actually analyze what that means for the story and for the person... You should have paid more attention in English classes. You are supposed to think about what that means. I know it's a kids show, but it's not preschool.

The problem is not the material not having the depth to analyse, it is the audience's inability to objectively parse it. It does not matter if you love it or hate it! but people are merely displaying they lack the skills to even decide if they do or not by refusing to look for narrative reasons for things and instead just looking behind the scenes to say Obviously it was all just an accidental written by the clueless to justify not bothering. And then going on to make that fact very public.

And you know what, I don't care if you bother or not, you don't have to justify not wanting to think about it! but when people make it my problem I get sick of the crap.

Like why? Really? If you dislike it why are you blogging about it? And if you like it but feel like you're honour bound to act like chibnall is a moron every time his work is brought to your attention just to Make Sure Nobody Will Think You Like It, I mostly think you need to take a step back and smell some grass (or your own regional equivalent of an outside smellable thing).

[mrbensonmum]

TV Shows - CSI: Las Vegas VII

I had to take a little writing break because my wrists were starting to feel the strain from all the writing (I have to write a lot for uni, and I also need to fill up my own page). But of course, I didn't stop watching CSI: Las Vegas, and that's why we're already in the middle of Season Four!

You can tell by now that the characters have become very well-established and developed. Many of them don't seem as young and inexperienced anymore, and that even applies to Greg. I find him the most interesting here because he has developed to the point where he's even taken out into the field, and we know that he'll soon leave the lab and go into the field. He hasn't left behind his outgoing nature but has used it to progress. His exceptional knowledge about various things also comes in handy!

Nick and Sara are now applying for a higher CSI class, and they are overshadowed by Catherine, as Grissom assigns her an important case. She brings in Greg, which further frustrates Nick and Sara. However, by the end of this episode, you can see that, due to past episodes, it's no longer just a team here but rather friends in a somewhat familial relationship (even their time together during breaks or after cases shows this). Because it's patched up, you understand why it was Catherine and why she brought in Greg. (Nick and Sara have another story connecting them, but that's more related to the actors, but more on that later!)

At the beginning, it was still a bit rough, and sometimes even a bit rough when switching between cases. But this is absolutely not criticism at this point, just an observation. Because this has also been ironed out more and more, and you always switch at just the right moment, so one case doesn't "wear out," and you have to immediately deal with the other one. As a viewer, you're always kept on your toes, which is good because with crime series that handle only one case, this can sometimes be very exhausting over the intended 45 minutes. This danger rarely exists here.

One of the big mysteries of the series has now also been revealed; we know who Catherine's father is. The casino mogul Sam Brown! Catherine found this out about Greg with a not entirely legal DNA investigation, and of course, Sam Brown immediately tried to bribe her after being acquitted of a murder case. I vaguely remember that there's still a lot to happen here, and I'm curious how the gaps in my memories will be filled. Don't worry, otherwise, I won't get on any Catherine rage train today. Since the episode with her ex-husband and daughter, she has been reformed, and you can see that in her character, which is calmer and even more grounded. Although there are still outbursts sometimes, but that's human!

What we're increasingly seeing now is the famous CSI effect. I've worked with people in the lab for a long time, and it's fascinating what you notice in such a series. It starts with the absolutely wrong use of gloves because when you wear them and work with materials, you absolutely don't touch anything else and don't even touch your hair; it would all contaminate. Then also the quick processing of analyses through various devices, including DNA comparisons. Yes, the operation of the devices is okay, and the devices are real, but everything is very much accelerated, which of course also happens in terms of storytelling. But normally, such analyses would take much longer than shown here. What's really interesting is the many reports that this was actually demanded in the real world by law enforcement agencies because, as you could see here, it's possible. There are also statistics showing that the number of students enrolled in scientific studies has increased. This shows what power and impact such a series can have when it's well done.

I'm considering whether I should also make a post about the music. I wanted to do that with Dr. House, but then I forgot. Because the individual pieces chosen are really good, plus then some scores contribute a lot to the mood of the series and to individual scenes.

Oh, come on, here's a little preview. In the first season and in the famous roller coaster scene of Grissom (the end of season one), you can hear this song, and as far as series go, it's one of my absolute favorites.

[ayearwithoutwater]

Nine.

I remember regarding the vicissitudes of my love life in 2014 rather wryly.

I felt caught between—by—a trio of men: my personal triumvirate, I'd named them amongst my closest friends. Alberto, Stephen, and John were united in my mind by their graduation year, as all three were just one year ahead of me in college, as well as by the persistent notion I'd had that they'd all resided at the same dorm in their freshman year. Although they weren't personally acquainted with one another, they knew of each other, perhaps mostly through me and the stories I'd tell them of the others. I'd met them independently as a sophomore during what I'd later come to view as the most formative year of my love life thus far.

By 2014, I had already created defined roles for each of them in the narrative of my life. Alberto was the loving boyfriend who would soon depart for the next exciting chapter of his life, Stephen was the off-limits figure with whom I had palpable chemistry, chemistry that I pointedly chose to ignore out of fear that I would do something I'd regret, and John was the equally beautiful and philosophical man whose presence was profoundly aspirational. While graduation brought separation for Alberto and me, it also gave me space to explore myself with the remaining two.

I confess that there aren't enough words for now to give as much attention as I'd like to Stephen, but that's fine; John was always today's intended focal point, most specifically because he was my formative one that got away.

When I first met him in China Gazing, the seminar we shared, I didn't think much of him. Honestly, I didn't pay much attention to any of my classmates; 2013 was a busy time for me, and I was perennially preoccupied with my seventeen-hour days.

John set himself apart from the rest of our classmates with his insights during our roundtable discussions. China Gazing was one of our college's few courses that examined, broadly speaking, Chinese culture and society via its presence within the proliferation of written materials and literature produced by Westerners; it was one of few meta-analytical courses taught at my college that dealt with my heritage as parsed through Western conceptions and could easily be put into conversation with the discursive output of Edward Said, which explains my interest in the subject matter…and John's, too.

John grew up in San Francisco with mixed Irish and Chinese ancestry. Later, I would marvel at his prodigious command of Chinese, particularly his fluency in Mandarin outpacing my own despite him having grown up in a Cantonese household. (Plenty of people are capably or equally fluent in both, but his mastery was all the more impressive to me because he is a second- or third-generation Chinese American.) In class, his essays and input stood out to me from the rest because he spoke eloquently (and without pretension) while offering novel analyses of our coursework; suffice it to say that, almost immediately, it was he who I strived to emulate. Merely knowing that he would hear what I had to contribute to any discourse was enough motivation for me to devote special effort to my preparations for class—I wanted to appear nothing less than erudite.

In hindsight, John was probably my first intellectual crush. Everything he said seemed to be something that nobody else had ever conceptualized, and his writing seemed full of references both seminal and obscure that I could build an entire syllabus around solely his bibliographies. Perhaps I myself was simply unlearned—he'd had an entire year of life more than I did to study, after all—but wasn't that the point of college, to be surrounded by intellectuals and inspired? While my friends were off reading Foucault and Freud, I wanted to read John.

I can't say that I remember how we became friends, which is probably to say that it wasn't too important. Class ended with the semester, and I no longer had anything in common with him, but I would still see him around, sometimes. As I ascended the ranks of our student government, I ran into him more and more often because he had a vested interest as a composer in our music club. As the class of 2014 graduated, I was suddenly single, and I found myself attending the same graduation party thrown by our college. He, too, was single.

I remember being plied with wine by all of my friends. I remember being a nuisance, walking around to tipsily ask all of my gay male friends in attendance why they weren't attracted to me (to which their joking response was that they were). I remember seeing John from across the room and making eye contact with him. I remember walking directly towards him, ignoring anyone and everyone else. I remember us sequestering ourselves within the photo booth for hire, and I remember kissing him for the first time.

I don't—didn't—know what I'd expected. It was as if kissing him unlocked from deep within me a torrent of truths that I had never given the space or effort to confront, that he was ridiculously handsome from the shape of his eyes to the sharpness of his jawline, that I was immeasurably attracted to him but never realized it because I'd locked away in the recesses of my psyche even the tiniest inkling of attraction to anyone else because I already had a partner. It wasn't just that he was smart—it was also that he was unbelievably beautiful.

I had a Lily Allen concert to attend, but, later that night, I slept with him in his Harlem apartment.

I remember feeling bewildered. I remember clumsily going through the motions in his bed because I was freshly out of a relationship, and I was in complete disbelief that the most stunning species of man was interested in me. I'd never been with anyone else other than my first boyfriend, and I wasn't sure how to behave in uncharted territory.

I hate to say it, but it was also uncanny because he was kind of an older brother figure to me. He was someone who sort of looked like me and therefore also had gone through life facing similar obstacles as I did or would. I often went to him for advice, whether personal or academic or philosophical, and I treasured his presence in my life. When our relationship became physical, I felt awkward because I felt that I didn't measure up. I didn't feel insecure, but I felt as though I still had some growing to do.

I think I botched it. Over the summer, our time together was marred by him trying to figure out his preferred type of employment and, predominantly, me trying to answer the question: how soon was too soon? I liked John a lot, but conventional wisdom said that any relationship that developed too soon after a prior relationship would be doomed to be a rebound and nothing more. But, I didn't want him to be a rebound, and I certainly didn't want him to feel as though he was one, because I liked him a lot and I wanted his company. Still, between that and my lingering sadness for my breakup with Alberto, I felt like a mess. Summer was here, the days were warm and I had all the freedom in the world to move on with my life, but I felt intuitively that I needed to slow down and process. I wanted to be with John, too, but I was afraid of being inadequate.

I remember a conversation over brunch with John at Serafina that to this day defines the restaurant chain in my mind. I remember him offering to bring me Chipotle on a day when I was particularly depressed. I remember having my read receipts on for text messaging and leaving his messages to me unread, because I was possessed by some ridiculously misguided notion that being fair to him meant nipping our budding situationship or relationship or whatever it was, because I was afraid of breaking his heart, too. It wasn't quite cutting off my nose to spite my face, but it may as well have been because the end result was the same: I denied myself what I wanted for no reason other than to appear noble and soured my relationship with him in the process.

