#recognizing that is far more critical than crying about the same old same old red party

[askshivanulegacy]

Democrats do things on purpose too, like not voting to throw the election.

"how are the democrats so good at losing?" why don't you ask how the republicans are so good at winning?? stop acting like democrats are the only political party with agency. republicans do things on purpose.

[sailors-diary-for-elise]

Reaching Out

SEE! SOMETHING OTHER THAN SMUT. Also this one is old and a bit dusty, sooooo warnings are gonna be to the best of my ability. ALSO. THIS IS ANGST AND HAS TRIGGERING THEMES. PLEASE SCROLL PAST IF THE WARNINGS ARE DISTRESSING TO YOU. I wrote this during a really difficult day and was just word vomiting tbh. I am also gonna state that this is a work of fiction and I am in no way a therapist or anything, so if something here bothers you I’m sorry this is just something I wrote mostly for myself.

Warnings: god this is painful but here we go. Reader is depressed and has anxiety, mentions of self-inflicted injuries (she punches a mirror...repeatedly-), blood, panic attacks, it takes a few of the members to restrain the reader so if you’re uncomfortable with that please don’t read this, this is honestly just a hard read imo so please read with care. Also, the reader hates herself and just doesn’t really think highly of herself at all sooooo yeah-

It was the fourth time this month. The fourth argument that could’ve and should’ve ended differently.

You’d come out of your room to find San off at practice or on some work related schedule, spend the entire day outside trying to break a horrible cycle in your mind, just to disappear again once he returned home. It was frustrating you both and causing a serious strain in your relationship.

On San’s side, he couldn’t understand why it was that you would fight against him trying to get you to come out of your room when you spent the entire day alone. Then there was his frustration when you would complain about never seeing him and yet would disappear and avoid him when he was available. To San, it didn’t make any sense. All he wanted to do was spend time with you and support you, but it seemed as though you were determined to shut him out. He watches you storm off to your bedroom, running a hand through his hair as he tries to recall the last time he’d come back from a schedule and had a nice quiet evening that didn’t end in you both screaming at each other. When he can’t, San grabs his jacket and walks out of the apartment with his phone and keys, planning on spending the night at the dorms so that you can have some space to cool off. Once he gets in his car, he quickly dials Hongjoong’s number, pulling out of the parking garage of your complex and letting out all of his frustrations and concerns. 

As he drove, San had no way of knowing how much you hated yourself for what was happening between you both.

What San didn’t know was that your depression and anxiety had been spiraling lately due to the pressure that had been placed on your shoulders from not only your work but from being the girlfriend of an idol that had become so famous. He didn’t know that every day you were terrified that, now that his future was so bright and secure, he’d no longer want you. That he’d leave you just like so many before had done, and that he’d realize you were no longer something of use to him. And finally, how you criticize every minute of your life, finding ways that you are failing even when you’ve done nothing but your best. It came to the point that waking up from dreams was physically painful, because you could control a dream and guarantee the people you love never turned their backs on you. San didn’t, or rather, couldn’t know this. Because to know this would mean you would have to tell him. And no one should have to bear this burden but you, and there was always that small part of you that was terrified of having your feelings invalidated. 

Your whole life people have toyed with you, accepting your depression only when it was convenient to them and berating you once the curtains fall. Some even went as far as to weaponize your emotions, tearing you down in an argument with something that was the equivalent to the beating heart in your chest. Yes they would apologize and you would eventually forgive them because people make mistakes. But the thing about words is that once they leave someone’s mouth, the damage is already done and there’s no amount of remorse or forgiveness that can repair it. That’s where you are now.

You slam the door shut, leaving all the lights in your room turned off, your head pounding after the screaming match you and San had just finished (rather, you ran out on and barricaded the door so he wouldn’t see you cry) and your face stained with tears. Not a sound left you as you curled up on the bed, biting your fist as a punishment for your body's betrayal of emotions. All it would take was one minute of silence and the entire apartment would be able to hear how you were feeling. In all honesty, you didn’t want San to see you cry. Because in your mind, you didn’t deserve to cry. You were the one who picked a fight. You're the one who made unfair accusations, using his career and passions as weapons against him. You were the one that hurt him in the same ways that had been done to you, falsely claiming that it was to “beat him to it and strike first.” 

The front door slams shut, and you work quickly. You unbarricade the door and peek out, making sure no one is there. Dashing across the living space, you reach the spare bedroom and lock the door, not seeing the need for such extreme measures as earlier. You then sit with your back to the door, listening for the sign of San’s safe return from the store. Your butt has just about gone numb when this occurs, the front door shutting softly alerting you instantly. You rise from your position, albeit a little slowly due to your cramped muscles, and shuffle to the bed. A knock sounds, and a decision has to be made.

“Y/N? I know you’re awake. Can you come to bed? You and I both know that neither of us can sleep alone anymore.” San mumbles through the door. You hear shuffling, and you hold your breath thinking he might unlock the door. You’re not sure though, whether you’re holding your breath in hope or fear. But all you hear is a thud, indicating San sitting down. “Look, we don’t have to talk. You don’t even need to look at me, it just feels better for both of us if I’m holding you through the night, because at the end of the day, we still love each other, right?” 

San’s cheeks are marked with tear streaks, eyes red and puffy as he waits for any sign of confirmation from you. He loves you more than anything else, so much so that he’d give up everything for you, and needed to hear that you still loved him as well. He holds his breath, hands covering his face while he waits for you to show him a sign that you’re even listening. That you’re even there. 

You tip-toe over to the door, gently crouching down in front of it and rest your fingertips lightly on the wood, near where his shoulder is supposed to be. It’s cold and unyielding, but this is the bravest you’ll ever be. You hear a sigh on the other side, almost as if he can sense your presence.

“You know, you don’t have to keep it all in. From the first moment I saw you, I knew that there was so much going on in your life that it’d take time to get you to trust me. And I still want that. I want to know what’s going on in your life again. I want to hold you as you're crying again. And I want to repay you for all the times you’ve helped me.” San whispers, his voice showing how much of a toll this has taken on him. “I know a lot has changed, I travel a lot, and it’s harder for us to go anywhere without me being recognized. But I promise you that my feelings for you, the amount of love I feel for you, it’s all still there. If anything, I love you even more now than before. I don’t want to lose you Y/N. I want to keep fighting for us and I just need you to reach out to me, show me you want this too. Open the door, even if it’s just a crack, and let me help heal those open wounds. Yes there will be scars and yes it will take time, but I’m willing to wait.”

At this point you have tears streaming down your face as you withdraw your hand. You don’t move though, despite your broken mind willing you to do so, you stay rooted in your spot. Sniffles break through the other side, showing how much San is hurting. You feel as though there’s a war going on inside of you, your heart begging you to open the door and stop this madness, but your mind resolute on keeping this wall up. 

“I. Can’t.” you croak out, bringing your trembling hand to your lips and nibbling your thumbnail as you rise slowly. “They were right, I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you.”

“What? Who told you that?” San questions, confusion swirling in his head as he struggles to better understand where this was coming from. Standing, San presses his hands to the door, trying to open it only to find it locked. “Love, talk to me.”

“All I’ve been doing is hurting you, and I’m sorry. ” You whimper, your mind screaming at you to shut-up and not give away anything while your heart, your very being, is begging to be set free and allow him back in. “I, I love you, San.” And with that you rise, walking towards the bathroom attached to the room. You close the door, locking it and turning to the mirror to see your disheveled state. Tears stain your cheeks, your eyes have bags under them, and your hair is greasy and a mess from the lack of effort on your part to take care of yourself. 

Thoughts swirl and distort your reflection, harsh words clouding your mind. Some of the words surface from your past, some are from deep within you stemming from your lack of forgiveness for yourself. You don’t deserve forgiveness or a second chance. You don’t deserve him caring for you. You’re toxic. You do nothing but hurt him. Toxic. Toxic. 

You start screaming, starting in your gut and ripping out through your mouth, scaring the shit out of San who begins pounding on the door. You hear him calling out to you, but it’s muffled in your head as you continue to sob and scream at your reflection, running your hands through your hair before tugging on it out of frustration. The longer you look at yourself, the worse the feeling in your gut gets as the harsh words continue to tear you apart, worsening with each passing moment. With one last scream you pull your arm back and punch the mirror, desperate to feel something other than the all consuming self-hatred. And it works.

There’s a crack on the mirror with droplets of blood in the center. You bring your trembling hand into view, noticing your knuckles slightly bloodied and cut. The pain replaces all of the noise in your head, if only for a moment, and you become entranced by it. Raising your fist again, you punch the mirror once, twice, three more times before stopping to look at your handy work. The crack has grown and your hand is bleeding steadily, a couple of pieces of glass stuck in your knuckles. You’re ashamed of what and who you’ve become and raise your fist again when the door breaks down.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” San shouts, restraining your flailing and screaming form as tears stream down your face. Four pairs of hands are pulling you out of the bathroom, with San’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he pulls you on the bed. He immediately starts shushing you, whispering into your hair as he wraps his legs around you as well, restricting you so the others can clean you up and call an ambulance if need be. At this point though, he doesn’t need to as you’ve gone completely limp, sobbing into his neck loudly as the emotions you’ve kept hidden flood out in a wave that swallows you whole. “Shh baby, it’s okay. We’re here now and we’re not leaving you. I’ve got you, we’ve got you. It’s okay, it’s okay.” His voice is trembling, absolutely terrified by what he’s just experienced. It’s lucky that Hongjoong, Yunho, and Seonghwa arrived when they did or he might have been too late, having planned on coming to help San piece back together your relationship. It took Yunho and Seonghwa to break down the doors, and all four of them carried you out of the bathroom so you wouldn’t hurt yourself or them.

Soon, you run out of energy and are left whimpering and quivering in San’s hold, slowly coming to your senses as you hear running water, hushed murmurs, and the cabinet mirror (or what’s left of it) being opened in search of something. When the realization sets in that San, Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Yunho have seen you at your worst, your chest tightens and your breathing becomes irregular which are the first signs of a panic attack. Something San was familiar with but hadn’t seen happen in some time.

“No no no no.” San repeats, noticing the changes in your behavior and looking towards the bathroom. “Hongjoong! It’s getting worse!”

Immediately, footsteps can be heard heading in your direction, and a gentle face appears in the corner of your eye. Hongjoong slowly reaches forward, grasping the hand that had begun curling in on itself to the point of almost drawing blood and pulling it away from your chest.

“Sweetie, grab my hand and squeeze that instead. You won’t hurt me, I swear.” Hongjoong whispers, slowly working his nimble fingers between your clenched ones. It comes as a surprise to him when, instead of resisting, your hand flies open into a rigid position. “Shh… it’s okay sweet-heart. How about this. Follow this.”

Your hand is placed on a firm and warm chest, a slight bump hitting your palm and drawing your attention to the pattern. It’s his heartbeat. Hongjoong’s pulse creates a rhythm in your head, distracting you from your fears and disdain towards yourself momentarily while Seonghwa and Yunho both return to the room, one holding medical supplies and the other holding a bowl with warm water and a towel. Crouching in front of you, Seonghwa notices the hand on Hongjoong’s chest is the one that’s injured, glancing at San who is fighting back tears as he strokes your hair.

“Y/n-ah. We have to clean your hand. Put your hand on San’s chest, follow his heartbeat.” Seonghwa says in a firm yet kind tone. At this point, you’ve lost almost all self-awareness, too exhausted to fight anyone as you nod partially, removing your hand from Hongjoong’s chest to place on San’s. “No sweetie. The other hand.” Seonghwa instructs, a heartbroken smile crossing his face at the sight of you behaving like a toddler who skipped their nap. You look confused, bringing your hand to your face to inspect it, finding the streaks of blood and bits of glass as a few tears trickle down your face. 

You’re not sure how long it takes for Seonghwa to properly clean your hands, or when you got changed into one of San’s shirts that fits like a dress, but as you’re lied down on the bed with San, who’s watching you intently to make sure any slight changes on your face are caught immediately, you find yourself in an almost numbed mind-frame. Too exhausted and confused to comprehend anything around you. 

Your eyes slowly close, the occasional tear slipping out only to be swiped gently away by San. San, the last thing you see before you fall into a dreamless sleep. And you are blissfully unaware of what’s to come in the morning.

As you snore softly in San’s grasp, your chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, Yunho leaves the room to clean up the mess that has been left behind with Seonghwa following closely behind, most likely to comfort the younger boy. Hongjoong reaches forward to brush hair out your eyes and slowly strokes your cheek. Who knew such a small body could take this much pain? he wonders to himself, not even beginning to understand what caused you to struggle so much and break down so devastatingly. And that’s the only way to describe your attack. Devastating.

Like a tsunami, you receded from social outings and even your true love San, and once they realized what was happening and why you’d “changed” the wave had already hit. But his main question was voiced by San.

“Hyung.” San rasps out, looking up at Hongjoong with tears streaming down his face. “Why-or how did this happen? What caused this? What are we-what am I supposed to do?” 

San’s breathing becomes labored, almost as if the weight of the situation has sat fully on his chest. He chokes on a sob, looking at you in your angelic state while pressing a gentle and wet kiss to the top of your head while crying. He clutches you to his chest, rocking slightly and burying his face in your head. Hongjoong panics, thinking he’ll wake you but settles once realizing how exhausted you must be. “Why would she keep this from me?”

“San-ah, I honestly don’t have the answer to that.” Hongjoong mumbles, holding his own tears back with a few deep breaths before looking at the pair of you. He honestly considered Ateez his family, and you became his little sister that he felt he needed to protect from the world. If only he’d realized sooner how much damage the world had already done to you. “But I do know one thing. Now more than ever, she needs us.”

San looks at his hyung and leader, absolutely wrecked from the storm of emotions that flowed between you two. “How?” he croaks out.

“I’m not sure. But what I do know is that the storm hasn’t gone and that this is only the beginning of our journey.” Hongjoong places a hand on your cheek and his other on San’s hand, squeezing slightly in hopes of reassuring the younger boy. “I see how much you need her San. And how much she needs you. She’s scared San. More so than any of us right now. Which is why we have to stay with her no matter what. No matter what she might say or do to scare us off, we have to fight through it all and show her we are here for her. Because if we don’t.” Hongjoong’s voice cracks, revealing his true emotions and the toll this whole ordeal has taken on him. “We might lose her forever.”

San sits quietly, shaking slightly from the silent tears that are being shed and pulling you closer to his chest if that was even possible, crying himself into a slumber much like you did moments prior. Hongjoong rises, tucking both of you in like he would an upset child, and walking into the bathroom. The scene that awaits him is what finally breaks his own dam of tears, collapsing next to Seonghwa and Yunho who are both crouched down. They’ve hunched over, scrubbing the white tiles of your blood and throwing glass shards away in a paper bag. Upon noticing Hongjoong, Yunho drops what’s in his hands, embracing his leader and best friend. His tears fall as well, the sight of someone as strong as Hongjoong breaking down terrifying him. 

Seonghwa wipes the few stray tears before rising, quickly finishing the task of cleaning before ushering the two broken boys out of the room. He sits Hongjoon and Yunho down, pulling out a paper and pen and titling it “Y/n’s Healing.”

“We’ll make a plan, and take this journey one step at a time. Until Y/n’s finally healed.” Seonghwa states, immediately writing steps and plans he’s already come up with in his head. And so the journey begins.

[startanewdream]

Hi! Only if you are comfortable, can you please write something funny where James and Lily live and James gives Harry the sex talk?

Thanks:)

Hi, Chhavi! 

It turned out that this was embarrassing for Harry, James, Lily and me. Also, it turned out I am not capacitated to give sex advice, so there is a lot of interrupted scenes in which I hope James and Lily were good parents and gave good advice to Harry.

I supposed The Talk 1.0 was very ordinary and given in a moment that Harry did not really even see girls yet, so here is The Talk 2.0 when Harry is already dating Ginny, so it’s really more awkward for everyone 🙃.

So here it is and I hope you enjoy this silly fun piece of James and Lily being responsible parents, with a little bit of Jily and Hinny.

________________________

The Talk 2.0

(Rated T but, you know, it’s The Talk, so sex is mentioned)

‘Do we really need to do this?’, James asks, for the third time, as he and Lily are going up the stairs.

Lily sighs.

‘We talked about it, James. Yes, we need’.

‘I’ve talked to him before, Lily. Harry knows about - well - you know what he knows about'.

She raises her eyebrows.

‘The fact that you can’t say “sex” in the same sentence as your son’s name isn’t really giving me confidence’.

He flushes, mumbling to himself, his arms crossed as Lily knocks on Harry’s room.

‘Neither did you’, he grumbles at least.

‘What?’

‘You didn’t say “Harry” and you-know-what in the same sentence either’.

‘Oh, hi’, Harry says weakly, refusing to look in their direction. 'I was just about to sleep now -'

‘We need to talk, Harry’, Lily says, and James admires how her voice doesn’t show any of the anxiety he knows she feels too.

As much adamant as Lily is of having The Talk 2.0, neither of them is thrilled by having to do that.

Harry’s hand goes automatically to his hair, messing it without even realizing what he is doing, and James recognizes his own quirk there.

‘Everything is fine, Harry’, he says soothingly. ‘Why don’t we just go downstairs for a nice chat?’

Harry sighs deeply, looking like he would very much face Voldemort again than talking with his parents right now, but he nods.

They go to the living room, and Harry sinks on the armchair, leaving James and Lily to sit right on the couch right in front of him. James winces; all this feels too much like a lecture and he can’t fault Harry for looking at his knees with a half-guilty half-annoyed expression on his face.

‘I am sorry, ok?’, he says suddenly. ‘I - I forgot to lock the door and… it won’t happen again’.

‘Which part?’, James asks before he can stop himself. ‘You and Ginny snogging in your bedroom or Lily catching you?’

They both look at James without smiling, but he will defend the whole situation is a little bit funny.

Of course, he would feel different if he had been the one to arrive in his house in the middle of the afternoon and heard a cry coming from his son’s bedroom and had opened to find… whatever Lily had found.

She hadn’t given him full details other than saying it involved some stage of undressing and James hadn’t asked, but he knew it had been awkward enough that Ginny had not stayed for dinner and, as far as he knew, few things would really embarrass his favourite future daughter-in-law. Or probably Ginny knew the dinner would be equally uncomfortable. If that was the case, she had been smart; neither Harry nor Lily had said one word to another all night, refusing to meet each other’s eyes, both in a mix of embarrassment and anger.

Then, after dinner, Lily had summoned James to have The Talk 2.0 with Harry, despite James’ insistence that he had already talked to Harry five years ago.

‘Five years ago he didn’t have a girlfriend’.

‘I am pretty sure things are still the same, Lily’, he had argued, but Lily ignored him.

‘Harry’, Lily begins, with as much dignity as she can muster. 'This is not just about what happened early'.

‘You scold me in front of her’, Harry accuses, crossing his arms. ‘Then you made her leave like… Like if we were doing something wrong’.

Lily closes her face.

‘I didn't want Ginny to leave, of course not, but… I won’t be the bad guy, here, Harry. You were the one who was - who brought your girlfriend in the middle of the afternoon without telling us first’.

‘I told you she was coming by’, he mumbles.

‘For dinner. That usually means late in the day, you know’. She gives him a knowing look. ‘Did Molly know she was here with you?’

This makes Harry narrow his eyes.

‘Is that a threat?’, he asks, even more annoyed, and James sees it’s time to intervene.

‘No one is threatening anything and, no, we won’t mention it to anyone’, he says, placing his hand around Lily’s shoulder to calm her too. It’s really unusual for her and Harry to argue, but their fights are the worst if he doesn’t interrupt them before their emotions are too high. ‘We just need to set some - ah - coexistence rules’.

‘And before that’, Lily continues, seeming more in control. ‘We need to talk to you about some important things. And, yes, it’s a sex talk’.

Harry grimaces.

‘I - Dad already talked to me, you don’t really -’

‘No?’, challenges Lily, raising her eyebrows and James suddenly wishes to warn Harry of the danger there. ‘Do you really think you know everything?’

‘I get the biology part and - well - if you must know - Ron got me a book -’

‘“Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches”?’, Lily scoffs. ‘That book doesn’t cover anything’.

‘You know that book?’, James asks, surprised, and Harry looks at him.

‘Do you know that book?’

James rolls his eyes.

‘My old dad got me and Sirius one when we were fifteen’.

‘The fact that you still took two more years to finally date me should show you the quality of the book’, Lily teases, looking amused. 'Besides, that book is really outdated’.

‘It seemed complete’, Harry murmurs, but he looks uneasy as if he is worried about what content the book is lacking.

‘Well, the book didn’t tell you to cast a simple Silencing Charm on the door, did it?’, Lily points out, making Harry blush. ‘So, yes, we will talk’.

Harry grumbles, but he nods. There is a moment of silence, and James sees Lily debating with herself how she will start. She takes a deep breath.

‘It is normal that you and Ginny want to take your relationship to the next step, but I just want you to think if you are ready - oh, don’t give me that look’.

‘You are talking like if we were kids’.

‘I meant that you’ve been dating for only two months and it’s your first serious relationship’.

‘We started dating more than one year ago actually’, Harry corrects, with a shadow of a smile on his lips.

‘I thought you broke up with her for her own safety?’, Lily counters, narrowing her eyes, and that wipes out any amusement on Harry’s face. ‘Any more sassy comments?’

James thinks it’s rather ironic that Lily is criticizing Harry for saying anything sassy, but he is not stupid enough to note this.

‘What your mother means -’, he says instead ‘- is that you shouldn’t rush into things. Did you two talk about it?’

‘No’, Harry admits. ‘We weren’t really… we were just… Look, we weren’t going to have sex today, ok? Can’t you just drop it?’

His face is all red and Harry looks really upset, though James can't say if it's for saying that out loud or because of what he said.

‘Well, you two might someday’, Lily says gently, all her motherly instincts emerging at the sight of Harry’s distress. ‘And when that happens, we want you two to be careful and to know what you are doing’.

‘Nobody knows what they are doing the first time, Lily’, James murmurs and they exchange a fond look that makes them both smile softly, thinking of questions whispered in the middle of the night and nervousness and that happy feeling of finally...

‘Well, keep looking at each other like that and it’s the best way to keep my mind out of it’, Harry grumbles, looking purposely at the ceiling.

James chuckles.

‘We don’t want to talk you out of it - mostly because it won’t work. We really just want you two to be safe - you know, your mum and I are way too young to be grandparents’.

The red in Harry’s face increases.

‘Do you know contraceptive charms and potions?’, Lily asks, all business again. ‘Or even better, use the muggle way - it prevents a lot of diseases too, you can never be too safe…’.

Harry mumbles something under his breath.

‘What was that?’

‘I have bought condoms’, he says in the lowest voice he can manage.

Lily and James carefully avoid making eye contact.

‘And you know how to use them?’, James asks, a bit afraid of Harry’s answer.

‘Yeah, you don’t need to - let’s not do that banana thing, ok? I saw Mr. Weasley talking to Ron… and it was weird enough’.

There is another moment of silence.

‘Fine’, James says lightly. ‘Then let’s talk about those charms too, right? It’s always good to be prepared for all occasions…’

__________________

It’s well past midnight when James knocks on Harry’s door. After a few seconds, Harry opens it.

‘May I enter?’, James asks, all formal, since they agreed on a few rules minutes ago.

Asking permission before entering Harry’s room. If Ginny is in his room, the door will be open slightly at least when his parents are home. Letting them know before-hand if Ginny will be visiting (they won’t ever forbid it). She can spend the night but in another room until she is out of age. No using the Invisibility Cloak to visit her at night.

That last one James seriously doubted it when Lily and Harry agreed to it, but he didn’t say anything.

