#and proceeded to quote the exact same thing

[kabbseal]

people not knowing that the caption of dnp's new photo is a meme..... i am dying of old age

[neonnoir-ao3]

Caine and Pomni falling in love in the Circus and making it out together only for Caine to realize how warped all their personalities were compared to who they actually are in reality, but especially Pomni’s.

Okay literal train-of-thought word salad from here on out, prepare yourselves accordingly.

• Like he knows Pomni as an anxious little jester but they love each other and she’s cute and funny and affectionate and all that fun stuff. But once they’re in reality he follows her like a lost puppy because he has no idea how this place works and gets to see how she actually lives.

• Pomni is basically an accidental femcel when it comes to vibes. A complete girlfailure, if you will. (socially isolated, chronically single brunette with glasses, you get the idea)

• A “nice relaxing night for her” is playing a random YouTube video essay that’s like three hours long while lounging on the couch and not wearing pants, eating an entire bag of chips and probably hitting her bong. She gave up on dating in college due to failure after failure so she’s accepted that she’s gonna die alone… or rather she says she has. (She read that “I’m not doing to be loved in this lifetime, am I?” quote in a TikTok slideshow and proceeded to down an entire bottle of wine that night while sobbing)

• She wanted to get a cat to ease the loneliness, but she doesn’t feel good enough— a cat deserves more than just a shitty apartment with a wreck of an owner in their mid-20s.

• He goes back to her apartment— it’s dingy and shitty but it’s the closest place to the office that she can afford. Her half of her pantry is ramen she bought in bulk. She’s medicated to high heaven and her kitchen counters look like a pharmacy.

• Pomni is either so fucking embarrassed when Caine sees how her life is in reality or the Human Depression™ in her Human Body™ has already set back in by the time they get there and she’s just miserably accepting of it. There is no in-between.

• She showers for the first time since The Incident (she didn’t need to bathe in the DC, her clothes were literally attached to her body there/hygiene was a total nonissue in that world) and she just breaks down and spends a good 30-40 minutes taking a scalding hot shower (as all the depressed girlies do) while sobbing her heart out. It’s cathartic as fuck to be able to lose her shit for once without the threat of abstraction, but it also hurts so fucking badly at the exact same time.

• Something about mental illness in real humans versus their digital avatars really messes with Caine. At the very least he could create a zany adventure to get their mind off of things, but then there’s some days where Pomni just stays in bed all day and doesn’t say a word. This world is so harsh and dull and colorless in comparison to the world he was made for, and there are fleeting moments where he wonders if it would’ve been better if they had both stayed there.

[shadowqueenjude]

Ima be real i haven't read past acowar cuz i just stopped reading her books by the time the 4th book came out. HOWEVER!

dude i didn't know that the idea of rhys becoming high king was canon. i thought that was made up for a fic where the inner circle was the enemy.... why are they so different after the trilogy?? I mean they were already a little off but from looking at what people are saying (and reading a lot of fics with inner court slander) they've gotten weird weird weird

Quotes from ACOSF: “But you, Rhysand, are not.” Amren nodded to the still-rotating weapons. “With these three blades, you could make yourself High King.” The words clanged through the room. Cassian slowly blinked. Rhys said tightly, “I don’t wish to be High King. I only wish to be here, with my mate and my people.” Amren countered, “All seven courts united under one ruler would give us far better odds of survival in any upcoming conflict. No bickering and politicking required to dispatch our armies. Malcontents like Beron would have no ability to threaten our plans by allying with our enemies.” “We would have to fight an internal war first. I would be branded a traitor by my friends in other courts—I’d be forced to make them kneel.” Azriel stepped forward, shadows trailing from his shoulders. “Kallias, Tarquin, and Helion might be willing to kneel. Thesan will kneel if the others do.” Cassian nodded. Rhys as High King: he could think of no other male he’d trust more. No other male who would be a fairer ruler than Rhys. And with Feyre as High Queen … Prythian would be blessed to have such leaders. So Cassian said, “Tamlin would probably fight, and lose. Beron would be the only one standing in your way.” As for the Inner Circle being OOC... I think Rhys has remained the exact same since book 1. And that's actually a huuuuuge problem. He has had absolutely zero development, he's still an absolute dick, and somehow everyone licks his boots. Cassian I'd say went through a retcon through ACOSF. I genuinely shipped Nessian (even tho I despised the idea of the IC) until this book and it just ruined the ship and Cassian's character for me entirely. Mor...I mean she has had some character development but she was a fucking bitch to Nesta which I can't forgive. Amren I think is OOC in ACOSF too. This bitch should've stayed dead in ACOWAR. SJM ruined her sacrifice thing by bringing her back (also she's 100% ace, why did SJM make her heterosexual???) and then proceeded to have her trash Nesta in ACOSF. Pre-ACOSF Amren wouldn't have cared enough to be a bitch. Anyway the Inner Circle gets worse with each book and I hate how some people act like Rhys is the perfect selection for High King. If SJM goes down the High King road, the only High King I'll ever accept is Lucien.

[kangelmybeloved]

TW: Shawn, Racism, Ableism, Manipulation

Hello everyone. I didn't want to make this post, but I feel like it's finally time i speak out about this horrible person. They go by @shawnthevampire on here. She is very popular within the Jacksepticeye community and she is a horrible person. She is Racist, Ableist, narcissistic and manipulative. This is gonna take a while..

Shawn is manipulative. She lies and gaslights people to get her own way. She once lied about one of my friends to try to convince me that he didn't care about me, saying things like "He's a rich shit" and "Why would a rich shit care about a couple of poor, mentally disabled biological females?" She did this a lot. She manipulates and lies, and then deletes all evidence of it every happening. Not to mention if your trauma is not the exact same as hers, she will invalidate it either to your face or behind your back. Personal experience: I was having a panic attack and she said it was amusing.

She silences anyone who disagrees with her. On Discord, if you say something she doesn't like? Timeout. Try to diffuse an argument? Timeout. I once got timed out for a week because I was defending my brother from her bullying. But she got rid of it a few hours later. You cannot say ANYTHING to her that she doesn't like, or.. doesn't have. If there is something she doesn't/can't have or something she just doesn't like, You can't talk about it. One time me and my friends were talking about "Amanda the Adventurer" and she banned us from talking about it all together because she didn't like it! She abused her power so much, and the changed the rules to her own server so it was convenient for her. For example, She could talk about politics but if you tried to it was against the rules and you weren't allowed.

She's abelist. Shawn will probably deny this as she is autistic, but being autistic does not give you an excuse to being abelist. I had one person tell me how she made fun of them for being hard of hearing. And there is a whole tumblr thread where she got involved in an argument over the Jacksepticeye ego character, Jameson Jackson. She says she hates her brother all because he's more autistic than her so he needs to be taken care of a little more. She went on a whole rant about how much she hates her brother and her parents, who bend over backwards to her will and anything she wants. She treats the people close to her like shit and with disrespect with no regard to the fact that they are human and have feelings too.

She is racist. Oh ho ho ho. Shawn is racist. Because why wouldn't she stop at being abelist? I have a couple of examples. On roblox she said to someone "Bro is black Irl" because they were apparently harassing her. Then she tried to defend it when called out by saying that "History is built up on racism" and that people should be used to racsim by now. The second example is she defends the infamous app "Temu" like she is the creator herself. After me and my friends sent her multiple piece of evidence that Temu still people's data, she just turns a blind eye and has blocked people over it. When defending the app she said, and I quote, "Also, if the USA truly cared about our Internet safety, they'd stop allowing apps from other countries to be approved onto the app store". And that this was all because Temu is a Chinese company, and that all the products are cheap and "suspicious" is because its a Chinese company.

Boundaries aren't a thing to her. If you are uncomfortable by a joke she's making and you tell her, she just thinks it's funny and does it more. These mainly include sexu@l jokes. And uh, here's a personal experience. I had a crush on a friend and I told her about it, she proceeded to give me a deadline to tell them my feelings and then decided to tell them behind my back anyway.

This is just on Discord and a couple things on Tumblr. She also caused things on Wattpad but I don't have the patience or energy to get into that.

Please do not go and bully Shawn or anyone involved in this situation. If people need proof, I'll post it on Twitter. Thank you everyone.

[buds-and-baubles]

Number 3 for Apollo and Midnighter?

3. least favorite canon thing about this character?

oh jeeze you want me to pick just one?

for midnighter i'd have to say it's a three way tie between the jenny fractal plot line, the times when bad writers have him literally fucking abuse apollo, and lastly the breakup that happens in the new 52/rebirth between him and apollo which also has him flirting and sleeping with others after it!

anyone who has unfortunately read the jenny fractal plot line will understand why but let's just say not only is it objectively an awful plotline for what happens both morally and writing but also this writer purposefully broke pre-established lore for jenny q. AND had something midnighter do that he never would.

the second one is self explanatory. i hate lost year and human on the inside for this.

and the last one :) read the new 52 batman and robin and for when midnighter shows up.. he ain't with apollo i'll fucking tell you that. but according to people who have read further on in that, he still talks about apollo all the time. it's literally like twisting a knife in the wound for people who enjoy him over and over again.

admittedly stuff for purely midpollo hasn't recovered since the agent grayson flirting :/ i have a safe bet that the midnighter/dick grayson tag is probably bigger/almost as big as the midpollo one but i'd have to check.

as for apollo... writers doing what they did to dick grayson TWICE possibly over and over in the second scenario only a couple comics apart (aka sexual assault), and then proceeding to fridge him over and over again for midnighter's development! i'm not kidding. the lost year is showing him dying over and over again just for how it impacts midnighter.

besides that, i'd say how the breakup plotline in the new 52 delegated him to the sidelines and forced him into a nuclear family role where he's the one home cooking and cleaning while midnighter is off fighting and being a badass. since midnighter is the one who is made into the intelligent one while apollo is depicted as the pretty brute and or dumb brute.

since apollo has always been deemed as the less marketable of the two since homophobes will still want to see midnighter since they'll see him as the 'more macho' of the two (also a stupid ideal rooted in stupid opinions), he'll get shit like this from the authority 2003-2004 run:

despite the fact that he's a majestic class (or alpha level in dc) level threat aka the same as mister majestic, the high, superman, and wonder woman, they won't let him be as strong as them/stronger simply because he is an out gay married man.

i don't give a fuck about figuring out if he's actually stronger because of dumb power scaling, but i know he is at least as strong as. iirc there's a writer for superman on twitter who was so pissed off about this he declared apollo will always be weaker than superman but don't quote me on it i can't remember who said it or where it is.

a bonus one that i don't know the exacts of it: stormwatch vol 3. for what they did to jenny quantum where it shows apollo and midnighter not even being that upset that she was gone.. y'know, who was their daughter that they would've literally died for in past comics. erasing fucking swift and doctor from existence, too.

also changing pre-established origins for apollo and midnighter and other characters. andrew pulaski and lucas trent would've bothered me less if it was established that it was names they chose, but it isn't. they took away their origin which entirely shaped how they see the world around them.

because they were a result of u.n. government experimentation. to make them... victims of alien experimentation. idk why they did that lol jack hawksmoor was right there. was his not traumatizing enough for you?

so to summarize;

there's a lot of canon things i don't like that happened to them. sexual assault done to inflict trauma purely for the shock value/midnighter development, forcing traditional family dynamics (which those dynamics are fucking awful for everybody), breaking them up, taking their daughter, destroying their origins, making them abuse eachother, fridging apollo for midnighter's development, and blatant homophobia.