Seasons later, he invited me to his birthday. It was a casual gathering of the people in his life as he celebrated at a nightclub, and I showed up late. Again, I was awkward, but I knew I still liked him, and I felt more ready to explore that. As we greeted each other, I wanted to kiss him—but he was no longer interested. Embarrassed, I ran away, hiding myself in a bathroom stall while one of our mutual friends consoled me over text messages, telling me that the timing just wasn't working out. The next year, he moved to Hong Kong.

Honestly, I don't know if he was actually the one that got away. I don't know if we would've worked out. Our interest in each other was reciprocated, but everyone tells me that the right person at the wrong time is still the wrong person.

It doesn't matter. Whether or not he's actually my one that got away is immaterial because what matters more to me is that he was the first in my life to personify that trope: whereas Alberto set the standard for the boyfriends I would come to have, John set the standard for the boyfriends I would come to never have. Again, it all came down to choice. I chose to commit to Alberto just as I chose not to commit to John. I pressed myself to avoid making John my rebound but, in retrospect, I should've just let myself go all in instead of imposing arbitrary rules upon myself for no rationale other than to perform correctness, as if there's a correct way to accept the love that entered my life.

A decade later, John was one of the men upon whom I relied during my year without water. Time's distance did little to separate him from his big brother archetype in my head. As I parsed my newest breakup with him, I confessed to him that, all those years ago, I'd loved him, too, and that I was sorry for how I had behaved.

I suppose that my experience with John taught me not to fetishize a perfect goodness, to not let it stand in the way of romance, because there is no perfect love. It's taught me to accept the flaws that realistically accompany any relationship, which therefore has empowered me to go after what (or whom) I want—not just someone who checks most, not all, of my boxes—because perfection does not exist.

Equally, I've been wondering whether I've ever been that person for anyone else. I've wondered whether any of my exes look back at me as their person that got away, but I suppose it's all moot. I think I might have been idealizing the role of the one that got away out of fear—fear that I wouldn't be the one that was chosen, birthed from a childhood of being the one that was left behind. Yet, all my insecurities and arbitrary rules have done nothing but prevent me from living the life I've been wanting to live, and so I'm now choosing to stand my ground as I stare down my future. I've come to conclude that I'm not going to be the one that got away, anymore or if at all—instead, I'm going to be the one that chose to stay.

It is, after all, the more interesting choice.

[hulucom01]

Hulu.com/activate | Enter Activation Code

Unlimited Online Streaming: A Wholesome Streaming Experience with Hulu

Bygone are the days when people used to rely on traditional cable networks to enjoy watching their favourite shows and movies. Now, with the advancements in technology, fun and entertainment-related content has been made available online. All you need is a stable internet connection, and you can enjoy watching your favourite content online.

Switching from traditional cable networks to unlimited streaming platforms

Traditionally, it was like you had to switch to your cable TVs and free your slot anyhow to get a glimpse of your favourite shows. Now the barrier has been brought down by the evolution of the technological world. You can now switch to your favourite shows and movies from anywhere and at any time. The service providers, making use of various data analytics tools, have been analysing the search patterns of their audience. Keeping all these things in mind, they try to manipulate the services accordingly.

The most important difference between both networks is the ease of accessibility and availability. With today’s strenuous and burdensome work patterns and schedules, it is really hard to keep up with the set time of movies and shows on cable TVs. On the other hand, it is also necessary to vent the daytime stress through some meaningful streaming. Most importantly, the streaming of your most-liked content somehow acts as your stress buster.

With the increase in the consumption of online content, there has been a passion amongst the multiple streaming platforms to offer what is expected of them. This is where streaming platforms like Hulu come into the picture. The service has been able to maintain its space among the top service providers. The wide range of genres that come with the streaming service is truly awe-inspiring. Once you learn about the amazing services and quality of Hulu, you will definitely want to make the most of it.

We will explore the features and vast library of Hulu one by one. You’ll be astounded by the service’s numerous add-on features, multiple device activation options, and membership levels. For activation, you just need a code that needs to be entered, and you can start streaming your favourite content on your favourite devices.

What all comes with Hulu?

Hulu is your all-time streaming destination, which comes with a vast library that aligns with all of your content preferences. The streaming service recognises that people’s preferences change over time. We tend to watch content that matches our current mood. As a result, the video library on Hulu is constantly updated to reflect these mood shifts.

Content variety

Hulu offers a wide range of genres. The category ranges from action to adventure, fiction to nonfiction, science fiction, top documentaries, romance, fantasy, suspense thrillers, horror, comedy, etc. The service then filters all these genres according to your preferences. It displays the most hyped and most recent released content in each of its genres. From the most-liked classics to the newly released content, Hulu has everything for you.

Additionally, Hulu takes into account the gaming and sports interests of its audience. This allows the service to offer real-time sports events, programmes, and matches to its users. By providing timely and relevant material, this strategy caters to the diverse interests of Hulu’s consumers and enhances their overall experience. Whether it’s a live football game or other game show, Hulu strives to keep its sports and gaming programming up-to-date and easily accessible to cater to the shifting interests of its viewership.

Unmatched Live Streaming Quality with Hulu Live TV

Hulu Live TV is a live streaming service that lets users view movies and TV series on demand in addition to live TV stations. It serves a wide spectrum of interests with a varied number of channels, including major networks. Fans of sports can watch live events on networks like ESPN and NBC Sports.

In addition, Hulu’s vast on-demand library, which features thousands of episodes and films, is available to users. All things considered, Hulu Live TV offers both live TV and on-demand programming, making it a versatile and all-encompassing entertainment experience.

What is Hulu activation code?

The unique code you receive when you register for Hulu on gadgets like streaming players and smart TVs is known as the Hulu activation code. Enter this code on www.hulu.com/activate to begin using Hulu on these devices. This allows you to stream films and television series by connecting your device to your Hulu account.

This is a one-time-use code that you will see on your TV or device the first time you attempt to use Hulu after creating an account. Hence, with Hulu, you can link devices of your choice to your Hulu account. Considering your preferences and ease of accessibility, you can switch between the devices and enjoy streaming your favourite content. All you need to do is enter the code carefully.

In the upcoming sections of the article, we will go one by one describing the ways with which you can link your Hulu account to your available device. Plus, how can you first register for Hulu and create an account to enjoy unlimited streaming on Hulu?

[mxtxfanatic]

omg so sw is my other obsession besides mdzs, so i have Opinions on the whole "who in wangxian would go dark side" question, and i'm sorry if you are sick of hearing about this but i have nowhere else to scream. so basically, in my view, wwx is the more likely of the two to use dark-side techniques, because lwj would obviously not be that motivated to even look past the orthodox path. but the problem with these discussions is that there's always a light side = good, dark side = bad mentality that sw itself doesn't seem to share. like it LOOKS blacknwhite on the surface, but it's actually not!! the pure, light side jedi are just as incorrect in their usage of the force as the pure, dark side sith are! i think wwx would see this, and he would start incorporating techniques from both the light side and the dark side into his use of the force and of course end up maligned by the orthodox (jedi) followers of the force. but the force can do So Much, and wwx is such an intelligient guy as well as an inventor, i can't logically see him not looking into the immense possibilities of the force without pulling from both sides

Oh no anon, rant away! While I never watched any Star Wars movie and don’t plan to after how Disney and fans treated John Boyega, I will say that I’ve watched Quinton Reviews tackle the movies’ themes of fascism and complacency. (If you haven’t seen them, they’re really great and not his 5+ hour long videos, if that’s not your thing lol) So going purely off of his analysis, I would agree that neither side is purely good/correct or evil/bad; they just each have the potential to be depending on the material circumstances that they derive their authority from.

So adding that to mdzs: Wei Wuxian isn’t “tempted” into the unorthodox path because he was swayed by power; the only reason why he went that route is because he was in a life-or-death situation. However, his theoretical path was first brought up to challenge Lan Qiren on his high horse so that he could get out of class where he was being unfairly picked on. In a Star Wars au, I think that a Jedi!wwx would still bring up the dark side as a means to challenge the “accepted canon” of the force, but he probably still wouldn’t use it unless forced to. Not sure if there could really be a sw-equivalent situation that would force wwx to go to the “dark side” for his own safety… And we’d also have to accept that the rest of the cultivation world would be considered Jedis, the Jin would be knowingly working with Sith in full public view, and the rest of the Jedi would do nothing about it because it maintains a status quo.

Anyways, seriously, go watch Quinton Reviews if you haven’t, particularly his analyses of the prequel films.

[cheesy-cakey]

note this is a hatter au from a wattpad book I wrote.

You Weren't there

Kalim X Reader Angst

We had graduated.

We got married.

He inherited his family's riches.

We had a son.

We were happy...

We WERE.

I gazed out the window of my quarters.

I was no longer a Hatter... I was now an Al-Asim.

The Hatter name had died out the moment I decided to be a part of Kalim's family. I still owned our land and property. But I had no use for it.

I thought that this was going be our happily ever after.

Holding the one I love close. Kalim embracing me and our son.

But I guess reality doesn't have a happy ending... Especially us Hatter's.

As I watched the scene out the window.

In the garden was Kalim... With his 2rd wife and daughter.

Yes, that's right. I may be Kalim's first wife... but that doesn't mean I'm the only one.

I watched as he held her hand while with the other he carried his daughter.

I moved away from the window and sat on the plush bed of my quarters.

"How could I be so stupid. How could I be so blind. why did I think... That out of all the people in the world. I would have a happy ending." I muttered to myself as I leaned back on my arms tears pricking out of my eyes.

I went back to the window watching them hold each other close. I traced my hand on the glass feeling the coolness of the material.

I kneeled on the floor hand on the window sill while the other was on the floor.

"If happy ever after did exist~" I sang as I wrapped my arms around myself.

"I would still be holding you like this~"

"All those fairy tales are full of sh*t"

"One more f*cking love song I'll be sick" I sobbed as I was never meant to have a happy ever after.

3rd POV

Little did Y/N know that someone came to visit.

Watching through the crack from the slightly opened door.