He would not betray Lily’s secrets for Harry and he would not deny his son the better use for that Cloak.

‘Sure’, Harry says, giving him space. James sits on the edge of Harry’s bed, while Harry lays lazily against the pillows of his bed.

His son seems more at ease now the safe sex talk has ended. James supposes there are few subjects that could be more awkward. It almost makes James miss talking about Horcruxes and pieces of Voldemort’s soul.

‘Here’, James shows him a key.

‘What is that?’

‘There is a cabin in the woods if you follow the trail leaving our backdoor, just a ten-minute walk. It’s where we used to turn with Remus in the Full Moon’.

‘And why are you giving it to me?’, Harry asks, bewildered. His parents always forbade him of going alone in the woods and that was one of the few rules Harry had actually followed all his life.

‘Well, obviously we aren’t using anymore, and it’s a nice cozy place. All equipped, with fireplace and a small living room, bathroom and -’, James takes a deep breath. ‘- there is a double bed too’.

‘Oh’.

‘I am not naive, Harry, and I remember what it was like being seventeen - well, all your mum and I wanted with that talk was make sure you two are safe. Not to disturb you or anything - and trust me, it was far more awkward for us than it was for you’.

He laughs.

‘I truly doubt it’, Harry says, and for a moment they share an equally embarrassed look before Harry tentatively grabs the key. ‘So… I am just free to use it?’

James sighs. ‘I trust you not to rush things, Harry. And I thought… we don’t want to catch you in an awkward position - not again - and… you two deserve some time alone without worrying if anyone is going to interrupt you. So… whenever you two are ready, it will be there’.

‘Oh’, Harry is blushing, his face radiating heat. ‘Thanks, dad’.

‘It was your mother’s idea, actually’, James says, grinning when Harry looks surprised. ‘She was just concerned for you, Harry, not really mad. And… besides everything we talked before, which is important and you should keep in mind for your and Ginny’s safety… remember to be patient, ok?’

Harry blinks, confused, and James sighs heavily. That’s your job, he says to himself. You remember how things were far from perfect in the beginning.

‘Just… be gentle. Always care more about her than about yourself - and always asks if she is comfortable. If she says no, or if she regrets starting it, no matter what are you doing, you stop’.

James expects Harry to argue with him at the obviousness of what he is saying, but surprisingly, Harry just nods, seeming to be concentrating on recording James’ words.

‘And then, if you are both ok with it… You two take your time. It’s normal to not know what you are doing at first, but you will only learn if you talk to each other and listen to each other, okay? This is actually very important’.

‘What if -’, Harry hesitates, before looking at his own hand. ‘- and what if I am not good? What if I mess it up so much that she never -’

‘Harry’, James interrupts him softly. ‘As I said, no one knows what they are doing. So… you discover together. You are in love with her, right?'

His face reddens, but to Harry’s credit, he doesn't deny his feelings.

'Yes', he admits in a whisper, sounding more fascinated by it than flustered.

James smiles.

'Then you let that feeling turn into something good for both of you'.

‘It's because of what I feel that - I am afraid, I mean...  Can I - can I make it good? For her?’

James sighs.

‘Yeah, actually… I suppose there are things you could know that would help… But let’s say it very objectively, ok? You do know I almost think of Ginny as my daughter, right?’

That makes Harry let out an unexpected laugh.

‘I hope not too much’, he says, playfully. ‘Because I really don’t have brotherly feelings for her'.

James rolls his eyes.

‘Yeah, I got that covered. Well, I think we already had this conversation once, but I’m sure you were too busy when you were thirteen to think this would ever be important. So, a woman’s body -’

_______________________

James feels tired and much older when he finally enters his and Lily’s room.

‘You took long enough’, Lily says teasingly, and James sees she is in a far better mood than a couple of hours before, lying lazily in the bed, already under the blanket.

‘It is your fault. “The Talk 2.0”, you said, it will be fun’.

She smirks, turning to him as James lies down heavily on the bed.

‘I never said it would be fun, just that we needed to do it. I know you have all these white hairs already, and I don’t deny it would be cute, but I really don’t want any grandchildren yet. You know, I just want -’

‘That Harry gets to finally enjoy his life’, James acknowledges. ‘Yeah, I know. Me too’. 

She sighs happily, getting closer to him, and James sees her naked collarbone when she places her hand over his chest, casually opening the buttons of his shirt.

Hummmm.

‘Now - I know it’s late - but I kept thinking of a summer night twenty years ago…’

‘I try to forget that night’.

‘Really?’, challenges Lily, looking at him, and James has a deja-vu of that same night.

They had been dating for a while, and while he had been untroubled and quite satisfied with everything they had done together on empty classrooms, he had felt guilty of taking a step further with Lily despite the fact that his body kept making it perfectly clear how much he wanted her and Lily kept giving all signs that she wanted more too. His trouble conscience had been solved when Lily had appeared on his bed in the Boy’s Dorm Room on a summer night, hidden under his Invisibility Cloak.

She hadn’t been wearing anything under the Cloak.

‘So, Potter? Do you want your Cloak back?’, she had whispered to him, in a trembling voice that mixed braveness and challenge and that time his guilt had paled in comparison with everything else he felt for her.

He smiles at the memory.

‘Well, I just like to think I improved a lot since then, you know’.

‘You did’, she agrees playfully. ‘But I remember fondly of that night - it was the first time you said you loved me’.

‘Of course I was in love with you’, James notes as if it's obvious. ‘Why do you think I let you take away all my innocence?'

‘You were never innocent’, Lily disagrees, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

‘Oh, I was. So pure. But there was this redhead girl that totally bewitched me’.

‘Redhead girl? Seems to run in the family’.

‘What can I say? We Potters have one weakness’.

‘Hmmm’, she sighs, letting her hand slide over his chest and then down. There is a satisfied smile on her lips. ‘It doesn’t seem much weak right now’.

James grins, pulling Lily so she gets above him. The blanket falls and, just like on that summer night, she is not wearing anything under.

‘As I said, bewitched’, he agrees, trying to kiss her, but Lily laughs and stops him to take her wand in the nightstand.

‘Let’s set the example, shall we?’, she points her wand to the door. ‘Silencio!’

[lambourngb]

For the first sentence meme: “I didn’t have the words then.”

TITLE: there’s too much smoke to see it

PAIRING: Michael/Alex

TAGS: hurt/comfort, temporary character death, getting back together, lots of talking, lots of sex, brief forlex, malex is endgame, canon typical friendships between everyone

SUMMARY: He had run out of time in making things right with Alex, which honestly was the worst part of dying in Michael’s opinion. It would have been good to die without leaving behind regrets and things unsaid. But then he survived and nothing changed, or did it?

This is finished, 15,858 words.

****. 

“I didn’t have the words then.”

Michael glanced down at the fading bar of his cell phone battery in his hands, before turning to muffle the rib-shaking cough of dirt and grit from his throat into the bend of his arm. In their long history of loving one another, hurting one another, pushing each other, dragging each other back in, this was probably the cruelest thing he has done to Alex, leaving a goodbye message recorded on his phone.

The air was getting thinner in the cavern, the mix of carbon dioxide slowly taking over the available oxygen. Michael wasn’t sure if Mr. Jones wanted him to die from lack of water and food, or suffocate in the sealed space, only that he wanted Michael to suffer. That much had been made clear to Michael as he laid on the rocky ground with the depowering serum coursing through his veins. This was meant to be both his prison cell and grave, sentenced and executed for the crime of being his mother’s son. “I read up on these overly intelligent beasts you’ve surrounded yourself with, and I know they had your mother for a long time, tortured her for years, but it wasn’t by my hand, which lacks a certain emotional closure for me, I’m sure you understand.”

Collapsing the mouth of the abandoned mine with telekinesis, Michael’s last view was the self-satisfied expression of his brother but-not Jones, backing away with a sketched-salute.

After the dust settled and the walls stopped rattling, Michael had taken a quick accounting of the situation. A quick pat down of his pockets had revealed his multi tool, his truck keys and his cell phone, which was half-charged but with zero signal from the insulating barren rock walls of the mine. He had swept the meager flashlight over everything, hoping that he would find a place where there was water seeping in, or evidence that there was a forgotten shaft, only to be met with disappointment. What was even more concerning was that the mineral composition of the mine was unfamiliar to Michael, different from the patterns of strip-mined turquoise he recognized from the caverns that sheltered their pods. 

He wasn’t in Roswell. It was possible he wasn’t in New Mexico at all. The black void from his last memory of leaving his bunker for the night and waking up on the unforgiving ground with Mr. Jones smirking above him could have stretched anywhere from hours to days. 

Michael had paced around the small confines and had traced each crevice with his fingertips for some sign of give to attempt to dig himself out only to realize Jones had brought down the side of the mountain on him. Without access to his powers there was little hope of moving the rock debris on his own. The last time he had been dosed by Helena Ortecho, the effects had lasted for several days, including those frustrating moments when Jesse Manes had held a gun on Alex and then him at the Crashcon. Lucky for all of them that Gregory Manes had been there, and even more so for Maria’s quick thinking with the other bomb.

Luck took a faraway vacation from Michael after that night between getting unceremoniously dumped by Maria, to watching Alex move on easily with Forrest Long, to now. 

When the feeling of his old friend, hunger, began to gnaw at his stomach, he had some hope that the serum would wear off in time to save himself, but then slowly that hope faded from his body when the desire to eat grew quiet, sleeping inside with the burrow his missing powers had made in him.

He was trapped and the executioner’s axe, swinging down on him inescapable, was time. 

Thinking about time, like usual, sent Michael’s thoughts turning down the familiar roads in his mind and heart to Alex. At first, as he pillowed his head on his arms and stared up at the endless black of his prison, he had pretended there were stars above him and Alex was next to him. The rocky ground was just as unforgiving as the metal bed of his pickup truck. He was used to that fantasy, pretending Alex was there with him but just far enough away Michael couldn’t feel his breath or touch his skin. 

It had kept him going during those years when Alex was serving overseas under a whole different starlit sky. It had fueled him during the surprisingly harder times, when Alex was serving in the next state over, one timezone, two at most, but the separation was wider than the Atlantic Ocean under Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. It had kept him hopeful as well, waiting during the in-between times of those scarce visits on leave. And then finally, Alex was serving in Roswell, but by then it was Michael who was out of reach, pulled down so deep in grief and pain he couldn’t see a way forward at all, let alone picture Alex nearby in his mind's eye. 

Now he was out of time to wait and see if maybe the fates would be kind enough to grant them one more chance at being together. 

The screen on his phone went black during his too-long pause. That was happening more and more, thirst was not enough to keep his thoughts sharp and his mind on the task. He kept drifting off on tangents, and time slipped with them as he worked to find the words to say goodbye to Alex. The battery life of his cell phone was dying under every pause, goddamn it, he needed to focus.

“I didn’t have the words then, to tell you how bad things were that summer. You know the one. I know I was too much for you, for anyone, hell even for myself. But… I didn’t mean to do it though, to make you the only good thing in my life back then- that was too much to put on you, when you were just a kid too, trying to survive.” 

His skin was tight and dry, he couldn’t spare the moisture to cry, but his eyes burned with the need. “I blame myself, you know, for you leaving that first time to join up. Going to war. I know you what you said, about wanting to learn how to fight battles and win, but I’m not dumb, Alex. I know your dad catching us together was the real reason. You were trying to fly under his radar, to get out of the house and disappear to California or New York once you turned 18, and I ruined it. And I’m sorry-”

Another rib shaking cough seized Michael’s body, ripping through his throat like a wildfire, leaving ash in its wake as he tried to close his lips around it and hold it in uselessly. It was futile, trying to protect Alex, but he hoped that Alex would hear this goodbye, hear how slow and sleepy the words were and perhaps picture Michael’s death as being a peaceful slip into oblivion. Not the true state of affairs, that he was fighting for air as the walls of the mine seemed to creep closer and closer with every inhalation.

Like the rest of his previous attempts to protect Alex in his life, he was failing again.

 “So, that apology was twelve years overdue. It wasn’t your fault I was a mess back then. And, the shitty part is Alex, if I had to relive that summer again, I can’t promise I would do anything different… except, maybe I would have been there to say goodbye to you.” 

The bar on the phone was slipping closer to the critical red line. 

“Guess that’s what this is. This recording. My poor attempt to make amends and give you a proper goodbye. I don’t have enough room on my phone or battery life to apologize for everything I’ve done, and honestly, what good are apologies? They don’t change the past. I think we did the best we could at the time. It is just- I lied before when I said I used to think we’d end up together.”

That bittersweet morning of watching Alex walk away one last time had changed something inside of Michael though he didn’t know at the time. He had thought he could close the book on their sad story and move on, trying as hard as he had with Maria, only to have that same damn book hurled at his head after Crashcon by Maria when she had ended things. He had spent so much time holding his and Alex’s story open in his heart, that the book didn’t close anymore. The spine was cracked, the binding bent in all the places where they had loved each other and hurt each other, that it made it impossible to shelve again and move on. All it took was the softest breeze of memory; the cover would flip open, and then Michael was right back in the middle of their story again, knowing that he would love Alex forever. 

His thoughts were wandering again, bounding down hallways of melodrama. He almost laughed at the metaphor he had crafted for Alex; that their love was a roughly handled book. Forrest would appreciate it, being a researcher and lover of libraries. Forrest seemed to appreciate everything that Michael hadn’t. 

Michael forced his eyes open, struggling to make sense between the black that circled his vision and the black of the mine. “I tried to stop thinking about it, picturing it, you and me, making a life together. I might have succeeded for a little bit, probably long enough for you to think I got over you. But I didn’t. It never really took. So yeah. I really thought we were going to have more time together. Time to try again. Or like, really try for the first time. I was ready now, to be good to you.” His lips cracked as he smiled in thought, the taste of blood sharpening his attention. “I had these big future plans. I was just waiting for- for the right time.

“Now I’m out of time- fuck, is it cruel to tell you this? I don’t want to be cruel to you. I love you. So much. So, I’m sitting here in the dark, and I’m trying to think good thoughts. God, Alex, you’re every good thought in my head, and I was planning on showing that to you, if you still wanted me.”

If. Michael forced himself not to linger on that. It was a huge ‘if’, considering how happy Alex was at the moment with someone else. Amazing what sharing hobbies but not trauma could do for a relationship. Well, Michael could admit it, that he was selfish enough at this moment not to care. He had held all these thoughts inside for so long, their only company his lost opportunities and dead dreams about finding his family. If he was going to die here, so be it, he didn’t want to leave anything unsaid.

“Maybe you don’t, maybe all you have for me is love in the past tense and that’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve stood there before myself, when my tank was dead-empty, and I couldn’t trust that another go-around would take me anywhere but back to heartbreak. Just, if you could indulge me one last time? I want you to know how I saw us.”

His lips stung, the cut breaking open again as he uselessly tried to wet them one more time. Michael curled around his phone holding it close to his mouth, his head was too dizzy to hold up anymore, but he pushed on, this was the important part of his message. “So, the plan was this. It is the same plan I had when we were 17. We’ve both taken some detours, almost got lost even, but I think this was where we were heading. A house, a yard, kids. We were going to have it all. I was going to play the guitar, you would play the keyboard, our daughter would play the drums, our son the flute because fuck gender stereotypes, am I right? Of course, you would have to sing, my voice only sounds good when I’m backing you up.”

The battery hit the final red bar of warning. There was a splash on the phone screen. Carefully Michael brought it to his lips to lick the precious tear away for moisture. His body had surprised him one more time, with tears. 

“And yeah, that’s the gist. I would back you up on everything in our dad band, but you have to let me be the disciplinarian about homework, okay? Also, you don’t know this about me, but I make the best breakfasts ever. That was going to be what I led with by the way, if you were ever single again. I was going to make you breakfast and woo you. Every day for the rest of your life if you wanted. Whatever you wanted. I just want you to be happy… I love you.” 

He closed the recording, saving it as the phone shut down on the exhausted battery. It wasn’t perfect, his last message to Alex, but then, when had he ever managed to tell Alex everything and get it right? He never had, and would never get a chance again. Never. 

Michael tucked the phone into the pocket of his shirt, resting it over his heart and shut his eyes. He was aware that he was breathing harder, his lungs were looking for more non-existent oxygen in the closed off mine. Hopefully, he would slip into unconsciousness soon and feel the weight of grief that had taken up lodging in his chest sometime after the age of 7, finally check out. Evict that pain at last, and he could be free. 

It was the bitterest irony of his current imprisonment.  

***

continued on AO3 -

[spooky-z]

Mom? Dad? Chaos.

First, I would like to thank you all! Really. And I'm not talking about the followers (which reached the 500), no. I'm talking about your reception for my stories. You guys are awesome!

Second, Marinette is a little... dark in this story. Maybe because she fought Hawkmoth for a long time or Batfam influence, I don't know. She defends herself and defends her friends against Lila. So, don't be surprised, please.

(finally managing to edit the post f- u tumblr) 6K of salt, sailors.

Lightly based on Wayne Travelers by @multishipper1needshalp​​ Maribat by @ozmav​​

The day had started normal.

Marinette getting up late for class and getting ready in a hurry while Tikki helped the girl as best she could, her parents setting the table for breakfast together and Damian sitting, waiting for his girlfriend to go to school together. Adrien still asleep after staying up all night with Jonathan on the phone.

That had become Marinette's morning routine for the past two years, with Damian going to Paris to study economics with the best education that money could afford and her finishing high school in Dupont with Adrien.

And as said before, the day had started normal.

They ate breakfast with her parents, Marinette kicking Adrien out of bed and walked together to Dupont's entrance, where their paths parted.

She had kissed Damian good-bye and he whispered a “see you later” before getting in the car parked on the sidewalk. The driver politely waving to Marinette.

Adrien grimacing in the background, like a child watching his parents kiss.

It had been normal the way the class wrinkled their noses as she passed them; how everyone was in their proper place when Lila began to tell the latest nonsense lie; when Adrien came right behind her and was forced to sit next to the Italian (face completely twisted in pained expression); Chloe walking to the back of the room and placing a tender kiss on Marinette's cheek before sitting next to her; the two whispering the news to each other while Adrien sent a wistful look to his friends; their kwamis together in the boy's bag (since it was the largest of the three there).

Ms. Bustier leaving and leaving them with free time to do whatever they want.

This was normal. This was the routine after Hawkmoth had given up on terrorizing Paris and returned the butterfly and peacock Miraculous. After Gabriel Agreste had been arrested.

What was not normal now was that portal opening beside Ms. Bustier's desk and five people passing by.

The whole class frozen in shock.

The first out was obviously the oldest. In his 19 years, probably.

Black hair - in the sunlight there was a bluish illumination - trapped in a bun at the top of his head, the eyes were a cold and sharp gray, his skin was a beautiful olive tone, a strong jaw and the body showed that he was very more than just physically active.

The second person to go through the portal was a girl, who was about 15/16 years old.

They couldn't see the color of her hair, as she wore a hijab, but the eyes were a vivid and bright green, her skin was paler, small face, pink lips in a cupid bow and she also seemed to exercise a lot too.

The first two seemed to be siblings and that at least one of the parents was Asian.

The third was a blonde girl. She was the same age as the first girl, not much older than 16. While she didn't seem to have a more defined body, just the fact that she wasn't touching the floor when she left the portal said a lot about her.

The blond hair - exactly the color of Chloe and Adrien's hair - was long and loose, the curls unruly. The eyes were blue, a radiant blue and not very common, the triangular face, the doll's lips.

The fourth person was actually a little boy, who must have been at most 3 years old and was in the blonde girl's arms.

His hair was black and unruly, eyes were the same bright blue as the girl, round face with rosy cheeks, pale skin and he was sucking his thumb.

The last person to pass through the portal had been a girl with a much stronger Asian heritage than the first two.

Her cherry-red dyed hair reaching her shoulders, body far more defined than the girl with the hijab - her biceps pronounced by the shirt – the eyes were amber and dangerous, thin lips, her skin was tanned from spending too much time in the sun, oval face.

They stared silently at the class as the portal closed behind them.

"Okay... Who's going to tell this to our parents?" The blonde girl asks, breaking the silence and the red-haired girl looks at her, a murderous expression on her face.

“That was your fault! You're the one to tell!” Growls.

The blonde girl looks sincerely sorry.

"How would I know this was a time machine?!"

The redhead approaches her, her fists clenched ready to pounce, but the oldest of the five holds her in place.

"Rie, Emilie, please. Now is not the time to fight." His voice comes up like a blade. Sharp. "Especially with Clark among you."

They move away from each other. Rie walks closer to the classroom door, Emilie floats toward the window. Both with serious faces.

"It's not wanting to cut your drama, but we're not alone." The hijab girl says, drawing their attention to her. “We have audience, (哥哥) gēge.” She points to the still very frozen class.

He turns, his eyes scanning the students, before locking in the back of the room. In Marinette and Chloe. His eyes close in a pained expression.

“Fuck.” Curses without shame. "Dad will kill us."

"Absolutely." She replies, not looking any little upset at the situation.

In fact, her eyes were shining. She seemed very excited about everything.

The bell rings and it seems to wake everyone up from the shock, the students frenzied.

Everyone talking at the same time, they approach; Alya with the phone in hand; Marinette talking quickly on the phone, looking worried; Chloe was looking critically at the newcomers, the familiar feeling poking at her head; Adrien looked downright in love with the little boy in Emilie's arms.

Lila was... Wanting to take advantage of the situation to do something.

Rie begins to fuss over and over with the noise of the class, the pitch of the sound seemed to be hurting Clark's sensitive ears. The situation gets worse until she screams, anger clear in her tone.

“ど け! (Doke!)” Everyone shuts up but doesn't understand what she says. "I said get away, NOW!"

They are frightened by the girl's ferocity and move away.

“Okay, now one at a time.” When everyone moves to talk together again, she raises her hand in a stop signal. "Raise your hands and I'll choose who speaks."

They quickly raise their hands, waving violently. Max was jumping in his seat.

"You." Rie points to Rose and the girl stands up happily.

"What is the name of you all?" Questions.

Rie raises an eyebrow, disbelieving that this was the most important question the girl had to ask, but said nothing. Who answers is Emilie.

"I'm Emilie, this little one is Clark, the scary one is (理 恵) Rie, the handsome guy over there is (健) Jiàn and the hijab girl is Aria-" She turns sideways to point at the girl, just to find the empty spot. “Where's Aria?” She asks the two beside her and Rie just points to the back of the room.

And they all turned just in time to see Marinette being hugged her life away by the girl.

“妈妈 (māmā) you are so cute!” Both Adrien and Chloe gasp, eyes wide. Marinette gets paler and paler.

That moment makes both Rie and Clark notice the blondes in the room and Clark begins to cry, writhing in Emilie's arms and trying to reach Adrien.

“Papa! Papa!” The little boy sniffles until Emilie releases him and lets him fly to Adrien.

The class shouts at the demonstration of power.

The blonde catches him reflexively, hugging the small body in his arms and the boy sinks, melting in the warmth. He looks shocked at Emilie, wanting an explanation and the girl just shrugs, a bland smile on her face.

"Hi Dad."

Adrien chokes, his eyes filling with water, thrilled. He smiles back in disbelief.

"Hi?"

Chloe rises from her seat indignantly.

"Ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous!” Shouts. “Why do you two get visits from your future kids, but not me?!” She stomps her foot in a tantrum.

It seemed just another bout of Chloe's futility, but Marinette - who was still being held by Aria - felt her heart ache at the hurt look on her best friend's face.

“Chlo-”

"What am I? Invisible?” Rie responds rudely. “You should recognize your children, 母 (haha).” Her cheeks were rosy despite her serious face.