[visiblenostalgia]

10/14–2023 — ☀️ 🌙 Libra Eclipse

This is a fun synchronous thing to ponder and think about and maybe some of you might want to pay attention to it.

Warning: discussions of war and other triggering topics like politics.

The eclipse is happening at the end of the week. Saturday the 14th, peaking at 11:52 AM (CST)

But that’s the synchronous thing about it? Taking a gander at it, the eclipse occurs at the south node. The south node being about excrement, pushing out, letting go, the stuff that is not needed for us. A point where the butterfly comes out of its cocoon. But to add onto this,

The solar eclipse flies south much like the south node is directed.

The vice versa will occur with the north node total solar eclipse on April 8th of 2024 next year.

“The solar eclipse flies north much like the north node is directed”….

My predictions are murky with this, but I have been able to take note of the occurrences that happen before the major event.

Proceeding the Full Moon in Aries (whom was conjunct Chiron- wounds and healing and the north node — hunger, destiny) is the war declaration in Israel with Hamas. They haven’t stopped since and the war seemingly has its fate to go for a long and painful time.

I will also go forth to add on that they are in fact fighting over holy lands that they proclaim to protect. (More on this at the end of the post)

My bets is the stopping point or climax of all wars herein before they really pop off is the Saturn Neptune conjunction at 0 Aries in ‘25 or ‘26.

But on the topic of the annular, with the saturated south node eclipse happening in Libra, one must think of the quote “diplomacy dies in darkness”. What have we seen so far? The war with Hamas and the fight in Ukraine (I will add on them too, due to their almost exact implications but different starting time frame)

Another bet I have is that the wars will seemingly pop up everywhere on all fronts but all not in the same way. Next year begins the 2024 Elections for the United States and there are already signs of agitation and violence on both ends of the spectrum. The bipartisan system we’ve built in the 1770’s now crumbling at the seams. With the help of the Pluto return of the United States.

What does this mean for the north node though?

Bringing up the effects of a north node in Aries eclipse that also moves north as it trenches along; one must say that there will be striving for individuation, war, fighting for your country and peace thereof,….among others.

Wildfires, weather systems and patterns, as well as anything having to do with heat will begin to also become more severe or irrefutable.

For those going through their Nodal Return with these eclipses, and if you feel the pains of change and seeing the atrocities of the world happen on your screens/households/life…

I must be honest, these times look like they’re not gonna end soon. They’ll only ramp up and all we can do is bite down on the bullet that’s been shot. Triumph over this through perseverance, experience and knowledge so the next time that this nodal pattern occurs, we know how to handle it.

And to end it off, fighting over the holy lands that you wish to protect is very ironic because you end up destroying the sacred texts that have been there for centuries.

I’m not too entirely Christian (not devout and monkish in a way), but to fight on sacred lands of a religion and then to say your protecting it only just to be killing a bunch of people for it…

you’re not protecting it by all means

YOURE DESTORYING GODS WORK AND CALLING ONTO YOURSELF A FALSE PROPHET. YOU PROCLAIM HOLINESS WHEN YOURE KILLING ‘HIS’ PEOPLE. YOU ARE NO MORE BETTER THAN SATAN HIMSELF.

And breathe…..

Prayers and manifesting good times in our own lives ahead y’all. Keep everyone in your circle no matter how distant or close in mind. Show them some love and show them you care. Be there for them. These next few to several years will not be easy.

~visiblenostalgia

BONUS BIT: I’d like to also add on that if one thinks of it in a certain way, Terra (or mama Gaia, Mother Earth) is kind of going through contractions with this new world order. In a way the solar eclipses coming up are like the famous active labor pains that come through in childbirth. Will all the pain in change, there is forward movement in trying to make a new world order that will be better for us to inhabit this place together in the end.

Idk just a thought. Toodles!

[antiterf]

Littman (author of the original Rapid Onset Gender Dysphoria study) made another publication to argue that her methods are justified and I'm just going to write down random thoughts as I read through it and the original study again because... damn who's publishing these

“They are constantly putting down straight, white people for being privileged, dumb and boring." Said probably by a straight, privileged white person that's currently acting dumb.

"the development of the survey instrument was conducted with the feedback from four members of the target population for content and clarity" - so not even a psychologist went over this survey. Makes sense since it's treating gender dysphoria as meaning "identifies as transgender" yet doesn't. "My child didn't show signs of being gender dysphoric until they came out as transgender!" lucky for your teenager, they need 2 out of 6 symptoms with significant distress to fall under gender dysphoria. 5/6 can be kept secret as they are personal wants and feelings.

"Convenience samples are used all the time in research," yeah, but going to three websites that have obvious beliefs on the matter and all coming to the website for the same reason is a lot different than general social media. You could've looked for parents of trans people for your targeted population, but nooo, let's only get our samples from the same people who made the concept, your scale, with all having similar beliefs. That's just a convenience sample. God.

Ah, you're comparing your sampling to researchers looking for trans people in general. Like we all have the same belief system (not biased, guys, no prejudice here!)

"coming out" is frequently in quotes along with "cisgender" but not terms like straight or gay. Hinting that maybe this researcher is again, a bit biased. Just maybe.

"Parental report has been justified as a good method for monitoring child mental and physical health" Yeah it's too bad that you're asking questions like "what do their friends talk about" and other things about teenagers and some adults (oh look you sourced something where the age group was 0-17) where the parents are reportedly having trouble getting along with them (57%).

What kind of content someone looks at on the internet is not a good time to get parental reports.

"The issue with parental report is that it can carry biases" NO?! REALLY?!/s "I acknowledged this," but you still didn't act like there was bias in any of your examinations of the data. You can't go, "I acknowledge that this person has a bloody knife," before proceeding to ignore the bloody knife while making a threat analysis, and hell, why not get them another knife!

"More than a third (33.7%) of the AYAs asked for medical and/or surgical transition at the same time that they announced they were transgender-identified." Ah yes, .4% more than a third, to be exact.

Damn, there are barely any significant correlations in this - oh look, most of the tested ones for significance are about the relationship with their parents. There is not a single one about peer interactions or online use. The only reported for significance was "stopped hanging out with non transgender friends," and that didn't have significance.

[ethernetmeep]

as to not taint the humor of the millipede post, i say this separately and as its own sort of weird entry thing; today was not all that nice. if you somehow wish to read emotional ramblings then feel free below i suppose. this will all probably be very embarrassing & stupid & gone at a certain point

at first, it seemed to be fine; by all accounts, i felt normal. i was happy, content, neutral, what have you. near the end of first period, i felt a sudden and all encompassing sort of emotional pain which is hard to explain besides a knife in ones gut. i try to shrug it off, go back to normal; i listen to instructions of my teacher before i ask to sit outside. i proceed to bawl my eyes out silently.

and you may ask, WHY? and i ask the exact same thing! i have no clue why i suddenly break down like this, but i do, and its heavy and uncomfortable. i sob out of both guilt and intense emotions unable to be placed anywhere definitively. i sob because i don’t know what else to do, as trying to hold my emotions in has seemingly only made me sick thus far in the day.

i continue to cry for an uncomfortable amount of time i won’t disclose. a teacher who i enjoy greatly sits beside me in the hall; without even having to say the words aloud, i answer him. i talk quietly of things i remember and talk of how upset i feel; not mad upset, but sad upset. he seems confused on what too much of something would be. ive been wondering this for months. he asks if it was possibly seen as something more intimate. i say this could be likely and i feel far worse; i feel awful, actually. he runs off because hes a busy man. i think about our conversation and i feel overwhelmingly distressed. i feel sick. i feel as if ive ruined everything by accidentally implying something different then what i may mean. i dont enjoy the vague way certain events occur. i hate being vague, i hate not being able to read between the lines of things; vagueness scares me to a point of distress and acute worry, which is probably hypocritical.

i have to resort to one of the stupidest things ive imagined in a long time in order to not feel the overwhelming & all encompassing feeling of wanting to [REDACTED]; imagining myself as stanley from the stanley parable and being lectured about how this action would quote make the timeline collapse in on itself or quote ruin the game by the narrator. i can imagine his voice clearly in my mind saying STANLEY, YOU CAN’T SELF-IMMOLATE STANLEY, THAT WOULD RUIN EVERYTHING WE WORKED FOR! something stupid like that. its odd that it helped.

i was fine, although i then proceeded to not be fine. got asked if i was okay. answered truthfully and said no. an acquaintance prompted me to talk about it with her, then simply.. left. had to find the girl she enjoys being with. she said she would find me later and talk about it; i really didn’t want to talk about it. i moved to put on my headphones then realized it was stupid & was already on the verge of tears again at simply the discussion from before & feeling like a circus animal being heavily scrutinized and laughed at under intense gaze. i get to class but i am overwhelmingly unable to do anything but cry.