Ali Al-Asim watched as his mother broke down crying.

"Why... why of all people... why does it have to be mother that suffers?"

He walked away knowing that it's better to not disturb her like this... He knew seeing him would just remind her of the happy ending she could've had.

He returned to him quarters and sat in one of the chairs in his room.

"Mother... You shouldn't be suffering like this... You told me father loved you... You said he loved you more than the stars in the sky... then why... why does he treat you this way? why does he neglect you? weren't we happy? weren't you happy?" He leaned his head back as tears pricked out his eyes.

"I never get to see you smile anymore. The smile that could shine brighter than the sun. Your eyes became dull... no longer full of hope and happiness like the stars."

he slammed his first into the table Infront of him as tears fell from his face.

"WHY DON'T YOU HAVE A HAPPY EVER AFTER!?"

The 15 year old couldn't bear to see his mother like this...

He's seen her cry too many times...

-Time Skip-

It was Ali's 16th birthday.

Which means a big celebration...

But his mother as much as she wants to attend she couldn't bring herself to leave her room.

The Hatter that used to be full of life, laughing, singing, dancing. The Hatter that enjoyed parties and seeing her friends smile... lost her spark.

-At the celebration-

"Happy Birthday, Young Master, Ali!" The servants cheered.

"Happy birthday, My son!" Kalim exclaimed as he greeted his first born.

"Thank you, Father!" Ali exclaimed with a smile.

"You're 16 now, which school do you wanna attend, Ali!?" His father asked excitedly.

"I want to go to Night Raven College! That's where you went to right, Father?"

"Yes, I did! Me and your uncle Jamil went there together!"

"Then it's settled, NRC it is!"

"I could have the headmaster make you dorm head as well!"

"No, Father. I wish to become dorm head with my own skills." He stated.

"Haaaah? fine, if that is what my son wants. Now everyone! enjoy the party!"

he walked away as he went to meet other guests.

A lot of people were here. His uncles from NRC. His Friends. even his half sister.

But there was only one person Ali wanted to be here.

Ali stood up from his seat and sneaked away.

He went to the quarters of someone he held dear.

he knocked on the door and heard a come in.

"Good evening, mother" he said with a soft smile.

"Ah! Ali, Happy Birthday" She replied with a tired but loving smile.

she was sitting by the window with it being wide open allowing the wind to enter.

He went closer the his mother and kneeled beside her.

"How are you feeling?" Ali asked.

"I'm feeling very well. So how is your birthday?"

"Nevermind the birthday. I just want to stay here with you" he said as he buried his face into her dress resting his head on her lap.

The lady giggled at her son's statement, watching him with caring eyes.

"I have a present for you" She said as she brought out a box.

Ali raised his head.

"Mother... you didn't have to" he said as he received it.

"Oh, but I do. this is something I've been meaning to give you"

Ali opened the box to see a top hat, a golden silk snake wrapping around the hat with a single Jasmine flower.

"It used to be mine. Sometimes in the Hatter family we give it to the person we marry but sometimes we also keep it. But this time it's time to pass it on to the descendant. I redecorated it for you. do you like it?" The elegant lady smiled as she remembered her memories with the hat and proud to be able to hand it down.

Ali looked as the hat.

"I love it... thank you mother" He thanked as he lied down on her lap once again.

"I'm glad you do, my dear son" She placed a hand on his white hair exactly the same as his father's.

Sher stroked his head gently as the moon shone down on them through the window.

-Timeskip-

It was now time for Ali to go to Night Raven College. He said farewell to everyone and as he was about to get on the Ebony Carriage he looked up to a window to see his mother smiling at him. he smiled back and entered.

-at the dorm sorting-

Ali was up next to be sorted.

"State thy name"

"Ali Al-Asim"

"The shape of thy soul... I see you best improve in Scarabia."

He stepped away from the mirror and joined the other students that were sorted into Scarabia.

He will make his mother proud.

-Time skip-

It had been a week since he had arrived. And just like that he had became a dorm head not from money but from skill.

He was currently in potions taught by Professor Crewel.

His phone then suddenly rang.

"Excuse me, Professor. I need to take this call"

"Of course, pup. but next time I won't be allowing it."

Ali answered his phone and it was one of the servants.

He was analysing his potion while he answered.

"What is it? I told you not to call me around this time because I'm in class."

"Apologies, young master. But it's about Lady Y/N"

"Mother? what about her? does she miss me? tell her I'll visit this weekend."

"It's not that sir"

"what is it then?"

"she umm"

"spit it out"

"The lady has passed away"

Ali suddenly dropped the beaker shattering it to a million pieces.

"Al-Asim! bad pup! what are you doing!?"

Ali stood up knocking his seat over. He slammed his hand on his desk that still had the shattered glass and spilled potion. good thing that the potion doesn't give much effect since it wasn't finished.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN PASSED AWAY!?" He yelled as tears pricked from his eyes.

"Al-Asim?" his professor called out worried.

"I mean what I exactly said, young master. The lady passed away earlier this morning. when the servant went to serve her breakfast she didn't wake up. they tried waking her up then realized she wasn't moving. they called a physician... and he said the lady had passed away"

"no... you're lying"

"Ali Al-Asim, what's wrong? Get your hands off the desk your starting to bleed." Crewel said as he took the boys hand from the broken glass and started cleaning it.

"Mother... is she really dead?"

"yes, sir"

"wait... your mother?" his professor asked

"As in... Y/N? she's... no longer with us?" his eyes wide as saucers.

Ali fell on his knees tears spilling not showing any signs of stopping any time soon.

"Mother... no... no... no no no NO! SHE CAN'T BE GONE!" He sobbed.

"Ashengrotto, take him to the infirmary to clean his wound up. The rest of you dismissed. I need to speak with the head master."

"Yes, professor"

-time Skip-

currently Ali was in the head masters office.

"Al-Asim. I heard what had happened. I'll let you go home for as long as you need. I apologize for your loss. You can use the mirror to go home." Crowley said as he watched the boy sob.

he himself wanted to cry since one of the most lovable students he had, had passed away.

"Your mother... was an incredible woman. Not only as a student but as a friend to the rest. It's a shame she... had to leave us so early. I thought that maybe... I'd be dead by the time she leaves."

"Thank you, headmaster... I'll be... heading out now" Ali exited the room and went to the mirror and went home.

Once he had arrived he was greeted by the servants but he just walked right pass.

His sister also greeted him, but he continued walking.

soon he arrived at his mother's bedroom. He saw her... looking like she's sleeping soundly... knowing she's never waking up again.

He walked to her bed side. held her now cold hand and feel to his knees and sobbed uncontrollably

"Mother!... Why.... WHY DID YOU HAVE TO LEAVE! I WAS GOING TO GIVE YOU THE HAPPY ENDING YOU DESERVE! BUT WHAT!? YOU ENDED YOUR STORY WITH LONGING THAT WAS NEVER FULFILLED!? WHY!?" he cried... not leaving her side for the rest of the day.

During her funeral, all her friends from NRC came. Tears spilled everywhere as they found their dear friend no longer with them.

they approached Ali who just stood by her coffin.

"Sorry... for your loss... Ali"

He just kept silent.

For the long duration of her funeral... Not once did his father... the man his dear mother loved and longed for, show up.

This had made the boy even more upset. but that did not overpower the sorrow he had.

-Time Skip-

The funeral had long ended...

His mother was buried...

he returned to school but barely spoke.

"Al-Asim... pup. I suggest you go meet with Professor Yuu. You need it"

Ali merely nodded as he went to his magicless professor who taught about monsters and health.

"Ali... take a seat"

Ali sat down across him.

"You haven't been sleeping have you... you have bags under your eyes. You look pale. Ali"

He just sat there.

"I know... I know you're depressed... Your mother was my vice prefect back in our school days. she was a wonderful woman to be with... she laughed... she sang... she smiled... but you know what I love most about her?"

Ali looked up and looked at Yuu.

"She makes people around her smile as well. She wouldn't want you to act like this. Y/N, She too lost a parent in her younger days. But that didn't stop her from being happy... She always had joy in her eyes... and you know you have her E/C eyes as well"

"So please... Don't let this bring you down. Your mother... Be like her. someone who smiles, laughed and most of all makes others do the same. sure reality doesn't have a happy ending. But you're writing your own story so make sure it leads to one."

Ali thought about it. looks back down... looks at the mirror in the room and looked straight into his E/N coloured eyes.

"You're right, Professor. Even if mother is gone... I should make her proud" Ali stood up with smile.

Ali bowed.

"Thank you, Professor Yuu!"

"Just call me, Yuu."

Ali smiled and ran off back to his dorm and to his room.

Yuu on the other hand stood up and went to the window and looked at the sky.

"I wish... I could've held you one last time... Y/N... I loved you so much" Yuu said as he let the tears fall.

Ali pulled a box from under his bed and opened it...

It may not fit his outfit but it doesn't matter.

he stood up holding the object and went to a mirror.

He looked straight at it and placed the hat he was given on his head.

"I'll prove... that I can give us a happy ending, Mother"

and with that Ali changed... He changed for the better. all the old staff watched him... and it reminded them of someone who they once cherished in this school.

-Time Skip-

it's been 2 years since Y/N's passing. Ali Al-Asim was now 18 years old. A third year.

But what's interesting is. when his 1st year ended the mirror had announced something... He was transferred to a different dorm.

-Flashback-

Just as they were all about to leave.

"Wait... It seems someone's soul had reshaped into something new." the mirror had stated.

"What? but that's not possible" Crowley said in surprise.

"Ali Al-Asim... Step forward"

Ali hesitantly stepped up.

"Yes... it seems your soul had reshaped... though you are still suited to be a part of Scarabia... Your heart... Is perfect for the Ramshackle Dorm"

"Isn't that"

"Your mother's old dorm... well it seems like you're becoming just like your mother" Crowley smiled as he placed a hand on the boys shoulder.

-end of flashback-

And since then he became the dorm head of the Ramshackle. His hat suited his outfit. he was happy.

And right now the 18 year old was going to make a decision that'll change his life.