Chloe is speechless before going downstairs and throwing herself into Rie's arms. She could scarcely believe that she had built a family in the future, that apparently her best friends continued together years and years into the future.

“And you must be my son!” Lila's voice cuts the happy mood. "Handsome like that, you're just like my Damian."

Chloe turns away from Rie, Marinette comes down the stairs with Aria and Adrien stays in his seat, with Clark in his lap and Emilie sitting at his desk, stroking the blond boy's hair.

The seven looks at Lila standing in front of Jiàn, who seemed disgusted with the thought of being her son.

"Yes, many say I look a lot like my father," He replies. And although the expression is not the best, his voice contains no emotion. "But I have my grandmother's eyes."

Lila seems especially excited about the boy's response.

Alya still recording everything and the class in an eternal pause.

“Oh! Now I see! You really look like my mother. She's very beautiful, looks like a model.” Lila says, glancing quickly at Alya, probably making sure the girl was recording everything.

Jiàn wrinkles his nose in disgust and turns away from the greedy hands of the Italian.

“You're not my mother.” Lila is surprised by the hatred in the boy's tone. "My mother has decency and honor, something you obviously lack."

The class seems to stop breathing.

"Oh, that hurt." Emilie muttered, chin resting on Adrien's head.

She had left Adrien's desk and was sitting at Alya's desk, which was behind the boy, so that she could hug him like a koala. Clark was dozing in his arms.

Alya snorted offended.

"Hey, this is no way to talk to her!" She moved, the phone still clenched in her fist.

"I speak the way I want." Jiàn answers. "Criminals and liars don't deserve my respect."

The class starts talking on top of each other, confused.

“What do you mean?” Alix's voice sticks out.

Jiàn tilts his head, but straightens again. An expression on his face as if he had just unraveled the mystery of the century.

"Oh, you haven't found out yet..."

"Or rather, they haven't opened their eyes yet." Aria comments.

Kim gets up, his face rock hard.

"Explain."

The newcomers exchange glances with each other. Aria raises her eyebrow, Emilie shrugs, Jiàn sighs and Rie looks at everyone.

"I think aunt Mari already told you about the sausage being a liar." She pats Chloe's arm affectionately. “Lila Rossi, in 2046, is under arrest for terrorism, extortion, sexual harassment, blackmail and best of all: murder.” Rie smiles darkly as she watches the students' pale faces.

Alya's phone recording every second of everything. Live. On Ladyblog.

Lila feels panic bubbling in her chest, her hands shaking and a sudden weakness in her legs. This could not be happening!

She glances at everyone in the class, noting the expressions between disbelief and fear, only Alya still holding the angry expression on her face.

Adrien, Chloe, and Marinette did not seem surprised by what the boy said, nor angry. She would use that to her advantage.

Lila's eyes widen in the most pitiful expression possible. The fake tears already running down her cheeks. She didn't forget to sniff before she spoke.

“Why are you guys doing this to me?” That catches everyone's attention, Kim being the first to come to the rescue. She uses the boy for support. “Is it some kind of horrible plan Marinette came up with? I know she hates me, but I didn't think she would do something so wicked to bring me down.”

Alya, Alix and Mylene are quick to reach both of them to comfort Lila. Which left Ivan, Nathaniel, Max, Rose, Juleka and Nino to defend the honor of the Italian.

“Look what you did!” The DJ pointed out. "Lila is crying because of you!"

"It had to be Chloe's daughter." Max says, adjusting his prescription glasses to his face. "Only a snake would give birth to another snake."

Emilie sighs offended, as does Aria and Jiàn.

Max barely has time to blink before feeling the sharp edge of Rie's katana in his throat. He swallows, the eyes wide.

She had left Chloe in the same spot before jumping over the tables and reaching Max. The katana that had been her belt, taking shape in her hands just in time to reach the target.

"Call my mother snake again and I'll cut your head off." She says coldly.

Nathaniel runs away, Rose and Juleka accompany him. Even Lila swallows the fake cry feeling the fear run down her spine.

"You wouldn't have the guts-" Ivan begins, but quickly shuts up when he sees Max leaning as far away from the sword as the red thread of blood trickles down his throat.

"Do you doubt...?" Rie says quietly. "Are you sure?"

Marinette reacts with that, ready to separate the girl from her classmate.

“Wait-

“Rie Tsurugi Bourgeois!” Aria calls, voice like steel. "Let him go."

Rie doesn't move, doesn't even blink.

“Now.” Aria raises her voice. Adrien and Marinette are able to see her eyes turn a radioactive shade of green (which resembles Chat Noir's eyes very much) and her round pupils narrow like those of a reptile.

Rie grits her teeth, smoke escaping between them. She squeezes the katana a little deeper into the boy's throat before moving back toward Chloe.

The blade becomes malleable in her hands and she fastens around her waist again, sparing no glance at the rest of the class. Not at all sorry.

Marinette breathes a sigh of relief, but soon becomes serious. She needed to fix that mess.

"Okay." Says it out of nowhere and catches everyone's attention. Aria once again hung around her neck. “This day was too weird in just a few minutes, so I need everyone to collaborate.”

Her gaze points mainly to Rie and Alya, who turn their head into a tantrum.

“First, I want an explanation for that.” Hands shake in the air. “What are you doing here in 2022 and who are you?”

Jiàn smiles quietly before getting serious again.

“Our names have already been said, so I'll tell you where we came from.” He takes the liberty to sit on Ms. Bustier's desk, as if he owns the place. “First, we are from the future, as you have already understood. Secondly, we are children of three students in this class.”

The young man turns to Rie, beckoning her to proceed.

"I'm Rie Tsurugi Bourgeois, I have a twin sister named Alice." She turns to Chloe. “We are your daughters with Kagami Tsurugi. I think you two became something last year, 2021, right?” And the blonde nods emphatically. "Three years from now you get married and after five years Alice and I are born."

Chloe hugs the girl, wild feelings in her chest.

“My turn!” Emilie shook herself on the table, Clark, still sleeping, shifted uncomfortably. "My name is Emilie Lois Agreste-Kent and this cute sleeping is my brother, Clark Auguste Agreste-Kent." She notices Marinette's horrified look and sighs in agreement. "I know I know. Our names are one thing... horrible, but they wanted to honor our grandparents...”

The class makes a confused sound and Nathaniel is the fastest to speak up.

“I don't understand.” The voice loud enough just for a quiet room to hear. "Adrien's mother's name is Emilie, Lois may be his mother-in-law's name and Clark the father-in-law's name..." He pauses thoughtfully. “Why Auguste? Shouldn't it be Gabriel?”

At the sound of the name, newcomers, Chloe, Marinette and even Adrien himself react negatively, leaving no doubt of the dislike of the designer.

"Because Gabriel never was and never will be a father to uncle Adrien." Aria replies.

Nino nods in agreement with the girl.

“… Ok, I understand where you come from. But who is Auguste?” He asks. “I don't remember anyone with that name Adrien commented on.”

The blonde gives a bland laugh before looking at the DJ.

"It's because I never speak his name, but you know him... the gorilla."

Nino widens his eyes at the news, but soon understanding dawns on his face. It made sense. The man cared more for Adrien than his own father, who could only look at his belly button.

"Wait!" Alya calls. “Gorilla's name is Auguste?” Adrien nods and she presses her palm over her face. “Oh my god, this is cursed! He doesn't look like an Auguste!”

Emilie releases Adrien to fly over his head.

"I know! I once told him that and he laughed at me!” Her hand movements were wild.

It makes Alya pale.

"He laughed. Adrien's bodyguard laughed. Oh my God."

Lila gets fed up with the situation and decides to return the conversation to where it mattered. She needed to know who Adrien's future wife was, just so she could make sure they never met. With Gabriel's help, of course.

He might have been arrested, but he still had... powers over Adrien.

“We already understood that part, but you never told us who your mother was.”

Emilie freezes in the air, the cheerful, happy air slipping into an empty shell. She sits back behind Adrien, her gaze hard on the Italian.

“Because I don't have a mother.” She responds and Lila had to control the happy smile that wanted to escape. “I have two dads. Adrien Agreste and Jonathan Samuel Kent.”

The air in the room becomes cold after she finishes speaking. Lila never felt as much hatred as she did then.

Adrien was hers. Just hers. Knowing he was married to a man in the future was too much for the girl.

“B-but how? I thought Adrien was straight. We all know he dated Kagami.” Mylene asks.

Adrien frowns at the girl. Not a bit happy.

"I never said I was straight or that Kagami and I were dating." His voice was dry. “Kagami and Chloe have been together since last year, Jon and I have been dating since I was fifteen. Four years ago."

Alya gives Marinette unhappy glances, as if pitying the girl for the news. But in the end, she notices that the brunette was not at all surprised or shaken.

"And about you? Who is your father?” She points to Aria, who raises an eyebrow at her. The mockery in all body expression. "We know you're Marinette's daughter because we heard you call her mother, but you didn't say who your father was."

Aria rolls her eyes and sighs, completely tired of having to deal with these people. They were very ignorant.

"Aria Dupain-Cheng Wayne-" Surprised sighs are heard.

“And Jiàn Dupain-Cheng Wayne. We are children of Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Damian Al-Ghul Wayne. There is Thomas too, but he was with Alfred and the Couffaine siblings when we... traveled back in time.” Jiàn cuts his sister, making a sardonic bow toward Alya.

Marinette was choking as she tried to hold back a scream.

Those were her children! There were three! She and Damian had been together for many, many years! Her heart was beating so fast that she feared everyone in the room would be able to hear.

“… Damian Wayne. Isn't that the name of your boyfriend, Lila?” Juleka says suddenly and everyone looks at the Italian trying to sneak out of the classroom.

She stops, knowing everyone was keeping an eye on her and turning around, her eyes full of tears.

It was time to put on a show.

"M-Marinette!" She sniffs. “How can you go so low stealing my Damiboo from me?! I thought you were better!” The hands cover her face and shoulders begin to shake, as if she’s crying.

"WHA-"

“My God, girl!” Alya shouts angrily as she approaches Lila once more. Alix, Mylene, and Kim did not move from the scene. “Stealing Lila's boyfriend? As if it wasn't enough to be an envious slut-

Jiàn turns the face so fast that Rie can hear the young man's bones crack. The face contorted into a murderous expression.

“I suggest you not finish this sentence, otherwise I will be forced to do something my parents wouldn't approve of.”

Lila pulls her hands away from her face looking at the boy in defiance.

"What? But it's true! First Adrien, now my Damiboo. Your mother is a bitc-” Before Lila could finish the sentence, Jiàn was in front of her. Alya pushed aside, along with the phone that fell to the floor.

His right hand goes straight to Lila's face, squeezing her chin as he forces her to face him. He didn't need to look at the look of horror on her face to know that anger and disgust were clear in his eyes.

“You're an unpleasant person, Lila Rossi.” He says. ���Even though you know you have nowhere to run, that you only have those futile idiots to control, you still try to play the wronged good girl.”

Adrien gets up from the chair, Marinette approaches and Chloe too.

“Jiàn, I think-”

Aria puts her hand on Marinette's shoulder, drawing the girl's attention back to her. "No. He won't hurt her... physically.”

“But-” Adrien protests.

“Dad, please. In the future you regret not stopping her before. Let Jiàn do it.” Emilie says seriously. The most serious she had been until that moment.

When Marinette and Adrien steps back, the class sees this as allowing newcomers to do whatever they want, so they run to Lila's rescue. Alya quickly rising from the floor, the phone forgotten.

"Let her go now!" Kim shouts. He tries to hit Jiàn with a punch, but Rie is quick to stop him.

"And why would i do that? Ms. Volpina here, did much worse things helping Hawkmoth.” Lila widens her eyes, the panic clear in her face.

"I-I"

“What was that little fox? No more lies to tell us? Are you afraid because you can no longer use akumas to get rid of difficult situations?” The sarcasm in Jiàn's voice was clear, as was the acidity.

Everyone saw the way Lila stopped trying to defend herself and her gaze became sharp. Malicious. Jiàn took this to get away from the girl. She took the time to straighten her hair and caress her jaw before a blatant smile took over her expression.

Alya felt the ice run down her spine, discomfort rolling in her stomach. She stepped back, trying to create distance.

The class reacting precisely the same.

“Oh? Do you really think I need some old man and cursed butterflies to get what I want?” Rose choked on the way Lila spoke. “Look at what we have here. Come on, look!” She shakes her hands, signaling around them.

“I managed to fool these people for years. YEARS! No one doubting a word of what I was saying. Even with the most trusted person in the class trying to warn of my tricks, they just ignored it. They treated her like trash, they threw her into a corner... They humiliated her.” Mylene cried and Ivan tried to comfort her.

“And I didn't even have to do anything much, just say what they wanted to hear.” There was a victorious smile on the Italian's face. “Hawkmoth was just a tool. I never needed him to get where I got.” She nodded dismissively.

“So, you lied to us all this time?” Alix growls, Kim having to hold her so she doesn't hit Lila.

The Italian raised an eyebrow, smiling as if nothing was wrong.

"Alix, Alix ... You guys were so naive." Lila sighs theatrically. “I mean, dumb. Ignorant. Easy. Fools. I think you were by far the easiest people to manipulate.” She shrugs.

“You… are the worst! I don't believe-” Nathaniel stops and shakes his head violently, trying to deal with the situation.

“Ow, poor thing.” Lila sneers. “Okay, I was a little harsh with my words. It was not entirely your fault. Caline Bustier played a huge part in all this, since without her passivity, I would probably have been discovered much earlier.”

Marinette cringes at the teacher's name.

Caline had gone from being Marinette's favorite teacher to the less pleasant one. The woman's pacifism gave the brunette knots in her stomach. Each time she heard the phrase “be an example to others,” the discomfort washed over her body and all Marinette could think about was running home and sleeping for an entire week.

She knew that Lila's era of terror in her life would not have stretched so long had it not been for Caline Bustier's incompetence. Just with the teacher checking Lila's medical notes to know that everything the girl said she suffered was true would suffice. Then all the other lies would be uncovered, like a crumbling house of cards.

But she never did. Not even when Marinette explicitly expressed her concerns. When Adrien took the courage to confess that he felt bad about Lila being overly sticky. Or when Sabrina wept on the teacher's shoulder that Lila had made mean comments about her mother. And also, when Chloe denounced the Italian for homophobia.

Caline Bustier had been complacent. Never moving a finger to help students. Thus, Lila Rossi's greatest facilitator in Dupont.

“Ms. Bustier has nothing to do with it!” Juleka shouts in distress.

It was the first time they had seen her like that.

Lila rolls her eyes.

"Of course she have! Or do you really think that an adult woman with a master's degree, teacher, who deals with children and teens daily for years, would believe everything you say?” Her voice was annoying. “Please, you deify totally wrong people. Where's the critical sense? No one here can see the world without the pink lenses?!”

As soon as Lila finishes speaking, the room was silent. Rose and Juleka had twin expressions of disbelief, Alya cried silently, Nino tried to find support in Nathaniel who was unsure what to do, Kim along with Alix and Max had angry expressions on their faces, Mylene and Ivan hugged tightly to each other.

Aria with her arms around Marinette, both with expressions of pure boredom. Chloe and Rie had sat at Adrien's desk throughout the confrontation, tired of Lila's villain speech. Jian, already away from the Italian, was arms crossed and raised eyebrow. Adrien was the only one in the second group who was minimally disturbed by Lila's words. Clark slept despite all the confusion and Emilie had stolen the model's phone to play while flying around the room.

Lila had a victorious expression on her face as if the speech had solved all her problems.

Oh man. If only she knew.

"Did you get everything?" Marinette says in the silence of the class and everyone looks at her.

“What-” Lila begins.

"I'm not talking to you." The girl cuts her off, her expression disinterested and voice like steel. “I'm talking to him.” Marinette picks up the phone (which has never left her hands since newcomers showed up in the classroom) and shakes it, showing a video call in progress.

“Of course, حبيبتي (habibat).” The person in the video call answers. A youngster. "We are on our way. Don't let her run away.” The call is cut off and Marinette puts the phone in her hoodie pocket.

She stares at Lila. The cold, deadly eyes. Like a predator about to pounce.

“Of course I won't let it. Not anymore.” There was a dangerous smile on her lips. “It's my time to go after you, Li-la! Change our dynamics. Threatening me in the dark corners of the school is getting outdated, so it's time for prey to become a predator, don't you think?”

Lila senses the danger in the girl's words and steps back without thinking. She keeps a brave expression.

“And what do you think you are going to do? Tell your little friend?” She forces a mocking laugh. “Please, Dupain-Cheng. You know you can't against me. Never could.”

Aria lets go of Marinette and the girl slowly makes her way to the Italian, without breaking eye contact for a second. She was waiting for an opening to be able to make her move.

“Are you sure about that, Lila Agnola Rossi?” Lila doesn't hold her breath at the full name. “Because I have a lot of material against you. Your mother helped us a lot. A nice woman, despite working so hard. She needs to rest, don't you think?”

Marinette stops, less than a foot from the Italian, before leaning further. Warm breath hitting Lila's face with how close they were.

“And she said everything, you know? About how you lied about school being closed by akuma attacks, about being bullied and how your boyfriend Adrien Agreste-“ The boy and Emilie make sounds of disgust. "Are considering asking you to marry at graduation!"

Chloe sneers in the background. Aria, Jiàn and Rie laughing at what she said.

“When you-” Lila's lips were pale and her eyes wide.

Marinette leaps away. A smile bordering the maniac on her face.

“You don't know how surprised she was when we said the school was never closed!” She spins, arms raised to the ceiling. "Or that Adrien Agreste has a boyfriend."

“YOU DID WHAT?!” Lila shouted, advancing on Marinette, only to be held back by the hard look the girl sent toward her.

“Imagine the other surprise she had to learn that her little girl was a compulsive and abusive liar? That the only child she gave birth was lying as she breathed? Lila, Lila. Lying about Jagged was your first mistake, Prince Ali the second. The third was about Ladybug.” Marinette lifts a finger at Alya who reacted to the heroine's name. The girl stops. "Ladybug was not at all happy to hear her name was being dragged through the mud by someone as dirty as you."

Lila swallows hard.

“And sweetie? She wants you to pay. Pay for all the times you helped Hawkmoth and endangered innocent people or badmouthed her kitten.” Chloe laughs at Adrien's red face. “She's a very protective bug, you know? Revengeful too.”

"Is this a threat? Is that it? Ladybug sent you to threaten me?” Lila questions.

Marinette crosses her arms, a dark shadow taking over her blueberry eyes.

"Lila, I don't need Ladybug to take you down." She sighs bored. “Who do you think ended Gabriel Agreste?” The students are surprised. The newcomers sat watching like it was a very good movie. Adrien with the biggest smile ever.

“… You're lying!” Lila shouts. “Gabriel was caught by a… anonymous… report… you?!” The voice trailed off until all that was left was a whisper.

"Me." Marinette smiles.

There was a fire burning in Lila's eyes, her teeth showing, a growl deep in her throat.

"How could you?!" She bites. “You destroyed Adrien's life! How could you do this for the boy you love?!”

"Hey! She didn't destroy my life!” Adrien protests in the background, but no one listens to him.

“Ah, please! You're only annoyed because you learned that it was me who destroyed the collar Adrien was kept on and forced to wear. Or do you really believe we didn't know you and Gabriel had a deal about controlling Adrien?” Lila shivers as if she's been shocked. “We know everything. Everything."

“And you went there and put the only family he had in prison. Congratulations Marinette. You have reached a new low level.”

No one blinks for the next scene.

Marinette stretches her left hand straight to Lila's neck, pulling the girl closer to her.

"You don't open that dirty mouth to talk about family." She growls. “That man was nothing more than a piece of shit. Trash to be thrown away. He was never a father or a decent man. Being arrested was the easiest way out for him, because if I could have the opportunity to get my hands on him, you can be sure that today Adrien would have both parents buried.”

Her voice was piercing. Ice spread through the room. Everyone felt the honesty in the girl's words, no hesitation. Lila clamped her hands on Marinette's wrist, trying in vain to pull away.

She was beginning to be terrified of Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

"Let me go." She gasped as she felt the tightness in her neck tighten.

“Adrien hasn't lost a family.” Marinette ignores the girl. Adrien puts Clark in Aria's arms before getting up. He needed to stop that.

“Just now he got one. My parents are keen to make clear what family love really means; Auguste continues to work with him even though he no longer needs it; I taught him what a toxic and abusive relationship was like, how to have siblings and people to support him; Chloe accompanied him for weekly therapy; Kagami and Luka distracted him from panic attacks; Sabrina helped him understand what sexual harassment was. We were all there when he spent weeks locked in his room crying thinking he had no one else. We introduce him to what a family is. And surprise, he's much happier now.” Marinette lets go of Lila's throat and the girl swallowed huge amounts of air.

"He's much better off living in a bakery than in a ghost-filled mansion and empty rooms with people who only knew how to exploit him."

As soon as Marinette finishes talking, Adrien hugs the girl and then the door opens.

“We're here, Minette!” Sabrina's cheerful voice tears the oppressive silence of the room. "And I brought company."

Everyone turned to look at Sabrina and found a lot more people at the door than they thought.

“Dad, Damian, Jon and Kagami have come! Lu and Bruce are there at the office talking to the Director and Ms. Rossi.”

As soon as the five enter the room, Aria rushes into Damian's arms. “بابا! (baba!) You're cuter than 妈妈 (māmā) at this age!”

“… You two are grounded.” It's the only thing Damian says, pointing to Jiàn who was approaching.

“Dad!” Emilie squeals at Jonathan, who just smiles in confusion. “Oh my god, he's so cute! Did you see, papa ?!” She yells at Adrien who hides the red face on Marinette's shoulder.

The girl laughs at him patting his back.

"マ マ (mama)." Rie says respectfully as Kagami looks at her and Chloe sitting at the table.

"... I'm feeling a headache coming." Roger mutters before putting Agent Raincomprix's face and looking at Lila. “Ms. Rossi, I need you to come with me. We have some questions to ask.”

Lila shakes her head in refusal.

"No. I have nothing to talk to you about. Nothing."

Roger sighs. “If you do not come for good, you will come for bad. I really don't want to use force with you.”

"I do not care! I won't go with you!” Lila’s voice rose two octaves. She was starting to get hysterical.

“Ms. Rossi.”

"No! I'm not—” Lila rolls her eyes closed before falling hard to the floor. Marinette stood behind her, the hand with fingers pressed together and the thumb bent. Like a knife.

She relaxes her posture and smiles innocently.

“To avoid more drama.”

Damian sighs. “حبيبتي (habibat).”

She continues to smile innocently.

First Hawkmoth, then Gabriel and now Lila. That was a great way to close a chapter in Marinette's life.

[tag list]

@poshplumcot​ @naclychilli​ @theatreandcomicfreak​ @mewwitch​ @zerotosiki​ @krispydefendorpolice @unmaskedagain​  @virgil-is-a-cutie​ @vixen-uchiha​ @dawnwave16​  @kat-thatoneweirdo​ @thedarkwhiteangel @paradoxal-occurance​ @heldtogetherbysafetypins​ @celestialtitania​ @bluerosette23​

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Gotham Comic Con”

The Joker and his girlfriend decided to attend “Gotham Comic Con” this year dressed as The Batman and Cat Woman. It took Y/N some time to convince her boyfriend but here they are about to have fun and nothing could spoil the event. Right?...

“Oh my God, this is awesome!” you giggle entering the venue designated for the yearly special event “Gotham Comic-Con” dressed as Cat Woman.

The Joker is right behind you sporting The Batman outfit and he flexes his knees a few times, growling.

