#it's done! i'm posting it!

[theherosvillain]

6: I'm not laughing, you're not joking

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CWs: captivity, gun violence

I paced back and forth across the cell, trying to come up with a loophole—any way, no matter how imperfect, to get me out of this mess. Each time, I came up blank. Sure, I could try to escape, but in this condition, there was no guarantee I’d make it out of the building. Even if I did, Vale would send his henchmen after my friends. I wouldn’t be fast enough to protect them. I wouldn’t even be fast enough to warn them.

For the millionth time in the past few hours, I collapsed on the cot, dread churning in my stomach. The last time I felt this way was right after my mom got arrested. After the third time the League officials laughed me out of their office for saying she wasn’t a villain, I was lying in bed, planning on never getting up again. And then it hit me: I had powers, for fuck’s sake. If the League wouldn’t take Wren Argent seriously, then I’d make them deal with the Phantom Prince instead. I’d make them wish they never framed my mom. I’d make damn sure they never did it to anyone else, either. It wasn’t the best plan, but I had to do something.

And now my plan had come to a screeching halt, all because of Vale. Words couldn’t express how much I hated him for it. Punching him in the face wasn’t enough—although I was glad I’d gotten that split-second satisfaction before he made it clear that I could never hurt him again without facing serious consequences. What the fuck could I do that wouldn’t put my friends in danger? Nothing. There was nothing. I’d gotten myself into a huge mess, and there was no way out.

I hated myself for going after Amoret the other night. If I hadn’t done that, and if she hadn’t taken away my powers, I wouldn’t be here. I knew going after her was stupid and risky and might not pay off, but I had to. I had to track her down and get her confession—but the horrible irony was that none of it mattered anymore. Amoret confessed to framing my mother, but now there was nothing I could do about it.

I could never go home. I would never see my friends or family again, and I would never get my mom out of prison. I was stuck here, for the rest of my life, doing whatever Vale told me to do.

The door opened, and I scrambled to a sitting position, hissing at the pain in my ribs. Vale stood in the doorway, expressionless. “Come with me.”

That sense of dread and hatred still turned my stomach as he silently led me through the empty hallways, but my anxiety skyrocketed when we passed by the office and kept moving. I wanted to ask where the hell we were going, but for once, I thought better of making him angry. I was too exhausted and in too much pain to risk it.

My unease only grew when he pushed open the one exit door and led me upstairs. My heart pounded, but still, I bit my tongue. I tried to reassure myself that whatever was about to happen, it couldn’t be worse than the past few days. But, then again, I’d told myself that before, hadn’t I?

Even through the sleek upstairs hallways, Vale didn’t say a word, and my anxiety only grew. I startled when I heard other footsteps farther down the hall, and I expected to see a group of henchmen up ahead.

What I didn’t expect to see was Vale.

For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating, or seeing double. There was no way there were two of him. But the Vale down the hall—a conspicuous bruise gracing his jaw—stared at the one ahead of me like he’d seen a ghost. Then both Vales drew their guns, and the silence dissolved into chaos.

I flattened myself against the wall as the shots went off. I heard a cry of pain, something clattering to the ground, and my ears rang in the silence. The Vale down the hall lowered his gun as the one closest to me crumpled to his knees. Then, as I watched, the one on the ground began to shift—hair darkening and growing longer, the pressed business suit morphing into dark, form-fitting clothing. Suddenly, it wasn’t Vale anymore at all. It was Amoret.

Vale—the real Vale, the one with the bruise—holstered his gun and strode forward. “Vivienne,” he said coolly. “Just what do you think you’re doing here?”

She took a ragged breath, still kneeling on the ground. My face paled as I spotted blood on the tile. With her back turned to me, I couldn’t see where she’d been hit, but I got the horrible feeling I was about to watch her die. “You know why I’m here,” she replied, her voice laced with pain.

Vale snatched her abandoned gun off the ground, and the safety clicked on. “I hate to disappoint you, but you’re not taking Phantom anywhere.”

She lifted her head defiantly. “You have no right to keep him here,” she snarled. “Just because you’re his father doesn’t mean—”

The blood drained from my face. “What?”

They both went silent. Vale’s eyes flickered over to me. He didn’t look surprised—why didn’t he look surprised?

Amoret glanced at me before turning her accusing gaze toward Vale. “You didn’t even tell him.”

“It wasn’t relevant,” Vale said indifferently.

