#that's my paranoia speaking for me i know

[thatrandomidiot182]

Blood Ties and Past Lives

Chapter Warnings. mentions of death/murder, vulgar language, childhood trauma, mild paranoia. dialogue heavy!!

As strong as you like to pride yourself on being, you end up breaking down before you can even open your front door.

The day's events, and the emotional turmoil that you've pushed down throughout have finally caught up to you in the dim hallway of your apartment complex, just feet away from the privacy of your living room.

You struggle to jam your key into the lock. Shaking hands and teary eyes make it hard to find the precision you normally have, and eventually you give up. Frustrated, defeated and tired, you release a loud sob as you fall to the floor.

Collapsing on the worn down welcome mat that your landlord gifted you when you first moved in, you slump against the apartment door, trembling hands losing their grip on your keys as you sob.

Your forehead knocks against the cool wood as you do your best to stay quiet, alternating between pursing your lips and holding your breath to muffle your whimpers and heaves. Your hands clutch your shoulders as they shudder, grip tightening the longer you sit there. Your face feels uncomfortably warm and sticky and you eventually get sent into a coughing fit as you choke on your spit, beginning to hyperventilate as you can't seem to catch your breath and the tears just don't stop–

Someone's behind you.

You swing around at the sudden weight on your shoulder, scrambling back into the wall as you all but bear your teeth at the stranger in front of you.

The stranger is quick to raise his hands in a display of innocence, "Easy there tiger, just trying to be a good samaritan..." his voice is soft, pretty brown eyes wide as he takes in your defensive stance.

You're too caught up in the wave of emotions that have overwhelmed you to bother being ashamed at the way you only cried harder at his concern.

The man begins to panic, voice wavering as his hands flail around hesitantly. He slowly crouches next to you, reaching out to place a hand on your knee, "Hey, heyyyy, it's okay– It-It's okay."

You can't even muster a laugh at his stuttering.

"Can you tell me your name? I-Uh, I'm Marcus– Marcus Watts, but everyone calls me MJ so... Just– Call me MJ." He cringes as he stumbles over his words and his awkwardness has your tears gradually slowing as you become distracted by his clamoring.

"I'm your uh... I'm your new neighbor!" He smiles, crooked and wobbly as he sneaks a peak at the number above your head.

You let out a strangled whine at the information, burying your head in your knees in shame.

What a great first impression.

MJ grows frantic at the sound, clumsily moving to sit more comfortably next to you as he gently lays a hand across your shoulders, pulling you to his side as he rubs his fingers soothingly across your muscle.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm so-I'm sorry–" He gently hushes your panicked apologies, tucking your head under his chin. "Don't apologize... Don't apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for. We all have those days." His voice is smooth, not too high or low, but with a comforting roughness that has your heart thrumming in your chest.

"No! No, I sh- I can't be– you don't have to–" he's quick to shut down your sentence, hand curling around your bicep reassuredly as he leans his head back into the wall, throat bobbing against your cheek as he speaks, "I know. But what kind of guy would I be if I let my pretty neighbor sit outside crying."

You laugh at the sentiment, a wet, sad little chuckle that has you cringing afterwards.

MJ's chest rumbles and your cheeks flush as you realize that he's laughing, "Ahhh there you are! I was wondering if I was ever going to hear anything other than sad puppy noises from you."

You let out an embarrassed scoff against his neck, "Sad puppy noises? What??" Your voice is scratchy and almost unintelligible but he somehow understands.

MJ laughs again, much to your offense, and the sound has you unintentionally relaxing further into his hold, "Yeah, you sound like a sad puppy when you cry. It's kinda cute." You pull away from his neck with a frown, squinting at him suspiciously.

"Cute? You're not a weird, creepy sadist are you?"

"Wha-No! NO!" You purse your lips to hide the smile that encases your face at his flustered shout, watching in amusement as his face becomes a similar shade as his hair.

MJ huffs dramatically, "Is this what I get for being a good person? Get called a creep?"

You snort, leaning your head back against the wall as he pulls his hand back to his side, "This is Gotham, you're lucky that I'm a good person, who's thankful..." You smile bashfully, "Really, thank you. For... all of this. I-I promise I'm not always this... uh– dramatic." You wince, thumbing your palm nervously.

MJ offers a small smile, "No problem! Like I said, we all have those days..." He pauses, and you watch anxiously as his face scrunches hesitantly, "Do you... Do you want to talk about it?"

You ponder his offer for a good minute, letting the ambiance of the apartments wash over you.

The sirens in the distance.

The muffled shouts of the single mom at the end of the hallway.

The faint accented voice in your ear encouraging you to open up–

"My tata– My grandfather died... today was his funeral." Your voice is weak and squeaky, but somehow, you don't feel embarrassed by it.

"Oh." It's obvious that your revelation caught him off guard, "I'm sorry."

His empathy is foreign to you, and the entire experience has you thinking that you're dreaming.

After all, he has no reason to be here. Sitting on the grimy floor of your apartment building with his mess of a neighbor who he's never met before. Consoling and empathizing with them as if it was a moment between friends and not someone he just stumbled across.

Yet he is.

And it simultaneously has your heart fluttering with warmth and stomach twisting with paranoia.

Because, why?

Why is he here?

What does he want?

Is this all a ploy? A plot against you?

What if he's with them?

The concept of a stranger being so kind, is just inconceivable. Not just because it's Gotham, and not even because everyone knows the rule of 'stranger danger,' but more so because of the fact that his kindness is aimed towards you.

You haven't done anything to deserve it, so why?

Why is the compassion and concern this complete stranger has offered you in the ten minutes you've known him more than you've gotten from Bruce and his kids in three years?