“What’s wrong?” you ask although you have a clue because J’s been complaining about since he got off the van parked on Lot B5.

“I hate these stretchy pants! I don’t know how that asshole does it!”

“You’re the one that insisted to come as Batsy,” you reveal point out the truth. “You could have been anyone else.”

“Like who?”

“Cinderella,” you elbow him and your boyfriend is not a huge fan of the concept.

“Why??!!”

“The drama, obviously,” you keep walking alongside him and he’s definitely ready to blow at your insinuation when you gasp. ”Baby, I think that’s Bane!” you gesture towards a massive individual flaunting a Sub-Zero costume.

“How can you tell?” The Joker squints his eyes and the bubbly Y/N has to say it:

“I would recognize his physique anywhere! Plus, he still has the scar between his eyes,” you pucker your lips and The King mumbles a bunch of PG 13 rated things regarding his business partner.

Why?

Last week they got into a brawling and almost killed each other.

The reason?

Y/N.

The Joker believes that Bane always flirts with you (which he does since he likes to refer to you as “a breath of fresh air”); stuff escalated until you had to break it up: J ended up with a busted lip, Bane with a cut between his eyes due to The Clown trying to stab him in the head and you ended up with an inflated ego.

“Hello Mister B.,” you tap the pile of muscles and he turns around to see who’s bothering him.

“Y/N!” he excitedly exclaims, immediately unhappy at the sight of his business partner. “Joker…” the low tone greets.

“Bane…” J sneers.

“What are you two doing here?” Bane inquires.

“Having fun; I finally convinced him we should do this and mingle for once. No better way to spend the day,” the bubbly comment pleases your conversation partner. “So we dressed up and here we are.”

“I must say you’re like a breath of fresh air,” Bane admires your skin tight costume and stilettos which prompts The Joker’s disapproval:

“If you want fresh air, go outside!”

“Make me!”

Oh no! Not again!

“Are you here alone?” you change the subject and distract them from getting into a fight. Not that you wouldn’t enjoy it, but… too many witnesses at the packed Comic Con, it could end up in a total disaster.

“With my niece and nephew. I lost them for a second and I’m searching the premises; they can’t be far,” Bane reports. “Which reminds me: I should get going and find them otherwise my sister will go ballistic. I’ll see you later, Y/N,” he acknowledges you and ignores your man.

“Bye Mister B.,” The Queen snickers at the evident teasing.

“Just her, huh?” The Joker grumbles. “What about me? Did you forget we have a meeting next week???”

“Too bad and super sad: I’m not talking to you!” Bane’s attitude emerges.

“I certainly could care less because I’m not talking to you either!” The King strikes back.

“Then what are we going to do?” Sub-Zero’s better judgement brings up a good argument.

“Y/N will translate!” J proudly states.

Oh no! Not again!

That means they will snarl and make weird noises and you’ll have to guess what it means; an absolutely excruciating task that even a breath of fresh air can’t accomplish without losing it.

Maybe you should let them kill each other. 

“Fine!” Bane decides and distances himself from the couple while the Joker shouts since he has to have the last word:

“Fine!”

“Mister Batman?” the 5 years old dressed as a hobbit shily tugs on J’s cape.

“Hm?” the fake vigilante looks down. The little boy suddenly sneezes and wipes his nose with the fabric as the mad man is less than lenient at someone ruining the outfit replica he paid a fortune to have.

“Goddamn…” and he can’t finish his sentence because a large group of screaming children surround him in a heartbeat.

“Batman! Batman!” they jump up and down hyped up to see their hero.

“Go away!” J attempts to reason with the sea of kids he has no patience for. Of course nobody can hear him over the deafening sounds that attract more offsprings and parents.

“That’s so cute!” one of the moms gushes and takes a picture. “It’s delightful seeing a guy dressed as The Batman performing such a public service for our town!”

“He loves people, especially babies, “ you lie without blinking and immortalize the moment yourself.

“Awww,” a few people sigh touched by your praises.

“He must be a nice dude,” a kid’s dad concludes and you sweetly smile from under your mask:

“You have no idea.”

Somebody from the crowd places an infant girl in The Joker’s arms and the mob goes ballistic!! Rosie cheeks keeps sucking from her binky, glaring at the interesting person.

Clapping, cheering and whistling intensify whilst J feels compelled by his increasing popularity to lift the 6 months old above his head for everyone to see how cool he is.

This is not bad, The King enjoys an endless string of applause and the sudden explosion occurring in the diaper followed by quite a foul smell puts an end to his exuberance.

“Jesus!” he crinkles his nose, appalled. “Whose kid is this?” he yells and the thrilled parent waves at him, taking back the stinky, adorable bundle of joy. “Uncle Batsy needs to run!!” J makes up a random plan although nobody can hear him: the noise is overwhelming after he hyped them all up.  “Let’s bail before they trap me again! Pretty soon I won’t be able to walk, Princess. Everything is crammed in there, a total mess! I hate stretchy pants!!” he addresses his woman and quickens the pace until an atrocious abomination stops him in his tracks.

A specimen mocking The Joker wearing a purple suit is getting quite the attention: over exaggerated red lips smudged over the lip line, tattoo on the forehead that spells “Cabbaged”, a bunch of cheap golden chains from the Dollar Store around his neck and a sloppy green wig complete the assemble in a cringy manner.

You are equally speechless and The Joker manages to utter:

“What… THE HELL… is that????!!!!”

“Ummm… a Clown?” your sassy remark doesn’t score high marks as expected; you feel his eyes burning holes through you.

“You’re hilarious! Would you like to share your standup comedy talents on the stage??!” his index finger points at the platform meant to host a guest appearance from Bruce Wayne in the next hour.

Courtesy of “Wayne Enterprise” sponsoring the event: free food and refreshments for everyone under 18 years old.

You don’t answer and pout, upset J’s pissed attitude is already ruining your mood.

“I’m going to kill that buffoon posing as me!” he inhales full of spite and reaches for the knife hidden in his left boot.

“You can’t…” you hesitantly halt his movement. “Dozens of people, that’s just asking for trouble!”

“I’m not going to let a prick disrespect me!”

“You won’t, we’ll figure something afterwards. We can wait for him outside in the parking lot and take care of it without drawing attention! Please?” you beg hoping he’ll listen to you. “Pleeeaaaase!!!!“ you insist, perfectly aware he’s about to commit murder regardless. “I have a bunch of VIP passes to take pictures with celebrities. You promised J!” you stomp your high heels, exasperated. “You promised we’ll have a fun date!!”

“Why do I have to take pics with celebrities?! I don’t like anybody!”

The look on Y/N’s face: sheer disappointment; most of her features are covered with the mask yet he can tell.

“But I like you so the most I’ll do is take a selfie with you!” The Joker makes amendments on his own terms.

The Queen sniffles, trying to bottle up her emotions and she can’t help it: she bursts up in tears at her boyfriend’s candor.

Oh no! Not again!

Why?

The King of Gotham says nice things maybe twice a year and each time you struggle not to cry but it’s impossible: how can one resist such charm?!

Your complete meltdown makes him roll his eyes while your shaky hand takes a picture of the royal duo.

“Ugghhh…” J’s grimace turns your attention towards him.

“What is it baby?” you wipe your tears with his cape.

He would probably criticize such affront still there’s a pressing issue taking precedent.

“Princess, these tights are making my legs numb. I can’t feel my crown jewelry anymore.”

“Huh?” you forget to weep, startled.

“Cursed stretchy pants! I think I won’t be able to have sex for a month!” The Joker stretches his feet, uncomfortable.

“What??!!!” you raise your voice, panicked. “A month???!!”

Hell no!

Y/N grabs The Joker’s right hand and starts dragging him after her, yelling:

“Out of the way! Out of the way, it’s an emergency!!” whilst everyone is wondering how can someone wearing those 7-inch stilettos can march so fast.

“Where are we going, Pumpkin?!” J is inquiring and you yank at his arm, alarmed.

“To the car!”

“Why?”

Y/N doesn’t have time for explanations: she basically flies across the parking lot to get to section B5, opens the van’s back door and shoves J inside. He lands on his abs as you relentlessly pull on his boots, accomplishing to take them off in record time. Then you heave at his tights, huffing a storm at the stiff garment:

“I’ll be damn if I’ll wait a month for a ride in Funky Town!”

A mother and her 11 years old son pass by and she covers his eyes, horrified at the indecency as she guides him throughout the maze of vehicles.

“There are children here!” the woman protests. “Get a room!”

Luckily, she wasn’t heard by The Clown and his girl because… victory! The stretchy pants are off, J only in his boxers now.

“How are you feeling?” you roll him and he exhales, assessing the damage succeeding Y/N swift actions.

“Not sure, same?... Sit on my lap,” J offers and you don’t need a second invitation.

“Well?” you hold in the anxiety reaching high levels under these dire circumstances.

“Dunno, kiss me and we’ll see.”

You kiss him and he purrs.

“Well?” you interrogate again.

“Kiss me again!” he orders and you put more passion into it since your future happiness depends on it. “Hmm…” J groans. “I believe things are improving.”

“Yeah?” Y/N is about to have another breakdown although J didn’t say sweet rubbish; it’s just that kind of occasion.

“U-hum!”

“Then… what do you say we go home and celebrate your recovery?” you whisper in his ear.

“What about Comic Con?”

“Screw it!” you hop off his knees. “I’ll drive, you focus on your convalescence, ok baby?”

“Ok,” The Joker agrees and begins to stride around the van as Bruce Wayne’s limousine happens to drive by, the billionaire preparing to attend the event he sponsored.

“Stop the car!” Bruce commands at the weird view in the distance: a man wearing a replica of his Batman suit-- helmet, mask, gloves, cape… but no pants or boots, the bottom part of his attire consisting solely of underwear. “Right when you think you saw it all…” he shakes his head in denial, oblivious about who the person is.

Mister Wayne should at least have some empathy for the man enduring those tights for as long as he could; it might not be a record, but who could ever beat the real Batman at wearing stretchy pants anyway?!

Also read: MASTERLIST   

https://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

You can also follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[tams-writeblr]

Once I’m gone

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: major character death

Category: F/M (main couple), Multi (side characters)

Fandom: Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin

Relationship: Mikasa Ackermann / Eren Jaeger | various side couples

Characters: Eren Jaeger, Mikasa Ackermann, Armin Arlelt, Zeke Jaeger, Hange Zoe, Floch Forster, Ymir, Reiner Braun, Pieck Finger, Historia Reiss, several others will make a cameo

Additional Tags: Modern AU | established relationship | toxic behaviour | Eren suffers from Huntington’s disease and tries to settle his matters before he dies | suicial blockhead Eren | aged up characters (by ten years) | suicide tw | depression tw | mental diseases tw | deathly diseases tw | this is clearly not write what you know, but I’m giving my very best to representate the topics as good as I can | this all basically came to me as a fever dream | you remember Thirteen from House, M.D.? I still have a huge crush on her so this version of Eren is greatly inspired by her <3

Language: English (not native, I’m trying my best you guys)

Stats: ongoing - Chapter 1/15 - Part 2/4 - 1507 of 3652 words

Summary: Eren Jaeger knew for years that he inherited Huntington’s disease from his late mother. When he first notices symptoms on him, his long protected plan, to end his life before reaching the critical state of his illness,  awakes. But there is still Mikasa, his girlfriend and the only person in the world he cares about more than about himself, and he can’t leave her alone and grieving. It’s time to find a substitute for when Eren is gone. With the help of a new friend Eren tries to scare away Mikasa while driving her into the arms of someone new.

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Charlatans and Pills - Part 2/4

<<previous

“Hey Mama”, the small, dark haired boy said and pulled his hand towards the woman that sat sunk down on an uncomfortable looking chair.

She didn’t directly look at him, only giving his pulled out hand a small, arbitrary glance and looked up towards the man, standing behind Eren.

“But Carla, Dear”, Eren's father said with a cheerful tone. “Shake at least our Eren’s hand. Aren’t you happy that we are visiting you?”

A thin lipped smile crawled over Carla’s face and her light brown eyes finally found Eren’s glance. “Eren”, she sighed recognizing and rather than just taking his hand, she slipped down her chair and tightly hugged him.

Tighter than Eren would have liked it. He looked up to his father, seeking help, insecure how to behave. She still was his mother, the one that always loved him and guessed every wish from his eyes.

Eren had found out that she was sick, three years ago. Back then they also told him, he eventually would get the same sickness. She often dropped things and so she did on his eleventh birthday with a knife to cut his cake. It fell right on her foot and she had to go to the hospital. After this incident, she never returned to her old self. She behaved strangely ever so often, screaming at his dad for obviously no reason.

But the strangest was when Eren came home from school one day. His father was still at work, he had a small practice in the middle of town, and usually a delicious lunch was waiting for him when he returned home from school. But on this day nothing smelled nice through the house, on the contrary it stank horribly of burned food and everything was full with smoke. Eren found his mother in the upstairs bathroom, her hands were dripping with blood, he had found shards in the kitchen.

“What do you want?”, his mother screamed and held her blood stained hands in front of her face. “Get out! I have to hide from the smoke!”

Puzzled Eren neared his mother. “But Mama, you have to turn off the oven or else whatever's on there will burn even more. Did you cut yourself? Do you need a bandaid?”

“Get our!”, Carla yelled again. “Who the hell are you, how did you get into my house?”

Helpless tears wobbled out of big, green child’s eyes. “Mama”, he whined and ducked away under a roll of toilet paper his mother threw at him. Desperately the boy backed out of the bathroom and ran back to the kitchen where he pulled all knobs of the oven until the red control light went off, then he remembered what his father always had hammered inside his little head: to call him at work, when something was wrong with Mum.

“The number is pinned on the fridge”, he had told him again and again. “I’ll be with you within 15 minutes.” If not at this moment, when should he bother his father at work? Quickly the boy looked for the phone around the smoke filled house, luckily he found it in the living room and not like so often in his parents bedroom. He wouldn’t have dared to walk past the upper bathroom in which he still suspected his mother.

His father indeed arrived within minutes. He found Carla beneath the toilet, sunk down and asleep and immediately called an ambulance. “I’m so sorry”, he murmured again and again while pressing the sobbing and crying Eren against him. “You’ll never have to be alone with her again. Everything will be alright.”

His mother didn’t return home after this incident. His father explained to him that she would now live somewhere, where people could look after her more appropriately. There no knife would fall on her food ever again and she wouldn’t burn any more pans.

But Eren found the place where they brought her simply terrifying. There were only old people. Not old people like his father but really old, probably older than his grandparents. It always smelled strangely and scary sounds came from some chambers.

Eren curled out of his mother’s embrace and his father came to help him.

“There, there Carla, not so fiercely”, he laughed and directed her gently back towards her chair. Then he took place across from her and placed a hand on her knee. “Well my Dear, how are you feeling today?”

Carla looked at him for a long time with a stoic face. At that her left arm twitched permanently. It hit against her thigh and the seating of the chair.

Eren watched the movement hypnotized and flinched when his mother took a deep, loud breath.

“Grisha”, she said with unmistakable joy in her voice. her twitching arm raised and her hand landed accurately on her husband’s. A smile crept towards her lips. “My Dear…” Suddenly she was once again his mother, the pretty woman with light brown eyes and dark hair, sun kissed skin and the most beautiful smile in the world.

Eren felt lighter than before and placed his small child’s hand above his mother’s. She only looked at him briefly, out of the corner of her eyes, before taxing Grisha again. The three of them stayed like this for a while in total silence. Only a far away, old and male voice asked when it was finally time for dinner.

The clearing of a throat crushed the family idly and Eren and his mother heavily flinched.

Carla’s head shot high to look at the creator of the noice’s face. Her own one suddenly started to twitch wildly.

“Mr. Jäger, can I please talk to you for a moment?”, a man in a white coat said. From his father Eren knew that doctors dressed like that.

Grisha got up and agreed with a dark look on his face. “Eren, sit down for so long. I’ll be right back.”

“You are a doctor?”, Eren heard the other man ask when he walked away with his father. The latter didn’t answer, maybe he had only nodded. “Then you must know about the condition your wife is in.”

Eren couldn’t hear more from the conversation. But from the look on his mother’s face, he could tell that her glance followed them.

He didn’t want to turn out like her. What was that for a life? Eren still couldn’t quite understand what was wrong with his mother, but he knew she always forgot things, sometimes even him or his father and that she always flapped around her arms. He didn’t want that, especially not the thing with forgetting. Carefully he took her hand between both of his. “I’m not gonna forget you, Mama”, he said tenderly and patted her hand that was gaunt and wiry. “I promise.”

Carla looked at her boy dumbfounded before pulling her eyebrows into a painful grimace. “Oh Eren, my little baby,” she cried and thick tears wobbled out of her eyes. Fragile and smaller as he remembered her she sat on that horribly uncomfortable chair, her hand between the small palms of her son.

Scared by her sudden burst of emotion Eren pulled his hands away. Two faces, so similar to each other that everyone would see their connection, looked at each other with a mixture of horror and hurt.

When his father returned, Eren asked him to leave.

“Come back soon!”, he heard his mother say softly when Grisha leaned down to her and kissed her.

He promised they would, of course he did. And of course they kept their promise. Eren couldn’t say how many hours of his youth he had spent in that foster home that cared for his mother. The doctors and nurses there did a wonderful job, they deeply cared for his mother, who visibly crumpled infront of her small family’s eyes. She got thinner and thinner and ever more erratic. Until she neither recognized Grisha nor Eren. Sometimes she remembered to have a son called Eren but in her memory he was still a ten-years-old that had broken his arm while wrestling with his friends. That the handsome young man infront of her was her small Eren, she wouldn’t get the idea despite their striking resemblance.

Finally her spasticies became so bad that it became too dangerous to let her eat solid food and she got a feeding tube. From this moment on, things went continuously down hill for Carla Jäger, whose husband was a doctor himself who slowly broke down by looking at her.

Almost exactly ten years after moving to the foster home and a little over 13 years after her diagnosis Carla died on a stormy fall evening. She hadn’t seen her son in four month, he just couldn’t take it anymore.

But losing his mother had broken something deep inside of Eren. Now a full grown man, he knew which fate his mother had handed down to him. But he also knew back than, how he would be reacting towards it, when his time came.

                                                                               >>next

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Author’s Note: Hey, thank you for coming back to me! I hope you don’t mind when long flashbacks like this are all in Italics, I know they can be hard to read. Just for Context: Carla was 30 when she had Eren in this story and she dies at 51. Can’t have a main character without a tragic family backstory, can we? See you for the next part!

[americanredragger]

A Letter to My Mother (That I am too scared to send)

Okay. We’re having this talk now. I have been putting it off because there’s never been a way for me to keep my cool long enough to say it straight. I’ve been nice, I’ve been polite. I’ve walked away from conversations rather than address this directly because I don’t want to lose my mom.

Yesterday was unlike anything in American history. There is no both-sides-ism to be taken here. There is no even vaguely similar violence unleashed by the Left. This isn’t to say that NO violence has ever been unleashed by the left, it can and does happen. But nothing like this. This is unprecedented in both it's scope and audacity.

Unless you can point to an instance in which a Democrat president (or Senator, or Governor) whipped up a riot and unleashed those rioters on the Seat of Government of the United States of America, causing it to be breached and overrun by a hostile force for the first time in 207 years, the things don’t equate at all.

Unless you can point to a riot held by alt-right wingers in which the police cracked down on them HARD to the level of being condemned by the International Criminal Court as bordering on war crimes, the things don’t equate at all.

This was a direct assault on our government by a crowd whipped up by a sitting president. This has never happened before.

The Capitol Police removed the barricades and guided the insurrectionists in.

They chatted and took selfies with them. Exchanged fist bumps with them.

The seditionists were allowed to leave with few arrests, just… gently guided out once the barbarian hordes had their fun.

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

And yes, Trump (eventually) told them to go home, but refused to condemn what they'd done and finished his speech with "We love you. You're very special." and continued to refer to his political opponents as "evil".

This is quite literally unprecedented in American history. As in, nothing comes close. That's what "unprecedented" means.

If this had been BLM, the response would have been entirely different. DC would be on lockdown. The police would be bringing WAR to the streets. There would be helicopters, APCs, and beat cops dressed like the US Army rolling into Baghdad in 2003. The DC area hospitals would be overwhelmed with rioters suffering from horrific head and spine injuries from trigger-happy use of rubber bullets and night-sticks. Hell, Trump tear-gassed ACTUAL peaceful protesters last summer just so he could stage an awkward photo op in front of a church, which even the Clergy called him out on.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AzBhYhu7NYI

Don't you DARE equate the two.

I'm tired of the whataboutisms. I'm tired of ignoring the evidence right in front of you. Donald Trump is the single most corrupt, evil man America has ever elected to the presidency. He has worked hard to transform the Republican party into something that actual Holocaust survivors and experts have called "Neofascist" and even less flattering terms.

https://www.vox.com/policy-and-politics/2018/10/5/17940610/trump-hitler-history-historian

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/posteverything/wp/2018/07/16/its-not-wrong-to-compare-trumps-america-to-the-holocaust-heres-why/

https://www.delawareonline.com/story/opinion/2020/10/25/holocaust-survivor-fears-rising-tide-ugliness-blames-trump-opinion/3740781001/

https://forward.com/scribe/455507/100-year-old-holocaust-survivor-compares-trump-to-hitler/

https://www.sacbee.com/latest-news/article223718330.html

Historians and victims of fascism the world over point to what Trump and his transformed Republican party have been doing as president when asked how the Weimar Republic fell and the Nazi regime rose.

The overwhelming amount of terrorist attacks in the last five years have been Trump supporters (Well over half stemming from that singular cause, with the rest divvied among a MASSIVE swathe of motives), but none more so overwhelmingly so than yesterday's.

There is no left wing equivalent for this in America until you go all the way back to the Weather Underground bombings, and even they were not goaded on by the incumbent politicians of a party.

Your party has been STOLEN from you. The Party of Lincoln, Eisenhower, and Reagan is no more. And now it’s stealing you from your children as we have watched you and dad drift further and further into the Hannity-Limbaugh-Carlson echo chamber.

88 years ago next month, right wing extremists set fire to the Reichstag in the Weimar Republic. Over the next few days, they seeded reports that it was actually the communists, maybe socialists, no, it was definitely anarchists… or was it trade unionists? Either way, it HAD to have been The Left who burned down the Reichstag.

This was used to expand and hold onto the power of the Chancellor, a man who need not be named. The next few years proved to be sorrowful for everyone.

That same blame-shifting is already happening again, but it's not in some far away country, it's happening here, where we all thought it couldn't.

This sort of event is unprecedented in the United States, or it was until yesterday. It is not so unprecedented elsewhere.

The only difference is that this attempt failed.

The attempt was made because Trump’s own administration found that this was the most secure election in American history, and Trump’s lawsuits to the contrary were laughed out of court by Trump-appointed judges, including his Supreme Court justices, and his exceedingly incompetent and well-documented attempts to get state officials to overturn a legitimate election all failed.

I still believe you and dad are good, honest people. Patriots who want America to do well in the world.

You can not-like Nancy Pelosi, or Obama, or Biden, or Hilary Clinton. That’s your prerogative, and we’ll agree on plenty in that regard. You’re well within your rights to believe that my preferred economics don’t work. We’ll disagree heartily, but that’s normal for families, especially between parents and their kids.

But your party has been hijacked by neofascists, malignant narcissists, and white supremacists.

I am on my knees BEGGING you to see what so many experts and victims have been warning you about for years.

The Left did not do this.

Trump did.