Currently standing Infront of his father, Kalim Al-Asim. wearing a somewhat butler outfit somewhat similar to that of what his mother wore back in her younger days as a Hatter.

"Father... I don't wish to be an Al-Asim anymore."

"What? could you repeat that?"

"I don't want to be an Asim."

"But son! you're my eldest! you're my successor!"

"And I don't want to be your successor!"

"why!?"

"I want to continue mother's legacy!" Ali yelled as he gripped his wrist behind his back while looking down.

"what?"

"I want to be a Hatter! I want to carry on the Hatter name! I want to do this for mother! it the least you could let me do"

"the least I could let you do?"

"Yes! The most you could do was probably be there for her!"

"Ali"

"You left her all alone! making her cry every night! every night for you!"

"She didn't get her happily ever after! Cause you weren't there there for her! you weren't there for us!HECK She would've been contented with just you being there even if you didn't love her anymore!"

"YOU DIDN'T EVEN COME TO HER FUNERAL!" Ali snapped.

"I know you are aware that You're naive, gullible, oblivious and all that. but please... just see it... the least you could do" Ali looked up and looked Kalim straight in the eyes.

Kalim staring back into E/C colored orbs that was exactly the same as his wife that had recently passed away.

He looked down and took a deep breathe

"Alright"

"Huh?"

"I'll... let you go..."

"Really?"

"yes... as you said... it's the least I could do for not even attending the funeral."

"Thank you... father" Ali smiled as he walked away.

this was a new start for Ali... Becoming just like his mother. Writing a happily ever after for them.

We can't say the same for Kalim though.

He sat at his chair.

His 2rd wife entered the room and sat beside him.

"What did he want?" she asked.

"To leave the family"

"what?"

"He... wanted to become a Hatter to continue Y/N's legacy."

"I see... don't worry I'm here... and besides I'm sure we can make a new heir."

"I'm not in the mood"

"But, dear~"

right then and there Kalim snapped.

"I SAID IM NOT IN THE MOOD!" He yelled.

"BECAUSE OF YOUR DAMN FAMILY THREATENING TO HURT MY SON AND MY BELOVED WIFE I WAS FORCED TO NEGLECT HER!"

"IF IT WASN'T FOR YOUR DAMN FAMILY I WOULD PROBABLY BE HOLDING HER RIGHT NOW WITH ANOTHER CHILD!"

"ALL BECAUSE YOU WANTED ME TO LOVE YOU! YOU'RE DELUSIONAL IF YOU THINK I WOULD!"

"What is it... WHAT IS IT DOES SHE HAVE THAT I DON'T!?"

"My heart... that's what it is... SHE WAS MY EVERYTHING! HER SMILE THAT WAS PRACTICALLY MY SUN! HER EYES THAT SHIMMERED LIKE THE STARS!"

"SHE DESERVES TO BE DEAD! SHE'S NOT FIT TO BE YOUR WIFE! SHE'S NOT FIT TO HAVE YOU! ME, ME, ME! IT WAS ME WHO SHOULD HAVE YOU! SHE'S HIDEOUS! SHE'S DUMB! SHE'S NAIVE! SO WHY WON'T YOU LOOK AT ME!"

"DON'T YOU DARE THAT ABOUT HER! FIRST OF ALL SHE'S THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN TO HAVE EVER EXISTED THAT EVEN VIL SAID SO! YOU WOULD NEVER BE AS BEAUTIFUL AS HER! SECOND SHE GRADUATED FROM NRC WITH TOP GRADES FITTING INTO THE TOP 50! SHE KNOWS MORE THAN YOU EVER WILL! AND THIRD OF ALL SHE'S NOT AS NAIVE AS YOU THINK! SHE EXPERIENCED THE CRUELTY OF THE WORLD TO THE POINT SHE WAS ALMOST BROKEN! BUT SHE JUST SMILED AND SAID THAT EVERYTHING WOULD BE JUST FINE! I BET YOU WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO HANDLE IT IF IT HAD HAPPENED TO YOU! FACE IT I'LL NEVER LOOK AT YOU THE SAME I DO WITH HER!"

"THAT'S WHY I KILLED HER SO YOU WOULD ONLY LOOK AT ME- MPH!" she clasped her mouth shut trembling from what came out.

"what? WHAT did you just say?"

"n-nothing!"

"WE HAD A DEAL! YOU WOULD LEAVE THEM ALONE IN EXCHANGE FOR ALL OF THIS!"

"I-I didn't mean to!"

"DIDN'T MEAN TO MY *SS! AS IF I'D BELIEVE THAT! JAMIL!"

Soon Jamil entered the room. in truth he was about to enter till he heard screaming and heard the entire thing.

"Yes, Kalim"

"Take her away. make her confess EVERYTHING that she had done. After that could you call Azul? I want to have a talk with him to deal with something."

"Yes, of course" Jamil left with the 2nd wife being taken away by guards.

"WAIT! KALIM PLEASE! I LOVE YOU! DON'T DO THIS TO ME!"

As they all left the room Kalim sat down and tears started running down his face.

"Why was I so stupid? thinking I could protect you without having to hurt anyone but as a result I ended up hurting you... then lost you. I should've dealt with them from the start. I should've just been there for you... now I not only lost you... but I lost our son too... haha! why am I so stupid?"

For the rest of the night Kalim just cried. knowing can never bring you back.

-END-

"isn't that an interesting timeline."

"Didn't know that there would be a bad ending to their story. I hope this timeline won't stick it would be so sad~" a voice said as she closed a book that's titled 'You Weren't there'

soon the book started to become grains of sand.

"oh? what is this?"

"The timeline is disintegrating"

"I guess that means that story won't be sticking around."She then pushed up her glasses as she looked back at the millions of books being written each having a pen that glows with inspiration and life."I wonder who's story would be finished next~ would the story disappear? or will it be part of the official collection?"

"Let's see what endings are in-store~ After all"

"I am the story keeper~"

[psychovigilantewrites]

Chapter 14 - A Different Point of View

Summary:  Things that happened that you weren't aware of.

Word count: 9,163 words

A/N: Thank you for being so patient with me. I struggled with this chapter due to its nature. I had to further dive into Bruce and Dick's character that I wasn't too familiar with.2020 was a very tough year for me. I lost lots, learned lots. And I thought that the quarantine would mean I would write more. But I was wrong. Life hit me hard, and I stopped doing a lot of things I used to enjoy.Despite being virtually absent last year, you guys stuck by me anyway. Thank you. I love you all for that.Special thanks to my two beta readers. You know who you are. Here it goes.

(i recommend you guys read previous chapters to refresh coz I had to lol)

Ao3

Masterlist

The roles that people played were false- a mere necessity for their career or survival. Everyone was playing a role, whether it was of their own accord or not.

Bruce Wayne was a role- superficial, fake, yet vital to Gotham. Batman, on the other hand, was a completely different role, born out of exigence and a sense of justice.

Dick Grayson, however, genuinely enjoyed playing his role.

Nightwing felt right to him. Being a police officer felt right to him. And especially, if not ultimately, being an older brother.

He listened to the dial tone of his phone, which rung for a few seconds before you finally picked up.

“Hey,” Dick heard your voice, the usual chirp absent that day.

Dick frowned to himself. Bruce was right about you being troubled after all.

“Hey, sis!” he forced the concern out of his voice. “You busy?”

“Nah, I’m just going over some old case files. What’s up?”

Dick leaned back into his sofa. Aside from the traffic blaring outside, the silence in his apartment made it easier for him to concentrate on analysing your speech patterns.

“Can’t I call just to ask how you’re doing?” he teased, easing into the conversation.

Everyone had always told him how he was natural at talking.

“You already called last week…”

Dick smiled to himself. He could already picture your narrowed eyes regarding him with suspicion.

It was good that you were always on your feet, but it was becoming borderline unhealthy. It reminded him of Jason and how he was always so guarded .

He pushed the memory away.

“I can’t call you again?” he rolled his eyes at no one.

“Bruce put you up to this,” you accused.

That’s because he’s worried about you, kid.

If only you knew how much Bruce had changed for you. Dick was glad that you were being loved by Bruce, yet he still couldn't help but feel slightly bitter that he never got that kind of treatment from his father- not the same treatment he gave you.

But he would rather die than admit his selfish thoughts to anyone.

“Yeah,” he conceded, “He was worried about you after last night.”

“I’m fine, Dick,” you insisted.

How many times has he heard those very same words from Jason?

“Well, if you’re not, then you can talk to me,” he offered.

A short pause.

Your response would be what differentiated you from his late brother.

“Actually, yeah,” you admitted.

There it was. No matter how stupid he knew it was for even comparing the two of you, he found that he always had to remind himself not to.

“How did you deal with it? Did it affect you?”

Dick told you his own experience with gore and dead bodies, how he overcame it, how he coped. There was silence after, and he just somehow knew what you were going to ask next.

“How did, uh, he deal with it?”

Your voice came in a whisper, hesitation evidently clear.

Dick was expecting it, but his heart still sank. He knew how everyone acted when Jason was brought up in conversation- he was guilty of reacting as well. He also knew how you were smart enough to avoid that topic.

It had been years. They should all have moved on, because Dick knew that they were also hurting you.

“He came to me as well.” Dick recalled Jason’s hesitant voice over the phone, never directly saying what was wrong, just rambling about things other than what was really going on in his head.

“Then he gradually called less and less when he learned how to deal with it himself.”

The day Dick noticed it, he was happy for Jason, but a small part of him was saddened that his little brother no longer needed him.

“I’ll have to look for that cognitive therapy, then. Thank you for calling, Dick. Talking to you helped.”

Did it really? He noticed your voice had changed again. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone on about Jason like that.

“No problem, kid. Call me if you need to talk, okay?”

The familiar beep left him isolated with his thoughts, wondering if you would trail in Jason's footsteps.

When will the day come when you eventually stop calling altogether?

***

He felt indebted to his city- the city he loved. The city he hated. The city that robbed him of his childhood.

He felt indebted to his family- the family he would give up everything for, the family he couldn’t stop hurting.

And he was sorry. God, he was sorry.