It felt like the ground had dropped out from under me. I put a hand on the wall to keep my balance, but it didn’t help with the sickening feeling growing in my gut. “I’m sorry, what?” I repeated. I stared at Amoret. “You didn’t tell me that!”

She twisted around, and I saw the bloody wound on her wrist, held close to her body. Her eyes were apologetic. “You said you didn’t want to know.”

I did say that, didn’t I? The other night, when she said something like oh, you have your father’s eyes and I rushed to stop her from telling me who he was. Knowing that she was my birth mother was bad enough; I didn’t need to know who my father was, either. I’d assumed it didn’t matter, that I probably hadn’t met him, anyway.

But now, as I looked up at Vale, it became sickeningly clear to me: his eyes a familiar shade of blue; his hair a little darker, streaked with gray, but very nearly the same light brown that mine was. It made me want to throw up. It made me wonder how I’d missed it, all these months. I looked like him—I looked a lot like him.

I wanted Vale to tell me, in that matter-of-fact tone of his, that she was lying—of course he wasn’t my father, that was ridiculous. Except haven’t they known each other since before you were born? my traitorous thoughts whispered. Doesn’t this kind of add up?

But Vale kept his eyes on Amoret, pinning her with a cold stare as she painstakingly rose to her feet. “I’m going to let you walk out of here today,” he murmured, “but if you try to interfere with Phantom again, I will kill you. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.” Her icy gaze matched his, but when she glanced over at me, her expression softened. “I’m sorry, Phantom.”

“For what?” My hands curled into fists, but even then, they still trembled. “For ruining my life, or for getting caught?”

She held my stare for a long moment, unflinching. But before she could respond, Vale’s hand landed on her shoulder. “I’ll see you out,” he said. “Phantom, go back downstairs. We’ll discuss this later.”

I didn’t want to discuss it. I wanted to go back in time to five minutes ago, when I didn’t have this revelation hanging over my head like a fucking guillotine. But I just nodded stiffly. Amoret tried to catch my eye, but I wouldn’t look at her. I couldn’t look at her, or him, without breaking out in a cold sweat. As quickly as I could, I skirted past them and headed back toward the basement.

~

“I want you to know,” Vale began, “that my being your father had no bearing on my decision to mentor you.”

I kept my eyes glued to the floor, my back against the wall. In my peripheral vision, I could only see his shoes, barely crossing the threshold of the cell. “Great,” I said, arms tightened across my chest. “That makes this so much better.”

He sighed, sounding annoyed. “Phantom—”

“How long have you known?” My head flicked up, but I quickly shifted my gaze just past him. I didn’t want to look him in the eyes. The memory of Vivienne’s voice echoed in my head (oh, you have your father’s eyes). I barely suppressed a wince.

His tone remained calm and collected, as usual. It pissed me off. My world was crashing down around me, and he was just as unruffled as ever. What did he think of this? “Since I last spoke with Vivienne,” he said.

“Then why—?” The question just slipped out, and I cut myself off. If he hadn’t known about this for any longer than I had, then why had he been harassing me for months? Why kidnap me at all?

For a moment, he was quiet. I slid my gaze back to the floor, heart pounding. “You need guidance,” he said. “You’re very powerful, but you’ll never reach your full potential without some direction.”

“I don’t want to reach my stupid potential!” I sounded like a petulant child, and at the moment, I felt like one, too. I wanted to stomp my foot, or maybe curl up into a ball and cry. I just wanted my mom back. That was the whole reason I became a villain. What was the point of anything if I couldn’t even do that?

“You don’t have a choice.” There wasn’t an ounce of threat in his tone; it was clipped, so damn reasonable. “Considering your lack of training, capture was inevitable. You should be grateful that I got to you before the Hero League did.” My jaw clenched; it felt like my molars were going to crack. The idea that he expected me to be grateful … somehow, I managed to keep myself from closing the distance between us and smacking that sensible look off his face. “There will always be someone more powerful seeking to take advantage of you,” he continued. “The only way to avoid it is to become so powerful that no one will dare to try it.”

My eyes narrowed, even as the logic clicked. I hated to admit that it made sense. I’d spent my whole life hiding my powers for that very reason—if the League got their hands on me, I’d never be free again. That was my main risk in becoming a villain: getting caught and forcibly transformed into one of the League’s heroes. At the same time, though … “And this plan of yours doesn’t involve you taking advantage of my powers?” Fucking hypocrite.

Vale shrugged. “Consider it a trade-off. Someday, you will be powerful enough to get your revenge, and no one will ever take advantage of you again. In the meantime, though, you have a lot to learn.”