You have been led astray by an vain, selfish, greedy demagogue, a well documented honorless grifter who embodies everything Christ opposed, and uses people until they have nothing more to give him and discards them. He has cloaked this latest grift in the American flag and set a cross upon it, the only way Fascism ever COULD take root in America, as we saw with Joe McCarthy in the Second Red Scare.

It’s changing you. You can’t see it because it’s happening to you, but those around you can, and it’s scaring us.

Please, finally, truly see this. I want my parents back. You’re going down a path I can’t follow and it’s breaking my heart.

In 2016, I broke from the Republican Party because I saw calamity coming in the nomination of Donald Trump. Only 4 years later, and history has soberingly showed me that I was more right than I could have ever guessed, and my world view has never been the same since. I have looked back at the political opinions I wrote and posted then, and they were so selfish and hateful that it was physically painful for me to put myself through that review. I was a puppet. I couldn’t have seen it at the time because I was at the center of it, and I still live in dread of the monster I would have become if I’d kept to that path. I see that same kind of speech coming from you now - the jingoism, the recycled talking points, the Orwellian denials, and the near-unquestioning loyalty to the stars of the Republican Party and their mouthpieces at Fox, OAN, Newsmax, and the AM Radio circuit. I see the most selfish parts of who I used to be, and I know that deep down, you are not that person because I still see you constantly striving to be a good mother, a good Christian, and a model human being.

I’m imploring you to finally look at the evidence, the boundless clear and present evidence, and see what men like Gingrich, McConnell, and Trump have turned your party into. What they are turning you into, the same as they tried with me.

I know you wouldn’t be happy as a Democrat - I myself am only begrudgingly a Democrat because the system doesn’t allow for a viable alternative (and that’s a whole different issue that deserves it’s own library of articles). I’m not trying to convert you. I just need to know that you can look at the evidence with your own eyes like I did and see that you’ve been played for a sucker by men who cry wolf and distract you by having you chase shadows while they line their pockets with money and power. Please stop listening to these monsters, stop swallowing their poison. I know how easy it is to be in that world because I myself have lived in it for most of my life. I fully understand the appeal: there are easy answers for everything, you always know who the enemy is and who your supposed allies and benefactors are. But I also left that behind, and yes, it hurts. It hurts a lot, and frequently. But despite the pain, I know I am better off for having done it.

Yes, I have to question the people who claim to represent me more. I have to question EVERYTHING more because I now know that nothing is as clear cut as I thought it was - once removed from Plato’s Cave, I no longer had the luxury of a simple world. And yet I am still happier because I am so much more my own person now. Yes I falter, and worse still, some days I fall back into the old ways of thinking, but now I recognize that for what it is and it is easier to deal with.

You’ll always be a Conservative, Mom, but I see you on the path that I was on, a path that nearly robbed me of my critical thinking and objectivity, and one which would have weaponized my sense of patriotism to benefit people who are not me. You have kept that course far longer than I. Please put aside the whataboutisms, the both-sides-isms, and finally see the evil, ravenous monster that killed your party from the inside and now wears its skin to deceive you into feeding it further.

I don’t ask that you agree with my politics or economics. I AM begging you though to split from this political machine which is changing you into something I no longer recognize. I want the parents I used to have, the ones who could look at things objectively and form their own opinions instead of repeating talk show buzz lines.

Please, recognize the shadows on the wall of the cave that wicked men are showing you are NOT reality. Please, join me in the truth of the world outside.

[theoriginalladya]

Ooh, That Scene for Seeing Reds and Young & Proud?

Why does it not surprise me you would ask about these two???  Thank you so much for asking about them!  <3

Okay, let me see.  For Seeing Reds, the first scene I came up with, the one that convinced me to write the fic in the first place, was one of the last scenes in the actual story.  It’s a scene where Caleb is basically seeking sanctuary with Athair and they are hiding out on the island.  I’ve always known that Athair would be a big influence in Caleb’s life, even from afar, and it all starts back during Caleb’s years as a young child and in the Reds.  I wanted to have that almost father-like person in his life, sort of guiding him, almost like a ‘conscience on his shoulder’ type of an influence, one that will help him get to a point where he can go on and become the Commander Shepard that we know from the games, but I don’t think I realized just HOW much of an impact he would end up having for him.

Skeptical, Caleb asks, “Have you brought any other Reds here?”

The priest shakes his head.  “No, son,” he replies in a more solemn tone, “you are the first.”

Caleb’s shoulders slump slightly.  The food has no taste and his mouth is dry as he stares down at his hands.  “And the last.”

“Perhaps.”  The priest rises and walks back over to Caleb where he crouches down and pats his shoulder.  “You cannot worry about them now.  There is nothing you can do for –.”

Caleb jumps to his feet, anger surging uncontrollably as he knocks the priest backwards.  It only takes a few of his long-legged strides to reach the opposite wall where he slams his fist against the stone wall, knuckles first and heedless of slicing pain that shoots up his arm while at the same time, an unending roar of anguish that has nothing to do with his hand is ripped from the center of his chest.

For half a breath, as his cry rolls and reverberates throughout the room, as the skies outside seemingly echo his pain with a sudden explosion of light followed practically immediately by rolling thunder, the world comes to a halt and everything is still.  Save for his heaving lungs, searching for more air to fuel another such outburst, all is quiet …

He turns on his heels, facing the priest, his eyes wild and seething.  “The only way there is nothing I can do is if I am dead!” he bellows defiantly.

Athair stands and folds his arms across his chest as if waiting patiently for a storm to blow itself out.  It is maddening, but not unexpected.  And yet, Caleb knows from experience, this priest is a man of complexities; this is not the reaction he expects.  Not this time.  Not this situation.  Eyes narrowed, Athair asks flatly, “Are you quite finished?”

Like kindling meeting flame, Caleb erupts again.  Before he knows it, and without conscious thought, his arm swings in the direction of Athair, and there is nothing he can do to stop himself.  There is a half second where, in the back of Caleb’s mind, he considers the repercussions of this action, the cost of attacking the one man in all the world who might be able to help him, but it is fleeting.  In the next moment, the older man throws himself away from the fist while reaching to grasp Caleb’s arm, and somehow manages to twist in such a way that he pulls it up behind the teen, pressing it against his spine as he wraps his arms around and holds him close, immobile.  “Let it go, son, now,” he breathes near Caleb’s ear, his voice a mixture of authority and pleading, “let it go before it eats you alive!”

Caleb chokes for air, horrified and stunned by the turn of events in the last few seconds.  What have I done?  Beneath him, his legs weaken and he crumples to the floor, sobs wracking his thin frame.  Athair follows, his arms loosening but he does not release Caleb completely until the younger man’s body goes completely limp, all the while murmuring half formed prayers and words of comfort.

As for Young & Proud, it’s actually two scenes that blend into one another.  Surprise, surprise, it’s a pub brawl! lol  (I know you’re going to enjoy this one!)

“So, the Alliance allows any old Paddy into the service now, is it?  Damned blighters can’t even aim properly!”

Images of the first brawl with Coats pass before Caleb’s eyes.  Before he can respond, however, Coats slides between them.  “C’mon, mate, it was your buddy over there who caused the ruckus,” he points at the other man now at the bar, “not him.”

The civilian places his beefy hands on Coats’ shoulders, pushing him aside to bring Caleb directly into view once more.  “Wasn’t asking you, friend.  Was asking –”

Coats’ hand wraps around one of the man’s wrists, removing it as he slips back between them.  “You misunderstand, friend.  If you’re talking to him, you’re talking to me.  First.  Or are you too thick to get that much?”

Caleb sighs, eyes rolling.  He already knows how this is going to end, Coats’ stubbornness gives it away.  A quick look over at the barman assures him he can see it too as he’s already making a call.  “Hammersmith, let it go.”

But Coats shakes his head.  “No, not this time.”  He leans in nose to nose with the civilian.  Caleb shifts to his right, attempting to get back a line of sight when the civilian’s hand flies up and solidly hits Coats’ left jaw.  His friend grunts heavily in pain and surprise, but holds his ground.

“If I end up back in hospital, you’re explaining to Ceila again about how intellectual we are,” Caleb mutters just before throwing a punch with his left arm into the civilian’s solar plexus.  

The fight that ensues is weirdly satisfying on several levels, not the least of which is that Caleb manages to avoid being hit. Whether that is due to Coats and the way he constantly jockeys around to protect him, or the rest of their sniper class who also get involved, Caleb doesn’t know, but by the end of the fight, as he and the others are being escorted out of the pub and back to base by the police, and the only pain in his shoulder is the residual ache left over from his surgery as his medication starts to wear off.  

They are escorted to the Administrative section where he and Coats are directed straight into Major Walker’s office only to find that it isn’t their CO standing there, but none other than Commander David Anderson.  

Startled, Caleb stands at attention, unable to salute due to the bandages on his shoulder.  Coats is less than a second behind him.  The older man eyes them both critically, his face a neutral mask.  Caleb swallows and curses softly to himself in silence, hoping he hasn’t just ruined his one shot at a decent life outside of Ireland in front of the very man who gave it to him.  

“Well, now,” the booming voice of the commander begins as he steps out from around the desk, “would one of you like to tell me what the hell is going on?”  One dark brow arches sharply upward, but there is a hint of a twitch at the left corner of his lips that leaves Caleb wondering.  

Neither Caleb nor Coats moves, but both try to find an extra inch of spine in their apprehension at the scrutiny, eyes straight ahead.  Anderson crosses the room and shuts the door behind them.  “At ease,” he finally tells them.

Caleb pauses, breath catching in his lungs. Beside him, he senses Coats’ trepidation as well.  “Sir…?” he dares when Anderson returns to his previous position.  

The commander’s face pinches slightly around the eyes, his lips pressed thin.  This isn’t the face of a man about to dress them down, Caleb decides after a moment of study.  He darts a quick look over at Coats, but his friend shrugs almost imperceptibly.

“Sit down,” Anderson says, a huff of laughter escaping with the words.  “Go on, sit down.”  A slow smile curves across his face, reaching his dark eyes.  Both Caleb and Coats do as Anderson instructs, dropping into the uncomfortable seats.  As the man leans forward, arms resting on the desk, he says, “Now, I think it is about time we three have a little chat.”

Coats is the first to respond.  “A chat?  Sir?”

Anderson nods.  “I understand you two have had a bit of a…struggle with one another since your arrival.”

Caleb sits very still in his chair, opting to stay silent.  The little he knows of this man, the few conversations they’ve had and the short time they’ve spent together, all which happened over a couple of years before just prior to his being sent to basic training, now tickles at the back of his mind. Anderson has a wicked sense of humor – that much he recalls.  Add in his friendship with Athair, and it only makes the pieces that much more puzzling to put together, but he has an idea.  The gleam in Anderson’s eyes is a hint at confirmation.  

“Struggle?” Coats exclaims, darting a quick look over at Caleb as he huffs.  “That’s putting it mildly.”

Caleb ponders a way to approach it without sounding like an accusation.  The man had done him, and by extension Athair, a huge favor, but there were still limits to how far he could presume upon their friendship.  Still, something about this current situation suggests he has a bit of leeway.  “Sir, was this…a set up?”

Anderson’s gaze zeros in on him with the question, and for the first time, Caleb knows what it means to be targeted ‘in someone’s sights.’  It isn’t a comfortable feeling as such, but he’s sticking to his decision come hell or high water.  “’Set up’ might be putting too fine a point on it.”

“So, you’re the one behind this?”  Coats, apparently, isn’t afraid to sound accusatory.

“Behind you two being roommates?  I am.”  

There is a history here between the two, he thinks. Caleb knows from first-hand experience that Anderson is a man who masks his reactions well.  Coats is good, but not quite that level of good.  He recognizes a knowing glint in Coats’ steely eyes, the twitch of the corner of his lips as they curl upward just enough to form a smug, half-grin.  Curious.  Caleb sits back to watch.  

Basically, I KNEW I wanted Coats and Caleb to be at odds with each other, to be English vs. Irish most of the way through sniper school, but by the end of it, they were going to be best friends.  I ALSO knew that Anderson was responsible for it - setting them up as roommates.  There’s a history there, between Coats and Anderson, one Caleb really wants to find out (and we likely will find out further details down the road...).

Thanks so much for asking!

[astxlphe-fics]

Pink Flowers  // Fukumori

Mori had his feelings for Fukuzawa cut out of him years ago. Hanahaki AU

Word count : ~1700

CW some blood, one murder, one medical malpractice 

When they’re younger, when they’re still a doctor and his bodyguard, Mori is the target of many attempted murders and kidnappings.  

Despite his constant misgivings about bodyguarding, despite the simple fact that Mori doesn’t, actually, need any kind of rescuing, Fukuzawa comes for him.  

Every single time.  

Then they fight together, back to back, as a team, against threats to the fragile balance of Mori’s world, of the neutrality of his underground clinic.  

It’s during those fights that Mori realizes than yes, sometimes he needs Fukuzawa by his side, and that he enjoys his company. They collapse, letting themselves fall sitting on the ground, side by side, bloody and tired.  

Mori sighs and there is a tingle in his throat.  

He doesn’t think much of it, barely notices it, but he does feel the beginning of a fondness for the man.  

+  

The itch at the back of his throat takes months to turn into a full cough, and he spits out the first petal in his own sink, thankfully.  

Having a patient around while he discovers his own illness would be less than ideal. Rumors go fast in the underbelly of Yokohama, and if the news escape his office it’ll quickly make its way to his enemies.  

He picks it up and studies it carefully.  

“How bothersome,” he declares, throwing it in the trash.  

But what can he do about it?  

There are several things he can do, in fact.  

First option — kill Fukuzawa before this disease takes a hold of him. But it’ll upset Natsume, and he isn’t sure he is capable of killing his bodyguard.  

Second option — get rid of the feeling altogether. While this is something he can eventually do on his own, letting it fade, an operation would be a sure way to fix the issue. The problem: he can’t operate himself.

Third option — seduce the man. Make sure that what Mori apparently feels for him is returned. Keep him by his sides, for good.  

This thought is infinitely more appealing than the first two.  

He doesn’t have to decide immediately. He doesn’t want to.  

“What do you think, Elise?”  

She looks up from her picture book. “I think you’re gross.”  

His laughter makes him cough again. Another petal comes out, and he thinks of every possibility again. He thinks of Fukuzawa, of the flowers fading from his lungs as the man holds him close.  

He’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it. Hanahaki isn’t a kind illness, but it’s considerate enough to make the killing slow.  

+  

Elise doesn’t start looking worried until a few months later, when he wakes up gasping for breath, petals sticking to the back of his throat and spilling out of his mouth.  

Her reaction tells him the situation might become critical soon.  

It’s more anger than worry, to be fair, and she throws some of his tools to the ground in a fit of rage. “Just kill him!” she yells, before crossing her arms and setting her face into a pout. “I’m starting to feel sick too, so get rid of him before he kills the both of us.”  

He would, usually, cave in to whatever Elise demands of him. He loves her, after all, and anything she wants is worth getting for her.  

But not this. This is something he can’t give her.  

+  

By the time Fukuzawa finds out about Yosano, Mori is throwing up whole flowers. It’s starting to affect his work, but it doesn’t look like Fukuzawa has noticed.  

If he has, he hasn’t said anything about it, which is fine by Mori.  

They fight — of course they fight, but it’s not like they usually do.  

Everyday fighting is banter and annoying each other, it’s Fukuzawa coming for him every time he gets into trouble, no matter how much he doesn’t need it.  

Everyday fighting makes the flowers in Mori’s lungs grow larger. It makes Mori want this man to love him.  

His chest tightens, thinking about what they have the potential to be, about how much they could do for this city just by being together, about the kind of embrace he could give him.

Fukuzawa draws his sword, and Mori almost chokes, swallowing down the flowers threatening to fall from his lips.

There is no fixing it now.  

+  

Their partnership broken, the illness gains more ground, with no hope of recovery through more...traditional means.  

It quickly becomes urgent to do something about it. The flowers are larger than ever, and if he was a lesser man, he would cry thinking about what they could have been, he would go back to Fukuzawa and ask him to reconsider, to come back to him.  

Gritting his teeth, he closes his eyes, grieving for a relationship that doesn’t exist, which was doomed from the day he threw up that first petal.

He is not a lesser man, however. He shoves his own fingers down his throat to drag the flowers out. They clog the sink, bloodied and of a horribly cheerful pink color.  

How those feelings have made him weak. They make him sick with a deadly disease, shift his focus, make him yearn for something he knows he can never have.  

He needs to get rid of them as soon as he can.  

“Look at you!” Elise scolds him. “I told you, we should have killed him.”  

“I’m sorry Elise.” He smiles at her sheepishly, because she is right. He should have dealt with it a long time ago. He just hadn’t wanted to.  

They make him irrational.  

There are other underground doctors in the city, though none of them as skilled, none of them as reputed, as he is. He will find someone to take care of it.  

She scowls, eyebrows drawing together, and she tugs at his sleeve. “You’re so stupid, Rintarou.”  

+  

The other doctor is surprised to see him, of all people, but he gets to work quickly. He looks smug, knowing such a thing about Mori Ougai, about the weakness taking over him.  

He will use it against him, in the future, if he can.  

Mori doesn’t let him entertain the idea.  

He refuses any kind of anesthetics, unwilling to put himself at the mercy of another person with a scalpel, and Elise stands guard. The other doctor underestimates her, but Mori knows she can recognize any suspicious medical action and rise up to protect him with barely any prompting.  

The doctor opens him up and fixes him, and the pain means nothing when he’s finally getting rid of the feelings he has for Fukuzawa Yukichi, for they have been weighing on him since the beginning, far more than he ever admitted to.  

When it’s done, he’s both curious and satisfied to realize that what he feels is now little more than indifference. Everything he has wished for since the start, to have him standing by his side, for lips on his skin and to be the only one in his eyes, seems ludicrous now. A waste of time and energy.  

He cuts the doctor’s throat once he’s done and looks for any witness. Then, he puts Fukuzawa out of his mind, and moves on.  

His work won’t do itself. He has a Mafia boss to take care of.  

Time to get down to business.  

+  

"It’s a pity.”  

Blood seeps out of Fukuzawa’s neck, and Mori is regretful, surprising even himself, though it’s not as personal as it could have been, once.  

His feelings for Fukuzawa were cut out of him years ago.  

Without this virus, they could have been a team again and crushed those rats with ease. They were always a deadly combination, so this is nothing but a missed opportunity.  

But first comes the security and well-being of his own, and any feeling he allows himself those days is for them, for the Mafia — and for Elise, of course, but she is something else entirely.

He still apologizes for cheating. He may not love the man anymore, but he respects his strength and a fair fight would have ended in Mori’s defeat. It’s not something he can allow again, not with so much at stake.

All he needs now, is to wait for Elise to pop back up into existence, stay here until Fukuzawa dies — it’s the least he can do for his old teammate — and prepare for the rage of the Detective Agency.  

Until Natsume shows up to scold them and drags them away to Dostoievski’s hideout.  

Later, as they’re on their way, it’s plain in the way Natsume looks at him that he knows. Mori doesn’t care. He has done what needed to be done.  

Elise reappears soon after, and he gives her a hug that she pretends to protest to. She will always be the most constant thing in his life, the only one who he knows will stand by him until his last breath.  

+  

The virus fades, and the ability user at the origin of it tries to run. Fukuzawa and Mori grab him before he can, together, like old times.

It makes Fukuzawa nostalgic, in a sense. He misses the team they used to be, before they each took a different walk of life. Before he learned of Yosano.

A part of him wishes that, when this is over, when they have won against Dostoievski, they can stay this way — a little bit of a team, again.

He wonders what Dazai is planning, forcing Akutagawa and Atsushi together.  

Both boys are like rough diamonds, and Dazai is playing a dangerous game, hitting them against each other like this. There is little he can do but trust Dazai’s judgement and hope the sparks he makes don’t start too big of a fire.

Though, knowing him, he would probably say it’s the point.

Mori, he can tell, is thinking the same, though he doesn’t speak of it. He catches him glancing at the pair, eyes lingering on Atsushi, and Fukuzawa can’t blame him for it. He’s just as doubtful of the black-clad young man with whom his subordinate already seems to have a quiet understanding.

The Mafia leaves. Fukuzawa watches as Mori’s red scarf billows in the wind.  

There is an itch in his throat.  

[themousefromfantasyland]

The Yule Man (3/7)

As told by ME

This was meant to be a short story, but it became too big, so I separated it in seven parts. I want to turn my blog in a space where I can share my writting every once and a while.

This is the first time I post one of my stories on a public space. This is the first time anyone besides my sister will be able to read, so I'm pretty exciting and anxious. I want honest criticism. I hope you all enjoy it.

In the next year, Chris opened his bag earlier, near the old bridge. News came that the Yule Man had already arrived in Arnsberg. Mia stepped into her carriage and ordered the coachman to lead her to him.

She found him sitting in a wooden bench next to the clocktower. He hadn't changed a thing. The same dirty clothes. The same enormous fur coat. The same shaggy red beard. The same tender boyish face.

His whole mood lighted up pretty quick as soon as he caught her in his sight. She waved to him, and not containing himself with excitement, he waved back to her.

They stopped the carriage near him, and she opened the door to him.

He grinned with all the mischievousness of a boy:

"You changed."

She nudged his shoulder.

"It passed only a year. How can I have changed?" She played with his beard.

"Everyone always changes." He spoke.

During the course to the Hayek Mansion, everything felt different. The coachman looked tired and in a bad state of mind. Even Mia herself seamed exhausted, yet they tried their best to stay the same. The way to Hayek home had changed too. Less trees, more buildings, the town expanded itself again.

"How is your father?"

The coachman looked behind his shoulder.

She grew quiet. Chris would not dare to ask more questions; he knew that feeling all too well.

At the Hayek Mansion things continued to change. The Yule Log had been launched in the fireplace far later than it should. The decorations this year looked poorer and simpler, as if something had sucked all joy and life out of them. The living room was a shell of what it once was. No Yule Goats this year. Silver bells now accompanied the typical decks of holly hanged by the walls. He saw statues of the Silver God near the Yule Tree in the living room.

"I didn't know you were religious." Chris said surprised.

Mrs. Hayek stormed in the room.

Mia expressed defeat.

"Oh, you brought him again." She said with more resentment in her voice than usual. "Without telling me anything."

Mia closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Mother, please..."

"Oh, shut up." She snarled. "I believe we already ran out of things to say to each other."

There was only one table this year, set more by a sense of duty than by any real intent. Less charm, less sweets, less delights. The feeling in the house was way different. The Yule Festival now felt more like an accessory, a decoration, than anything real.

The Solstice Eve ball felt different too, less guests, less presents, and less joy. A sense of uneasy filled the air, with the townspeople unsure if they were welcome there. St. Nicholas was now exactly as how the holiday cards portrayed him.

The gigantic Yule Tree has disappeared this year. Along with many Yule things, it had been brought along with Mr. Hayek when he went to his final destination.

Mia stood in a corner, trying to stay out of sight, what Chris thought as a shame. She dressed even more beautiful than in the last year. She wore a sleeveless ivy-green gown with a bright red sash around her waist.

He went to talk with her, still carrying a plate full of cookies and other sweets, all those he could find.

"Are you alright? Can I do something to help?" He asked with a deep fear of invading someone else's business. He tested the ground to know if it was safe to step on it.

She saw how he carried the plate.

"Thanks."

She picked one. He released a quick nervous laughter.

"Oh, they were not for you... "

She gave him a judgmental stare.

"I mean, you can get them if you..."

She laughed.

"I missed you, silly." She hugged him and rested her face on his shoulder.

"What happened here?" He asked.

"My relationship with my mother is worse than ever." She placed a huge emphasis on the word "ever".