Sorry for everything he’s said and done- or didn’t do. But he still couldn’t stop. Because he didn’t know how.

Yet, no matter how much he claimed to love his family, the problem with Bruce Wayne was that he always expected them to be the people he wanted them to be.

Never like himself, though. No, he would never want them to turn out like him.

“That’s an order. Stay-”

The silence that followed the click in his ear represented the first time you had ever disobeyed a direct order.

It was a little late on your side. Dick and Jason had begun to disobey him within their first six months in uniform. But you had always been obedient- which made it easier for Bruce to trust you in the field.

This first time came as an unexpected and unwelcome surprise. And Bruce was…

Disappointed.

He grit his teeth when he saw you on the ground with the warehouse burning behind you. If he had just been a few seconds late, would you be in the fire, too?

“I almost had him.”

Bruce didn’t miss the wince of pain as you got up to your feet.

He had heard those exact words before countless times from J- no.

Bruce shoved that thought away.

“He would have gotten away, and we wouldn’t have known who it was that did this,” you argued, brows drawn together in a frown, mouth downturned. Your respiratory rate was high, and you were having trouble breathing.

When did you grow so tall? So confident?

Bruce silently pointed to the active security camera he noticed the minute he arrived and saw your expression fall- only for a second.

“I still think I made the right decision,” you insisted.

“You disobeyed a direct order.” He hated his own voice. The way he spoke sounded too militant.

“I acted how I saw fit,” you continued, “You always say to follow my instincts-”

“Not if your instincts contradict my orders.” He regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. He thought he had changed. But no, Bruce was still a dictator.

“Wow. Just- wow.”

He could see the little twitches of annoyance within the disbelief on your face. He understood it completely.

You were walking away, clutching onto your side and weakly limping to your bike, adamant on not seeking his help.

He hated seeing you injured, in pain. It was his fault. If only he was faster, he could have stopped Red Hood from beating you up. If only he predicted it sooner, if only-

“I’ll be heading back now.”

He missed what you had said before that.

“Robin,” Bruce forced out, “Have Alfred check your injuries.”

He should have been there.

When you drove away, he lingered at the crime scene.

Bruce flipped a switch in his helmet, and his lense changed. Non-organic material lighted up bright white. He noticed a fractured piece of shrapnel lying on the ground, less than a centimeter long.

He picked it up and placed it into a test tube from his belt. Switching his view to normal, he saw that it was red, maybe made from fiberglass. He could only deduce that it was a piece of Red Hood’s helmet.

Despite Bruce’s frustrations at you for disobeying him, he felt a swell of pride. You probably landed a hit hard enough to crack the helmet just a little bit that you yourself probably didn’t even realise it.

He shone a UV light on it. A small portion of it glowed.

Bruce had always been numb when he played investigator so that he would remain impartial and objective. That was true justice.

But when he pocketed the evidence and sped to the Batmobile, he felt something he had never felt before.

Against all logic and rationality, he found himself dreading to uncover who the blood belonged to.

***

Bruce never drank his sorrows away. It was dangerous, too easy to develop an addiction to. He could have easily drowned in alcohol at any given chance, like when he thought of his parents, or when he thought-no, knew- he wasn’t enough.

But no, he only restricted his drinking for leisurely activities. He was disciplined. It was the reason why he was who he was.

However, in that moment, staring at the results of the DNA analysis after hours of anxious waiting, he wished he allowed himself a drink.

Not because he was distraught, not because he was in grief- but because he just didn’t know what to feel.

It wasn’t numbness. It was just plain confusion, an internal tornado of emotions whirling inside him all at once.

Footsteps.

He tapped on a button once, immediately closing the window of the test results displayed on the screen.

Composing himself, he clicked on another pending case to pretend he wasn’t on the verge of a breakdown. It’s just another role.

“Master Bruce.”

Why was he still up at this hour?

“Yes, Alfred,” he turned to meet the butler’s tired eyes- just as tired as his own.

Tired because of him.

Alfred was always up because of him. Because Bruce was a disease, constantly burdening others, dragging them down, keeping them up at night.

“I made some sandwiches. They’re light. Please do eat them,” he set the tray on the cluttered desk, simply pushing aside the numerous stacks of papers.

“Go to bed, Alfred,” he told him. Alfred was too old to be up at this hour. And whose fault is that?

“In due time,” he responded calmly, “What of the blood results, if I may ask?”

“Inconclusive,” Bruce lied.

“I see.”

Suspicion shrouded Alfred’s voice.

“How are her injuries?” Bruce asked, the pain finally creeping in, seeping into his bones.

“I commend you for asking about your daughter’s injuries after only four whole hours of staring at the screen, Master Bruce. You would definitely win father of the year.”

“I was occupied,” he sighed, “Please.”

“Her injuries are only superficial,” Alfred said, “Surface contusions at most.”

He still hurt her.

“Thank you, Alfred. Now go to bed.”

“It was only a little more than two decades ago when I was telling you the same,” he grumbled away.

Bruce made sure Alfred was gone before pulling up the results on the screen again, the glaring ‘MATCH’ sign staring angrily back at him as if it were shouting at Bruce, yelling in rage.

And Bruce understood completely. He had failed Jason Todd. He had betrayed him. And now he was back, vengeful, and full of resentment.

But that didn’t matter to Bruce.

Because despite it all, his son was alive.

In the end, that was all that mattered.

***

What did my son do to my daughter?

Bruce watched in horror as you lay unconscious on the hospital bed, hooked to the IV bag. He couldn’t stop staring at the bruises littering your neck.

Bruises that were far too small and evenly shaped to be the effect of a mere throttling.

He knew how the people close to him viewed him. He knew they thought he was strong, unforgiving, cold, emotionless. Especially when they put him side by side with Clark.

But he forced himself to be those things, because if he didn’t, he would have broken down years ago.

He was used to it. The pain. The darkness.

But this time, he felt like he was being crushed.

He felt like he was hanging on by a thread- no. A delicate strand of thin, brittle hair.

“It’s okay, doctor,” you had said, “I know what you’re going to ask me. No, my genitalia does not hurt. He didn’t do anything to me.”

He felt a wave of relief crash over him.

Jason wasn’t that far gone, then.

But as Bruce looked at your neck again, he still couldn’t help but feel nausea crawling into his core.

He still touched her.

Jim left after his questioning, and you drifted to sleep. He went over to you and looked down at your face, taking everything in.

Since when did you look so mature? When did you get so beautiful?

He couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. Even in sleep you had your eyebrows tugged down, as if you were angry that you had to go to bed. He didn’t know why he never saw that small part of you that shouted rebellion despite you almost always following his orders.

He realised that when he watched you sleep, you looked a bit like- no. Don’t ever compare the two.

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to your forehead, trying to convey all of his feelings to you.

He was sorry. So god damned sorry for dragging you into this, for hurting you, for pulling you down to the depths with him.

Hoping you didn’t feel the teardrop that fell to your forehead, he quickly wiped it away before leaving for his press statement.

***

“Master Bruce, please!”

Another crash.

Alfred’s plea snapped him out of his blinding fury, his crushing pain.

He was standing at the hallway near the Manor entrance, glass and broken wood shattered at his feet, feeling the walls closing in and narrowing as Alfred looked at him in alarm.

“I-I’m sorry, Alfred. I-” he stammered, feeling like the small, helpless boy who watched his parents die before him.

He remembered the time when he was little, only a couple of months after the tragedy. He had done the exact same thing, taking out his anger and anguish by destroying things, triggered by something he had long forgotten about.

At that time, Alfred had held him closely in his arms as he stained the butler’s suit with his snot and tears. Again, a burden to the man who raised him.

This time, he refused the old man’s offer of comfort, walking past to descend to the cold darkness of the cave he was so familiar with.

Bruce didn’t usually drink his sorrows away, but this time, he did.

***

Dick wasn’t a good person. He was far from it.

Case in example, it was the first time he saw you after your kidnapping.

He meant to come sooner, he really did. But he was just so busy in Bludhaven, he couldn’t spare any time to rush over the moment he heard his sister was hurt. He tried to justify it in his head by thinking that you were probably handling it fine.

But he was just trying to make himself feel better.

What a great brother he was.

“So, why are you obsessing over violent crimes?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from breaking.

Desensitization was one thing when you worked in that field, but obsession was a whole other problem. And he didn’t want to see his sister walk down that path.

“A lunatic just kidnapped me a couple weeks ago, Dick, maybe this is my coping mechanism,” you huffed, giving him your signature eye roll.

A lot of things start with just a coping mechanism, kid.

Dick knew it about it all too well. The people he brought in on an almost daily basis, high as kites. The accident last week on the highway at three in the morning, two innocent lives taken because of a drunk man who had started drinking three years ago to cope with his mother’s loss.

The man downstairs in the cold cave, who was just a little boy when his parents died, now living with the trauma while going out night after night to beat up criminals, sleeping only three hours a day at most.

“I don’t want your pity, Dick,” you huffed, “I’m fine.”

Yeah, you were. And that was what worried Dick the most.

“I know you are,” he tried to smile, “Which is why I don’t think this is your coping mechanism.”

You talked to Dick about Red Hood, sharing your concerns about him. This is what made you, you. Opening up to him, offering your thoughts and feelings. It was something he never had with Bruce or Jason. The both of them were similar in that sense.

“He won’t tell me either,” Dick huffed, “It’s always been like that with him. No matter how hard I try to get closer to him, sometimes it feels like he’s getting further away.”

It was the same with Jason as well. Did everyone he cared about just end up running away from him?

“I can relate to that,” you sighed.

“But I have a feeling that he will tell you eventually,” Dick tried to comfort you, “It seems too important not to.”

Dick knew better. Bruce had always excluded information from him, whether it was important or not.

“And,” Dick hurriedly tried to change the subject, “I heard from Alfred that you’re not talking to Bruce. May I ask why?”

“So that’s why you’re here,” you eyed him suspiciously. . “I came to check up on you,” he stated, “I’m sorry I couldn’t come here right after, but my little sister did just get kidnapped.”

When are you going to stop putting your guard up around me, kid?

“I told you, I’m fine,” you insisted.