i get to go to the library, but at the detriment to my friends. i text one and tell her i won’t be at lunch as im dealing with emotional distress and don’t want to quote, be a debbie downer. i am saddened at my actions; i wish i would’ve just went and talked with them, but i also don’t wish that i did because i hate distressing those i care about. i didn’t want to put more on my friends plates. i’d deal with it myself

of course, nothing is ever sound & calm for long; the area which i feel comfortable crying in is overtaken and i move uncomfortably. i am asked if im okay. i lie blatantly to a girl ive known as an acquaintance for years. i feel bad for lying; i don’t want her to worry about me. it wasn’t important, anyway. eventually i regain my composure and get back to class. it ends and i move on; as per usual, my mood fluctuates and i soon find myself worried sick and leaving her classroom.

i stay after although i know the chess club is cancelled for this week. i don’t like the change. its not as if im mad at the change, i just so desperately wanted to believe the days i dealt with before actually still accumulated to something i enjoyed. now the one thing i enjoy is off to not occur for next week, either; giving me very little to look forward to, if anything

i sit in the airlock. i write in my notebook a list of things someone would do before self-immolation. hypothetically, of course. maybe four or five things on it are actually things one would care about. one is to play a DLC, another is to finish a novel; one is to stay in order to see the cicadas arrive & to visit the cemetery in the spring like someone (fine, me!) mentioned weeks back that i wanted to do. its uncomfortable how the novel i enjoyed dearly was not one of the important things on the list.

it takes quite a lot to kill me, i think. kind of like a tick.

i’ll be fine; i always am. i think ive gotten better. im slowly feeling more and more sane again, although the stress puke is still prevalent. as ive lived on, its gone down to a point where i just gag; don’t puke. i enjoy documenting when i do feel things like this, strangely enough. having an archive of my life makes me feel sane. its also interesting to look back on.

thanks if you read this somehow, even after the warning of how stupid it would be. i appreciate you, hypothetical reader. i enjoy your hypothetical quiet company

[drivenbywords]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐞𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞.

"𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 ����𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦." - Unknown

The sound of a car horn snapped me out of my thoughts, realizing it was my turn to go up and do the whole ‘introduction, talk about my progress, thank a random person in my family who encouraged me to continue on with this journey, then awkwardly sit back down.’ It was easily my least favorite day of the week, hence why I signed up for Monday night meetings. Just killing two birds with one stone at this point. The weekly ritual of getting up from my seat and playing with the fabric of my black tank top, walking to the front of the group was underway. Using my hands was one mechanism for calming my anxiety down, especially when it came to talking in front of people. Not my strongest trait, but I still did try my best. As I finally arrived, I scanned the people in the small gymnasium room that was a part of my old middle school. I thought I would come back to visit this place with my friends, late at night while passing by. Not to go sit and attend my two hour weekly Alcoholic Anonymous meetings from 6:00 to 8:00pm. But I guess the universe had other plans for me. I cleared my throat, forcing myself to make something come out of my mouth, finally.

“Hi, I’m Jenna and I’ve been clean for fifty days.” And the sound of the awkward ‘Hi, Jenna’ sounded off for a moment, making me chuckle and look down at my shoes for a moment. I needed to collect my thoughts, but all I could think about was what my dad told me before I came here. It was a quote that ran through my head as I was riding my bike, which kept making me swerve into the main road a couple times cause it kept eating me alive basically. Not the quote itself, but how the quote was related to last week’s meeting.

'If you tell the truth, it becomes your past. If you lie, it becomes your future.' First, it was a huge surprise hearing that from my own father who isn’t into that philosophical shit and all that nonsense. But second, it brought me back to that meeting specifically where I lied to every single soul in that room, including the chair lady of the meetings. She helped me through so much and I even lied to her face. She didn’t deserve that; none of these people deserve that shit. I told everyone I was getting so much better, that I wasn’t biting my nails for more than five days. I told them I wasn’t sneaking out to go to my brother’s house and grabbing bottles of alcohol anymore. I said I was being consistent with seeing my therapist every week. I also mentioned I’ve been getting out of the house and seeing my friends, not staying in my room for hours on end to dwell on the intrusive thoughts. But it was a lie. All of it, because I couldn’t make myself accept the fact that it was the complete opposite for me. It was hard for me to accept it, so I decided to be deceitful. Fuck, I just wanted people to be proud of me. I wanted validation; I wanted my own mother to be proud of me cause I told her the same exact things. I was being untruthful to everyone, including myself. But now, as I was still standing up there in front of those same innocent souls, I had to tell the truth. It needed to be said and done. I slipped my hands in the back pockets of my jeans and proceeded.

“Last week, I shared that I was improving. I was getting better with seeing my therapist, I was better with leaving the house and not being in my room as much, and I said that I was finally at peace with myself...” 

My voice softened towards my ending words; my eyes traveled to the doors that were straight ahead of me. I wanted to run out of there and never come back. I didn’t have the heart to use my words and confirm the truth. But I knew I needed to do this. Not for anyone, but for myself. I inhaled before feeling a small knot in my throat, that little burn you get in your chest when you feel yourself about to cry. I tried holding everything in; I didn’t want to show my vulnerability more than I already did by attending these damn events every week, but I decided to show everyone the rawness of my being. My bottom lip began to quiver, feeling my emotions get stronger but I forced myself to go on.

“But I lied. The truth is I haven’t been doing that well lately. I bit my nails right before I came here. I canceled my last two therapy appointments because I just couldn’t face any other human besides my family members. Today was my first time leaving the house in three days, and the last time I did leave was to get..” I had to close my eyes at this point. It was the hardest one to talk about. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me; I could feel the judgement that everyone promised not to show, but you could fucking cut it with scissors. But I knew I wasn’t done yet. I inhaled again and when I exhaled, that was when I let the tears stream with the sound of my voice breaking.

“...It was to get more alcohol from my b-brother…” Saying those words immediately made me cover my mouth with my hand. I was disgusted with myself. I was so low in my life that I had to get alcohol from my disgrace of a family member. I had to turn my head away for a moment, I couldn’t bear to collapse in front of everyone from crying so hard. I refused to do that. I just took a second to myself, wiped my tears with my fingers but they just kept coming. I returned to scanning the room; spotting the worriedness and hopelessness in people’s eyes. Nevertheless, it was an AA meeting and I had to continue.

“I know what I said last week were lies upon lies and for that, I apologize. I’m so sorry. I guess I.. I needed at least one person to tell me they were proud of me. I’ve fought this battle by myself for so long that I just wanted someone to vocalize that they’ve seen my struggle, say that they’re so proud of me for staying here for this long, and just… 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 it. No pity, no bullshit.”

I finally wiped what seemed like the last of my tears before getting hit with a realization, the embarrassment honestly. All of that just made me smile to myself. I slipped my hand back in my pocket to pull out my chip that I got after being clean for a month, looking down to gaze upon it. I spoke in a lower tone. “But I did mean it when I said I’ve been clean for fifty days. Even though I have the bottles of alcohol that are sitting in the corner of my room, I haven’t taken a sip of anything. That’s one thing that I’m damn proud of.” I slipped the chip back in my jeans before breathing calmly, running a hand in my hair as I tried my best to conclude this whole shit show.

“So I promise that from here on out, I will be truthful with everything to everyone. I will be truthful to myself because I’m not trying to get better for anyone.. I want to get better for myself. I want to live life for myself because I guess.. you can say I deserve that.” I ended it with a nod before making my way back to my seat, hearing the claps from everyone but seeing some people stand up for me. It felt good, it felt really nice actually. I got a shoulder pat and a brief squeeze from the chair lady; the one who runs the meetings. She gave me a head nod with a smile while mouthing ‘I’m proud of you.’ Seeing those words made my heart warm, but all I could do was return the nod and a small smile right back. I usually sat down in my seat and let other people speak until it was all done, but I decided to grab my jacket and leave early by walking out through the main gymnasium doors that led to the outside.

Feeling the cool night air on my skin gave me goosebumps, which led to more of my tears returning from earlier. I wasn’t free from all my demons but letting my walls down and speaking my truth really made me proud of myself for once and even if this was gonna last just for the night, it was good enough for me. After wiping more tears, I threw on my jacket while getting on my bike that was resting against the wall of the building. As I rode my way home, I chose to go the long route back to my house so I could embrace more of this feeling. It was very rare for me to open up, especially in AA meetings. When it came to talking about my ‘journey’ and shit, I was very short and vague with it. But I knew if I wanted to change and better my life, I would have to accept the fact that I needed to step out of my comfort zone and be vulnerable. Also, I always had to tell the truth about how I am and where I am in my life. Be genuine to everyone. Even to myself. And the first step of being genuine to those people at that meeting that shared the same battle as me, was to go home and finally throw away my brother’s alcohol bottles.

[topperscumslut]

ok look this hellsite won’t let me find my post from a few months ago about this guy i went to high school with who was a diehard bo burnham stan yet ironically was the living breathing incarnation of art is dead but it’s been two years since i graduated and i still can’t fully process just how STRANGE this guy was

he was one of the most popular kids at my school and my friend (who had a HUGE crush on him) and i called him trix rabbit cuz he looked like the trix rabbit (yet still managed to be hot?) (yes, i’ll admit, even tho he was very…. interesting, he was still physically attractive)

in the time i knew (or more, knew of) trix rabbit, he

- defended the name redskins for the sports team (idk and idc which sport it is) even after our sociology teacher explained to us that the name was inspired by the bloody scalps of native americans after being brutalized, and then when the teacher showed us a quote of a coach saying basically the exact same thing as this guy had said nearly word for word and basically was like “so you agree with him then?” (not even in a judgy “you’re wrong” sort of way, just asking) he started crying and yelling at our teacher for “comparing him to a racist”

- decided to become a SoundCloud rapper and released a song that was basically a 2019 version of motley crue’s smokin’ in the boys room and a song where he namedropped his ex that he had a very messy and known about breakup with and claimed he “just chose a random name”

- got cast as spot conlon in our school’s production of newsies and did not attend a single rehearsal, show ended up getting canceled cuz of covid before we could recast the role

- was chosen by his class for what was essentially an annual boy’s beauty pageant (that i was very involved in behind the scenes with student council) every year and sang a bo burnham song every single year until his senior year when he went on stage and pretended he was going to sing bohemian rhapsody, had his friend come on stage and smash a glass bottle over his head, realized the “glass” bottle was indestructible and nearly got himself knocked out, and then proceeded to give a powerpoint presentation while on a hoverboard and shave his head on stage

- blocked me on instagram when we had literally only spoken once in my entire high school career (probably cuz he found out i was talking shit about him for being racist)

also my other best friend (later on in high school) and i called him turtle turtle cuz his last name was similar to turtle and he was basically like the school celebrity to us, not in an idolizing or simping for him sorta way but more like he was just a meme to us lmao (prolly why he blocked me)

also bo’s vocals in art is dead specifically sound exactly like his voice and it makes me uncomfy

[thoughtsofapiratee]

For some, the condescending, misogynistic entrapment that is where I spend my days, is easy to ignore. I find myself at my wits end when it comes to the men I work with. If i'm not being spoken down to as if i haven't done the same training as them, (on occasion more than them) I'm being accused of being racist, by a sexual predator. A proven sexual predator too.