The realization has your brain stumped between laughing and crying again.

Yet, despite your inner anxieties, your body is completely at ease in his presence.

Instead of being tense and guarded like you should have been, you were completely lax in his embrace.

Oddly enough, despite never having met before, you feel a comfortability around him that you've never felt before. Almost as if you've known him your entire life.

Every molecule of your being is screaming at you to get closer and bury yourself in his warmth once again, as if he himself could singlehandedly free you of your burdens. Your nerves are soothed to a point you haven't felt in years and the voices in your head are finally quiet.

MJ's appearance in your life is as sudden and perplexing as it is welcome.

And once your tears have finally stopped and the single mom down the hall begins yelling at her kids, you realize it's all too good to be true.

You don't deserve such luxuries, not anymore.

So, with a newfound resolve, you offer him one last smile as you rise to finally head into your apartment.

"Thank you, and again, I'm sorry."

It seems like that's the only thing you're able to say anymore.

Your body instantly alerts you to the sound of your living room window being opened.

It's half past midnight, two days after your mortifying first encounter with MJ and you're curled up in bed with a novel and a glass of wine your boss gifted you after you asked for a week off to mourn.

Having been so engrossed in the novel you were reading, you had failed to notice the creaking of your fire escape until your sixth sense suddenly spiked at the clamoring of the rusty latch being opened in the next room.

"What the fuck?" Your concerned whisper breaks the silent ambiance of your room as you hesitantly rise from your bed, tossing your book aside gently. You quickly grab your phone off the nightstand before quietly swinging your bedroom door open, pausing to make sure the intruder stayed unaware of your movements.

Clutching the device to your side, you slowly begin to make your way out into the hall. Years of practice making your steps undetectable as your socked feet lightly ghost along the wooden flooring, carefully avoiding the spots you know would creak and groan.

You focus your hearing on the living room just in time to hear as a body makes its way onto the same floor with a faint thud. A sound so quiet, it immediately had you on guard, with the lack of stomping and clattering alerting you to the fact that this wasn't an ordinary burglar in your apartment.

No, whoever this person is, is light on their feet, meticulously careful in their actions as the window creaking is kept muffled as it's closed and... locked?

The click of the lock has you tense as you peek around the corner of the hallway, your mind runs through a million different possibilities...

A ghost?

An assassin?

Did they finally find you?

Maybe it's one of the capes?

Did Felix somehow manage to track you down?

You raise your hand defensively, fully prepared to web anything that poses a threat as you finally lay eyes on the person–

"Damian?" Your shock is inherently obvious as you murmur the boy's name in confusion, dropping your hand down to your side at the familiar face that greets you.

His head whips towards you, eyes narrowing in his typical glare as his body straightens to his usual posture. "So, you are awake."

You gawk at his confidence, expecting anything but the comfortable ease he exudes as he stalks closer. As if he hadn't just broken into your apartment in the middle of the night. "What the hell are you–"

He's quick to cut you off, whether it's because he knew you were gonna lose your shit or because whatever he needed to say was that important was up for debate.

"You're wrong."

Your brow furrows as you still find yourself reeling in confusion at his sudden appearance, "Wha–I–"

"It was my fault." His voice is hard, eyes trained on the wood beneath your feet as he stands across from you, an arms width away yet closer than he'd ever willingly been before...

"What are you talking about?" You scoff, arms crossing defensively as you eye him suspiciously.

"I disobeyed father." He clenches his fists, "I was stupid and reckless and I got caught and now he's dead." His breath stutters for just a moment, "Alfred's dead because I failed." His face falls, previous bravado of arrogant nonchalance gone as his words settle in your chest.

You purse your lips thoughtfully, face falling as you realize the intent behind his visit. "Damian it's not–"

"I'm Robin."

He meets your eyes heavily as you pause in shock at his sudden revelation. The haunting green hue encapsulates your vision as you stare at him in wide-eyed disbelief.

Of course, you've already known that he was Robin for a while now. In fact, it had only taken you a few weeks of living in the manor to put the pieces together and figure out about all of your family's little nighttime personas. You weren't top of your class for nothing after all, but to hear him admit it so openly– to you of all people– has taken you completely off guard.

You allow yourself a moment of confusion before letting out a sigh, offering a small, awkward smile as your gaze softens, "I know."

He's visibly taken aback by your answer, eyes narrowing as he scoffs, "What do you mean you know?"

You smirk, rolling your eyes lightheartedly as you walk past him to sit on your couch, "Please, I'm not an idiot. I know about all of you."

He crosses his arms, glaring down at you after following to stand before you, "How?"

"Its simple pattern recognition, really." You shrug, counting off your reasoning with your fingers, "You guys were never home at night, always had suspicious bruises and cuts... You never seemed shocked about the stories in the news, never hesitated to suddenly become 'busy' when they'd broadcast an Arkham breakout... Always had somewhere to be or something to do besides lounge around like normal rich people..." You trail off, eyeing him warily as he becomes visibly agitated as you continue.

"You think you're clever because you figured it out? Drake found out fathers identity when he was thirteen, and a stranger. You're not special for catching on after two years in close proximity." His words are venomous and it grants you a sick sense of relief to finally see him behaving the way you'd expected. "Besides, you've never had definitive proof. If I hadn't wanted you to know, you would have lived with baseless assumptions and a foolish, inflated ego." His face resets to that haughty smugness he's known for as he scrunches his nose down at you.