Mrs. Hayek approached them with as kindness as it was possible from her.

"Mia, I wanted to talk with you." She began saying by putting her best "mother voice". "Remember Mr. Evans. Well, he has a son your age. He has been having troubles finding a bride for his son. I agreed to talk about marriage proposals tomorrow. The old man is unsure with you as a good bride for his soon, so I want you to go there..."

Mia had enough. That was the final stroke that broke the camel's back.

"Mother, I'm sorry, but no!"

"What?"

Mrs. Hayek had trouble digesting that word. "No" wasn't a term she was familiarized with.

"I thought the problem was you not getting any suitors."

Mia tried her best to be diplomatic on that moment.

"Mother, I'm very thankful for what you're doing, but I'm not want to be married. Not like that."

"So, what do you want Mia." She raised her voice.

Everyone stopped and stared at them. Chris saw the sparks starting to fly between the two.

"The money of your father will not last forever. I'm trying my best to hold this family together, but you're refusing to help."

Mia kept her best poker face.

"His partners are almost taking over the company. We are almost losing our income." She continued.

Mia exhaled.

"Mother, I know, and I don't want to bring you any more trouble, but please..."

"You have been useless." She yelled.

Mia raised her voice.

"You can say that to my face."

"I can't?" She smiled with disdain. "At your age I was already married, because that's why women of our class do, we help our family." She paused to breathe. "I didn't like your father at first, he was very older than me, but this is real life." She lowered her tone. "We don't have much time."

Mia shouted back.

"What do you know about love?"

Not even Chris recognized her when she said that. She got careless. Mia spilled a kind of bitterness that she didn't know she had. Whatever that thing was, it came from way within her.

"A gold-digging shrew. Nothing is never good enough. Not even my father was good enough. You only married him because of his money. You yourself told how the fact he been black turned you off at first."

By the look of Mrs. Hayek’s expression, it was as if she had been hit in the face. A sure slap that hurt nothing more than her ego.

"I want you out." She went straight to kill.

Mrs. Hayek stopped looking into her daughter's face.

"Mother, please." Mia tried to fix the whole situation, to salvage their relationship. Mia implored for all reason she hoped still lasted in her.

Everyone continued watching.

"I will not send you away because it would be a sin against my god. You can spend Yule with us, but after that I want you out." Her mother growled

She walked away. Mia tried to reach her.

"Mother."

She immediately shot her down.

"You father already left half of his inheritance to you. This house is mine and from your siblings. It's ours."

"What is happening here" Sophia asked, followed close by her brothers.

"Nothing." Mrs. Hayek smiled as perfectly as a china doll.

Mia rushed back inside. Chris followed her.

In her anger she threw a the statue of the Silver God over the stairs and broke down in tears. She sat upon the staircase and kept crying. When Chris entered the room, she made sure to wipe her tears away. Too late.

"Father loved the Yule Festival. Mother not so much." She started. "He never liked the Church. He always told how the church appropriate the Winter Solstice festival to themselves. How they plastered their stupid god everywhere to make the holiday theirs."

She smiled, trying her hardest to lighten the mood. "Now that he's gone, mother did the same, and things are worse than ever." She hid her face in her hands.

Chris stepped up the stairs and sat by her side, remaining quiet.

"You don't know what to say!"

He nodded in shame. She gave him a half-smile.

"During this year I couldn't stop thinking about you. You never change, you never ages. I wish to be like you sometimes."

"You don't." He broke the silence.

The way he said that surprised her.

"You have an immortal lifetime."

He raised his voice.

"You have a lifetime." His lips trembled "I got only moments."

"You don't die." She was quick to point out.

"What's the point of not dying, if you never lived?" He shook his arms in frustration.

He lowered his head and his tone.

"During most of the year I cease to be, and just to think about it makes me terrified." His lips quivered. He struggled not to spill any tears. "For all the purposes I'm dead. There's no such thing as an afterlife for me. I just disappear. Boom. Nothing."

He failed. He got emotional.

"I wished I could exist. I wish I could form real relationships with people. People remember me the same way their remember a snowy day."

She closed her eyes.

"For how has it been like that."

"For as much as I can remember." He said in deep mournful tone. "I'm part of the landscape, not of the people who go through it."

"Father was the only one who understood me." She continued.

"My mother raised me to sit still and be pretty. My father raised me to be a tomboy. I'm scared. I'm a woman now, and I don't have talents or skills. I don't know what to do now, where to go. I just don't want to be like my mother. My mother comes from those types who married earlier and with much older men. I don't want to be like her."

She caught him gazing at her with care.

"You don't need to be"

She pulled his hands.

"You either."

She continued.

"Let's live the moment, here and now. As my mother said, we don't have much time."

"I really want that, but..."

"Why are you always so afraid?" She shook her head.

He stayed quiet for a couple of seconds.

"The North Wind, for as far as I remember has been one of few things that acknowledges me. He doesn't like that I'm too close to mortals. He can't punish me. He isn't my boss. But he cares, really cares. He fears for me."

Mia drew his hands to her lap.

"Promise me you won't be afraid anymore. You can be yourself. I will not punish you. I will not run away."

He smirked.

"But you have to promise me you will try to write. You told me you wanted to be a writer last year.

She raised up.

"Were you really listening?"

He got up near her.

"It's one of the few things I can do in this world." He continued. "I want to see if you are good on that. I don't change, but I think I can change you."

He realized how that sentence could be interpreted. "I mean, I don't want you to change, I mean..."

She took off his fur hood and kissed his cheek, and for a moment the whole world changed for him.

[gellavonhamster]

here's looking at you, kid

written for the 2020 Sugar Bowl Tournament organized by @asoue-network for the prompt: "Beatrice/Bertrand/Lemony & Violet, pre-canon. B/B/L watching Violet grow over the years".  

ao3 link eng || ao3 link rus

Violet Baudelaire was a couple of minutes old, and Beatrice, exhausted and happy, was holding her in her arms.

“See, and you were worried,” remarked the midwife good-naturedly. She wasn’t a volunteer – as far as Bertrand and Beatrice had learned, no one among the staff there had any connection to VFD. That played a critical role when choosing the clinic. It was a stroke of luck, and Beatrice was almost sure that if at some point in the future she got pregnant again, they wouldn’t have the same luck the second time. “A strong and healthy baby!”  

“She must be taking after her father,” Beatrice replied, gently rocking her daughter to sleep. Strictly speaking, it was too early to judge whom Violet was taking after, because all infants, objectively, only looked like one another. It was what Beatrice used to think before, and even now, already feeling a sharp, scorching influx of love for this little warm bundle in her arms, the kind of love that made, in her eyes, this baby different from all the other babies in the world once and for all, she still found it hard to argue about. But Violet had brown eyes. Not green like Beatrice’s, and not blue like Bertrand’s.    

Well, that settled all doubts related to paternity.

“He left us her to remember him by,” she thought, and instantly felt angry with herself. Violet was no souvenir, no lock of hair in a locket or something of that sort. She was not a part of Lemony or Bertrand, not even a part of Beatrice – not anymore. She was a living being on her own, with a tiny red puckered face and long dark eyelashes, and Beatrice was positive that she would grow up to be kind, clever, and loved. At least she and Bertrand were going to do their utmost to make sure it happened.  

“Should I invite her father in?” the midwife asked, and Beatrice’s heart stung for a second, because he could not be invited, could not be summoned with a letter or a call or a telegram or by crying on the floor at three o’clock in the morning – but only for a second. Violet had a father, she reminded herself. It was just that once they used to hope she’d have two of them.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Please do.”

In her arms, Violet wrinkled up her nose and yawned.

 ***

 Violet Baudelaire was two years old and sleeping on the sofa in the living room, and Beatrice, who just came back from the nursery where Klaus was sleeping, was standing in the doorway and watching her. More precisely, she was watching her daughter, then shifting her gaze to Kit Snicket, seated in an armchair with a cup of already cooled-down coffee in hands, and then looking at her daughter again.  

“Has she noticed?” Beatrice thought. “Has she figured it out?”

Kit must have sensed her presence, for she turned around and looked at her closely without saying a word. Her lips pressed together tightly, her eyes sad. Her brown eyes.

Beatrice walked into the living room and quietly sat down on the other side of the sofa, next to Kit.  

“You know, he used to sleep like that as a child,” Kit said in a soft voice and smiled slightly. “Put his thumb in his mouth, curl up, and sleep.”

So she had noticed then. Beatrice sighed. “I am going to tell you something now, something that might upset you. But I have to say it, just to be on the safe side.”

“I am listening”.

“The fact that his blood flows through her veins doesn’t change anything. He wouldn’t want her… taken either. The three of us discussed that more than once.”

Kit tilted the cup to one side, then to another, as if she was going to read coffee grounds.

“I respect your choice,” she said slowly. “I was just watching her and thinking… I’d be glad if she had a quieter childhood than he did.”

“And you and Jacques did?”

“We were grown.”

Like hell they were, just two years older than he was. Beatrice gritted her teeth.

“He would have adored her,” Kit told her, and Beatrice found herself on the verge of tears but could hold them in – the joint effort of her acting skills and of some other, the ones acquired in VFD. Lemony’s death still felt like a fresh wound. She loved Bertrand with all her heart, but that heart had room for two, and Lemony, for that matter, took his place there earlier, back when they still were funny, self-assured kids. What was that thing Emily Brontë said? ‘Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.’ Truth be told, Beatrice didn’t like that book much – something in that story about the children who suffered a lot and grew up to make others suffer was too relatable for it to be enjoyed. It reminded her of that poem O loved to quote, possibly the only poem he ever really liked. Yet that one quote was priceless, because there was no better way to describe what she and Lemony had. Her soul was still alive, but something in it had changed irretrievably.        

“I know,” she said. “I know.”    

 ***

 Violet Baudelaire was five years old, and she had just proudly demonstrated Bertrand the tent she had built of several pillows, a mop, two blankets, and an old umbrella.    

“It’s not a tent, Dad,” she said reproachfully when he complimented her on her architectural talent. “It’s a palace!”

Naturally, Bertrand apologized at once for such a glaring mistake, and both of them climbed into the palace to check how comfortable it would be for her and Klaus when he came back – Beatrice took him to the dentist’s.  

“This will be our living room,” Violet explained. “You and Mom have a whole separate room for receiving your guests, but we will receive ours here.”

“And who will you invite first?” Bertrand asked. Violet paused to think.

“I don’t know,” she drawled. “Yesterday a girl at the playground told Klaus she had a book about dinosaurs. Maybe we’ll invite her? If she brings the book for us to see.”

Bertrand smiled – and then, as it sometimes happened when he was looking at his daughter, joy gave way to nostalgia.

Violet resembled Lemony. A lot. At times, it caused him pain, but that pain had nothing in common with the kind another man might have experienced in such a situation. He always thought of Violet as of his own daughter and did not doubt Beatrice thought the same – fine, perhaps he doubted it a little at first, but rather due to not being sure that he, an orphan raised by three siblings who were far too young when they took him in, could be a good father. These fears, however, had become history by now. The only reason why it pained him to recognize Lemony Snicket in Violet’s features was that he loved Lemony Snicket – still loved him – and would give an arm and a leg for him to be there, to be able to watch his daughter grow, learn, create and invent too – and his son as well, for just like Violet was Bertrand’s daughter, Klaus would’ve been Lemony’s son.  

“Dad?” Violet’s voice broke his train of thought. “Are you all right?”

Bertrand looked at her and smiled again; the way she looked like Lemony might have caused him pain, but it also made him love her even more.

“I’m fine, dear. Just got lost in thought. Hey,” he winked at her. “Will you help me make some sandwiches? I think we have to hold a welcome party to celebrate the opening of the palace when Mom and Klaus are back.”  

“Yes! Hooray!” Violet jumped to her feet in glee. The palace shook, but remained standing.

 ***

 Violet Baudelaire was ten years old, and Bertrand, standing on the veranda, was watching her swing Klaus on a swing that Beatrice and he had hung for them on the strongest tree in the garden. The Baudelaires could afford a decent wooden swing, even several if desired, but Beatrice had set her heart on showing the children how to make a swing out of a car tire. So presently, Klaus was sitting on a tire and trying to hold on to the rope and hold his glasses in place at the same time, while Violet kept pushing the tire every time it flew up to her.    

“Klaus,” Bertrand called, putting the phone aside for a moment, “Take off your glasses; you’re going to drop them! Violet, take the glasses from him and put them on the bench!”

“What are they doing?” Lemony asked at the other end of the line. Bertrand pressed the handset to his ear snugly.

“Riding on a swing. We put a tire on a rope in the garden for them, and now we have to watch out all the time lest they kill themselves on it.”

Lemony gave a short soft laugh. Bertrand could not describe how precious that sound was to him – until recently, he believed he would never hear it again.

“Come visit us someday. Meet them,” he said. It was not that he really had any hopes on that point, but it was worth trying once more. Sooner or later Lemony might simply get tired of saying ‘no’. “Please”.    

Lemony heaved a sigh. “The last time Beatrice and I talked I got the impression she did not want to see me.”

“She wants to. Trust me. She just needs to process it all properly. She believed you were gone – we believed you were gone – and then it turned out there was no need for all those tears, for all that pain… I can see why you acted that way, but that does not change the fact that you lied to us. Give her some time. I will tell you when you can come – of course, if you deign to leave the number for calling you back.”

“Bertrand, this might be dangerous. As a matter of fact, I am certain this is dangerous.”

“You know, Violet has your eyes,” Bertrand said. He imagined that was a sucker punch but he decided he had a right to it since Lemony let him and Beatrice mourn him for ten years.  

“And your habit of tying her hair up in a ribbon,” Lemony replied. If the remark about the eyes struck home, it was not obvious from his voice. “I saw you at the post office recently.”

“Right. Beatrice accidentally dropped a letter without a stamp into the post box, and Violet was trying to invent a way to fish it out without asking the post office employees for help. I do not tie my hair up anymore, though: I always get it cut short these days.”

“Understandably. You are a serious adult person now, and a family man, not some youth in flared pants.”

“I’ve never had any flared pants.”

“Well, a youth without any pants, then. That is even better.”

Bertrand rolled his eyes. “Please,” he said once again. “Consider my invitation.”

“All right,” Lemony agreed – perhaps to change the subject, or perhaps because he was actually going to consider it.

Violet still kept swinging Klaus, and both of them were laughing loudly. Bertrand stepped closer, as far as the phone cord allowed it.

“Can you hear them?” he asked and turned the handset in their direction, hoping that the noise the kids were making would be possible to hear. If he had switched over to sucker punches, he had to go all the way. Then he put the handset to his ear again.

“I can,” Lemony told him. His voice sounded chokingly.

Perhaps, Bertrand thought, he could bring him round in the end.

 ***

 Violet Baudelaire was fifteen years old, and Lemony was looking at her photo cut out of a newspaper.

He didn’t like thinking that from the point of view of biology, he was her father. He did not consider himself one – hadn’t earned the right to be called one. Bertrand, who had more than earned that right, might have objected (if only for the sake of debate – even after both of them had outgrown the unfounded feeling that they must oppose each other in everything, they still liked to engage into debates, though for fun only), but Bertrand, unfortunately, could not debate with anyone about anything anymore. Lemony couldn’t deny that Violet had his eye colour and his facial contours, but he had no doubt there was nothing of him in her personality: there was no reason for it to be. By contrast, she, just like her siblings, probably had inherited a lot of qualities, habits, tics, and junk words from Beatrice and Bertrand. Probably – because while he described every word and every thought of those children in his books, he did not know them personally, though he had seen them on numerous occasions.    

The Baudelaire orphans in his books were not, of course, the completely faithful images of the real Baudelaire orphans, more like a combination of what he had learned about them from the people who had met them, and what he imagined them to be like based on the things he knew about them. So Sunny Baudelaire, who looked like her father, was described as having her mother’s fearless heart, and Klaus Baudelaire, who took after his mother in terms of appearance, had the same quiet rage in him that his father had often experienced and meticulously concealed. As to Violet, she had inherited Beatrice’s unwavering urge to protect the ones she loved, and Bertrand’s inquisitive mind and talent for inventing. Beyond all doubt, her parents would have been proud of her if they knew how she acted throughout the series of unfortunate events that had befallen their family, though first and foremost they would have definitely been sorry that she had to grow up so fast, that all of their children had to grow up so fast.      

Lemony Snicket was not sure if he had any right to be proud of Violet Baudelaire, yet he was proud nonetheless.  

 ***

 Violet Baudelaire was twenty-six years old, and she was sitting across from Lemony at the table.

“Don’t be mad at Klaus,” she told him, her fingers smoothing out a candy wrapper reflexively. Sunny and Beatrice weren’t there because the hour was already late and the elders had sent them to bed (no one, however, could be sure they were really sleeping and not being occupied with any mysterious pre-teen business). Klaus wasn’t there either because about half an hour ago he retired to his room under the pretext of a headache. His countenance and demeanour had given Lemony the idea it had not been about a headache or, if it had, the cause of the said headache had been he, Lemony Snicket. “Don’t take it to heart, but he has never liked your books. Not so much your style or linguistic choices as the very fact of their existence.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t think it is of any importance. Firstly, you helped Beatrice find us. And secondly,” she smiled wryly, “I am older and I can hold my emotions in check.”  

Kit, he couldn’t help thinking as he shook up at the familiar irony, the familiar look of the brown Snicket eyes. But Violet Baudelaire wasn’t Kit or Jacques or Beatrice or Bertrand, all the more not himself. She was purely herself, no matter how stubbornly his eyes kept catching hold of those features of hers that reminded him of the people long gone. She was purely herself, and there was no place for him in her life, or in Klaus’s life, or in Sunny’s, and now that the four orphans had reunited again, he could not help doubting if there was any place for him in Beatrice’s.          

But Violet asked him, “Will you stay? At least for a couple of days. I guess since you’ve become a bestselling author thanks to us, we have a right to question you properly about our parents. And about our guardians. About everything.”

“Has she noticed?” he thought. “Has she figured it out?”

“Of course,” he agreed. He didn’t know if he was ready to reveal every single secret to them. Perhaps it would be cruel to swamp them with so much information inconsistent with a lot of what they had known before. Perhaps he was just looking for excuses beforehand. Perhaps he should think about it tomorrow, after all of them would have had enough sleep. “I should be very glad to.”  

So Violet Baudelaire smiled at him, and for a moment he forgot what doubt was.

[bae-leth]

The "Other Dimitri" AU

Hello! I hope you don’t mind me submitting this, I really wanted to talk about the “Dimitri isn’t really Dimitri” AU that I sent a couple asks about before but I didn’t want to bombard your poor ask box with a dozen separate asks, so I thought one submission would be better. It’s a fun AU to think of, for sure! And I hope you enjoy my thoughts on it. *A WARNING*: There are some small spoilers for things that go down on Blue Lions path! I purposely avoided as many spoilers as possible and other stuff is really vaguely worded, but I wanted to warn you and anyone who reads this just in case! This submission got pretty long, sorry about that. Also, sorry that my thoughts kinda go all over the place. Some parts of this read like a fic and other parts are just small thoughts on stuff. In any case, I hope you like my thoughts on this AU!

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*His name is Ivan Alexis Blaiddyd, Dimitri’s identical twin brother, born a few minutes after him. “Ivan” just came to me and I got attached to it. I gave him the middle name “Alexis” to match with the meaning of Dimitri’s middle name, and also to play along with the idea of “being the same and yet not.”*

From the start, he was “the other one” in every sense. He was sickly, painfully shy, introverted, a coward and a crybaby. He was strong in a sense, largely because he too had a minor crest of Blaiddyd, but Dimitri was so much stronger. He was smart, but Dimitri was so much smarter. Dimitri was beloved by the kingdom, the friendly and passionate golden child who would become a wonderful heir, an ideal future king. Ivan was the spare no one thought twice about, seen as weak-willed in every way, a joke of a prince that nobles and commoners alike snickered about behind his back.

“Prince Dimitri was born with all the best parts, and the goddess used the leftovers to make Prince Ivan.” That was what one particularly cruel and tactless noble child had once said in a far too loud voice at a party. And even though Dimitri had scared the noble brat off with a fearsome glare, Ivan internalized those words for years. Because it was true, wasn’t it? What boon did he have that Dimitri didn’t?

Ivan could never see how he was loved by his family and friends. Not in the same way Dimitri was loved, because no two people can be loved the same way. But he was just as important to them. Sylvain doted on him and Felix like they were the baby brothers of their group. He and Felix had so much in common as a pair meek crybabies with prodigy older brothers. Ingrid always held his hand and dried his tears. Glenn teased him good-naturedly and ruffled his hair. It was clear as day, but he couldn’t see their love behind wall after wall of criticism and complaint from so many others. Behind walls of insecurity after insecurity.

…He loved Dimitri. Honestly, he did. Dimitri who protected him from nightmares and from idiots saying stupid things. Dimitri, who made him laugh when he kept accidentally breaking things. Dimitri, with his gentle smile. Dimitri who shined like a sun, warm and bright. His idol, his best friend. How can he not adore such a brother?

But how can he not be jealous of such a brother? The one who was named heir just because he had a few minutes head start. The one the kingdom loved, that everyone felt the need to compare him to. The one who could do no wrong, who was better than him in every way. Maybe some part of him disliked Dimitri as much as he loved him. Maybe some part of him wanted what he had, wanted to be him for a change. He wanted what he didn’t have. He wanted to be wanted.

Maybe…some small part of him…desired that position of “beloved crown prince”.

…He didn’t want it like this, never like this. He had been there when everything went to hell, when everyone was killed, one after the other. Dimitri’s grip on his arm was the only thing keeping him moving, he would’ve stayed frozen in place and become yet another victim otherwise.

He saw his father’s gruesome end (“Never consider yourself beneath your brother, my son. I have no doubt you will do wonderful things for this kingdom.”), couldn’t find his stepmother (“Come now, love, hold your head high. The words of the ignorant are meaningless.”), ran across Glenn’s body (“Are you an idiot? I’d fight for you, die for you, as I would for Dimitri. As my prince and my friend.”). Others, so many others he’d passed by in the halls, always watching but not having Dimitri’s social nature to speak to them, to know them…All dead…

Maybe it’s the shock of it all. Maybe his weak body strikes again, unable to keep running. Maybe he’s certain there’s no escape. Maybe he’s just sick and tired of it all. All Ivan knows is that his legs give out, sending him and Dimitri both crashing to the ground. Dimitri tries to get him back on his feet. But his legs won’t support him.

…Dimitri always worried too much about him, always focused too much on him, the useless second son. That’s why he didn’t see the attack coming…

Dimitri doesn’t even cry out when he’s hit. Doesn’t stay on the ground, pushing himself to his feet, gripping Ivan’s arm tightly, and running off. Dragging his stupid dead weight of a brother behind him. They eventually find safety, and that’s where Dimitri collapses, his blood spilling and spilling, coloring the ground red. Coloring Ivan’s clothes red as he holds him tightly, tears cascading down his face as he begs him not to go.

“Live…At the very least…you have to live…Ivan…”

So Dimitri said…But no. “Ivan” wasn’t allowed to survive that incident.

He sees the way those who come to rescue him light up, calling him “Prince Dimitri”. He doesn’t miss the flash of disappointment and horror in their eyes when he points at Dimitri’s body, quietly saying his own name. How could he miss those looks, after spending a lifetime on the receiving end of them? He doesn’t talk to anyone when he’s brought back, when he’s examined and treated, when he’s let into his room to rest, even though he can’t sleep because all he sees is the fire and blood when he closes his eyes.

Why him? Why him?

…Does he want to see the others’ faces when they learn it’s him who survived…?