Due to health and safety reasons, customers are NOT allowed to use glasses for hot water. In addition, tea must be paid for. (As if that wasn't obvious.) We have a large asian clientele that like to drink hot water in glasses no matter how many times we tell them not to due to the unexpected explosions that can occur from the extreme temperature differences between the water and cold glass.

As I was refilling the glassed next to the water dispenser, I noticed a man doing exactly that. I politely asked him to stop and informed him he was not allowed to do that, but i'd be happy to get him a mug. he responded with a query if cold water was allowed. I, of course, confirmed. The gentleman then proceeded to swap between hot and cold water, with a tea bag in the glass. Three times i told him to stop. He presently ignored me. Informing E of the situation, she confiscated the glass from said man and they got into a bit of a disagreement over it. This was a moment that stuck out to me. Just as an example of the pettiness I have to deal with on an almost daily basis.

Throughout the day, 3 other people had to be told not to do this. The fourth, however, is where the accusation occurred.

J, was stood next to a lady, at the coffee machine, about to do the exact same thing. Never mind the notice that is placed in front of the glasses. As I paused to offer her a mug instead of the glass, I was reprimanded and accused of being racist by J, a TL. He said, and I quote, "Look, asian people don't drink cold water, they drink warm water. It's part of their culture, so telling them to stop is racist. Leave it alone, yeah?"

There are several things I found offensive with this statement. For starters, At no point had I told any customers they weren't allowed to drink hot water. Frankly, I don't give a fuck what you drink, as long as you're safe with it. Secondly, accusing someone of being racist can have a detrimental effect on their lives. If someone had overheard him calling me racist, how would that reflect on me? What sort of trouble would I get into? Not to mention, I've just received a promotion in which I am now a SL. Still in the probationary period as well. Any mistakes made in this period could result in me loosing the promotion or my job. Thirdly, The patronising tone in which J decided to reprimand ME. As if I wasn't the one who trained him on the fucking bar. As if I wasn't the one who trained him on some TL duties, before I was even a TL. I am now above you in rank and calling me out in front of customers, accusing me of being racist (when I wasn't being) is unprofessional and frankly, rude. If he had a problem with how I was conducting myself, he was well within his rights to pull me into the office to offer advice about it, or to reprimand there, where I could then defend myself. However, that did not occur. Instead I found myself stood in front of the coffee machine, embarrassed and seething.

And J is not the only man who makes me feel inadequate and embarrassed. Most of the management team, and staff make me feel like this. Bar a few, it's a very sexist work environment. One that does not seem to be reevaluating or changing in any capacity. I don't enjoy being degraded and made to feel as if my capabilities are less than competent.

[lavienbleuuu]

‘I just showing up late night’ mood.

“You know how everyone’s always saying, ‘Seize the moment’? I don’t know, I’m kinda thinkin’ it’s the other way. Like the moment seizes us.”

I wish that I was blessed with the ability to have a constant stream of ideas, and that writing was something that came easily and effortlessly. But in reality, writing is hard.

It’s not hard from a mechanical viewpoint — as Stephen King said, words become sentences, sentences become paragraphs, and paragraphs become chapters. But it’s everything else about writing that can seem daunting. The pressure to find an idea (something no one else has thought about!), the effort to write it well enough that it won’t immediately be thrown away by anyone reading, the fear of backlash or just plain disgust from your readers (who at this stage of my life are mostly my friends).

Most weeks, writing can be hard and scary to even think about it.

So, tonight, I try my best to not think about writing.

I just show up.

Showing up means a couple of different things in my mind.

Firstly, showing up every day to whatever happens in my life.

Stephen King has a ton of great quotes in his book “On Writing”. When talking about finding inspiration and ideas, he wrote:

“Your job isn’t to find these ideas but to recognize them when they show up.”

Most of my writing arises from the events and thoughts that happen to me daily. There’s nothing special — I have a very normal and mundane life. If you look at my last few articles, they have each been inspired (in this exact order) by a one-off conversation with friends, an issue, packing my things to move out, and one excruciatingly boring weekend.

What I’ve learned about inspiration — at least, for myself — is that ideas don’t come as a nice package where the article just streams from your fingertips like you’re a word bender, effortlessly typing on your keyboard to make an article that will blow collective minds.

For me, articles are usually an idea that’s been on my mind for a few weeks. I initially don’t think too much about it, but then there will be more small events that remind me of that initial idea. I’ll think about the idea of home, and then watch a movie about someone coming home, or read an article about someone leaving their home. Or I’ll be thinking about how to deal with rejection, and I’ll hear my friend’s story about being rejected, or I’ll get rejected myself for something I wanted.

I’m just a vessel, and I take the ideas I can get whenever they show themselves.

My writing is not a nice, neat package. If I had to describe it, it’s more of a mosaic of all the small things that happened to me, the small details of the stories my friends have told me, or the small miracles (or catastrophes) that happen every day.

I just show up every day (even if that means rolling out of bed and living the same life, I do every day) and I note down any small thing that I think I can write about. And at the end of the week, I sit down and see what ideas might be able to turn into something more.

And so that leads us nicely into the second way I define ‘showing up’.

In 2018, John Mayer improvised a song live with Zane Lowe on an Apple Music interview. He picked up a guitar and proceeded to seemingly pull chords and lyrics out of thin air, and said:

“If you’re not Ouija Boarding immediately, you’re wasting time. You gotta keep forcing it, forcing it, forcing it.

What he meant by Ouija Boarding — in the context of the interview — is just trying to sing lyrics, even if they don’t make sense or even rhyme. But you have to keep forcing it because otherwise, you’ll never hit a breakthrough.

That has become my second definition of showing up: literally, showing up.

It’s about forcing myself to sit down and think about everything that’s happened in the past seven days. It’s about remembering every story told to me, every topic of conversation, every Tiktok I watched. It’s retracing my steps for the week and seeing which ideas came up where, and seeing what might work. It’s taking all of these small details and ideas and trying to make an article that is coherent and makes some sense.

Tonight, I don’t think I succeed at this. Tonight, I feel like I just regurgitate a jumble of words and press “Publish” with my fingers crossed. Tonight, I’m forcing myself to write, even if I don’t feel particularly inspired.

But most weeks, all I have to do is show up. I’m not demanding myself to be churning out great articles every week. I’m not demanding myself to write to a minimum word count. I’m just asking myself if I can show up every week, write something, and post it.

And so, even if I’m forcing it, even if I’m faking it, even if I’m Ouija Boarding it, I do my best to show up.

Most of the time, that’s all that matters.

To close, there are two additional good things about showing up.

The first good thing about showing up is that it helps you deal with fear. The fear doesn’t go away, but when you’ve made up your mind to show up no matter what, you start to care less about whether people will hate or love what you make (because sometimes, even you don’t love what you make).

When you’re just focused on sending something out, on pressing the Publish button every week, you realize the only thing stopping you from doing that is you. It’s not the haters, or the naysayers, or the people-who-follow-you-on-Instagram-who-you-never-interact-with-but-you-would-like-to-impress-them. It’s just you.

The second good thing about showing up is that it applies to almost everything in your life. When I was playing badmintom regularly, there would be a ton of mornings where I felt too lazy to get up. Sometimes I’d tell myself to just go to the court, and then if I didn’t want to, I could just go home. 80% of the time, I would end up actually going out into the court. Showing up is half of the battle — sometimes it’s the most difficult part. And this applies to a ton of stuff outside of writing and playing badminton.

Don’t feel like working out? Show up to the gym, then go home if you want.

Don’t feel like you’re being a good friend? Just show up for them when you can and do your best.

Don’t feel like you’re being productive? Just show up to work and try to make it to the end of the day.

You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be the best. At least try to show up. Try to be present. Try to be there when someone needs it the most. Try to make something from nothing. Most of it will be crap, most of it will be forgettable. Doesn’t matter, just keep showing up.

I’ll leave you with one final quote, from Stab Magazine: “Extraordinary accomplishments come from doing ordinary things for extraordinary periods of time.”

Show up. Do your best. Then show up the next day. Repeat.

[xxeeyy]

A good decade ago. Early May, Wednesday afternoon. A rainy and overcast morning. Day off work, I slept in, dreaming dreams with events I couldn't remember or make sense of, but left a feeling I carried with me through the day. I was startled out of bed in the afternoon, hearing Len (my roommate at the time) coming home, loudly announcing he had eaten some things "that will begin to alter my perception of reality," and as such felt it would be good to focus on a story or narrative like a movie or something and could I PLEASE come down and watch one with him.

The only thing I had to offer at the time were some DVDs from the library. I tried putting on A Taste of Honey, but the disc was kinda scratched and kept skipping, right at the beginning. It wasn't great for Len's "perception of reality" so I suggested Atanarjuat, or, Y tu mamá también, which I hadn't seen yet, but he said he didn't think he could handle subtitles at the moment. Then he started saying "The clocks! Clocks! Tick, tock!" and ran to the other room and back, saying "My friend burned me this DVD, I have not seen it in years, I want to watch this film! Haven't had the time! But I have the time! I have the time now! Tick tock!"

And we put it on and he proceeded to explain the symbolism as every scene unfolded. Sometimes I got annoyed with Len as a roommate because he talked so much through the movies we watched, but I think if I hadn't had him outlining all the details and meaning crafted into the work, I might have found Goncharov kinda slow moving in places (despite the excellent acting), other parts kinda too violent (I get it now, what "every second counts" meant to Ice Pick Joe, but that was really was a gory scene), and I definitely would not have understood the significance of Andrey using the Russian slang in contrast to the Neopolitan slang.