You bristle defensively at his words, glaring back as you scoff, officially done with his sudden hot and cold attitude, "Why are you even here, Damian?" You toss your hands up frustratedly, "Why bother telling me all of this, if you're gonna be mad about me knowing? Seriously, did you come here just to mock me? Why are–"

"Because you don't understand!" He snaps. "Because you need to understand!" His lips curve into a vicious scowl, voice rising in anger as he stalks closer to your seated figure, "It doesn't make sense!"

His voice cracks, "Why!? Why are you the only one who doesn't blame me?!" Your face falls as you watch his eyes well with tears, "Why are you– the one person I've hurt more than anyone else– the only person who understands... Why aren't you angry at me?" His bottom lip quivers and it takes everything in you to stop yourself from pulling him into your arms.

You opt to offer a half-hearted shrug, awkwardly snorting out a small laugh, as you rise from the couch, "Oh, trust me, I am." You pause, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder, watching as he shrinks under your touch, "Just not for this." You huff, "I'm angry at you because you stabbed me, sure." You shrug, releasing a tense sigh as you avert your gaze to the wall behind him, "But it'd be wrong of me to blame you when I was the one who had the chance to stop Bane and didn't."

Damian's face snaps towards yours, eyes widening as he chokes out a confused, "What?"

You take a breath, squeezing your eyes closed as you speak resolutely, "I was The Spider– The uh– hero, from New York..." You trail off awkwardly, avoiding his befuddled stare with a sigh, "Long story short, shit happened, and I'm done playing hero so..."

"You–" You don't give him the chance to question your sudden confession, gently guiding him to sit next to you on the sofa as you quickly continue.

"The night Alfred died–" You hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat nervously, "I saw Bane downtown." You let the information settle in the air, watching Damian's reaction carefully as he does the same.

"He... He was monologuing to the rogues, going on and on about something stupid, I can't remember, but he was completely off-guard. Like, totally relaxed. As if he was in his own bed and not in the middle of a crowd of psycho serial killers." Your eyes glaze over as you recall the scene.

"I was walking through an alley, one of the usual shortcuts I take on my way home from work, near the Batburger on tenth... I reach the end and he's just... there, I mean, h–he was right there. Right there!" Your fists shake from their clenched position on your lap, "and I had a chance– I had the chance, the opportunity to end it all." You scowl, "All the torment... All the chaos... All the pain..." You bring your fists up to your face, hiding your frustrated tears behind your palms as you berate yourself, "All I had to do was swing a web and pull and it'd be over..." You laugh humorlessly, "But I didn't. I didn't and Bane went on to kill Alfred that same damn night..."

You grit your teeth, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill as you continue, "I was selfish." Your voice cracks, "I was stupid. Instead of doing the world a favor and putting that piece of shit down, I walked away. Told myself it wasn't my problem– That it wasn't my job to fight the bad guys, to be the hero. Not anymore– I–" You stop yourself, weary of where you were steering the conversation as Damian looms silently beside you.

It's quiet for a second, the only sound being the movement of your hands wiping your tears away from your face as the two of you sit with the weight of your words.

"He wouldn't have wanted that." Damian's voice is softer, but still carries an edge to it that has you wilting at the implications.

"Yeah, why's that?" You barely manage to whisper the words as your throat closes in on itself.

"He always spoke so highly of you." Damian smiles ruefully, "Anytime he mentioned your name it would be followed by praise..." He rolls his eyes with a scowl, "He always said you'd be the one to make something of yourself. To be great..." He sighs, closing his eyes as his face scrunches, almost as if the act of trying to console you pained him.

"He wouldn't want you going down the path of a killer."

The sentence sparks a sharp bark of laughter out of you.

...Little did he know, you already have.

"Trust me–" He pauses, and you watch patiently as he tenses, eyes darting to your face nervously before gluing themselves to your ratty carpet. "–Killing someone, even a murderer, even someone like Bane... It doesn't give you the relief you'd expect." His voice is low, solemn and honest as he speaks and it has you huffing in exasperation.

"You sound experienced..."

He doesn't respond as quickly as you expect, and you can't help but eye him curiously as he moves to sit beside you.

"I am." He inhales deeply, hands folding together on his lap and you can hear his heart thrumming nervously.

"My name is Damian Thomas Al Ghul–Wayne." Your brow furrows in confusion, "I'm the son of Bruce Wayne and Talia Al Gul..." The name is unfamiliar, and it has a pit forming in your gut as he continues, "Grandson of R'as Al Ghul and the Demon Heir of the League of Assassins." His eyes are empty, voice carefully steady and flat as he recites the information as if reading off of a script.

"Since the day of my birth, I was raised to be a weapon. I was–I was handed a sword before I could even walk, taught to eliminate threats before I was able to eat solid foods..." Your heart sinks, "I was made to be the perfect assassin. The perfect heir... and I was." He sighs, "The first time I killed a man, I was eight. My grandfather ordered the execution of a traitor among the league, and saw it as the perfect opportunity to test me." The image sends a wave of nausea rolling through your stomach. Picturing an eight-year old Damian standing before a corpse, bloodied hands and trembling lip as he withheld tears– "I didn't think anything of it. I simply completed the duty I was given... It's how I viewed every mission that came after. A duty. An honor entrusted to me by my grandfather... I wanted to make him proud, for him and Mother to see that I was worthy of my title, of my blood..."

He smiles ruefully, "Then I met father. He brought me to Gotham... to the Manor, and... to Alfred." You offer a reassuring smile, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I was forced to... acclimate to everything so quickly. One minute I was an assassin, and the next, I was being told to never kill anyone again! I was only ten years old, and everyone expected me to just... ignore everything I was previously taught. To abandon my upbringing– abandon my mother– and become a hero... so I did. I-I turned my back on the league, I've forsaken my blood and reshaped myself into a Robin deserving of fighting beside Batman... but it doesn't matter what I do, they all still think of me as a murderer." He hangs his head in shame, and you find yourself sharing the sentiment as you reflect on how you treated him while you lived in the manor.