I stared at him, an entire life seeming to unfold before my eyes: an adulthood free from my constant fear of the League. No more hiding, no more lying. Maybe I’d finally have enough sway to prove my mom’s innocence; I’d get her out of jail and back home. If I ignored all the caveats, it was exactly what I’d always wanted.

But I’d have to ignore a lot of caveats: working for Vale, following his orders, becoming whatever he wanted me to be … I couldn’t even picture myself doing it. I had very little idea of what Vale got up to with his businesses, and I’d never had any desire to find out, especially not first-hand. I couldn’t say that I thought it was a fair trade, that I would’ve done it if I had any other choice. I tilted my chin up, finally meeting Vale’s cool, indifferent gaze. “I’m not agreeing to this.”

Vale spread his hands, his expression saying that this was set in stone, that there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Like it was physically impossible for him to just step aside and let me walk out of here. “You don’t have to agree. As I said, you don’t have a choice.” He turned, then, and all I could do was stand there and stare at the closing door. “Think it through, Phantom. Your apprenticeship starts tomorrow.”

It wasn’t until after he left, and after I’d finally swallowed down the rage and dread building in me, that I realized we hadn’t discussed the whole father problem, not really. He’d just acted like it didn’t matter, and maybe that should’ve been a relief. After all, I didn’t want him to be my father, and I kind of had bigger problems than the existential dread of finding out that the two worst people I knew were my birth parents.

But as much as I didn’t want it to be true, I couldn’t un-know it, either. I always thought that knowing who my biological parents were wouldn’t change what I knew about myself. They were separate from me; they hadn’t even been a part of my life. But I’d also assumed that they’d be total strangers, not … them.

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Maybe it only had to matter as much as I made it matter. Vale and Amoret didn’t raise me, after all; Stella Argent did. I was still my mother’s child. I couldn’t get her out of prison—not for a long time, anyway, if I ever managed to do it—but at least I could hold onto that. I wasn’t Vale’s, or Amoret’s. I was hers.

-

Title credits: Boy Division - My Chemical Romance

Tag list: @toyybox (if you want to be added, just ask!)

[kiryuing]

[sardonicdoll]

wanted to do my photo project this semester on the notion of mobility aids being extensions of our bodies, the yarn was done by a friend

edit: the shibari comments are one thing but if you put these non-sexual photos of me in my wheelchair on your porn blog i'm blocking you 👍🏻

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The squad of all time has arrived on scene.

[emphistic]

"Why is the laundry still not done?"

Sukuna shrugged, continuing to mindlessly tap away on his phone. He was, without a doubt, playing one of those little games that he downloaded specifically for when he had no WiFi. Block Blast? You couldn't remember.

"I'll do it later," he began—his eyes still glued to his screen, "juste après que je te do."

For extra credit, your boyfriend, Sukuna, once took a French course during college, and now he spends most of his time saying short French phrases to you—on purpose, because he knows you won't be able to know if he's cursing you out, or just shamelessly flirting with you.

"You are such an ass," you groaned. "I reminded you this morning, before lunch, and after lunch; it's six in the afternoon, 'Kuna."

"Ma chérie, relax. It's not good to be so tense all the time," Sukuna teased, finally turning to face you. "Thankfully, I know a way to get rid of your stress."

"I wouldn't be fucking stressed in the first place if it weren't for your laziness, you little—wait. . . What's the French word for 'asshole'?"

"Meilleur et le plus beau petit ami du monde entier."

"That's . . . too many words." You crossed your arms over your chest, amused. "Clearly, you're bluffing."

"Or, clearly, I'm just a man in love," Sukuna said, a sultry look on his face, "—with his beautiful, amazing, smart, and did I mention, sexy, girlfriend. I'm just so moony-eyed these days, and my heart is just so full of you that I cannot even remember to do the laundry."

"Stop trying to seduce me, dickhead."

"Pfft, I am not seducing you; I am simply avouer mon amour to la lumière de ma vie."

You paused, whipping out your phone and doing a quick Google Translate, before saying,

"*Si tu n'arrêtes pas de parler français . . . je vais te mettre une baguette dans le cul."

"Merde," Sukuna gasped, in disbelief, before realizing his mistake. "Fuck. Baby, no, I meant—"

[zephyrchama]

Going to a restaurant with the cast of Obey Me! and the waiter asks, "is anyone in your party under 500? Beings who are five centuries and under eat for free."

The waiter glances at Luke as they say this but everyone immediately turns to you.