About halfway through, I was thinking about how I was spending my afternoon watching this film- and then I realised why Ice Pick Joe was repeating "Tick, tock, tick, tock…" and about what it means to try to understand the reality of our limited time on earth. "Every second, Goncharov. Every second."

And then! That scene, when Sophia says "Coincidence?" and Katya replies, "Coincidences don't happen twice,"

Just then the punk band next door started playing in their driveway, just as Katya's theme began, and their music was in the exact same key.

The rest of the time we were roommates, Len kept quoting that scene whenever anything remotely coincidental happened.

I understand the unfortunate reasons Goncharov was not widely popular when it came out, and why for so many years it was difficult to get a copy. It's really interesting seeing how widely popular this film is now, though. It truly is the greatest mafia film ever made.

[mithliya]

https://traycakes.tumblr.com/post/695544490407198720/a-terf-on-twitter-insisted-that-trans-women-sneak

this post has more than 50k notes and it seems ridiculous. it‘s supposed to frame radical feminists as some sort of pornbrained freaks. anytime i’ve heard radfems refer to porn it has been in a critical way. what do you think?

this is so hilarious bc it’s all a bunch of projection.

“terfs are totally saying that one day you’ll be able to totally change your sex and replace women and get a womb and-”

yet it’s trans women arguing they’ll soon get uterus transplants, taking hormones to produce fake milk to breastfeed with, and constantly argue that that’ll totally be a reality one day while women question why on earth they keep arguing something practically impossible will totally happen within a few years, if ever.

“actually terfs are so obsessed with porn and have sexual fantasies about trans people bc they brought up how many are literally involved with sissy hypnosis fetish videos!!”

but.. a huge portion of AGPs who they’re now arguing are the exact same as trans women overall and not at all different ARE into those things and get so into it that they argue that it IS changing them. many downright claim that!! here’s a quote from a famous trans writer:

wait no maybe it’s an indication that i have this fetish if i notice many trans women are publicly identifying it as the start of their desire to transition tho??? apparently being into the fetish is a-ok and means nothing, but knowing of it means you totally are into it and spend hours watching sissy hypno porn daily. make it make sense

“a terf said trans women masturbate in the women’s bathrooms!!! it’s totally just from a hentai manga tho!!!”

remember that nasa employee that posted about being a trans woman who goes to the women’s bathrooms and masturbates there among NUMEROUS other examples? yeah knowing about that makes u a porn sicko apparently :/

(this person proceeded to share an 8 minutes long video masturbating in the women’s bathroom). i can’t find the NASA tweets but i remember it caused a shitstorm so if anyone wants to add em feel free to but.. lord the projection here is off the charts.

it’s amazing how every single example is just “terfs listen to what many trans women have said and done and then reiterate it & the statements are really extremely pornographically driven… therefore actually terfs are super pornsick themselves!” … if i said many men ive come across are into rape porn or sth would it mean im into rape porn??? like this is the kind of logic we’re working with here.

[this-is-ally-and-im-confused]

Another Carter Prompt?

Oh cool I was thinking the EXACT same thing.

Carter taking care of drunk gf, and gf doesn't recognize him and he literally has to shake her to say "I AM CARTER. YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT YOUR BF RN, THAT IS ME!"

go ahead and use that quote if you so wish lmfao

One to many vodka soda’s had given you the luxury of the inebriated state you were currently in. One isssue though, you couldn’t find you boyfriend. He was the one staying sober so he could drive you home from the NolPats reunion party. You didn’t want to make a scene because it was Nolan’s first time back in Philly after months.

However, this strawberry blonde, blue-eyed, 6’2 stranger closed in on you–you were getting nervous. You glanced around.

The guy proceeded to come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist. Oh boy, Carter was gonna be pissed. The guy even stole Carter’s cologne. The stranger mumbled that he would be right back. And he called you pumpkin! The name only Carter calls you. Damn, this wasn’t good.

Eventually, you bumped into Beezer and told him the situation. Although, he did stifle a laugh as he asked you to point out “the guy”.

As you did, Joel snorted. The brunette went to go and tell the stranger something. Hopefully to back off. The “stranger Carter double” came and approached you.

You yelled for him to back off and that you had a strong, tall, and handsome boyfriend. You even pulled off your stiletto to use as protection. To which he responded,

“I AM CARTER!!! THAT BOYFRIEND YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT IS ME, BABY.”

“Oh, sorry hun. I thought you were someone else.”

You heard laughs behind you to see Teeks and Nolan recording. Thank god, Carter went to take you home. Still, you’d be seeing that clip for the next few months.

[ms-starflower]

Young Survivors — Part 5 — Maribat

<Previous | First | Next > AO3

So. I had to fight with this chapter to write it. We had a couple of disagreements.

Thanks to @izanae and @jumpingjoy82, for reading over this and reassuring me when the only thing I wanted was to delete everything.

Still no Jason, tho, sorry guys. I was sure it would in this chapter but, apparently, Marinette is damn bent on meeting as many Batfam members as possible before Jason. And the chapter was getting really long, so I had to cut it.

Also, I wrote my first ever fight scene here. It’s short, and feels a little bit awkward, but it’s not all bad sooo... Mah.

Taglist:

@frieddonutsweets @imarivers8 @queenz-z @emistar0 @jayjayspixiepop @waffleyunsure @bigpicklebananatree @kking13 @redbullgivescaswings @ritacrow-blog @marvel--unsolved @redgemsposts @alexizlazy @toodaloo-kangaroo @gajer-1226 @adrestar @noisydeputyturkeybear @unoriginalmess

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gotham Academy was as Marinette remembered it to be. Well, the front yard was, at the very least.

The class was in the gymnasium, trying to socialize with the GA’s students, while their teachers were talking on the side about today’s proceedings.

They were there for less than twenty minutes, and Lila had already stopped three of her friends’ attempts to talk about Wayne.

Marinette found that way more amusing than she should, and Lila obviously knew it. She was glaring at her like it was her fault that her story was about to become ashes.

It’s not like Marinette was the one to propose Gotham in the first place, was it?

“Why Gotham?” A GA’s student asked loudly, looking around him with curiosity, and getting everyone’s attention in the process. “I mean, it’s really not the first city I think of for a graduation trip. It’s Gotham.”

“I was overruled,” Marinette muttered quietly, but in the silence, everyone heard and turned toward her curiously. She shrugged. “What, he is not wrong. I proposed Rome and London, but those morons wanted Gotham. They really think the city is ‘not that bad’, and it’s a quote.”

A couple of GA’s students snorted, looking at her classmates incredulously.

“Wait,” the guy that asked the question said, holding one of his hands up. “You chose Gotham over London or Rome. What the hell guys? Why?!”

“We did it for love!” Sarah, one of Lila’s friends and a romantic at heart, exclaimed with a bright grin, totally obvious of the panic she was making Lila feel. “A couple of years ago—”

“You grew up here in Gotham, didn’t you, Marinette?” Lila cut in, almost screaming over Sarah with a wide, falsely curious smile. She skillfully ignored the curious, and incredulous, looks people were giving her because of her non-sequitur. “I mean, maybe you prefer to go by Mei, now? I heard it was your real name?”

“It is the name that was given to me at birth, yes,” she said, turning around to look at Lila and ignoring the curious stares everyone was now giving her. “But you really don’t have to bother, Lila. Tom and Sabine chose Marinette, and I’m fine to go by that.”

“So, what advice do you have for surviving Gotham,” Lila continued as if she didn’t say anything, and Marinette wondered if she was the only one seeing the anger and contempt in her eyes. “I mean, as a street rat, you did grow up in the middle of Gotham’s criminals, you probably know a couple of helpful pieces of advice, don’t you?”

“Well, it was eight years ago, Lila, I don’t think any tips I give you would be really helpful today,” she started with a strained smile. “And I would really appreciate it if you would refrain from saying things like ‘street rat’, please.”

“Why? Isn’t it what we call people living in the street here?” Lila asked with fake confusion, trying to play innocent. “I mean, that’s what you were, living in the street–”

“Surviving,” Marinette hissed at Lila, eyes narrowed and hands clenched into fists at her side. “I survived life in Gotham’s street, Lila. And I would kill you before letting you insult any of the children doing the exact same thing! You don’t know anything about my childhood–”

“I know that you mother was a whore,” Lila said, her disdain badly hidden, and Marinette could see that a good part of her class were now looking at her with wide eyes. “And that you choose to live on the streets.”

“Wow, illuminating. Do you think I’m the only Gotham’s orphan with a mother who was a prostitute, Lila? Do you think I’m ashamed of her?” Marinette asked with a disbelieving laugh, before putting one hand in front of her mouth, ignoring the deafening silence and the staring. “And living in the streets was a hundred time better than living in an orphanage in this city, ten years ago. Well, at least if you wanted to survive.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Alya started, trying to stand up for her friend.

“Oh, it was,” Marinette cut in, not wanting to listen to her half-assed argument. “What the Waynes, the three not corrupted cops of this city, and Batman did in ten years is astonishing, Alya. Just ask around you, Gotham is better than it was three months ago, let alone ten years.”

Alya looked around her with uncertainty, but didn’t open her mouth. Marinette sighed tiredly, letting all of the tension in her shoulder go.

“So,” a girl with blonde hair and red dyed tips, standing with a blond guy a couple of meters to Lila’s left, asked her with a thoughtful look at Marinette’s dress. “The embroidery…”

“Is for my mother,” Marinette finished, chin held up and with a bit of challenge in her tone.

She was going to go pay homage to her mother today, and she was wearing a replica she made of her mother’s favorite dress for the occasion; a vintage halter blue dress with white accents and a white bow around the waist.

The only difference with the original dress, and what the girl was talking about, was the black embroidery in the corset of the dress of a blooming camellia.

“I wondered, when I first saw it,” she said with a short nod. “I’m Ashley, by the way, sorry for your mother.”

“Thank you, Ashley,” Marinette only said, giving her a nod of her own in reply.

“Why?” Alya asked curiously, because she didn’t know how to mind her own business, apparently. Beside her, Lila grimaced at being the center of attention again. “Why are you sorry for her mother? What is so important about some black flower?”