If you had known any of this then, maybe you guys would have been friends...

He laughs, a cold and humorless sound that has you cringing in remorse, "Ever since I left the league, it feels like I've been under constant surveillance. Like father and Grayson are just waiting for me to screw up. Like at any little inconvenience I'll just turn and kill someone..." his bottom lip trembles, and you rub his shoulder comfortingly as he proceeds to let out a shaky sigh,

"What I'm saying is that the mark of a killer is something that will never leave you, no matter how hard you try... so... don't ever regret walking away... no matter the consequences."

It's quiet once he finishes his speech, the two of you sitting side by side as you wallow in the somber atmosphere.

Your fingers twitch nervously, canines digging into your bottom lip as you breathe through the wave of emotions that crashed over you after Damian's confession.

Confusion, empathy, grief, anger, sorrow...

It all forces you to come to a whole new understanding of the boy sitting next you.

You're honestly just completely taken off guard by everything. This was by far the longest conversation you'd ever had, and it has you reeling. The fact that Damian even appeared before you– willingly– was already jarring, and the way he spoke– open, honest... vulnerable, is so uncharacteristic that it's unnerving.... It all has you contemplating, why?

What changed?

Did Alfred's death really cause such a reaction?

Perhaps Alfred's words of praise were enough to convince Damian that you weren't the villain he had assumed?

Maybe Alfred asked him to reconcile with you while he was alive and now that he's gone Damian feels an obligation to fulfill the elders wish?

You don't know, and you don't think you'll ever know the true reason why Damian decided to approach you tonight, but you'll be damned if you let the opportunity slip through your fingers...

As much as you like to pretend that you're fine on your own... you're lonely.

You miss your family.

You miss the comfort and the love, the loyalty and acceptance. The warmth of your mother's embrace– of your tias singing and grandparents cooking. You miss your cousins and their inside jokes and stupid nicknames that always picked at your worst insecurities. The birthdays and weddings that went on till sunrise, where you'd be lulled to sleep on a plastic white chair by drunken chattering and laughter. The peace that came with waking up in the arms of your step-dad as he spoke his goodbyes. You miss the joy of having someone love you unconditionally, of someone always being there for you, without expecting anything in return...

and Damian may be your last chance at having even a fraction of that again, which is why you're meeting him in the middle.

You close your eyes resolutely, tilting your head back against the couch as you come out of your thoughts, releasing a deep sigh as you begin to speak, "I was twelve when I was bitten by a radioactive spider that escaped containment from my step-dad's lab." Damian's head snaps towards you at the sudden breach of silence, eying you curiously as you adjust your posture to slump back into the cushions more comfortably.

"It was two years after he and my mom were murdered, and we were finally allowed access to clear out his personal items after the lawsuit cleared... That stupid little bug slipped out of the plastic tube, crawled into my sock and bit me right on my achilles!" You scowl, "The pain was excruciating. It felt like fire was flooding through my veins, burning me from the inside out…” You grimace, “I'll never forget the fear on my Tias face when she came into the room and found me on the floor. She thought I was having a seizure... The pain had me convulsing so bad that she had to pin me down to stop me from ripping chunks out of myself.” You smile weakly, “I've never screamed like that in my entire life, I couldn't speak for two weeks afterwards..." You shiver at the memory, beginning to pick idly at a loose thread in the couch cushion.

"I remember waking up in my bed, confused as hell... I honestly thought it was a dream– Well, at least until I accidentally webbed my blanket to myself." You snort, lips quirking into a cringe as you recall the meltdown you had after being unable to disentangle yourself from your nanas rose cobija.

"I was so confused and scared when my powers began to develop. I was terrified the first time I managed to walk on my ceiling!” You grin, “but, I was also an impressionable kid with a sense of justice too big for their tiny body who just got superpowers, so, it's safe to say that it didn't take me very long to put on the suit.” You laugh, "I say suit, but that's just me being generous. It was really just a ski mask with lab goggles and my step-dads old varsity hoodie." You scoff, "I looked so bad, I'm glad the media didn't get any pictures of me until I had a legit suit… Who knows what kind of memes would exist if they had!” Your smile dwindles at the lack of response from Damian, turning to meet his unimpressed gaze with a sad smile, “I also had absolutely no training. No martial arts classes, no self-defense knowledge whatsoever– and I didn't even know how to properly control my powers…” You sigh, “You can imagine how that went.”

 Damian winces and you shake your head remorsefully, “Sure, I had a rough start, but when it came down to it, I was a stubborn kid with a bleeding heart who wanted to keep others from the same fate as my mom.” Damian shifts next to you, gaze glued to your face as you continue, “So, every night when my Tia went off to work, I'd sneak out and… do my thing.” Your nose scrunches at your wording, a small laugh slipping out at the awkward phrasing, “I got my ass kicked more times that I can count, almost died on multiple occasions… but I always got back up because there was always someone else to save. Always a bad guy to stop.” You frown.

“It was easy, for the first couple of weeks. Small things, like rescuing cats from trees, stopping pickpockets, webbing some car thieves and roughing up perverts who bothered women on the sidewalks... but then it got real. The threats got bigger, and it got harder to hide what I was doing from those who knew me best.” Your eyes flutter as you blink back tears, “Gwen figured me out within my first couple of weeks as Spider.” A wet laugh sneaks past your lips as you recall her pout, “She was so mad that I didn't tell her. She insisted on designing my suit! She– She even took a fashion class just to make it for me…” You smile, “It didn't come out great, obviously, but… I-It meant so much to me to have her support. I was so scared that she’d be afraid of me, that-that If I told anyone they’d think I was a freak-or-or sell me to the government or something…” You laugh, “But she didn’t, she-she didn’t do any of that she just… she supported me, and she loved me… despite everything that came with being a hero. Throughout all the broken bones and split lips, after all the breakdowns and close-calls. She was there, she was always there… and it got her killed.” Your gaze drifts down to your fingers, nailbeds now swollen and raw from your unintentional picking.