He doesn’t leave his room for who knows how long, not until he hears a fierce argument outside his room, the voices belonging to his uncle and Felix’s father. When he opens the door to see what’s going on, they spot him and the truth is revealed.

…His uncle told the public it was Dimitri who survived.

They both speak over each other, voices fierce and laced with threats, as they argue over his uncle’s decision. But, for once in his life, he’s smart enough to understand. The king and queen were dead, so many skilled knights were dead, so many powerful nobles were dead. The kingdom was in chaos, the political structure and nobility in tatters. Grief was potent in everything, in every voice and every day. Everything was too fragile, on the verge of collapse. The Blaiddyd royal line’s centuries old rule could be ruined in any moment in these fragile times.

What would happen if word got out that Dimitri also died? Dimitri, the one who was loved and respected, the one everyone had high hopes for. The golden child, the ideal prince and heir. What would happen if everyone learned it was him who lived? The worthless second born who never stood out, the eternal coward. The other one, the pathetic joke.

He doesn’t recognize his own voice when he interrupts the argument and agrees to the charade. He doesn’t say anything when his uncle tells him he’ll do his family, his kingdom, proud. That everyone was suffering enough. He doesn’t say anything when Rodrigue begs him to reconsider, that it’s too cruel to force him through such an act, that he’s more than enough as himself.

But that’s a lie, isn’t it? If he had ever been enough for anyone, no one would’ve been disappointed, however briefly, to learn that he was the one who survived. If he was enough, it wouldn’t be like rubbing salt in the wounds of the kingdom if they learned he lived while Dimitri died.

No…He wasn’t enough…And so, on that day, it was announced across Faerghus that “Dimitri” was the sole survivor of the Tragedy of Duscur.

A few days before the funeral for all the lives lost, a few weeks after that incident, he finally sees Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain again. They had all known each other since they were babies, of course they recognize him as himself. There are so many questions and tears, but his uncle and the court advisors quiet them and make it clear that they are to play along with the act, or else. There’s so much fury from the other children, so much yelling. But, very much against their wills, it is drilled into them that he is “Dimitri”, and will be from now on. The three of them look so very hurt, so very confused and betrayed, when he tells them he agreed to the act, when he begged them to consider him as “Dimitri” from now on. Felix seems to take it the hardest. …He couldn’t stop thinking about how they were once again a matching pair, having both lost their older brothers…He wonders if the others see Dimitri’s ghost in him. They were identical twins after all, it’s the only reason this charade has any hope of working.

He thinks, with emptiness, how this means none of them would be allowed to grieve for Dimitri as he deserved to be grieved over. Everyone had to grieve over the loss of “Ivan”. But, in some regard, hadn’t Ivan been lost anyways?

He’s silent at the funeral, acting much like himself. Everyone easily dismisses it as him lost in grief. And in many ways he is grieving. Over Father, Stepmother, Glenn…“Ivan”…and Ivan. And so many, too many, others. He grieves over Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain too, knowing that his relationship with them will never be the same. They follow the charade as ordered, but they’re too deeply hurt by it, don’t understand why he’s doing it. He wonders if they consider it an insult to see him pretending to be someone they’re not allowed to mourn properly.

The people at the funeral mourn the lost lives as expected. But he’s always been good at hiding away, overhearing conversations. So he knows people talk about him the same way one would talk about the funeral of a distant relative one only met once in a blue moon. And he can hear the hushed whispers.

“I’m grateful we didn’t lose Prince Dimitri as well. At least we don’t have to worry about the kingdom’s future.”

“It may sound cruel but when I heard one of the princes had been killed, I was so terrified it would be Prince Dimitri. It’s unfortunate, but at least it was Prince Ivan instead.”

After the funeral, he’s pushed to the brink. It’s not enough that he looks like Dimitri. He has to become him, in every way. So he trains himself sick, studies until his head aches every night. Practices when alone. Begs his friends to stop calling him his name when they’re alone, because he’s “Dimitri” now, he can’t keep this up if they don’t stop. It takes months and months but the act is complete. He has become “Dimitri”, no one not in the know of the act is aware of the change. He was the golden child, the beloved heir.

…The selfish, horrible wish he held secret in his heart when he was younger had come true…

*This is the part where my thoughts go more all over the place, please bear with me.*

In regards to the massacre of the people of Duscur, it’s probably the first time he’s brave. He’s sick and tired of death, of the smell of blood. He’s done with seeing innocent people cut down. So for once his legs don’t fail him when he runs to save a boy a little older than him. For once he doesn’t flinch or falter when he declares he will not allow the boy to be hurt. The boy, Dedue, understandably takes months and months to trust him. But they slowly connect, speak. He promises to right the wrongs Faerghus committed against Duscur. Dedue becomes a retainer, a friend, a brother. Maybe that’s why one night, not even a year after the tragedies, back when the charade was tearing him apart in every way, he breaks in front of Dedue. Tells him the truth of who he is. He expects disgust. He doesn’t expect Dedue’s kind smile or gentle words, his insistence that he cared for him, the prince who saved him and promised to bring change. And maybe for one brief second, alongside his dreams of Faerghus and Duscur reconciled, he dreams of a day Dedue will call him by his own name.

Nightmares plague him for so many nights. He has a hard time sleeping when he sees his father’s murder over and over. When he imagines his stepmother’s corpse, staring at him. When Glenn stands there, face twisted in pain and bloodied. When he stands there, staring at him, a cold sneer on his face instead of the warmth he always loved.

“Are you enjoying yourself, you dirty thief? You got what you always wanted. My life is yours. Congratulations.”

Revenge. He must seek revenge. Revenge for his family, for his friends, for the people of Duscur. He had never been made for battle, he’d been told that over and over by everyone. He was too weak, too cowardly, too sick at the sight of blood and gore. But he’s “Dimitri”, he’s no longer allowed such selfishness. Hadn’t everyone begged him to avenge them? Yes…Yes, he’s certain father had yelled for him to get revenge. He was certain All the dying people he had run by begged for vengeance. Glenn had asked for it with his final breath, right? And Dimitri…Yes, Dimitri’s last words had been telling him to live to avenge everyone. No more selfishness, no more cowardice. He would learn to battle, like a true knight, so that he could put those suffering souls to rest.

Battle, killing, sickens him. He gets ill and shakes when he’s alone. But in the moment, he thrives. It’s justice after all. Revenge for the suffering of the innocent. Practice for when he gets his true revenge. After the battle against the rebels when he’s fifteen, Felix is done with him. In the years before, Felix always tried to speak with him like he was still Ivan. Like they were still two peas in a pod. But after the rebellion, Felix flinches when he approaches, slaps away his hands, screams at him that he wants nothing to do with him. That he’s a bloodthirsty stranger, a beast hiding in a friend’s skin.

“It’s true what they said! Ivan really did die in Duscur!!!”

Sylvain and Ingrid still talk to him, try their best around him. But it’s no longer the same, not like how they were like with him or with him. Sometimes, he thinks Sylvain forgets who he really is, believes it truly is Dimitri beside him, only to freeze and laugh awkwardly before changing the subject. Sometimes, he misses the way Ingrid comforted him, held his hands, because she no longer has any need to since he’s “Dimitri”.

It takes him longer and longer to remember his name as time passes. At one point, it takes him well over a minute to remember who he is, who he isn’t.

…He wonders if he should consider it a success that his charade is so complete. Or should he mourn instead?

Professor Byleth has mixed thoughts about the one they know as Prince Dimitri of Faerghus. The boy seems kind and polite, noble and gentle. But Byleth senses a hidden darkness beneath that sweet exterior. Something feral that comes out in battles. And…there’s something else that’s off. The way Dimitri sometimes freezes when he catches his reflection, the awkward way Sylvian and Ingrid act around him, as if they’re not sure who they’re talking to, the hint that there’s something more to Felix’s statement about “the boar prince” being nothing but a stranger. Byleth eventually learns that Dimitri had a twin named Ivan who died long ago, explaining the way he freezes at his reflection. But…the way Dimitri answers them when they ask about his brother is…odd.

“What kind of person was your brother?”

“One of a kind. There was no one like him…There will never be anyone like him.”

“You must miss Ivan a lot.”

“…Yes. But I’ve accepted Ivan’s loss a long time ago.”

One day, after Byleth sees a glimpse of a darker side to Dimitri, they ask about Ivan once more.

“You loved Ivan, didn’t you?”

“I despise him!”

Dimitri looks horrified and begs Byleth to forget what just happened, that he was just in a bad mood. Byleth can’t understand the conflicting emotions. When he speaks of his brother, the love in his words seem sincere. And yet, when they ask more about Ivan, the contempt is just as clear. Byleth doesn’t understand that, for Dimitri, there’s a distinction between his brother and Ivan.

But…maybe there isn’t a distinction either. He’s a walking contradiction. He despises Ivan, the pathetic coward who was good for nothing. He longs for Ivan, for knowing who the hell he is. He loves his brother, the gentle and wonderful boy who was his guardian and friend. He’s sick and tired of his brother, who’s shadow he’s eternally under, even when he’s now supposed to be him. He wants to keep this act up forever and ever, doesn’t want to see the grief and anguish he’ll cause if the truth of which twin died gets out to the people. He wants to end all of this, come clean, and accept whatever punishment comes from deceiving his kingdom for all these years. He can’t be selfish, he has so many goals and dreams riding on this. He wants so badly to be selfish, just one more time.

At one point, Sylvain accidentally tells Byleth about an incident from many years ago between “His Highness, a girl, and a dagger”, before freezing and cutting the story off. Byleth later asks Dimitri about it, who pauses momentarily before explaining the story in a wistful way. It’s actually one of the few memories that are truly his, not Dimitri’s. Something he holds so dear, even years later.

He gets worse as horrible acts keep happening around the academy. The cries for vengeance echo more and more in his nightmares. It becomes easier to kill.

…When the Flame Emperor is revealed, he shatters. Because of course. Of course he wasn’t even allowed to have this, something as small as this, for himself. So he breaks and rages against the world. Fine. If the world wanted to destroy him so badly, let it. But it wouldn’t take him down until he got vengeance. Until he paid back for his sin of being the one who lived.

Over the five years, he loses sight of himself more and more, becoming more entrenched in the idea of bringing peace to the lost souls. The lost souls who have exited his nightmares, appearing before him and talking to him, insisting he not forget them, forget to get revenge for them. He also appears often…Dimitri…His form constantly changing to match his own, after all they’re twins. But as five years pass, Dimitri stays as a seventeen-year-old. A mockery of what he’s become? A reminder of the last time he felt any shred of peace?

“Don’t forget to repay me. Get revenge for my life, the life that I only lost because of your weakness. Repay me for stealing my role, my identity. You’re not allowed to fall until you do.”

…He doesn’t know at what point he completely forgets his true name. All he knows is Dimitri and “Dimitri”…

At some point, Byleth learns the truth. That the one they knew as “Dimitri” and the one they knew as “Ivan” were supposed to be switched. Who was the man who called himself “Dimitri” and yet seemed to speak to an unseen other Dimitri?

“We don’t know anymore.” Ingrid sighs deeply, exhaustion and grief in every word. “We should’ve tried harder, fought harder, for him.”

“I don’t think he knows who he is anymore either.” Sylvain is more serious than Byleth’s ever seen him. “It was hard for all of us, as if we lost both of them.”

“We did lose both of them all those years ago.” Felix’s words are harsh but there’s something more hidden behind the words. “All we have left is him, whoever the hell he is.”

“He is who he is, both the good and the bad.” Dedue’s voice is calm and low, but unhesitating. “I never knew the original Dimitri. All I know is His Highness. And His Highness is the one I believe in.”

Mercedes, Ashe, Annette are just as thrown off by the reveal as Byleth is. But it’s true that, regardless of the past, the man they have now, broken and lost, is the prince leading them. But really, who was he? And how much of him was the person they knew in the academy?

It takes him too long to break through the fog, to realize all the wrongs he’s committed, how lost he’s become. What does it mean to “live for himself”? What did that mean for him, who hadn’t been allowed to be his true self? When did he begin? When did “Dimitri” end?

“What’s your name?” Byleth’s question is firm, their eyes never leaving him.

…He wasn’t Dimitri. And the cold and cruel figure who taunted him for years wasn’t Dimitri either. But he wasn’t him either. His old self had, in many ways, died along with his brother. Died in the weeks and months and years after the tragedies that shook Faerghus to its core. Leaving him, as he was now. A mix of both and yet neither. But…If he was being honest…If he could be selfish, one more time…

“Ivan…Ivan Alexis Blaiddyd…The second prince of Faerghus.”

After this moment, he goes by Ivan once more, reclaims the name he lost when he was thirteen. It takes so long for every to get used to calling him that again. It takes so long for him to learn to respond to it again. He still fears the fallout for when he announces his true self to the people, for how they’ll react  knowing it was him who lived, him who ran five years ago, him who was the bloody beast of battle, him who wanted to return and claim the throne, him who wanted to lead  and protect them all.

But, for the first time in years, he embraces the name. Embraces the role of the second prince, the coward, the introvert, the shy boy who was never meant for battle, never meant to be king. Just as he embraces the role thrust upon him thanks to a near decade old charade. The role of the crown prince, the leader and future king, the knight who defends the weak from the abuse of the strong. The original Ivan was as dead as the real Dimitri was. But what’s left, who he is now, is still Ivan.

And maybe, for once, Ivan would be enough for everyone.

————-

bae’s notes:

IIII? I LOVE THIS SO SO MUCH?? OH MY GOD??? LISTEN YOU’VE MADE ME ADORE IVAN ALEXIS BLAIDDYD - A NEW CHARACTER THAT YOU’VE MADE UP - IN THE SPACE OF ABOUT FIVE MINUTES… I DON’T!!! KNOW HOW YOU DID THAT!!!!

I love Everything about this. Dimitri and Ivan’s relationship?? The little snippets of Ivan + Glenn, Lambert and Patricia? As well as the rest of the lions quartet? absolutely excellent. His characterisation, too, is so so good! and the way you’ve set up his circumstances…. I would like to give this boy a hug :(

The fic parts?? SO SO WONDERFUL. I FELT LIKE I WAS REALLY THERE (as terrible as that would be in reality). You write so so well - I’m in awe! If you ever made this into a fully-fledged fic…. I would…. throw money at you…. Truly, I would….

ughhghjhjhd Ivan accepting his uncle’s decision so easily because of his self-worth?? Rodrigue being completely against it? as well as the other kids? I’m,dfsdhjfj oi loVE this setup…. I love it….

and then!!! that ending!!! the game’s events would be so altered if part of it was actually unravelling ‘Dimitri’s’ true identity…. gosh, what a plot twist that would’ve been. I almost wish this was canon!!

also ALSO bc I forgot to add this: I adore how Ivan distorted his own memories of his loved ones’ dying words, from positive messages towards him, to requests to avenge them, because that’s actually a headcanon I have for canon Dimitri, too (there is NO WAY Lambert’s last words to Dimitri were ‘Avenge us!’ - no waaay.)

Dimitri appearing to Ivan as a hallucination…. that really hurt :( (in a good kinda way…)

in short - I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. ANON. ANON!!! THIS AU!!! I LOVE IT!!! I NEED MORE CONTENT!!! PLEASE SEND ME EVERYTHING YOU HAVE ON THIS!!!

[nomad-draws]

Hindsight - The Beginning

I’ve been stuck at a certain point in this story, so I’m looking back to the beginning to make sure I’m heading in the right direction. So here it is, the opening scene from Hindsight. This takes place about 20 years before the rest of the events of the story. As always, I would love feedback and constructive criticism!

Tag List: @sassywitchdraws​ @musicofglassandwords​

~*~*~*~*~*~

The wind howling, pulling at his hair and clothes, was the first thing that filtered through his blackened senses. For several moments there were no other sounds.

No other sensations.

Just the wind.

Then came the taste of sand as it was picked up at tossed about, gritting between his and scratching against his skin.

Then came the pain in his head and the stickiness of the blood matted into his hair as he carefully lifted his hand to the side of his head.

All at once, everything came rushing back to him. The mission. The attack--

He scrambled up to his feet, lifting his arm to cover his dark eyes as he squinted through the red sandstorm. Where was his partner?

The mission was supposed to be an easy one. A simple recon to see how close this dimension was getting to developing interdimensional travel and if they were ready to handle that responsibility. They were to be there for a week, record their findings, then report back to the council.

For six days, they had spent their time between the remote research center that was surrounded by miles upon miles of mostly barren wasteland, and their tent which was surrounded by much of the same. There had been the occasional conflict with the local wildlife, but there hadn’t been any situations they couldn’t handle. They’d had to carefully ration their water as the week came to a close, but they had made it.

The attack had come from nowhere.

Now, he struggled through the sand, calling through the wind, “Quinn!” So long as the sand kept moving, he knew his partner was alive. He came up short, halfway through his next call as another sound pierced through the howling of the wind.

A sharp whistle.

He quickly turned towards the sound, a long katana appearing in his hand just in time to block the attack of the oncoming creature.

At first glance, its form didn’t even seem to be tangible, a shimmering nebula of purples and black.  But its needle-like teeth scraped against the metal of the blade and its screech pierced through the air around them. He shoved the creature forcefully away from him, taking a few steps back and falling into a fighting stance as he appraised the creature through narrowed and rapidly blinking eyes.

It was nearly the same height as him, over six feet tall, even supporting its weight on all four limbs. Its gaping mouth, filled with seemingly endless rows of needle-like teeth took up most of what should have been its face. Narrow nostrils and too-small and empty eye sockets were the only other indicator that this even was a face. The rest of the creature was just as gruesome, as if the human form had been stretched and twisted around until this gaunt monstrosity had finally been the result. The legs spindly legs and wiry arms that it stood on gripped the ground with long talons that were conjoined at the fingers in order to keep itself upright.

The creature screeched again and lunged, but he was ready this time, his katana slicing clean through the middle of the beast. Instead of falling to the ground, it evaporated, a smoky after image suspended in the air for a moment before it faded away entirely. Once again, he turned his attention towards the direction the whistling had come from.

A figure was now stepping closer to him--this one completely humanoid. If not for the sand, forcing its red tint on the figure, they would have been clad entirely in white--from the boots buckled up to their knees, to the featureless mask that covered their face. The only thing not completely blank about their appearance was the vibrant red hair, elaborately braided with gold threads, giving it the appearance of flickering flames.

“Generva,” He snarled. Even with the mask, there was no disguising who she was. The woman’s hair, her abilities--how many hours had he spent helping her develop the very ability that she now used against him? More than he could remember. “What’s the meaning of this?!”

Generva chuckled, then began whistling again as the creature reformed beside her. “What do you mean, old friend?”

“You know exactly what I mean. You’ve attacked us unprovoked. The council approved you leaving the Guardians with no repercussions after what happened and yet here you are!”

“After what happened?!” She snapped at him, carefree demeanor suddenly switching to aggression, “We meddled somewhere we had no right to be and because of that, I lost my best friend! I lost the people I loved the most!” She ripped off her mask, revealing her burning orange eyes. Scars dug deep into her skin, barely missing her eyes but covering the majority of her face. They pulled at one corner of her mouth, forcing it into a permanent snarl, and they sliced through one of her ears, which was mostly missing.

“We play gods and don’t even care what happens to our own people!” She continued as the creature beside her began to grow restless, shifting between its limbs and throwing its head back and forth.

“What happened was an unfortunate accident,” He said, his voice level even as his gaze shifted between the beast and his former friend, “But if we hadn’t intervened, thousands if not millions of people would have lost their lives. That violence would have continued to spread to more worlds after that. We had to stop it.”

“No we didn’t!” Generva screeched and the beast lunged again, faster this time that it had been before.

He side-stepped and sliced straight through one of its arms. But just as quickly as the arm evaporated, it reformed and the creature clawed out, catching him in the side of the neck. He staggered back, one hand holding the side of his bleeding neck. Had the creature clawed any deeper, he would have been dead already, but as it was, blood was already seeping between his fingers and dripping off his hand.

The creature didn’t move for him a second time, pacing several feet away.

“What have you done with Quinn?” He snapped, repositioning his grip on his weapon with his one free hand. The more he talked, the more grit he could feel gathering between his teeth and under his tongue, making his words heavy and awkward.

“I haven’t touched him. He might be young, but I’m not stupid enough to go after him alone surrounded by a desert.” Generva tilted her head, smiling with her twisted mouth, “Seems like he’s doing fine now, but I wonder how long he’ll last against Cicero.”

He snarled again, lunging straight at Generva, but the creature moved faster, throwing itself between them like a shield. The blade sunk deep, straight through the creature, and lodged itself there. Already, it was beginning to evaporate, but not fast enough. With a final screech, it plunged its claws down into his shoulders.

He gritted his teeth against the pain and harshly pulled his blade sideways, tearing it out of the creature which finally disintegrated. His head was beginning to feel hazy, pain coursing through his body and blood staining his shirt. He looked around quickly for Generva, but she had disappeared, almost like one of the monsters she summoned.

He didn’t understand what her goal was or why she was dressed the way she was even when she knew both he and Quinn would be able to recognize her. The whistling began again and he spun around quickly, trying to find its source and preparing himself for another attack.

But it never came.

He had to find Quinn.

He placed his fingers against the gash on his neck, taking a deep breath as he steeled himself. Intense flames lit up along his fingers and he bit back a cry of pain as he cauterized his own wound. His shoulders, however, would have to wait.

Once again he began making his way through the swirling sand, calling out for his partner with no response. From time to time, he heard the whistling or saw one of the creatures out of the corner of his eye, a vague silhouette in the storm, but an attack never came. Generva was toying with him now, refusing to show herself.

It felt like he wandered for hours, but in reality, it could only have been a few minutes before suddenly everything stopped. Like someone had flipped a switch, the sand settled around him and the wind stopped howling.

He could see everything clearly, the light blinding him momentarily as he spun around quickly trying to gain his bearings. His eyes finally landed on a scene which nearly stopped his heart.

Quinn.

The boy was young--too young--to be out on the field on a mission like this, only sixteen. But it wasn’t supposed to be dangerous. He was partnered with one of the strongest Guardians currently active. It was only supposed to have been a recon mission.

Only sixteen but his soft blond curls and gentle grey eyes made him look even younger than that.

And now here he was, being held four feet off the ground by one of Generva’s monsters. The claws wrapped around him, poking through his shirt, but none had pierced his skin. It didn’t matter The boy was terrified, his eyes wide and his expression frozen. Generva stood several feet away, her arms crossed over her chest and her expression smug. Directly in front of Quinn stood another man, clad the same way Generva was though his mask remained fixed over his face.

But she had already given his identity away.

Cicero. Another name so familiar to him.

Another Guardian he had helped train.

Cicero turned, looking in his direction, “Oh good, I was worried that Generva had taken you too far away. I wouldn’t want you to miss this.” A sickle formed in Cicero’s hand as he turned away to face Quinn again.

Everything happened so fast, but he still felt like things were moving in slow motion. At the same time Cicero raised his arm to strike at Quinn, he through the katana from his hand, aiming to hit Cicero. Generva’s eyes widened and she lunged to try to put herself in its path. Then the sand started up again, a massive storm of red swirling around and obscuring his vision entirely.

With a scream of frustration, he dashed forward in the direction he knew his friend was. Heat rolled off him in waves and in a sudden burst, the area around him exploded into flames. The heat was overwhelming--the damage done to his body was catching up to him.

Everything went black again.

He didn’t know how long passed before his senses began to return to him, the first and only being the smooth surface beneath his hands and beneath his face, hot against his skin.

No wind, no swirling sand.