“Then you’re fine enough to tell me why you haven’t been talking to Bruce,” Dick pushed, “I won’t judge. I’ve had my fair share of cold shoulders and fights with him too. I know first hand how frustrating he can be. So come on, tell.”

He saw you hesitate for just a moment, before conceding.

“We fought,” you began, “It was when I got back from the hospital. He wouldn’t tell me who Red Hood was. And he- he called me ‘Jason’.”

Ah, fucking hell, Bruce.

“Jesus,” he whispered, “What did he say exactly?”

“‘Back down, Jason’,” your voice cracked.

Dick saw the way Bruce spiraled after Jason’s death, and he would never tell you this, but deep down he was against Bruce adopting you so soon after. He thought that Bruce was using you to fill up the hole he too felt with Jason’s absence.

You were so like him, yet so different. Still, Bruce must have been really distracted if he could slip as badly as he did.

Dick would ask later.

“Now that’s something I haven’t heard in years,” Dick chuckled humorlessly.

Jason arguing with Bruce about using excessive force. Jason sneaking out to go for patrols whenever he was grounded. Hell, even Jason stealing whiskey from the cabinet at the age of fifteen.

He could still remember it so clearly. Jason with his dark hair poking into his eyes that were full of fury, cheeks puffed up and red as he pouted angrily at Bruce for making him stay at the Manor on nights Bruce insisted on going alone.

Dick tried to shove the past away. He knew he was making you even sadder.

“Has Bruce made any attempts to reconcile?” Dick remembered the conversation he was having with you.

“Yeah, but I’m still mad at him,” you pouted.

“And you have every right to be,” Dick nodded, “But Bruce, well, you know Bruce. He keeps these things to himself, but obviously he’s still hurting.”

You have know idea how much he’s hurting, Little Wing.

You avoided Dick’s eyes, looking down at your fumbling thumbs as the room became silent.

“I’m seeing someone,” you changed the subject.

“You are?”

Interesting.

“Yeah,” you blushed, “It’s still very new, and we’re not official yet or anything. But we’re definitely testing the waters.”

“That’s great,” Dick grinned, “Who is he? Tell me the deets. Spill the tea.”

He sort of loved gossip. It wasn’t a secret.

“I met him in the library a while back,” you excitedly said, “We exchanged numbers. Started texting, meeting up from time to time. He’s really cute.”

Ah, young love. What Dick would give to be at that age again.

“I bet he is,” Dick teased.

“What’s with that face?” you laughed, “He is! He’s slightly older, and he’s got this sexy bad boy look, you know?”

“I thought you liked the nerdy types?” Dick responded. He saw a picture of you and your classmates on your Instagram. Typical prep school kids.

“I never had a type, you ass!” . “You’re right. I thought you were completely uninterested in boys,” he wondered out loud, “Is he nice, at least?”

“Yeah he is,” you smiled to yourself, “He didn’t know I was Wayne until 2 weeks ago. Before that, we were mainly texting. Now we’re meeting up more. I feel like I can be myself with him. I don’t know, there’s just something about him that makes me trust him.”

So you still have some of your walls up with me, but you trust a stranger? Who is this guy?

“I’m not going to tell him anything!” you quickly added, “I’m not stupid. I know I shouldn’t trust someone I just met. It’s not about the confidential stuff. It’s the little things like how I feel, and my problems, and just- stuff, you know?”

The thought didn’t even cross his mind. Dick trusted you enough with their secret, just as how Bruce did.

“I get it,” Dick tried to rationalise, “You don’t know what it is about the person, but you feel like the two of you just click, am I right?”

It had been like that with Barbara. It had been like that with Kory.

Now Dick was alone, and deep down he knew that they saw him as how he truly was. Selfish.

“Exactly,” you smiled, “Been with anyone like that before?”

“One or two,” he brushed it off, “People like that- whom you just click with- they’re hard to come by. You should see where this leads. Who knows, maybe he’s one of those that would stick around, huh?”

What he would give to have at least one person who would stick with him.

After he met with Gordon, Dick went to the cave to see Bruce who was, of course, facing the computers.

“I know what you’re going to say,” his father’s voice echoed without even turning to look at him.

“Then you know how much you’ve hurt her?” he crossed his arms.

Bruce did turn around to face him, and Dick suddenly felt a tightness in his chest.

He knew that Bruce hardly ever slept, but this was different. He looked disheveled, his complexion pale, his eyes more bloodshot and the dark circles even more prominent.

Alfred did say how badly Bruce took the kidnapping, finding him passed out on the cave floor with an empty bottle of scotch in his hand, but he thought that Bruce would have gotten himself together by now. It was surprising to see him that way, and Dick felt… Uncomfortable.

Something was wrong, and it wasn’t just the kidnapping, nor his fight with you.

“You found out something,” Dick narrowed his eyes, “Something important. What is it?”

He caught a flash of guilt in Bruce’s eyes. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

“Bruce,” Dick groaned, “This is why you keep on hurting her.”

Hurting us.

“I’m protecting everyone.”

“You can’t use that excuse with me anymore,” he sighed, “I don’t need your protection. So tell me.”

“No.”

That was his final word, and he knew that Bruce would never budge.

“Fine,” he let out a breath, “Did you know that she’s seeing someone?”

Bruce frowned.

Which made Dick frown. Since when did Bruce miss things? What the fuck was going on with him?

“Name?”

“Dunno. Didn’t ask. And no, don’t you dare,” Dick pointed an accusatory finger at him, “Do not do a background check on him. She deserves privacy. Hell, don’t even bring it up. You have no right to go poking into her relationships.”

Dick was being defensive, but that was because he was trying to convince himself as well, which was why he didn’t ask you for a name. He knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

“I wasn’t going to,” Bruce reassured, “She… She deserves a life. A normal life. Not this- not-”

Dick knew then he had to leave, because Bruce’s voice breaking meant he was far from okay, and he knew that Bruce hated to show his vulnerability to anyone.

“Bruce,” Dick said, this time softly, “You’re not alone, you know. I’ve been with you since the beginning, and I’m still with you now.”

And with that, Bruce turned his back towards him again, silently going back to his goddamned computers.

“He’s been that way ever since the kidnapping,” Alfred informed him when he walked up to the manor.

“I don’t think it’s just the kidnapping, Alf,” he frowned at the butler, “There’s something more to it. Did he figure out who Red Hood is?”

“Perhaps,” Alfred pursed his lips, “But he refuses to tell me.”

“That means we know him personally,” Dick theorised, “Who the hell could it be that he’s so adamant on keeping it a secret?”

“I do not know Master Dick, but it can’t be anyone good if he’s got Master Bruce drinking during the day.”

***

Bruce knew that he was wrong to call you by his dead son’s name.

But his dead son was supposed to stay dead instead of haunting him with that glaring red bat across his chest, and having that thought in his head all the time, he slipped up.

He prided himself with his contingency plans and detective skills and preparations, but no amount of time could ever prepare him for when he found out his dead son had sexually assaulted his daughter.

You seemed to have dealt with it surprisingly well, exceeding his expectations. In fact, Bruce thought it was a bit odd that you weren’t as affected by it.

And then he saw it.

He saw what he thought was the internalized anger you felt finally bursting through the seams of your tightly lidded emotions.

And he wasn’t prepared for it.

Bruce didn’t think you had it in you, or else he would never have made you Robin.

But there you were on the ground, beating a man beyond recognition.

He couldn’t dread this moment because he never saw it coming. Not from you. Never from you.

He hurriedly ripped you off the man, flinging you away with force.

Pulse was present, but weak. Flail chest. It took him only a few seconds to observe the damage you did to the man’s face. It didn’t look good.

“Stay back,” he growled at you when you came close.

He couldn’t look at you. He didn’t want to.

“I-I didn’t mean to,” he heard you whisper.

“Call an ambulance,” he ordered.

There was no other choice. He had to take the fall for you.

“NOW!” he snarled at you again. In the background, you were on the phone, but Bruce’s thoughts were elsewhere, calculating what needs to be done.

You moved-

“Leave. I’ll deal with this.” You needed to go. You couldn’t be here when the ambulance and police arrived.

“Batman-”

“I said leave,” he snapped. He couldn’t even hear your voice.

He waited for the ambulance to come before leaving, making sure they saw him escape. Making sure he would be the one the media would attack.

And while he drove back to the Cave, he decided to give his son a call.

“Bruce?”

“Dick,” he sighed. He knew he had always been unfair to his eldest, giving him so much pressure to perform, pushing him to be his best- and ultimately away. He knew that he never showed it, but he was proud of Dick. He always had been from the very beginning.

“What’s wrong?”

It wasn’t a surprise that Dick picked up immediately that something was wrong. If it wasn’t for the fact that calling him out of the blue was what gave it away, Bruce himself trained Dick.

“She- she crossed the line tonight,” he tried to explain, “Jerome Miller. She attacked him. The damage she’s done to him is irreversible. I suspect he will be in a vegetative state for the rest of his life.”

“Jesus,” Dick breathed from over the line, “Why didn’t you stop her?”

“I wasn’t there,” he grit. He thought he could trust you.

But deep down Bruce knew that it was all his fault after all. Who was he to act so righteous when he was the reason your parents died?

“I don’t know if she’ll talk to me, Bruce,” Dick sighed, “Not about something like this. She’s probably beating herself up over this already.”

“As she should.”

“Bruce.”

“Please,” Bruce asked, “I’m worried. She isn’t herself and I can’t blame her for it, but the chances of her talking to you are much higher than if I were to try.”

“I’ll try,” Dick agreed.

“Report to me after.”

“Bruce, we’ve talked about this,” Dick grumbled, “I am under no obligation to report to you. I’m doing this for her. Not you.”

He was trying not to go back to the man he was before, but sometimes he couldn’t help it.

They’re your children, not your soldiers.

He had to remind himself time and time again. It was easier to be just a father to you as compared to Dick and Jason, yet even then he made slips.

“I know,” he apologised. “Thank you.”

Click.

And then Bruce was alone again.

***

Bruce watched you from the corner of his eye when you came back. He noticed that you had put more effort into dressing up when you left the house that day.