You choke on a whimper, composure slowly slipping as your mind flashes back to the night of her death, “She-She wasn't supposed to be there that night, but she was worried about me… She always worried.” You roll your jaw as you grit out the details, blurry images of rain and smoke flood your brain as you relive it all, “The Green Goblin bombed Oscorp during one of our fights. He was trying to kill me and she got caught in the crossfire…” Damian's gaze was pitying and it sparks a burning wave of nausea to churn in your stomach as your jaw clenches, “The worst part is that it wasn't even the bomb that killed her, it was the shrapnel.” He winces as you laugh angrily, “Her death wasn't quick, and it sure as hell wasn't painless.” You scowl, “She was alive for ten minutes after the explosion. Ten minutes that she spent in agonizing pain, with a piece of metal impaled in her spine! Ten minutes that I spent trying to keep her alive as she bled out in my arms!” Your chest heaves, breath stuttering as your heart thrums in your veins.

Damian's quiet as he watches you overcome your frustration. Soft green eyes never leaving your face as you whimper, “She was only fourteen… She hadn't even started high school.”

You swallow as you gather yourself, wiping away the tears as you rush to continue, “He’s the same man who killed my Tia…” Damian’s eyes widen, “He rigged the bridge to explode, right at the time she was on her way home from work” You eye your peeling wallpaper disinterestedly as you speak, “I tried to save her, but coincidentally there was also a school bus that was falling…” Your jaw clenches as you grip your biceps, desperate for a sense of comfort as you remember her defeated eyes, “I couldn't choose. I tried to stall for as long as possible to figure something out…” You force out a shuddering breath, ”I felt my shoulders dislocate. I felt as all the muscles in my arms were slowly ripped apart over and over as my healing factor struggled to keep up and I panicked… Eventually, I ran out of time, and she chose for me.” You feel the warmth of Damian's arm against your own as your body trembles, “I never even got the chance to tell her, but the look in her eyes as she cut the web told me that she already knew. She had always known, which is why she did what she did.”

You groan, “I was so angry. So blinded by rage, I couldn't even think, I didn't want to think... so I didn't. I just did what I do best... I fought.” You swallow thickly, “I went after the goblin, with no care for myself, no regard for what was gonna happen, I just wanted revenge. Justice.” You can’t help but laugh at the irony, “We fought for two hours before we eventually nosedived into the river. His hovercraft self-destructed on impact, and as far as the rest of the world's concerned, Spider died on that bridge, saving the people of New York like they always had.” You smirk condescendingly, “Good old Spidey got a hero's farewell, and I was finally free to be a normal kid…”

“A normal kid, who lost everyone because they wanted to play hero.” You scowl, “Even going back to a normal life was impossible, because as you said, the mark of a killer can't be erased, and my recklessness and selfish desire for vengeance came back to haunt me.”

Your teeth bear a sharp grin, lacking any humor or comfort as you choke out, “When the man under the mask turned out to be my best friend's father.”

"Let's watch a movie!" was your desperate attempt to lighten the atmosphere after spending close to four hours trading childhood stories of valor and trauma with your younger brother.

It took you another half hour to convince him of the idea and yet another hour to settle on a movie you both found interesting enough.

Halfway through Revenge of the Sith, Damian turns to you, "I... apologize for stabbing you."

You laugh, "It's okay, you're not the first person to try and murder me, and given the circumstances, you don't have the worst reason either."

His confused stare goes ignored as you turn back to the screen of your laptop, tapping his arm excitedly as the orange and red light draws your attention, "Shh! Here comes the best part!"

I HATE YOU!!

You were my brother Anakin! I loved you...

You find yourself quietly mouthing along with Obi-Wan as you drape your throw blanket over Damian's sleeping form.

Taking a step back, your lips quirk in a small smile at the sight of the lanky teenager squished onto your couch, covered by a faded orange blanket with white bunnies sprawled along the fabric like polka dots.

After all the confessions and revelations the night held, it was comforting to see him look like a kid for once.

"Damian! Where have you been, we've been worried sick–" You roll your eyes, cutting Dick off with an overexaggerated sigh, "Not Damian, but he is fine!"

It silent for a moment before he responds, voice clipped and gruff as he questions, "Wha– Who is this!? Why do you have Damian's phone?!"

"Why, it's only your favorite sibling, of course!" You chirp, teeth bared in a sickly sweet smile that matches the over heightened pitch in your voice that has Damian glaring at you from across the room.

Dick stutters out your name nervously and you nod, "Yes, it's me. So, Damian broke into my apartment last night–"

"He what!?" You nearly throw your phone halfway across the room in your haste to draw it away from your ear at his screeching.

"–aaaand we managed not to kill each other! He's fine, just needs a ride home."

The line is silent, and you smirk at the thought of Dick’s terrified face.

"I-I'll be right there."

You and Damian exchange matching grins at the panic in Dicks voice after he hangs up.

"He really has no faith in us, does he?"

Damian scoffs, "Absolutely none, I'm almost offended."

You smirk, "Says the one who pulled a whole ass katana on me the last time we were alone together!"

Damian simply averts his gaze, hiding his shit-eating grin with his mug.

You shake your head with a small laugh.