Pain came coursing over his body, his self-inflicted burns and deep wounds from the injuries he’d sustained during his battle reminding him of their presence. Struggling, he began to push himself up, looking through hazy eyes at the ground beneath him. But it wasn’t sand anymore.

It was glass.

Glass that he had created with the flames that had exploded from him. Smeared with his blood, the glass spread out around him like a crater. He looked around slowly, in a daze. Sever feet away was what remained of Generva, katana still planted in the smoldering corpse.

But Cicero was gone.

And so was Quinn.

[thirstyforjohnseed]

Love is a Promise Ch. 2

Pairings: Dabria Waters x John Seed

Warnings: implied child abuse

A/N: I’m not sure how often I’ll be updating this or how long it will be but I swear I’m working on this. I’m still an amateur at this 😅 Dabria meets the other 2 Seed brothers in this one :3 Any constructive criticisms you guys have would be greatly appreciated X3 And I’m sorry for any typos.

Enjoy~

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It didn’t take very long for Dabria and John to find her favorite spot. A small waterfall of a stream gurgling happily from the recent spring showers. It’s banks teemed with plant life, and helped keep it fairly hidden from prying eyes. After convincing him that she would stay in sight; John had reluctantly let go of Dabria’s hand and waited by the stream while she gathered some berries.

“This place is nice. It’s very quiet and safe. Not like where I live…” John said as Dabria approached him carrying berries in her shirt, “Your mom and dad let you go out by yourself?” They sat down together in the grass, and she handed him the berries, which he ate happily. “Yeah they tell me to never leave the woods, and to never talk to people, but they let me explore. What’s it like where you’re from?” She asked curiously. She had always wanted to see what was beyond the woods. John shook his head as he said, “It’s not nice like here.” He didn’t look at her while he ate the berries.

She waited for him to finish eating before asking, “Is it ok if I look at your back?” He looked up at her as he asked, “Why do you want to see?” He had tensed up a little from her question but she just wanted to help. “I know you’re hurt. I know how to heal a lot of hurts and just want to help. If you don’t mind”, she said softly. He stared at her for a moment. Without saying anything he turned around and took off his shirt. She took a sharp breath at the sight. His back was covered in so many cuts and scratches it was almost unrecognizable. Some were old and scarred, others were far more recent.

She gently passed her fingers over them, and he flinched at her touch, but he didn’t pull away. She could feel so much pain and anger. Something told her that whatever caused these wounds was not an accident. Careful not to irritate his injuries, Dabria placed her palms on his back and took a deep breath. She saw her hands begin to glow slightly. The glow was very light and easily hidden by the warm light of the sun. She felt herself getting a bit tired too as her hands became slightly warmer. She slowly moved her hands across his back, and he gave a quiet sigh of relief, and leaned a bit more into her hands. As her hands moved, all the wounds she passed healed and faded slightly. By the time she was done his back, while still red and scarred, was healed.

He turned to look at her with a curious look in his eyes and asked, “What did you do?” She lifted a finger up to her lips as she said, “It’s a secret.” She smiled as she lowered her hand and asked, “How do you feel?” “Much better. It doesn’t hurt anymore”, he said with a smile as he put his shirt back on, “Do you always come here?” “Yeah this is my favorite spot,” she answered, “Dad says to always find running water when you’re in the woods.”

They continued to talk and get to know each other. She learned that he had two older brothers who may be looking for him at this moment. By the way his face lit up at the mention of them, she could tell how much he loved and admired his brothers.

She didn’t have any brothers or sisters but she had never felt alone. Her parents were always kind to her, and she loved the animals in the woods even if most of them ran from her. However now that she’s met John things may never be the same for her. She tried asking him about his parents but he immediately grew silent. It became clear to her that he didn’t want to talk about them, so she changed the subject and instead suggested playing because that’s what little kids do together right? The books her parents read to her would mention children playing together a lot. She wasn’t completely sure how to play with other children though.

John very eagerly suggested they play tag. Seemed simple enough. All he had to do was catch her, but he soon learned that Dabria was almost impossible to catch. Any time he thought he had her, she managed to slip away again sometimes even climbing into the trees. Finally the only way he caught her was when he fell and started crying. Worried that he’d been hurt, she went to check on him only for him to jump up and grab her yelling, “Finally caught you!” Before running away from her laughing. Needless to say she had an easier time catching him than he did, and the woods echoed with the sounds of their laughter.

They continued to play together for hours, and would have continued to play longer; but eventually Dabria noticed that the sun was beginning to set. She had to get home soon and she looked at John uncertainly. She couldn’t leave him out here by himself, but she couldn’t bring him home with her either.

“John, it’s gonna get dark soon. I need to go home now,” she said as she walked up to him, “You have to go home too. It’s not safe in the woods at night.” He looked at her sadly as he said, “I don’t want to go back. It’s bad there. I want to stay here with you.” She took his hands in hers and said, “You can always come here whenever you want. I can even come looking for you at the edge of the woods if you’d like, but you have to go back. Wouldn’t your brothers be worried about you? I know my mom and dad would be if I didn’t come back.” At the mention of his brothers, John’s face changed from sadness to something that seemed a bit like guilt. “Jacob and Joseph might be looking for me right now... Ok I’ll go back, but will you come with me? I might get lost again”, he said as he continued to hold her hands. “Yeah I’ll come with you,” Dabria said with a smile, “I never get lost in these woods.”

Unfortunately Dabria had no idea where John came from. They retraced their steps back to the oak tree where they had met; and she tried to get a feel for the path he may have taken, but it was faint by now. Still it was there so they tried following it. John didn’t seem to recognize anything, but it wasn’t completely unfamiliar either. As they continued to walk they suddenly heard a pair of voices shouting in the distance. Instinctively Dabria hid herself in the nearest bush she saw. John was about to follow her when the voices called out again. This time closer and more clearly, they realized the voices were calling for John.

Their eyes met as John said excitedly, “It’s Jacob and Joseph.” He smiled and ran in the direction the voices were coming from before she could try to stop him. Reluctantly Dabria followed him but stayed hidden behind a tree as she saw him running up to two older boys. The smaller one of the two hugged John when he reached them while the taller one watched over them. She couldn’t hear what they were saying but she could tell they were very happy to have found each other.

Suddenly John ran back up towards her. He was telling his brothers that there was someone he wanted them to meet. Dabria shrunk back behind the tree, too uncertain about showing herself to them. It’s not that she was too shy or scared. John’s brothers looked like they were nice too. It’s just that she had only approached John because he needed help. She still didn’t think she should be seen by other people like this.

John came around the tree so he could see her while his brothers waited on the other side. “It’s ok, Dabria. They won’t tell anyone you’re out here”, he said as he smiled and turned towards his brothers, “Right, guys?” She could hear Jacob and Joseph agree with John that they would never tell another soul. Slowly she came out to greet them. She held onto John’s arm as he introduced her. “This is Joseph”, he said as he gestured to the shorter brother with dark brown hair and calm blue eyes. She got this impression that he was the quiet and patient one of the boys. “And that’s my big brother Jacob”, John said as he motioned to the taller of the two. He had red hair and icy blue eyes. He was more guarded than Joseph. Something told her that he didn’t really trust her. Well she didn’t really trust them yet either.

“Cute little girlfriend you found yourself, John,” teased Jacob as Joseph knelt down to her eye level. He held his hand out to her but she shied behind John and watched him intently. “She’s like a little nervous kitten,” noted Jacob. Joseph kept his hand held out to her as he said, “Thank you so much for taking care of John. We were worried about him.” His tone was soft and she couldn’t help but reach out for his hand. Just like with John, she felt so much pain in him and Jacob. They were better at hiding it than John but it was still there. They’re hurting too, but how did she know? This was the first time she’d ever felt another’s feelings this strongly, and she was starting to get very confused and overwhelmed.

At the very least her parents did teach her how to be polite. “I was happy to help,” she said with a smile. “She said I can come play with her whenever I want”, John said happily. Joseph stood up as he said, “You know dad doesn’t let us leave the house.” At the mention of their father, John’s face fell. “Who cares what the old man says?” said Jacob as he looked between John and Dabria, “If John wants to play with Dabria why shouldn’t he?” “Because that’s against our father’s rules”, said Joseph. “Like you don’t spend your time reading comic books at the store when mom sends you to get food for all of us”, retorted Jacob, “Come on. It wouldn’t be so bad to sneak out ever once in a while.”

Joseph sighed and said, “Fine, we’ll figure something out when we get home.” “Aw are we leaving already?” asked John sadly. “Yes it’s getting dark. We need to get home before father gets even more angry. Dabria probably needs to get home too,” said Joseph as he took his hand, “now say goodbye for today.” John turned back to Dabria and said, “Bye, Dabria. I had a lot of fun. I’ll see you later.” “Bye, John. I hope we get to play again soon,” she said as she waved at him, “It was nice meet you, Jacob. Joseph.” “See ya later, little kitten,” Jacob said as he ruffled her hair a little before walking on ahead. She pouted at him as she tried to fix her hair a little. “It was nice to meet you too, Dabria,” Joseph said waving back to her before walking after Jacob with John in tow. She watched them disappear down the path they came before running deep into the woods towards her own home.

That night while she ate dinner around the campfire with her parents, Dabria’s mother smiled as she asked her, “Did you have a good day today, sweetie? You look excited.” Dabria looked up at her mother and swallowed a spoonful of canned beans nervously. Was her excitement that obvious? Well she had to tell them that she broke their rule about not talking to people, but oh boy was she nervous about it. “Uh mom, dad I have to tell you something… I broke your rule…” she said ashamed as she looked down at her can of beans in her hands. Dabria’s mom’s smile faded as she looked at her husband with a worried look. “Which one?” asked her father. He wasn’t angry but he was very serious. “Not to talk to anyone. There was a lost little boy. He needed help. Was that bad?” she asked starting to feel unsure about herself.

“Oh no, honey. That’s not a bad thing at all. It’s good to want to help others when they need help,” her mother said softly, “You’re father and I are just worried about being found by other people.” She wanted to ask why so badly but her father spoke up. “What do you know about this boy? How do you know he won’t tell his parents about you?” asked her father almost accusingly. She felt almost annoyed at her father’s tone as she said, “His name is John Seed, and he and his brothers promised they wouldn’t tell anyone. Daddy, they were hurting. I don’t know how I know but I can feel so much pain and anger in them… I just wanted to help…” She blinked back tears as they welled up in her eyes.

“Oh the Seed boys…” her father said thoughtfully as he leaned back in his seat, a bit more relaxed. Had he heard of them before? “Do you know of them, dear?” asked her mother before she had the chance to ask herself. “Not the boys themselves, but I’ve heard of their old man when I go into town. They call him Old Man Seed. A god-fearing man who does nothing but stays at home and gets drunk every night. I’ve never met the man, but the way the locals talk about him, I don’t want to,” answered her father. She didn’t understand what he meant exactly, but it sounded like Old Man Seed wasn’t very nice. Is that why John never wanted to talk about him?

“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” her father asked her. Oh is she not in trouble? Dabria happily told them about everything that happened, making sure not to leave out any details, even the part of her using her healing. When she was done, Her father seemed to be lost in thought for a while. Was he thinking about whether to punish her or not? “Jim, do you really want to discourage her wanting to help others in need?” asked her mother softly as she placed her hand on his arm, “It’s very likely that these boys will keep their promise and not tell anyone about her, and it will be good for her to play with children her age.” Dabria watched her father intently before he sighed and turned towards her. “Ok, you can continue to see these boys, but first we need to talk,” he said seriously. Excited Dabria nodded and sat up straight, ready for whatever her father wanted to say.

“First of all you’re still not allowed to leave the woods. I know you want to see what’s out there, but you’re not ready yet. The woods are big enough for you kids to play in. Second, don’t bring them here. Just because they promised not to tell anyone about you, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t still be careful. Lastly, and this is very important so pay attention...” as he said that he put his can of beans down and held his hands out to her. She placed hers down as well, and placed her hands in his. “Honey, you’re an empath. That means you can feel, and understand what others around you are feeling. This is good, but you have to be careful. Before it was just the animals in the woods you were feeling, but humans are more complicated. Unfortunately your mother and I don’t know how to help you get this in control, but if you are going to be spending time with those boys be careful not to let them drain you. Does that make sense?”

“Kind of?” She said uncertainly, she wasn’t sure what he meant by drain her but she understood everything else. She was feeling a little overwhelmed when she met Joseph and Jacob. “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you’ll figure it out, and we’ll do our best to help you,” he said with a smile as he kissed her on her forehead. “Sweetie, you want to help them with their pain right?” asked her mother. “Yes, but I’m not sure how,” she said softly. Her mother moved to kneel beside her father and said, “Just keep doing what you did today, honey. Smile genuinely and play with them. Help them forget about the world they have to go back to, even if it’s just for a little bit. Just be yourself. A little kindness, compassion, and a listening ear can go a long way.” Now she was feeling a little nervous again but she nodded. She was determined to do whatever she can. “Finish your dinner and get ready for bed then”, her mother said as she kissed her on the back of her hand, before getting up and taking her spot again.

Dabria quickly finished her beans, threw away the can in the trash bag, and kissed her parents goodnight before running off to finish the rest of her night routine. As she was laying down in her cot in their little shack, she could hear her parents talking just outside. “I don’t know if this is a good idea, Em. They’re bound to find us soon, and letting her see those boys is a huge risk. Can we really afford to take it?” Her father said, “You know her as well as I. She’s so curious about the world it won’t be long before she breaks the ‘no leaving the woods’ rule. She doesn’t have control over her powers either. Her empath abilities are easy to hide but the others…She’s lucky the boy didn’t see her using her healing powers”

“You don’t give her enough credit. Besides if we’re going to be leaving soon, would it really be so bad for her to make a few friends her age? She’s got to learn to interact with other people besides us after all,” her mother said. “I’m just worried about people taking advantage of her… Especially with her gifts,” her father responded. Dabria tried to continue to listen but her eyelids were becoming heavy. She’d worry about what her parents were talking about later as she slipped into the world of dreams. Dreams of floating through an endless sea of stars, and the many beautiful wonders of the universe beyond their planet. Beyond all that, deep within the dark void between galaxies, was a young woman encased in what looked like a crystal.

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A/N: Oh I’ll be putting links to other chapters down here. I’ll make a masterlist eventually too.

Ch. 1: link

Next Chapter: link

[33whynot77]

- [] Lullaby [] - Tim Drake

 A/N Yet again another one-shot/imagine thing based off of the previous headcanons I did involving music and the batboys. This one is for Tim Drake. Once again, Please keep in mind that these are my own opinions based on the limited knowledge I have of each of these characters. All criticism should be constructive, please. I’m still just trying this out and getting used to these characters and such. Please be nice to me, I’m trying. Now please read on and I hope you enjoy.

The song featured in this is Song of the Sea by Nolwenn Leroy.

Description: Based off of my batboy music headcanons found here and here 

Genre: Fluff and only fluff

Warnings: Absolutely none because it’s just fluff

Word Count: 2138

Tim was hunched over a computer his fingers typing wildly at keys searching and searching, he was desperate and hungry for the knowledge the last piece to yet another puzzle and mystery that had locked itself into his mind and therefore locked him into his room. Not literally, of course, you’d made that rule the second you started dating, if this was to work between the two of you, he was not allowed to lock you out, literally or figuratively. No, he hadn’t left the room in hours but the door to your shared bedroom in the apartment you’d bought for the two of you, well, mainly yourself, because crimefighting kept him away until late into the night, but you knew he needed somewhere else to escape sometimes and that was what you had offered to him when you handed him a key to your apartment, not that he ever uses the key, he prefers the bedroom window which you keep open until he comes home, no matter how many times he warns you that it’s not safe, not after what happened last time.

You followed his advice once and closed the window, but he’d decided to come over that night and promptly swung right into the window, you’d replaced the panes of glass with bulletproof glass that didn’t break under the pressure of his body flying into it, instead he collided harshly with the window sending him flying backward and reeling. That was the last time you’d closed the window before he came over.

Tonight though he had come home before the sun had set and had not left the computer to even go on patrol, whatever this new mystery was it was already holding onto the deepest parts of his brain. You would be lucky to see him go to bed tonight. This worried you as you recalled he had not slept for the past two nights already. He needed sleep, desperately, but nothing would pull him from his screen, he was lost to the blue illumination that brightened his features and strained his eyes. You sorrowed as you stared forward at the boy you loved. You couldn’t bear to watch him tear his life apart and shatter under the extensive stress and lack of sleep. No matter how much he said he didn’t need it, sleep was necessary for all. Even creatures of the night had to sleep sometime and he could not be nocturnal...

You sighed and leaned against the doorframe staring softly at the boy, but no longer were you watching him or sending harsh bolts of worry towards him with your eyes, instead you were plotting and scheming to yourself about what to do. You knew you could not just approach him and ask him to step away, you could not even try to drag him away, when he got like this he was pretty much glued to his seat and screen, and so you were at a loss over what to do. Until suddenly you weren’t. If there was one thing this boy loved other than coffee, and you, it was mysteries. If you gave him something else to wonder about, it could quite possibly pull him away from what he was doing and you had a perfect idea. 

You walked past him humming softly as you slid your hand on the back of his chair and then moved over to your dresser and pulled out a pair of pajamas, which was honestly just a pair of running shorts and one of his button up shirts that you’d stolen. Then you walked over to the bathroom to change and get ready for bed, you hummed every step of the way, except for when you were brushing your teeth, obviously. 

As you walked back past him for the third time, this time to get in your bed, you could faintly recognize that his concentration was split between what he was doing on the computer and trying to figure out what you were humming. You hummed a bit longer as you pulled up the blankets on the bed and laid down, grabbing a book from nearby and beginning to read a little, well, pretending too, really you were just staring at the book and humming the same melody over and over again. Every now and then you turned pages until you caught him glancing over at you. 

“Yes?” You questioned bringing your eyes to meet his and letting your book fall to your lap, guided gently by your hands. 

“What are you doing?” He questioned tilting his head to the side a little like a confused puppy. You had to fight back a giggle at the thought.

“Whatever do you mean?” You responded innocently, pretending to be unaware of what he was wondering over.

“You, my dear, are humming and aren’t actually reading, so either your really distracted, or you’re doing something.” He responded quickly figuring out at least part of the puzzle you’d offered him. 

“I’ve had a song stuck in my head for a while and can’t really focus on anything else.” You lied smoothly, the song often replayed in your head, but it wasn’t distracting enough to keep you from focus or you’d never get anything done. 

“What song is it?” He asked, successfully distracted because he was far too curious about the beautiful melody you’d just been humming. 

“You don’t know it?” You questioned feigning shock and hurt. He chuckled softly at your dramatics and you smiled softly in response, it was good to hear him laugh, he’d been dreadfully silent ever since he got home. It was nice to hear something more than the click of keys from him. “It’s an old lullaby, my parents sang it to me every night before bed.” 

“How does it go?” He questioned, he loved learning more about you, especially your childhood, you, and it, were full of mystery, but he knew he’d never learn everything about you, there would always be things he wouldn’t know, but still he would endeavor to learn all he could about you and what was important to you.

“Shut off the computer for the night and come to bed and I’ll sing it for you.” You responded, your plan finally drawing to its close. You saw a moment of pause and hesitation in his eyes and so you continued “It’s a lullaby Timmy, and don’t you know lullabies have a little bit of magic when sung, you can’t help but fall asleep when you hear one and I’d hate for you to fall asleep on your computer.” You said with a soft smile and when he smiled back at you, you knew you’d won. You watched him stand and get ready for bed, after minimizing the computer windows and sending it to sleep. Whatever curiosity he had about you and the song had won out over the mystery he’d been fighting relentlessly for since six this evening. You knew it was the knowledge that came from the search that intrigued and inspired him and drove him more than anything. He searched not for the search itself but for the answers it would yield and you had offered him an answer. 

It wasn’t long before he was in bed beside you laying gently against the propped up pillows. You beckoned him closer and then bid him lay down on the bed ready to sleep. Once he was ready and laying there you began to sing. 

“Hush now, my Storeen close your eyes and sleep waltzing the waves diving the deep stars are shining bright the wind is on the rise whispering words of long-lost lullabies.” You began singing ushering him softly into the realm of sleep. 

“Oh, won’t you come with me? Where the moon is made of gold and in the morning sun we’ll be sailing Oh, won’t you come with me? Where the ocean meets the sky and as the clouds roll by we’ll sing the song of the sea.” You continued singing and as you did he moved closer to you and gently laid his head on your chest, he was gradually slipping into sleep and was entirely enchanted with your voice.

Your fingers found his hair and began to softly play with it as you continued to sing “I had a dream last night and heard the sweetest sound I saw a great white light and dancers in the round castles in the sand cradles in the trees don’t cry I’ll see you by and by Oh, won’t you come with me? Where the moon is made of gold and in the morning sun we’ll be sailing Oh, won’t you come with me? Where the ocean meets the sky and as the clouds roll by we’ll sing the song of the sea. rolling, rolling rolling, rolling.” He started humming along softly, having heard the melody so many times already and catching the tune as you sang. It was a soft hum lagging with the drowsiness that was now encompassing him.

“You have the voice of an angel.” He murmured softly barely breaking through the grasp of sleep that was pulling him into its velvet darkness as you completed the song softly. You smiled as he succumbed to sleep and it wasn’t long before you joined him in the realm of sleep.

When you woke up the next morning he was still sleeping soundly, the both of you still wrapped gently in each other’s grasp. You smiled softly and kissed the top of his head. He rose from his own sleep only seconds later and rose to kiss you on the cheek. “Thank you, love.” He said softly as he pulled away.

“For what my dear?” You questioned looking over at him, sleep still clinging to his features but a gentle smile on his face nonetheless.

“For making me sleep and singing me to sleep too.” He answered and you smiled gently back towards him.

“Anytime my love, I’d hate to see you wither away from lack of sleep, even the great red robin needs to rest.” You responded softly. 

“I love you,” He muttered staring at you with complete adoration in his eyes. You found yourself floundering at the sudden and soft declaration. This was the first time he’d said I love you and though you’d known for a long time how much you loved him you were ever the coward and had not uttered the words, that carried so much weight, either. No matter how many times love had slipped into pet names between the two of you, neither of you had let these three words slip from your lips.

“I love you too,” You answered after a minute of searching helplessly after being sent reeling from his own declaration. He was smiling at you, chuckling softly at how three words had sent you spiraling.

“I know it’s a long time coming, we’ve kissed hundreds of times, I’ve pretty much moved in with you, but I wanted to make sure that when I said those words it really meant something and that I really meant them and now I know for sure.” He said softly and planted a soft kiss on your lips. You kissed back gently only breaking it when you couldn’t stop the smile from spreading on your face and the chuckle that soon followed it. “What?” He asked as he drew back from you.

“Well, I was just thinking if I’d known singing to you was all it was going to take I would have sung to you a lot sooner, plus you’re adorable, so I couldn’t help but smile.” You replied and he shook his head softly. “More than that though, I love you and it feels wonderful and hearing you say those words even just this one has made me so happy I couldn’t contain it.” You added finally letting out the truth over your smile and chuckle. “You, my dear, are my sunshine.” You said falling back into the bed softly and staring up at the ceiling a bright smile decorating your face. 

“Ooh, will you sing that for me too?” He questioned laying beside you.

“I’ll sing you anything you wish because I love you.” You answered turning your head to face him a wide grin still adorning your face.

“I love you too and I love your singing, because it’s you singing, and no music will ever sound as sweet again.” He said turning to face you as well a grin now adorning his face as well. He was not prepared for just how right that sentiment was...only a few nights later, only a few of those accompanied by your singing he no longer wanted to listen to other music, they just couldn’t compare to your voice as far as his ears were concerned.