“Tt. Do French people have any notion of privacy?” a black haired guy asked, from his place on the bench, looking at Alya and Lila with clear disdain. His eyes looked toward her, probably to assess her reaction, before looking back to Alya and rolling his eyes when he saw her open her mouth. “Black camellia are usually embroided in clothes to commemorate prostitutes that were murdered, and of which the murderer was not caught.”

“All of them,” the blond beside Ashley said with an eyebrow raised. “Said it like it is, Wayne, the GCPD don’t go around eluciding prostit—”

“Wayne?!” Alya exclaimed in a high pitched tone, somewhat echoing Marinette’s own thoughts, and getting the undivided attention from the classroom.

Though, now that she knew, Marinette could see it. His hair was styled differently, and coupled with the uniform, he was somehow different from the couple photo she saw on social media (when the filter she put on to block anything Gotham-or-Wayne-related failed her), but it was Damian Wayne.

Marinette had the feeling things were going to become a lot more interesting, all of the sudden.

“Yes?” he asked, and she really wanted to know how he could put this much disdain in one word. It was impressive.

“I— Uh, it’s just—” Alya paused, looking around her with a frown. She stared at Lila for a minute, but the girl only ignored her, gaze fixed on her nails. “Nothing, I was just surprised.”

“You are an awful liar,” he told her, matter of factly, like he didn’t just insult her. Alya spluttered, affront written across her face, and Marinette snorted quietly.

“How— What— How dare you? You can’t just—” she choked out, her face redder than a tomato.

“I fail to see what I said to cause such a reaction,” Damian told her, standing up from the bench, and the best part was that he looked sincerely confused. “Your excuse is subpar, and you didn’t even pull it off with halfway decent lying skills.”

All of her classmates were looking at him with shocked expressions, but the GA’s students weren’t really surprised, making her think that it was somewhat of a frequent situation.

“People tend to react badly when called liars to their face,” Marinette told him, her amusement clearly noticeable. She couldn’t help but look toward Lila as she said it, the girl only glaring when their eyes crossed.

“What should I have done? Letting her think that I believed her pitiful excuse of a lie?” Damian asked her, his eyes narrowed with disbelief, studying Alya like she was a particularly exotic insect.

Marinette was prevented from answering by the GA’s teacher clapping into his hand. Mlle Petit and Mr Marchand were standing at his right, and another GA teacher at his left.

“Alright children, my name is Mr Andrews,” he started with a beaming smile, looking over all of them. “And today we are going to play a little game. You will be put in pairs, and we want you to get to know each other until we make you change partners, like on a blind date. But, you have to speak exclusively in English, until we signal for you to switch to French only. No cheating, alright?”

Everyone agreed more or less enthusiastically, and he started to call out names, the other teachers making the students sit in front of each other, each pairs a couple of meters beside the other.

The first couple of discussions were very awkward for Marinette, the GA students were either trying to awkwardly, and very obviously, talk around her mother, or had an uncomfortable view on her childhood. That they very enthusiastically shared with her.

One girl even had the gall to tell her that she was lucky her mother was dead, or she would probably be a prostitute herself now. Marinette would have punched her, if the teacher hadn’t made them change partners at that moment.

“So, this girl doesn’t seem to like you very much,” Ashley said once she was sitting in front of Marinette, her eyes darting toward Lila.

“Seriously,” Marinette started in a deadpan. “What gave it away?”

“I like you,” she said with a smile. “But seriously, why did she expose your life like that? What's her problem?”

“She thinks I’m responsible for all the problems in her life,” Marinette said with a roll of her eyes.

“And are you?” Ashley asked, a bright grin stretching her lips.

“Only a couple, I swear,” Marinette said with a mischievous smile. “And she really had it coming.”

“What did you do?” Ashley asked, leaning forward, one of her eyebrows raised.

“Well,” Marinette said, holding her hands up to point at their surroundings. “I organized this trip.”

“Does she hate Gotham that much?”

“She has nothing against Gotham per se, more about–”

“Okay!” Mlle Petit cut in, talking in French. “I don’t want to hear anything but French now!”

“So, what does she hate about Gotham?” Ashley asked in an accented French just a little bit broken.

“Oh, good French!” Marinette told her with a smile. “And, honestly, you’re probably going to know sooner rather than later, I wouldn’t want to spoil the show.”

“You can’t flaunt a good story and then keep silent, it’s not fair.”

“I assure you, it would be better for you to hear about it from someone else,” Marinette told her with a smile. Ashley stared at her in silence for a minute, probably trying to gauge her sincerity, before sighing, her shoulder deflating.

“Give something, at the very least,” she said, looking at her with sad puppy eyes. “Please?”

“Just keep an eye on Wayne,” she finally said with a small smile.

“What does Wayne have to do with anything?” Ashley asked with a frown, before her eyes widened suddenly. “Is she one of those? I mean, usually it concerns his older brothers but—”

“Alright! Gotham’s students, move to the right!” Mr Andrews said with a smile, and Marinette only smiled at Ashley’s pout.

There were another couple of students, even some that were genuinely nice and funny, and then Marinette was face to face with Damian Wayne.

“Why are all of your classmates asking about my alleged ex-girlfriend?” Damian Wayne started as soon as he was sitting in front of her. Marinette only blinked, taken aback by the question and his sharp tone. He seemed to notice, because he closed his eyes with a sigh, before continuing with a scowl. “You seem less stupid than the great majority of your classmates, I was…hoping you had the answers to my questions.”

“Okay, right. That was the most roundabout compliment I ever received, and I grew up with Chloé Bourgeois,” Marinette said, looking at him with an amused smile. “But no matter, ask away, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” he replied, his scowl deepening.

“You definitely are,” she told him, and it was true. It wasn’t as noticeable in pictures, but from this close she could see how young he really was. She couldn’t help but wonder how her classmates didn’t notice already.

“Whatever,” he said with the tone of someone who had an older sibling, and knew how to identify a lost battle. (The casual thought of Jason only hurt a little bit.) “Why do your classmates think that I have an ex-girlfriend that they know personally?”

“Because someone they know personally told them she was your ex,” she said, still trying to stay out of the situation as much as possible, but not willing to lie.

“It’s this Rossi girl, isn’t it,” he said with an almost scary scowl, probably aiming for a questioning tone, but missing it spectacularly.

“What?” She was genuinely surprised, how in hell did he guess that? “What makes you say that?”

“Father and Drake told me to be wary of her and her lying,” Wayne said, making Marinette open her mouth in surprise. Mr Wayne knew about Lila’s lies? Tim knew? How? “Altough, I didn’t think all of your classmates would be stupid enough to believe her.”

“Yeah, they are not the sharpest tools in the toolbox, I will give you that,” Marinette said with a wince. “I stopped caring about making people see her lies a while back, if I’m being honest.”

“I fail to see how that would be your responsibility,” he told her, and while he had a point, it was something she took so long to understand, the fact that he said it so matter of factly was somewhat insulting.

“Yeah, it took me a while to get it, though,” she just said, shrugging.

“In French now, kids!” Mlle Petit exclaimed with a handclap.

“How did she associate herself with the Wayne name, exactly?” Damian said, in perfect and still botherline snobbish French.

She internally repeated his sentence with a slow blink, wondering where this kid learned to talk French. After a second, she shook her head to clear her thoughts; rich people would simply never cease to amaze her.

“Nothing more than saying that she was your childhood friend, and that you became more than friends two years ago,” Marinette said quietly, not wanting her classmates to hear her.

“I don’t have childhood friends,” Wayne said with a sneer, his eyes moving toward where Lila was staring at them, before looking back at Marinette with a frown. “Wait, two years ago?”

Before Marinette could say anything more, someone laughing hysterically grabbed everyone's attention. She turned toward the sound to see Ashley, lying down on the gym floor, almost choking on her laughter.

The fact that she was talking to Jeremy-the-class-gossip, who was looking absolutely flabbergasted, probably meant that she was now aware of Lila’s story about Wayne.

“Miss Lewis, I am glad to see that you get along so well with your partner,” the GA’s teacher, the one who didn’t introduce himself earlier, started with an indulgent smile on his face. “But maybe try to keep your volume down, so as to not bother the rest of the students.”

“Yeah— Yes,” she choked out, her laughter dying down slowly. “Sorry Mr Seabrook, I won’t do it again.”

“Good,” Mr Seabrook said with a quick nod, before turning toward the rest of the students, who were still all looking toward Ashley and Jeremy with curiosity. “Get back to work, everyone!”

“Two years ago,” Wayne said again, still shooting looks toward Ashley.

“Yeah,” she said with a grimace. “In all…fairness, she didn’t know you were thirteen at the time.”

“That doesn’t really make it better,” he told her, unimpressed.

“I know,” she said with a small smile, just before Mr Andrews made them change partners again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Being in Gotham for almost two whole days without being caught in an attack, Rogue or otherwise, had literally been a miracle. Marinette honestly didn’t expect it. It was more than she had asked for.

She was totally filing a complaint to the Rich Parents Club, though, because, despite her time pickpocketing GA’s students in her youth, she had genuinely thought that Gotham Academy actually had some sort of security.

Honestly, she had been betting on the museum, tomorrow, for their first attack in Gotham. And praying for a run-of-the-mill mafia boss or some wannabe-Catwoman.

Obviously, she had known it was too much to ask for. She had.

But, for fuck’s sake, did they had to be attacked by the fashion disaster of Gotham? She gets the enigma-riddles aesthetic; with the question marks, and all that crap, she really did, but that shade of green? That was inexcusable. There was no apology on earth, or beyond, strong enough to excuse the use of that shade.

“When I heard about Frenchies in our good ol’ Gotham,” The Riddler started, a frankly disturbing smirk on his lips, his question mark cane-staff-whatever twirling in his hand. “I had to come say bonjour, you understand. I even brushed off on my French! Am I not such a considerate man?”

Marinette gritted her teeth to keep herself silent, feeling like she was just about to snap. This trip was hitting her nerves way harder than she had anticipated.

She saw Alya make a move to grab her phone, and stared at her with the harshest glare Hyppolyta teached her. And, thankfully, the girl did have some survival instinct and aborted the movement.