In the span of one night, you've managed to reconcile and bond with Damian at an astonishing rate.

It's shocking, but as you watch his nose scrunch at the taste of your cheap instant coffee, you find yourself discarding any ill will. After all, he's starting to grow on you.

Taglist <3: @onceinamillionposter @jscrawls @bat1212 , @1abi , @cosmosluckycharms , @homeless-clown , @awawage , @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @zomqiez , @wishesofficial , @itsberrydreemurstuff

If you saw me accidentally post this before it was finished... no you didn't.

THANK YOU ALL FOR THE SUPPORT!! I'M SO HYPED FOR THE FUTURE OF THIS SERIES OMFG...

I know this is tagged as a Venom! Reader, and this is now three chapters with no Venom, so I wanted to quickly address that! Basically, he's not really going to make an appearance until the second arc, about two or three chapters from now. That's because this first arc is mainly world building and setting up the relationships and plot for the second arc which will have more action and spidey shenanigans. Sorry if that's not what you wanted to hear, but it's just the way the story is going rn.

N E WAYZZZ THANK YOU FOR READING HOPE YOU ENJOYEDD <3

[midnightkennedy]

𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 || 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋

author's note: i made one for my mouthwashing blog and I was like, fuck yeah i can make one for re too! who's gon stop me??? I'll make one for the ladies maybe

warnings: slight angst, major fluff, slight toxic behaviour.

characters included: 𝗹𝗲𝗼𝗻, 𝗰𝗵𝗿𝗶𝘀, 𝗹𝘂𝗶𝘀, 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗹𝗼𝘀, 𝗮𝗹𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘁, 𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻.

,'✿— 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 —⁠✿,'

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐒. 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐘

before you guys go to bed he has to make sure all the doors and windows in the house are locked, no exclusions, no excuses. he checks them twice just in case. force of habit.

washes your hair whenever you're too tired, doesn't say a word. has very gentle hands.

he never fully relaxes whenever you hug him from behind, jolts his shoulder as if he's bracing for impact.

insists on knowing your location at all times, you call it 'controlling behaviour' he calls it 'just in case' he knows the world much better than you do.

likes just falling on top of you whenever you're lying down on the couch or the bed.

𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃

works out obsessively and painfully on the days you guys have arguments, he thinks the sweat will burn the guilt out.

brings home protein bars and vitamins instead of flowers, calls it 'survival'.

when he kisses you, it's as if it's the last time, he's so intense and rough that you have to often remind him, 'you don't have to right here's.

gets those 'everything free' pastas and insists that it tastes good.

sometimes accidentally yells and then curses himself out.

𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐓 𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐑

has a secret file on you, blood type, health stats, allergies, etc.

has a habit of staring at you out of the blue, as if you're an artifact.

corrects your facts mid conversation or while you're arguing in that same deadpan voice.

reads aloud scientific facts from his encyclopedias or journals, you think it's as close as it's getting to him reading you stories. and he finds your attempt at understanding him cute.

fixes your posture mid hugs and kisses, you reason that it's his way of affection, 'fixing things'.

does NOT let you go anywhere without some form of tracking, you call it paranoia, he calls it protection. It is paranoia.

𝐋𝐔𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐀 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎

you find random notes when he's gone for days, 'i love you' in the sugar jars. 'make sure you have dinner' in your shoe.

he talks to you a lot in spanish when he's drunk, says 'i love you' in spanish a lot.

if you're a smoker, he lights your cigarettes even when he's the one who's trying to quit. he finds it sexy.

checks the locks of the house 3 times before you guys sleep, then makes you check it 3 times. he may not trust the world but he trusts you with all his being.

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐀

he freezes up whenever you cry, doesn't move, because he's seen way too many people die while sobbing.

tries to make you dinner every chance he gets but always ends up almost setting the kitchen on fire.

sings while cleaning, whenever you try to record him he pretends to get mad.

gets anxious when you don't reply to his text in under 5 minutes,

makes you laugh whenever he senses you're about to get upset. it's an old habit.

𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

he keeps your voice notes saved, listens to them whenever he feels down.

he has nightmares he doesn't speak to you about. if he gets a nightmare when you're both asleep, he just wraps himself around you as if you're a body pillow.

double knots your shoes whenever you're distracted, he doesn't want you to trip.

fixes everything in the house without you even noticing something was broken.

a very, VERY light sleeper. if you so much as cough, he's awake and by your side.

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆~!

[abbi111]

𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆!𝑲𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒊 (Part IV)

Tags: Yandere! Kakashi x reader, possessive love, abuse, obsessive, punishment, NSFW 18+, Dub-con, emotional control, possessive, dom/sub, school setting, red flag Kakashi

18+ Minors DNI

“Baby,” Kakashi called from down the hall, voice smooth but flat, like velvet draped over steel. “Come here.”

You hurried from the living room, heart fluttering even though the tone told you nothing good was coming.

“Yes, Kakashi?” you asked, lifting your eyes to his.

He was already seated, watching you intently, his gaze unreadable but locked on yours. He patted his thigh once, slow and deliberate. You moved instantly, settling into his lap like it was instinct. It was.

His arm wrapped around your waist, the other brushing your hair behind your ear. Gentle, possessive.

“Listen to me carefully.”

Your eyes stayed on his, obedient. Open.

“I’ve enrolled you in school,” he said, voice deceptively calm. “Your classes start tomorrow. Everything’s already arranged.”

Your breath caught—an excited spark blooming in your chest before you could stop it. “Kashi, I—”

“We do this my way,” he cut in, his hand cupping your cheek with a touch so gentle it almost didn’t register as a warning. “You follow my rules, understand? I won’t let anything happen to my pretty girl.”