There was a slight bounce to your step and a small smile that played on your lips.

Dick was right after all. There was someone you were seeing.

But no, he couldn’t look into it. In fact, it would be hypocritical of him if he did. Dick had many girlfriends and flings, and Bruce didn’t want to know about any of them. Mainly because Dick was his first, and the thought of a boy he raised maturing and having relationships made him feel confused about parenthood.

Not that many of them lasted too long anyway.

Jason was a little different. While Dick had girls lining up after him all the time, Jason was much more subtle about the girls he liked, and that made Bruce more curious- but not enough to investigate.

He thought about when Barbara had caught Jason looking at her, making him turn red. He wondered if Jason would like you.

A tight squeeze in his chest.

He didn’t let his mind linger there.

Bruce felt obligated to protect you, which tempted him to investigate the boy you were seeing. It could be a trap, it could be someone using you for fame and money, or something even more sinister. Hell, it could be Jason himself after that stunt he pulled off.

But there was no evidence, and Bruce wanted to be a father to you this time instead of Batman the mentor. So Bruce would have to trust you on this one.

***

There was something holding Bruce back from telling everyone the truth about Jason.

And because he is who he is, Bruce knew what it was.

Guilt. He blamed himself for what had happened, and telling others about it meant owning up to his mistakes. Bruce never ran away from his fears and feelings despite what others might think. On the contrary, he held to them very strongly, using them as a motivation to fight head on.

This time, though, he felt more self destructive- the worst he had ever felt since he carried Jason’s corpse from the rubble- and so he tried to delay the inevitable.

But time was running out. He had enough time to wallow in self pity. It was time to pull himself together, and the first step began with Alfred.

The Cave was colder than usual that night, air thin and darker despite the illumination he had provided. Bruce was slumped in his usual wheeled chair, cowl resting on the desk after patrol, the weight of his suit almost crushing him in his weakened mental state.

“Alfred,” Bruce sighed, “Please, take a seat. I have something to tell you.”

“I assume this is about the identity of one criminal who has been terrorizing your daughter?” Alfred retorted, sitting down anyway.

“Yes,” Bruce nodded, “This… This won’t be easy, Alfred. I suggest you prepare for the worst.”

“And the worst being..?”

Bruce wheeled himself closer to the butler, leaning forward. “It’s Jason.”

Alfred merely blinked. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid my ears have caught up to my age. I must have misheard you, because for a moment, I thought you said that Red Hood is Jason.”

“You didn’t mishear me, Alfred. It’s him.”

Bruce saw the confusion in Alfred’s eyes, the frantic search for reason. “Our Jason? Jason Todd?”

“Yes, Alfred.”

And then, Bruce felt it. The pain he had been suffering with for weeks spreading to the man who raised him. Alfred clutched his chest with one hand, the other clenching tightly over the armrest of his chair, his breathing quickened.

“Impossible,” he whispered, “Jason died. How?”

“There was an event regarding The League and Superboy punching reality. I won’t get into details, but I suspect that was what caused the initial resurrection. The restoration, however. We know of someone who has been continuously restored time and time again.”

“Ra’s Al Ghul,” Alfred concluded, “But why? Why on Earth would he restore Jason?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce frowned, “But it is an almost perfect revenge plan. I would like to entertain the idea that he has brainwashed Jason into thinking we are the enemy, but I can’t put it past him to develop a hatred for me. I… betrayed him.”

“Master Bruce, this is not your fault,” Alfred rose to his feet, “If it is indeed Jason, we can still help. I have faith in the boy.”

“Me too, Alfred. Me too.”

Bruce didn’t miss the sob that echoed faintly through the cave when Alfred ascended back up.

***

As if in slow motion, he saw every change of emotion on Dick’s face. The way he blinked once in confusion, the surprise approaching as he widened his eyes, and then his eyebrows stitching together in a deep frown, his lips downturning and nose flaring in anger.

Bruce saw the punch coming, but he did not do anything to counter it. Gladly, he took the right hook Dick gave him, appreciating the sting that radiated from his cheekbone to his jaw.

“How long have you known?” his son shook in anger.

“Dick-”

“HOW LONG, BRUCE?!” Dick roared, fists clenched, voice echoing in the cave.

“Since the night he blew up the warehouse,” Bruce replied.

“Jesus, fuck,” Dick ran his fingers through his hair, “Jesus, Bruce. That was over a month ago.”

“I know.”

“We-” he choked on his words, “We deserved to know.”

“I know.”

“So why the fuck didn’t you say anything?!” he slammed his fists on the desk. Bruce caught a few drops of tears that fell to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce apologised, and meant it. But he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything more.

“You’re sorry?” Dick looked at him with eyes far too cold than he knew, “He was my brother, Bruce. He told me things he never told anyone else. We shared secrets and jokes. We went to the same diner once a week to catch up. He asked for my help and I asked for his. And then he died. Just like that, because you couldn’t keep him on a leash. And now he’s back, and you knew it was him, and you’re just sorry?”

Dick’s eyes were wet and red, and filled with contempt. Bruce couldn’t blame him. He hated himself, too.

“Does she know?” he whispered, “Does she know that the man who attacked her is your son, and is my brother?”

Like always, he pushed the pain away efficiently, logically, objectively.

“Yes,” he confirmed, “I told her this afternoon.”

“And she’s not angry?”

“If she was, she did not show it,” Bruce described, “In fact, she looked… Worried.”

“Of fucking course she would be worried,” he snarled, “She’s worried that she’s going to be irrelevant to you now the dead Robin is back.”

“She’s not,” Bruce growled at that, “She’s not his replacement. She never was.”

“Does she know that, Bruce?” Dick snickered, “Did you finally get over yourself and tell her that? Because the last fucking time I spoke to her, you called her Jason.”

Bruce didn’t know how to respond to that. He was good at smiling at the cameras and making speeches and charming an audience, but he was never good with words, real words that described his true feelings to the ones he cared for the most.

“I’m sorry,” he simply said, now numb to everything throughout years and years of practice. “I promise, I will bring him back. Will you help me?”

“What can I do that you can’t?” Dick scoffed.

“You knew him, Dick,” Bruce said, “You knew him in ways I never did. I can predict his movements, but to accurately guess what his motivations are- you knew him better than I did.”

“Fine,” Dick conceded, “But I’m not forgiving you for this, Bruce. I swear, you’re going to pay for all the secrets you’ve kept from us, be it by my hand or someone else’s.”

***

“Did you know that your daughter went out last night to see a boy while we were patrolling?” Dick brought up.

He was looking at Bruce’s back, as he always was.

Bruce was on the computers, going through hours upon hours of security footage and traffic cams for Red Hood- for Jason.

It was difficult for him to put the two together. Jason had always been his little brother. Young, naive, inexperienced. And now that same person was the leader of the underground.

It was definitely difficult.

“Alfred mentioned she went out, but I didn’t know it was to meet a boy,” Bruce replied without glancing his way.

“Well, she lied to me about it at first,” Dick sank in a chair, looking at his nails. “Got pretty defensive when I brought it up. Even tried to deflect by using Jason against me.”

Dick knew you meant to hurt him with your words, and it worked.

He was definitely surprised that you would stoop that low because he always saw you as a sweet, kind girl.

People change. That’s what happens when you stick with Batman.

But Dick didn’t expect you to change so fast.

“She… used Jason against you?”

Bruce finally turned towards him, the ever constant frown a little bit deeper that moment.

“Yeah,” Dick straightened, “It was the first time she’s ever spoken to me that way.”

“What did she say exactly?”

“That I was distracting myself by using humor as a coping mechanism, and that I should come to terms with the fact that it was my brother who kidnapped and sexually assaulted her,” he repeated bitterly.

“What did you say to her that she responded that way?” Bruce asked.

“I was just making fun of her boyfriend,” Dick shrugged, “Why? Do you think she’s hiding something?”

At first, Dick thought that you were genuinely angry at the both of them because you were right- Jason did kidnap you. Jason did do those things to you. And Jason was supposed to be under both Bruce and Dick’s responsibility.

Dick didn’t blame you for it, because he would have probably been angry if the situation was reversed.

It was one of the mistakes he always made as Robin when Bruce was teaching him how to accurately deduce by reading people. Never assume that someone’s motivations would be the same as your own.

“She hid that she has… someone from me. There must be a reason why.”

“Or she knows how you are and would rather not have your nose in her business, Bruce. She did find out about that tracker you put in her necklace. How did she even react to it?”

Bruce had done the same with both Dick and Jason while they were Robin, though it didn’t come disguised as a pretty, shiny piece of metal.

On the contrary, during Dick’s Robin days, Bruce had hid it behind his third molar while he was unconscious. He only found out after a year, when he was held hostage by a mercenary who wanted to use him to lure Batman. Said mercenary had detected the tracking device and pulled it out along with the tooth.

It made him increasingly more hostile towards Batman and his never ending need for control, but at least it saved him a trip to the dentist.

From what Dick knew, Jason died with his tracker on him.

Bruce had said that it was all done in the name of safety.

But would you tell Jason the same thing now?

“I apologised and never replaced the one Red Hood damaged. I thought that would have been sufficient for her to trust me again.”

Dick let out a bark of laughter at that, but it was void of any humor. “Only you would think that not replacing her damn tracker would make her trust you. No wonder she hasn’t told you anything.”

It was probably best not to mention that you were now also sexually active.

“Do you think she’s hiding something important?” Bruce asked.

“Are you actually asking for my opinion?” Dick smirked, “No, but it’s too soon to tell, anyway. Relax, Bruce. It’s like you forgot what it was like to be young and in love.”

That was obviously a joke. Bruce grew out of his childhood the moment he saw his parents getting killed in that alley.

As for being in love, did Bruce ever allow himself that?

***

“What did you say she called herself?” Nightwing asked softly.

The poor girl was scared out of her mind to the point where Dick found it difficult to extract important information from her ramblings.

Well, that’s what happens when someone makes you kill a person.

It was difficult, so difficult, to face the fact that it was Jason behind all of that.

“I t-think, V,” the witness- Elena- stuttered. “She with him. But try to stop him.”