“I will need a volunteer for the next part of the show,” he said with a large motion of the arms, pointing toward the thing his goons were installing with his cane. Marinette didn’t like the look of that. “I even promise to let them live! If they answer the question correctly, of course.”

He turned toward one of his goons with a nasal laugh, like he just did the best joke of the decade. The man, wearing weird purple underwear over some sort of catsuit in this awful shade of green, forced out a laugh at his boss’ ‘joke’. It was painfully obvious that his laugh was everything but sincere. Nygma huffed, before turning back toward his hostages.

“Well, I’m waiting,” he said, when nobody spontaneously volunteered. He made a motion with his cane and the four goons that weren’t busy with the machine-thing pointed their guns back on the hostages. “Tell you what, if I don’t have a volunteer in thirty seconds, I will shoot three people.”

Marinette internally cursed her time as Ladybug, her soft soul, Gotham in general, and the fact that Damian Fucking Wayne was opening his damn mouth. She cursed The Riddler’s fashion sense too, for good measure. Or lack of, in this case.

“I volunteer,” she said, before The Riddler could realize that he had a prime hostage specimen just under his nose. She was not about to let one of Bruce Wayne goddamn children put himself into the limelight, thank you very much.

“Ha! Wonderful!” He exclaimed with a twirl of his cane. Marinette could see the scowl Wayne threw her way, but skillfully ignored it. “Take a seat, dear.”

Swallowing, but keeping her chin up, Marinette walked to the complicated-looking chair he pointed her to. Once seated, she looked up at the box-thing that was suspended above her, her heart speeding a little bit at what she saw.

There was a trap door. It was closed, but something was leaking out. Something slimy and green – somehow, the same awful shade as Nygma’s suit. What the hell? What sort of obsession Nygma had with this color?! It couldn’t be healthy.

Well, neither was his obsession with death traps and riddles, but whatever. This green was almost worst, alright?

A drop of the thing fell toward her, and Marinette moved her hand just in time for the substance to hit the arm of the chair.

And eat through it.

Marinette looked up with the slimmest start of panic, only to find herself face to face with Nygma's smug look. It felt deliberate.

With how it fell just when she sat down? It couldn’t not be deliberate, calculated.

Despite how long it’s been, Marinette forced herself into Ladybug’s mindset. She took a deep breath, forcing down the panic and squared her shoulder. Nygma tilted his head slightly, obviously curious of her sudden change, before a gleeful, and frankly disturbing, smile stretched his lips.

“Oh, I can tell that you are going to be a fun one!” He exclaimed with a hysterical laugh, clapping his hands around his cane. “So, in honor of our French guest, I will start with a riddle dans la langue de Molière! Riddle me this! You can find me two times in the year.”

He said it in almost perfect French, a sadistically joyful gleam in his eyes that made Marinette pause. Why— Oh.

Oh.

He didn’t know she was one of the ‘French guests’.

She had felt cold during lunch, and Ashley lended her her uniform’s jacket. Marinette was still wearing it, and despite the fact that her dress’ skirt was the wrong color, if you don’t really pay attention to details like color scheme — something that The Riddler very obviously doesn’t do — she could pass for a Gotham Academy’s student.

He thought that he had her trapped.

It was going to be fun, indeed.

“You can find me one time in the week,” he continued, oblivious of her realization, still in an almost perfect French. “But you can’t find me on the day, what am I?”

“So,” Marinette started slowly, a small smile taking over her lips, making Nygma narrow his eyes with suspicion. “Deux fois dans l’année, une fois dans la semaine, mais pas dans le jour? It’s the letter N.”

“Good, good,” he said without the cheerfulness he had earlier, his eyes focusing down at her clothes, before looking toward another GA’s female student. His lips thinned when he noticed the difference, before stretching into another smile. “Another one! Since she is so good at it!”

He turned around, addressing the last sentence to his hostages. Marinette used the distraction of Nygma and his goons to glare at Wayne, who was making his way toward one of the armed goons, trying to make him telepatically understand to abandon whatever his dumb plan was.

He ignored her with almost as much skill as she had ignored him.

“Riddle me this! What can be used to sit,” Nygma said in English, probably hoping that she wasn’t overly fluent. “to sleep, and to brush your teeth?”

Marinette frowned at this one, not thrown off by the language but by the riddle itself. What the hell?

“I don’t have all day, little miss,” he said, his smile back on. “I will need a reply, or I will have to push this button here.”

Twirling his cane in an over dramatic move, he moved the question mark aside to display a red — obviously — button.

“A chair!” She blurted out, in English, and the way Nygma froze ever so slightly kept her going. “A bed, and a toothbrush.”

“How surprising. I like you,” he said with narrowed eyes, and a terrifying — if Marinette hadn’t been in Ladybug mode, at least — smirk. “Another one for the Frenchies!

“Riddle me this!” He exclaimed, pointing dramatically at her with his staff. “What is higher than the Tour Eiffel, but infinitely lighter?”

“Its shadow,” she replied without even blinking, the reply almost automatic. And maybe that’s why her next words flew out of her mouth — or, more probably, her survival instinct just took its vacation days. “You should try better ones, I’ve resolved this one in middle school.”

Nygma’s hand tightened around his staff, his thumb twitching, his lips thinning.

“Alright, alright, who am I to disappoint my crowd,” he said between his teeth, taking a menacing step toward her. “Riddle me this! The more you add, the lighter it is; what is it?”

“The more the lighter?” She repeated, distracted by someone discreetly getting in with one of the high windows behind Nygma. She almost let her surprise show when she realised it was Signal, but stopped herself just in time. She needed to distract the man, and there was no better distraction than anger. She huffed with fake derision, making his eyes narrow. “Holes. And here they said you were good with riddles.”

She could hear a couple of GA’s students gasp in shock, and she could see Wayne facepalm on the edge of her vision. Which was rich coming from him, seeing as he was reading himself for jumping a goon with a freaking gun.

“Careful, little girl, you wouldn’t want to outgrow your amusing value,” Nygma said slowly, before tightening his lips in thought. They were whitening from the pressure he was putting on them. “Alright. Riddle me this! If you ask me a question, I always say the truth, but can only reply with ‘yes’ or ‘no’. What question can you ask to keep me silent or making me lie?”

“That’s it? That’s your ‘hard’ riddle?” Marinette asked with a scoff and fake disbelief, internally thanking the kwamii, her Mom, and Jason for looking over her. She wouldn’t have the answer if her papa hadn’t had his riddle phase a year ago. This one stuck with her, for some reason. The phrasing was different, of course, but probably only because of the fact that she heard it in French before.

“Is this your answer?” Nygma asked, slamming down the bottom of his cane on the floor.

“No. My answer is; I ask you ‘Are you going to answer to this question with ‘No’?’” Marinette said with a falsely polite smile. She could see that Signal had caught on what she was doing, somehow, and gave her a thumb up to tell her he was ready. Probably. Maybe. She hoped, at least. Wayne — despite how dumb she thought his plan was — was also in place to take down his goon. She took a deep breath. “So, since your riddles are not that challenging, what about I give you one? Is that okay?”

“You— What?” Nygma said, blinking in surprise. He apparently decided to ignore my insult toward his riddle skills, because he just huffed incredulously. “Well, you can try to challenge me, of course!”

“This both describe a gorgeous person, and an excellent punch,” Marinette said with one corner of her mouth up in a smile, her muscles tensing in preparation.

“This?! You think this is challenging?!” Nygma said with incredulity, throwing his head back with a hysterical laugh. “A knockout, girl!”

“No, you misunderstood,” Marinette said slowly, making Nygma stop and all his goons stare at them with horror. Well, the distraction was a success.

“Wha—” She sprung at him before he could even finish, punching him quicker than he could stop, holding back only the slightest bit of the strength wearing the earrings for so long gave her.

“I was talking about your knockout, loser,” she told Nygma’s unconscious body, before kicking him again, purely for her personal satisfaction.

Before the goons could even get over their shock, Signal took out three of the gun-carrying goons, and Wayne — somehow — took out the last one. There were four other goons, the ones that had been busy with the chair-from-hell’s installation, and two of them sprinted at her with the intent to hurt.

But they didn’t take their guns out, the morons.

She saw the other two engaging Signal, and noticed Wayne — the stupid kid — make a move toward her, probably thinking it would help. Thankfully, for Marinette, not for the poor kid, Lila used this opportunity to latch onto him. This girl’s priorities would never not astonish Marinette.

She crouched low to avoid a punch, making goon number one — Liam, he had a Liam’s head — punch goon number 2’s — this one’s gonna be a Charlie — shoulder. Leaning back on her hand, she threw her leg out to trip up Charlie, who only jumped back to avoid it.

Liam tried to kick her, but she grabbed his leg and pulled at it, making him trip. She let go quickly, before he could use it as leverage, barely ducking under Charlie’s punch. Rolling to get back up, she kicked Liam in the face before he could get back up, making him see dark.

Only to be crowded by Charlie, who grabbed both of her arms. She saw Signal coming toward her, his goons probably already out, but took care of Charlie with a kick just there, before he could reach her.

Grabbing his crotch with both hands, Charlie let out a pained whimper before falling on his knees. Marinette smiled when she saw Signal wince, rolling her eyes and knocking Charlie out.

“Well,” Signal said in the gym’s silence, looking down at The Riddler. He then put one hand on his ear, and Marinette recognized the gesture as turning on a comm. “Tell the cops they can come in, the situation is clear.”

He walked toward Nygma as soon as he finished, taking out zip cuffs from his utility belt. Marinette smiled at him, before quickly walking toward where she had seen Ashley last.

She ignored the way everyone was staring at her.

“I’m so sorry about your jacket,” she started as soon as she found Ashley, grabbing the sleeve where Charlie had so rudely bled and showing her.

“What?” Ashley asked, staring at her with wide eyes.

“I put blood on it, and I know how much of a bitch it is to wash when it dries. I promise, I will pay for the cleaning or replacement!” Marinette said, just as the door of the gym burst open, and a bunch of cops entered the place.

One cop wearing glasses and a trenchcoat, somewhat vaguely familiar to Marinette, walked directly to Signal and Nygma’s unconscious body, two uniformed cops in tow. He talked with Signal for a second while the uniformed cops took Nygma, before they both turned to look in her general direction.