You nodded, heart stuttering beneath your ribs. His fingers lingered on your jaw, tracing it with a possessiveness that made your skin prickle.

“Yes, Kakashi.”

His eye crinkled slightly at the edges, a small smile—pleased, but with something colder lurking beneath.

“Good girl.”

But even as he smiled, you could feel it—something tense, buried deep. He was already imagining the worst: people looking at you, talking to you, touching you. Not from paranoia. From certainty.

“I have your schedule. Your teachers’ names. Your classmates. I even know where you’ll sit.” He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear. “I know everything, baby.”

Your stomach turned—not from fear, but from the pressure of being watched so closely. Owned so completely.

“If anyone touches you—if someone so much as looks at you the wrong way?” His hand tightened slightly on your thigh, leaving a slow, deliberate ache in its wake. “They disappear. Do you understand?”

You nodded quickly, words catching in your throat.

His voice dropped, softer now. Dangerous.

“Words, pretty girl.”

“I understand,” you whispered.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, too gentle for how hard your heart was pounding.

“I’m trusting you,” he murmured. “Don’t make me regret it.”

But you already knew—trust wasn’t what he needed. He needed control. Proof. A reason to keep you caged. And a small, splintered part of you—the part shaped by him—wanted that too.

[The Next Morning – First Day of School]

You stood in front of the mirror, heart thudding against your ribs like a trapped bird. The outfit Kakashi had chosen was neatly folded on the dresser—soft fabrics, flattering cuts, all designed to draw just enough attention.

You didn’t touch them.

Instead, you slipped on a baggy sweater that fell to your thighs and swallowed your figure. Jeans, stiff and shapeless. No belt. No makeup. No perfume. Your hair you twisted into the tightest bun you could manage—plain, severe, forgettable.

The reflection staring back at you looked like a shadow of the girl you used to be. That was the point.

You reached for your bag and hesitated, staring at the sealed envelope inside—your schedule and a note you hadn’t dared open.

You already knew what it would say: Be good. Be mine. Be silent.

The apartment was quiet as you stepped into the hallway. Too quiet. He wasn’t there. Or maybe he was.

Watching.

School was overwhelming—laughter, footsteps, doors slamming, backpacks zipping, students everywhere. But you drifted through it unnoticed, by design. Your eyes never met another’s. You hugged the walls, found the quiet corners, and kept to the shadows.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t smile. And when a boy in your history class slipped a folded note onto your desk—just a simple “Hey, new girl :)”—you didn’t open it.

You burned it in the bathroom sink at lunch. The edges turned black, curled up like dead petals.

But a fragment had survived.

And Kakashi always noticed the pieces you missed.

Later That Evening

You unlocked the door slowly, silently. The apartment was still, but you could feel him—somewhere close. Watching. Waiting.

You stepped inside, placing your bag exactly where he preferred. Straightened the rug he always noticed. Hung your jacket neatly. Every detail perfect.

You were halfway to the bedroom when—

“Stop.”

The word sliced the silence clean in two.

You froze.

He stepped from the kitchen, mask off, eyes shadowed. The Sharingan glowed faintly, its red light flickering in the dim apartment like a warning flare.

“Turn around,” he said, voice low.

You obeyed, slowly.

He walked toward you, movements precise. His hand dipped into your bag. Pulled out the note.

Charred. Smudged. But there.

Your heart seized.

“I didn’t read it,” you said quickly. “I didn’t talk to him. I swear.”

He stared at the paper between his fingers. “This isn’t about him,” he said. “It’s about you. About trust.”

His hand slid into your hair, not yanking—but not kind. Anchoring.

“You thought trying was enough?” he asked softly. “You thought I wouldn’t notice what you left behind?”

Your voice caught. “I tried—”

“That’s not good enough.”

He turned, pulling you gently toward the bedroom.

“No more chances today,” he murmured. “You need a reminder.”

The Bedroom

The door clicked shut behind you. Quiet. Final.

You stood near the bed, hands at your sides, head bowed. His kunai gleamed on the nightstand, a silent witness. You didn’t dare look too long.

He circled you like a hunter, then stopped in front of you. “Strip.”

You obeyed. Sweater. Jeans. Socks. Everything. The chill in the room kissed your bare skin like punishment.

He stepped closer, gloved fingers brushing your chin. “Look at me.”

You did.

“You know I don’t like being ignored.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“Then why do you keep making me remind you?”

You didn’t have an answer—only silence and the weight of guilt settling like a stone in your stomach.

He guided you down onto the bed, face-down, spine rigid. No restraints.

He didn’t need them.

The first slap landed like fire. You gasped into the pillow.

Again. Again.

His strikes were deliberate, controlled. Each one carved a message into your skin—Mine. Mine. Mine.

“You belong to me.”

Smack.

“No one touches what’s mine.”

Smack.

“You don’t make mistakes like this again.”

Smack.

Tears spilled hot onto the sheets, but you didn’t beg. You didn’t run.

When it ended, his hand stayed at the small of your back, grounding you. Reminding you it was over.

For now.

He wrapped a blanket around you, drew you against his chest, and kissed your temple.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered. “You don’t have to carry the burden of being strong. That’s my job. You just have to obey.”

You nodded into him, silent.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“I know. You always are,” he said, stroking your hair. “But tomorrow—you’ll be better.”

The Next Morning

The morning light was pale through the curtains again—but this time, you didn’t wake to silence.

You woke to heat.

Kakashi’s hands were already on you, sliding beneath the blanket, rough palms mapping out the bruises he’d left the night before like a cartographer admiring his own terrain. His body pressed against yours from behind, hard and unyielding, already fitted to the curve of your ass.