Mammon cracks up when the waiter brings over a high chair and you have to turn them down. Leviathan encourages you to at least take the booster seat so you can feel taller. Thirteen wheezes when they bring out the crayons and coloring mat, which you insist on sharing. You tell Diavolo not to get any funny ideas when the waiter bends down to speak with you at eye level. It's just standard protocol for this diner.

Mephistopheles doesn't understand the big deal. You're not even a century old yet, isn't this normal? Solomon, however, is trying not let his mini midlife crisis show. To Barbatos' delight, he's not getting the same treatment as you (despite also being human) and fears he might be starting to look his age.

Lucifer is visibly enjoying himself way too much and hasn't stopped sneering since you were handed a children's menu, which Beelzebub is excitedly cross-referencing with the adult menu that everyone else got. Raphael likes the little flag they stuck in your food. Luke is acting so smug and haughty that Simeon has to remind him to be humble.

Satan makes the unnecessary offer to cut your food into smaller bites because they only gave you a small plastic spork, while Asmodeus is busy snapping pictures of the chef's ketchup smiley face atop your dish. Belphegor warns you not to hurt yourself and asks if he should blow on your food, causing you to threaten him with the spork.

[iamanartichoke]

I don't know who needs to hear this, but as a creator -

I am fine with "the audience" -

downloading my fics

printing my fics

copy/pasting or screenshotting my fics

sharing your saved copy of my fics with anyone else who might want them in the unlikely but never impossible case that my fics are no longer available on ao3

making a book of my fic(s) and running your fingers across the pages while lovingly whispering my precioussss

doing these things with anything I create for fandom, such as meta, headcanons, au nonsense like 'texts from the brodinsons,' etc

I am not fine with "the audience"

doing any of the above with the purpose/intent of plagiarizing my work or passing it off as their own in any capacity

feeding my work into ai for any reason whatsoever

Save the fandom things. Preserve the fandom things. Respect the fandom things.

Enjoy the fandom things.

[lotus-pear]

learning to love

[that-stone-butch]

transphobic family members are one thing but it's so hard to deal with family that are convinced they're supportive but are bumbling, misinformed, or forgetful and will still misgender/deadname you nearly as frequently, but when you call them out or ask them to try harder all of a sudden you're the bad guy. i have heard some of the most fucked up shit from 'liberal' parents using the 'correct' terminology about trans people, where what they're actually saying is deeply fucked up. like my step mom excitedly telling me she saw 'an afab man' at the market and explaining how she could tell.

'i don't want to be in a room where i will be misgendered/deadnamed/deal with transphobia' applies even if it happens 'on accident' every single time you see someone. and it's a healthy boundary to set. but good g-d some people would rather kick and scream and cry than acknowledge that they're hurting you, even unintentionally.

[cbmagus49]

Hey guess what it's time for a big ol' Relativity screenshot edit sketchdump!!!!

[soldierkitten]

tilly the god au ep 1 (part 1 of 4 I think)

starting stuff / prev stuff / next stuff

[thekaiserroll]

Zosan comic inspired by videos of otters holding hands so they won't float away from each other.

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

Hot take maybe but I think Bertie would be FAR more likely to survive the first two months of Dracula than Jeeves would be. Bertie has a healthy sense of self-preservation. Jeeves consistently underestimates how dangerous a situation might get (Steeple Bumpleigh, the club book) because he’s overconfident about his level of control over any given situation. He'd handle Dracula masterfully if they faced off in England, but on Dracula's home turf? Much more doubtful.

I realize this might be a tough sell, so I will explain further (or it's not a tough sell, and I'm going to explain further because I want to). (criteria taken from @canyourfavesurvivecastledracula) Without further ado.

Would Jeeves and Wooster survive Castle Dracula?

Jeeves

Jeeves' survival will depend on how long Dracula finds him more entertaining than irritating. On that basis, I don't think he's long for this world. On the one hand, he has a huge wealth of knowledge about English society and culture that he can recite perfectly from memory. That should buy him at least a little time with noted teaboo Dracula.

On the other hand, he would be absolutely no fun as a vampire plaything. Jeeves cannot be got. Sneaking up on him while he's shaving will yield zero reaction (though that's at least good for his short-term survival--given that, although he DID take the crucifix from the old woman out of politeness, he certainly isn't going to wear it. The rules of fashion don't go out the window just because you're in a spooky castle). Then, although managing the whims of rich jerks is not an insignificant part of a valet's job, Jeeves usually does this by bending his employers to his will. Dracula is not the sort of employer this will work on. It'll just add insult to injury when on top of being impossible to scare, NOW Jeeves is telling Dracula that his favorite cloak is several centuries out of fashion and he's not allowed to wear it anymore.