Behind him, he felt Batman pause. He was walking around the club and analysing evidence while listening to the conversation.

“She tried to stop him? Him as in Red Hood?” Dick frowned.

“Yes,” Elena looked down and rubbed her arms.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but,” Dick tried, “You told me they were partners.”

“Yes, but she try to stop him,” she repeated, “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Dick offered a smile, “Thank you very much. You’ve been a huge help.”

“Am I going to prison?” she looked at him with big, wet eyes.

“We’ll make sure you won’t,” Dick assured, “You’ll get the best defense team in Gotham.”

“You can do that?” she asked, hope in her voice.

“It’s the least we could do,” Dick answered, a sad smile playing on his lips.

He’s our responsibility.

“Thank you,” she gave a watery laugh, “Even prison better than with him, I want to be free.”

Dick heard footsteps approaching. As he turned around, Gordon entered the crime scene, followed by his team.

“Of course you’re here first,” he sighed at Batman.

“Gordon.”

“You might have to speak to the police again, okay?” Dick told Elena who was suddenly nervous again by the presence of so many people. “I’ll make sure they know you’re innocent. Gordon is the only one you can trust, okay?”

She nodded, her gaze turning downwards.

“Gordon,” he approached the aging man. He was used to talking with Gordon in Batman’s stead, even when he was Robin, and remembered feeling proud of himself whenever he finished speaking to Gordon regarding cases without Batman having to add anything.

“Nightwing,” he blinked, “It’s been a while.”

“Desperate times calls for desperate backups,” he grinned, “Anyway, the girl. She’s a victim of Victor Ibenescu’s human trafficking trade. Romanian, only thirteen when she was kidnapped. She was forced to shoot Victor by Red Hood.”

“This Red Hood likes his poetic justice,” Gordon snickered.

“It’s still first degree murder, or at least, that’s how the law would make it seem,” Dick reminded him, “But I assure you she’s innocent. Red Hood threatened to kill and rape her if she didn’t shoot.”

That was a lie, on both his part and Elena’s. Judging by the way she averted her eyes and touched her own arm, Dick could tell that she wasn’t telling the whole truth about being threatened by Red Hood- but he also knew that he couldn’t expose her and get into more trouble.

He wanted to let out a tired sigh, but that would give him away in front of Gordon and the other officers. He still needed to maintain his air of hopefulness, and he couldn’t seem like he was troubled by his thoughts.

Time to meet Bruce back at the cave and watch the surveillance footage.

***

“He’s got a partner now,” Dick voiced out his findings, “Since when did Red Hood partner up?”

Bruce’s frown was deep as he stared at the screen.

Dick pursed his lips. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Whether this is Red Hood or Jason?” Bruce hummed, “This definitely does not seem like anything Red Hood would do. He’s always tried to separate himself from others because it furthers his authoritarian agenda. He does not get friendly with people because people are disposable to him.”

“So you think this is Jason, then?” Dick concluded, “Well, Jason never had much of a problem working with others in the past, and he made some friends. He wasn’t the type to be hostile to people.”

“He did have trust issues,” Bruce pointed out, “At the very beginning.”

“Yes, and he kept a lot of things to himself,” Dick agreed, “But he did have friends.”

“Special friends,” Bruce added, “Friends who gained his respect and trust. So the question is- who is this girl and how did she manage to gain his trust?”

“Hey, play it back again,” Dick said, “Those moves.”

Bruce played the security tape, showing the mysterious girl and Red Hood taking down Victor’s men.

“Arnis,” Bruce pointed out.

“It’s a little different.”

“She has incorporated silat in as well. Low stance,” Bruce observed. “She’s skilled, but not polished. It could be anyone.”

There was something familiar about the girl that Dick couldn’t pinpoint. Dick usually had strong intuition- a gut feeling that enabled him to know which facts to focus on during an investigation, or a strong ability to see through people.

But the problem was that it wasn’t solid proof or evidence, something Batman heavily focused on. It was a gut feeling that told him he knew who the girl was.

“Do you think it’s-” he broke off without completing his sentence. There was nothing to back his claims.

“She has no reason or motive to work with Jason,” Bruce shot the idea down, “He’s hurt her. And… She wouldn’t betray me like that.”

“She’s been keeping secrets, Bruce,” Dick reminded, hating the fact that this time it was him who was suspicious.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Because he never would have thought that Jason was capable of torture and murder, either.

Why didn’t he come to me?

“As you clearly pointed out prior to this,” Bruce grit, “She has her reasons as to why she’s keeping secrets. And it is most probably because of me. All of you kept secrets. But this time, I’d like to let her keep hers.”

It was sweet, seeing Bruce that way.

“Is it guilt?” Dick asked.

“It’s repentance.”

Dick hated playing the bad guy.

Because he wasn’t supposed to be. He was the one people looked up to for inspiration, he was the light to Batman’s darkness, he was the smiles and charms and laughter.

He wasn’t the one who would accuse his little sister of fraternizing with the- was Jason the enemy?

Shit. Jason had messed with his senses. Dick’s head was chaotic, his emotions causing him to tense up.

Was he wrong? Was he just like Bruce? Was he jumping to conclusions just because Alfred told him you were out? Should he investigate this Carter you said you were with?

No. I’m not Bruce.

And now, you were looking at him with angry eyes, betrayed and appalled by his accusation.

*** Large.

That was the first thing that came to Dick’s mind when he saw his little brother.

The last time Dick saw him, he was much shorter, and definitely not as bulky.

And the last time Dick saw Jason, he was giving him a hug goodbye, complaining that Dick had messed up his hair.

And now, Jason was aiming a gun at him.

The gunshot didn’t hurt nearly as much as the thought that Jason had indeed shot him. Did Jason hate him that much?

You’re almost as guilty as he is, Jason’s voice echoed in his head.

“Bruce,” he gasped in the comms, “I’m down. They got away.”

“I heard a gunshot,” the deep voice in his ear spoke.

“Yeah, Jason shot my leg,” Dick winced, “Didn’t hit bone but I think it nicked my artery.”

“There are children here,” Batman said, “I was right. He’s sabotaging the Powers’. Gordon should be here soon. You control your bleeding.”

Dick nodded to himself and took a deep breath before plunging his finger into the gunshot wound to keep himself from bleeding out.

***

“...suspects that the crime lord only known as Red Hood and an unidentified female were behind the home invasion. Maria and Joseph Powers were left in a gruesome state according to reports, but their only child Carrie Powers was unharmed. The authorities are not sure what Red Hood’s motive was, but more will be elaborated during Commissioner Gordon’s public address later this afternoon...”

Dick heard you close the door.

“You didn’t come home last night,” he lowered the volume of the television.

“Uh, yeah,” you answered.

Dick looked over at you. You seemed tired, eyes swollen and red from crying, wearing an oversized t-shirt that he didn’t recognize.

“I was at-”

“Carter’s?” he finished your sentence for you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, sitting down next to him on the sofa.

Dick frowned to himself. Your arms were crossed, you were avoiding eye contact, your body was angled away from him.

“You heard about the Powers’?” he turned his gaze towards the television.

“I saw the news on the way here,” you monotoned.

You smelled like a different shampoo. It was familiar, but Dick couldn’t remember where he had smelled it before.

“So you know that-”

“Yes, Jason did it,” you said rigidly.

“Along with-”

“His partner.”

Ah, now he remembered the smell. Jason’s favorite shampoo. He used to make fun of him for choosing one that was called what it was called. He didn’t really care about it, Dick kept his hair soft and fluffy with multiple women’s hair products. He just liked to rile Jason up because he was so defensive about it.

And with that, Dick let out a long, disappointed sigh.

“Bruce is in the cave. I suggest that you think long and hard about what to tell him,” Dick offered you a soft smile, “But no matter what you choose to say, you’ll always be my sister, and I’ll always love you no matter what, okay?”

You gave him a look of shock, and then realised that he had figured it out.

“I’m sorry, Dick,” you lips trembled, your eyes started brimming with tears.

“No, kid. I’m sorry,” he replied, “Go.”

You nodded and left.

Despite being right all along, he didn’t feel any sense of achievement. Dick couldn’t help but partly blame himself. For being so absent, for being neglectful, for being a bad brother.

Dick wasn’t perfect, but like hell would he stop trying to be.

***

For years Bruce had tried to stop feeling guilty for being relieved whenever someone else takes care of a problem he couldn’t solve- especially when it involved murder.

Bruce had tried to take down the Powers for almost a decade, and everytime he got close, there was always another obstacle in the way. It was difficult to expose the rich and powerful without resorting to violence, without resorting to breaking his principles.

So Bruce was ready to stop himself from internally celebrating their deaths. This time, however, he wasn’t as pleased. Because this time, it was Jason who brutally murdered two people. Jason, who was supposed to be under his care and responsibility.

“Bruce?” he heard your timid, small voice from behind him. “I have to tell you something.”

And there it was.

Bruce turned around and looked straight at you, piercing your eyes with his own as he waited on your confession.

A minute passed.

“I’m V,” you struggled to speak, “I’ve been meeting up with Jason for a few months now. I didn’t know he was Red Hood until you told me. But when you did tell me, I chose to confront him and team up with him anyway.”

Bruce didn’t say anything.

“He- he’s not a bad person, Bruce,” you justified, “He’s just really hurt. He needs help.”

You were telling Bruce things he already knew.

“I- I fell in love with him,” you continued, “And I let my feelings cloud my judgement and betrayed your trust. At first I thought that he was onto something, that his… methods were better than yours. And I was angry that you kept secrets from me. But after last night- after what I saw- I couldn’t- I couldn’t stay.”

Bruce clenched his jaw.

He suspected it. Dick suspected it. But for your sake, the both of them chose to put their trust in you. He had tried so hard to change from his old ways. He learned his lesson with both Dick and Jason.

He didn’t want you to go through the same thing they did.

So, he chose to blindly trust you anyway, hoping that he wasn’t right.

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” you were sobbing now, “I’m so sorry. Please, say something.”

After another minute of watching you break down in front of him, Bruce finally spoke up.

“Hang up your colors. You’re no longer my Robin.”