Marinette didn’t like where this was going. Eight years away from Gotham did nothing to curb her aversion to cops. She didn’t have to work with cops, as Ladybug, and had been massively grateful for that. And she didn’t want to add her cops-related anxiety to her already overfilled plate, thank you very much.

Her hopes were dashed when Trenchcoat called out to a cop talking to the teachers, talked to him for a moment, and sent him her way. She closed her eyes, letting go of Ladybug’s mindset with a breath — no way the tone she would take with him as Ladybug would fly with a GCPD’s cop.

“Miss?” The man asked her, somewhat politely, but with a dash of incredulous disdain in his tone. She opened her eyes just in time to see him looking her up and down, and obviously finding her lacking. Well, it seemed like the tone of this discussion had been set. “The commissioner asked me to take your statement, so if you could tell me what happened?”

“Of course, Officer,” she said with a polite smile faker than Lila’s stories, only to rile him up.

With how disdainfully he said the word ‘statement’, as if such a task was beneath him, there was no way the guy was an officer. Though, she would wager that his promotion was a very recent affair.

“Sergeant,” he corrected her with a strained smile, his grip tightening around his pen. Bingo. “Sergeant Brinley.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said with a slight chuckle, not actually calling him sergeant though. “You want to know what happened, right?”

“Yes, please. In as much detail as you can.”

“Well, The Riddler burst through the door of the gymnasium just after we came back from lunch. Lunch ending at 1:30pm, I would say it was twenty to two when it happened?” She said slowly, watching as he wrote that down. “There were goons, guns, and threats. My faith in fashion was threatened with green, The Riddler, surprisingly, asked some riddles, Signal came to save the day, punches were traded, and then you bursted through the doors.”

Brinley looked taken aback, probably not anticipating the abrupt change in her tone. He blinked, and she could see him go through everything she said again.

She had said a lot of things quickly, but, fundamentally, nothing of value or that he didn’t already know. It was a skill hard-earned in the streets, when she was seven, and one she was particularly proud of. (Jason taught her how to do it.)

“I will need more details for the statement, miss,” Brinley told her, tapping his pen against his notepad almost violently.

“What more details could I give you?” She asked with fake disbelief, watching a vein in his temple pop out.

“Tell me more about when the Riddler came in,” he said after a calming breath.

“Well, you wouldn’t believe it,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “But he walked through the door, and suddenly, he was there.”

“Miss, don’t force me to arrest you,” he replied, eyes narrowed.

“For what? Giving you a statement?” She said with a raised eyebrow. “I’m telling what happened in ‘as much detail as I can’. Nothing I said was a lie, was it?”

“What about the riddles?” He spat out, knowing that she was right.

“He asked a couple of those, some were even good,” she told him with a sunny smile, and he closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

“Who answered them?”

“Someone.”

“Miss—” He started in a hiss, only to be cut out by a hand on his shoulder. They both looked toward the owner of the hand, only to see Trenchcoat standing there with an amused smile, Signal a couple of steps behind him.

“It’s okay, Sergeant Brinley, I will take it from here,” he said with a soft voice, his amusement barely noticeable. Brinley’s shoulders sagged, in relief or defeat, Marinette wouldn’t know, and he sighed. “Why don’t you go back to help Braxton with the teachers?”

“Alright Commissioner, thank you.”

The three of them watched Brinley make his way toward the teachers, where they were talking to a woman, probably Braxton, in silence. Then Trenchcoat and Signal turned to look at Marinette, studying her for a moment.

“I’m commissioner Gordon, nice to meet you, miss,” he said, emphasizing just slightly the ‘miss’ to push her to introduce herself. And she suddenly realized that Brinley didn’t even ask for her name. What incompetence.

“Dupain-Cheng,” she said slowly, his name and slightly familiar air making her brain works overtime. Until it suddenly came back to her, the memory hitting her almost violently. “You’re James Gordon!”

“Yes? Do we know each other?” Gordon asked with a curious expression, the man was probably used to this sort of reaction, though. Signal was also looking between them, obviously curious.

“No. No, we never met,” she said slowly, still reeling from her realisation. “I saw you in the paper.”

Camellia Street was well known for its distrust of cops, it was far from being a secret. Her mom and all her coworkers would constantly warn the Camellia’s kids against them. But she could remember, almost vividly, of one glaring exception.

Over ten years ago, the Gotham’s Gazette made their frontpage about James Gordon, with his picture and everything — Marinette was even sure he had already been wearing a trenchcoat at the time. She couldn’t remember why, but she thought it was about a bunch of dirty cops he arrested.

This particular paper made the rounds in the Camellia for weeks afterward. And the Camellia people started to talk, between each other, about what Gordon did for them, how he helped some, and arrested others.

Marinette could remember her Mom, one finger pointed at Gordon’s face on the paper, talking with one of her friends and coworkers. “This man is probably the only cop in all of the GCPD I would ever talk to,” she had said, tapping the paper to emphasize her words.

“Alright, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” Gordon said, obviously realising that there was more she wasn’t saying. “I couldn’t help but notice that you weren’t really helpful with Sergeant Brinley.”

“I don’t have the best track record with the police force, Commissioner Gordon,” she said with a little smile, making his eyebrows lift in surprise.

“Will I find a criminal record for you, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he joked, but she genuinely paused, frowning slightly.

“Honestly,” she started thoughtfully. “I have no idea.”

“How can you not know if you have a record?” Signal asked with disbelief.

“Listen, no offence,” she said, looking quickly at Gordon before turning her focus toward Signal. “But the GCPD, ten years ago, was petty enough to stick a record on an eight years old.”

“GCPD? You’re from Gotham,” Gordon said before Signal could say anything, she could see his eyes looking down quickly toward the mostly hidden black camellia on her dress, before looking back up at her. “That explains the weird accent.”

“I got that a lot this week,” Marinette said with a smile, somewhat amused that he didn’t mention her embroidery. She looked around, making sure that nobody was listening, before adding. “And, if you want to look up the record, you will need to look under Leyton.”

Saying her last name out loud was far from as weird as hearing people call her Mei. She got used to hearing Leyton used again, in the last four year, because of her commissions work, where she was known as Sandy Leyton.

As a way for her to honor both her Mom and Jason.

“Leyton,” Gordon said slowly, staring at her without blinking for a moment, his hands failing at his side. “Are you… Mei Leyton? Born on July 9th 2003 in Gotham General? To Margaret Leyton?”

“How—” She stammered out, taking a step back in surprise. “How do you know that?!”

“Kid, I thought you were dead,” Gordon sighed, taking off his glasses to pass a hand on his face. “I looked for you for years.”

“Why?” She asked incredulously, crossing back her arms in front of her protectively. “I was just another street kid that disappeared, one more or less, it didn’t matter. I was unimportant.”

“Not to Jason,” he said with a pained grimace, because he knew Jason was dead. Of course he knew. “He was at the station every week until… If Wayne didn’t keep him out, he would have camped in my office every day.”

“He did?” She asked with a wet chuckle, a small smile on her lips. She could see Signal go stiff with surprise, probably realising who they were talking about, but she paid him no mind. “He looked for me?”

“Of course he did, the kid loved you like a sister,” he told her softly, looking at her face carefully. “Can I ask what happened?”

“Human trafficking,” she said with a shrug. “They were caught in France, and the social service didn’t want to send me back to Gotham, so I was adopted by a couple of Parisians. Surprisingly, they weren’t really keen about letting me go back to Gotham, either.”

“I can see why they wouldn’t want to send you back, but they should have notified us,” Gordon said with a frown. Marinette winced slightly.

“Yeah, I think that’s my fault,” she said slowly. “I didn’t really give them my name, you know. No offence, but, cops. So, they didn’t really have much to go on, beside that I was from Gotham. And I wasn’t even the one to tell them that.”

Gordon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose just under his glasses, making them heft up. She had the feeling that Signal was staring at her, but it was hard to be sure with his helmet-like mask.

“I can’t even fault you for that,” Gordon finally said, passing his hand on his face, again. He looked at her for a moment, before adding softly. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she choked out, swallowing the lump in her throat. “So! You wanted to know what happened with The Riddler!”

Gordon looked at her with a knowing look, but he let it slide and got back on topic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Did you hear that?!” Duke, the Signal, hissed in his comm as soon as he was out of hearshot. “Did you hear that or am I turning fucking crazy?!”

“I heard it loud and clear,” Oracle said, her tone clearly astonished.

“Calm yourself, Thomas,” Damian hissed quietly, because of course the kid would have put on his earpiece at the first occasion.

“Calm myself? Calm myself?! Gordon just said that Jason loved her ‘like a sister’!” Duke replied with urgency. “Am I the only one who want to know who the fuck she is?!”

“I remember Mei,” Oracle said almost absently, and Duke could hear the sound of her keyboard in the background.

“You knew her?” Duke asked, jumping on his bike and heading for the Batcave.

“Oh, no, we never met,” Oracle replied lightly, almost too lightly. “I remember the search for Mei. B still has the file as an open case in the Batcomputer.”

“Does Todd know?” Damian asked, as curious as Duke, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

“No, of course not. Why would B tell him,” Oracle said, sarcasm dripping in loads from her voice. The sound of the keyboard stopped suddenly, before restarting quicker than previously. “Fuck. Why does Dupain-Cheng have a file on the Batcomputer?!”

“What?!” Duke exclaimed with wide eyes, almost stopping his bike. “Did he know? B, did he know that she was Mei?!”

Barbara stayed silent on the other side for a while, making the tension in Duke grow. If Bruce knew where Jason’s sister was, and didn’t tell him… It was going to be bad.

Very, very bad.

“No,” she said finally, and Duke could hear the relief he was feeling in her voice. Fuck, Duke knew Damian was probably relived. “Thank god, but no. Nothing in there even implies that Dupain-Cheng has any link with Mei Leyton. Which is weird for a couple of reasons, but mainly because I can’t see why Dupain-Cheng would have a file in the Batcomputer if not for that.”

“We need to talk with Bruce,” Duke said as he entered the passage to the Batcave. “And Jason.”

“Yes,” Oracle said firmly. “But we need to talk to Bruce before we talk with Jason.”

“School is cancelled because of the attack, I will be there in twenty minutes.”