Jeeves will 100% go exploring in the areas he was told not to go-- though to be fair, he MIGHT actually get away with this, what with his superpower of appearing in rooms without being seen or heard. Said superpower might save him from the brides as well (though this is by no means guaranteed). Since I find it doubtful that Dracula would come to rescue his annoying ass, not being noticed is his best defense.

There are a couple other things working in Jeeves's favor; the question is just whether they'll be enough to save him.

He DOES know shorthand, and could try to send coded letters. He might even have the foresight to squirrel away some extra stationary where Dracula can't find it. But could he get them posted? Would it even do him any good?

He certainly has enough cultural literacy to figure out what his new boss is pretty quickly. If he didn't chuck the crucifix out the carriage window, he might start carrying it around in his pocket.

Psychology of the individual, sure, but the individual in question is a 400-year-old vampire who lives in an isolated castle in a foreign country and is regarded as a terrifying mythological figure in the surrounding villages. Jeeves has never come up against anything this alien before, he's cut off from his normal resources, and opportunities to play people against each other are limited.

He probably has enough upper body strength from all that shrimping and fishing to climb the wall, so he COULD escape if he wanted to, if he survived long enough. It's just, again, that overconfidence, and also Dracula has a vast library full of rare old books that are entirely at his disposal. He's keeping his eyes and ears alert for potential escape strategies, of course, but I don't see him being as desperate to get out as Jonathan was.

There are just a lot of "depends on"s here, and I'm not convinced that luck would shake out in Jeeves's favor, all things considered.

Bertie

Bertie is so perfect for the job of Castle Dracula Prisoner it's like it was made for him. Think about it. Being held against his will in big manor houses comes more naturally to him than breathing. He's afraid of things that are scary. A lifetime of dealing with Aunt Agatha has made him the world's preeminent expert in "curl[ing] up in a ball in the hope that a meek subservience [will] enable [him] to get off lightly." He will NEVER go exploring in places he's been warned away from if nobody is forcing him to (Rev. Aubrey Upjohn's office notwithstanding. There were biscuits in there). He's both fun to talk to and easy to toy with (and extremely English). A+ prisoner. Dracula adores him.

In my opinion, Bertie is at Castle Dracula either because Aunt Agatha got some wires seriously crossed and thinks he’s going to meet an eligible potential bride (I mean, there are certainly brides there), or because Dracula has something Aunt Dahlia wants him to steal (far less likely, given that one of Dracula’s THINGS is famously not owning anything silver). Either way, he's shown himself entirely willing and able to escape down drainpipes if a sitch gets too scaly.

He DOES take the crucifix, and DOES wear it (which is what will save him during the shaving scene, because you KNOW he's going to jump a foot and cut himself like the dickens). He's read enough supernatural goosefleshers to be genre savvy about terrified old women cryptically pushing crucifixes into one's hands. I also think his sunny disposish endeared him to the villagers, and they were particularly vehement about urging him not to go. He doesn't speak German or Romanian, but he's empathetic enough to recognize Pure Terror. So by the time he actually gets to the castle, his imagination is already running wild and he's plenty aware that he is in imminent danger.

I think the biggest risk to Bertie will be the brides; whether or not he's susceptible to trances, if he thinks they're trying to marry him, it's against the code of the Woosters to turn them down. But that only becomes an issue if he comes face to face with them, which, luckily, I think is unlikely on account of the aforementioned "won't go exploring" (and if he did, Dracula would definitely rescue him).

I'm inclined to say due to his drainpipe-escape habits that he WOULD be able to climb the wall and MAY attempt to sneak into Dracula's room to look for the keys if his desperation grows to outweigh his fear. Whether he does or not, though, he does NOT have the stomach to attempt shovel murder, and therefore won't get magic brain fever, and may very well simply walk out the front doors when the people come to take the boxes away. OR he climbs his way out like Jonathan did. Either way.

When Bertie tells this story at the Drones later, Tuppy will say that no doubt it's been greatly exaggerated and all that probably happened was that he spent a couple months in an oldish house entertaining a weird loner.

[thelaughingpanda]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GX3Z8qG7AKo

[allyriadayne]

[garbagewith-a-cherryontop]

For @shycorvid and their army of reblogs. I've been sucked into the notreallyacat-vortex and lost all my marbles.