You whimpered as his fingers ghosted down your inner thigh, already slick from anticipation and something darker—memory, guilt, ache.

“Still sore?” he murmured into your ear, his voice a gravel-soft rasp.

You nodded, face flushing. “Yes.”

“Good.”

He didn’t ask permission when he slid inside you—he never had to. Your body welcomed him like it belonged to him, because it did. The stretch burned, delicious and cruel. He buried himself to the hilt, groaning low in his throat as your walls fluttered around him.

“Still so tight,” he breathed. “Still so perfect.”

You moaned, biting into the pillow as he rolled his hips slowly, deliberately. This wasn’t frantic. This was control. He kept one hand pressed flat to your lower back, pinning you down while the other slipped beneath your stomach, fingers brushing over your clit in lazy circles.

“You remember the rules today?” he asked, voice like silk over steel.

“Yes,” you gasped. “No talking. No smiling. Straight home—”

“And?”

You hesitated. His hips stilled.

Your stomach dropped. “And no friends,” you whispered.

A kiss pressed to your shoulder—almost tender.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “You’re going to do so well today.”

Then he thrust deep, drawing a broken cry from your lips.

“But I want you to feel me while you’re out there,” he hissed, pace growing harder, more relentless now. “I want you walking into those halls with my cum dripping down your thighs, reminding you who you belong to.”

You whimpered, already teetering.

“No one else will touch you. No one else can. But they’ll know, baby.” His breath was ragged now, his rhythm punishing. “They’ll see it in your eyes. You’re ruined for them.”

You shattered around him with a choked sob, your walls clenching down as he buried himself one last time, spilling deep inside you with a growl.

He stayed there, panting against your neck, still inside you, hand stroking your side like you were something precious.

“You’ll wear black today,” he murmured against your skin. “Long skirt. High collar. But underneath? You’ll know.”

You nodded, eyes glassy. “I’ll know.”

He kissed the back of your neck.

“Good girl.”

⸻—————————————

You stood before the mirror again. Careful. Composed. The marks on your skin still hummed beneath the surface, hidden under a long black skirt and a buttoned blouse that touched your throat.

You looked untouched. Untouchable.

Perfect.

When you stepped into the living room, Kakashi was lounging on the couch, mask back in place. He looked up slowly, and his eye creased slightly in approval.

“Come here.”

You moved to stand between his knees, his hands settling on your hips like they belonged there.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured. “Like no one’s ever touched you.”

You lowered your head, heat rising in your cheeks. “Thank you.”

“There’s time before class,” he said casually, standing to his full height. You stiffened before you could help it. He noticed.

“You’ll stop by the market first. Groceries for dinner are in your phone.” His hand slid to your jaw again, tilting your face.

“I trust you.”

You swallowed hard.

“I won’t let you down.”

His head tilted slightly. Measuring the truth in your voice.

Then he smiled beneath the mask. “Good girl.”

He let go, stepping back.

“Pick something sweet for dessert,” he said. “You’ve earned it.”

You nodded, fingers curling at your sides.

But as you stepped outside, the wind sharp on your cheeks, you knew the truth:

If one thing went wrong—if someone smiled too kindly or stood too close—

You wouldn’t be the one to pay the price.

Someone else would.

And Kakashi would make sure of it.

[happy-as-a-clam-in-high-water]

Why I think Jax is going to abstract.

Let me start by saying I really hope he doesn’t. He’s my favorite character and I find him very interesting and multifaceted. I don’t want any of the characters to abstract, but as far as we know, it is the fate of all who end up in the circus.

So! On to why I think Jax will be next. Goose said herself that Jax was “going to get worse.”

You can interpret that as him getting meaner, which could definitely happen, or if you’re like me, you interpret it as his mental state gets worse. Gangle traumatized him in episode four and he was being tolerable and semi-obedient for the rest of the episode. This makes me think he got tired of putting up his asshole front and this is the beginning of the end for him. The kind of anti-spark that sends him spiraling from apathy to despair and eventually insanity.

In the episode where Pomni dreams she’s abstracting, Jax is the only character besides Caine that isn’t shown grabbing Pomni and saving her from the cellar. You could chalk that up as Pomni not seeing him as someone who would help her since he left her and Ragatha on their own with Kaufmo. She didn’t see him find Kinger and Gangle and throw them down the Zooble hole and that he has his own subtle way of helping and distracting. Anyway, just the fact that he wasn’t there to save a partially abstracted Pomni in the dream makes me think he’s doomed. He was the only human that wasn’t there. In cartoons like this, constantly singling out a specific character almost never leads to anything good happening to them.

It was pointed out to me that Jax’s room card has him sitting outside the door to his room with the wallpaper torn away and revealing the Void. I don’t really know what this means, but his room could be glitching or maybe he’s somehow closer to the Void than the others, I.e. closer to leaving than the others. Leaving = abstraction.

His song, aka “Jax’s Song,” “Knock Knock Who Cares?” Is him singing about how he’s repressing his fear and his need for human connection, “I know they need me to pretend it’s a joke, it’s a game till the end” and “I’m never ever gonna make friends again, what’s the point when it’s just gonna end?” And “let’s pretend that I care- which I don’t. I would help if I could, but I won’t.” And “Calm down, you’re fine. Cruel jokes can hide the feelings building inside.”

He’s resisting making friends with the others to protect himself because he’s been hurt before. But he’s still trying to help in his own way. He pulls mean pranks and cracks jokes to distract the other characters and himself.

Then there are the lines, “something tells me we’re all gonna die, even worse we’ll survive and it knocks at the back of my mind,” and “I hear the knocking almost everywhere, sick of pretending I’m unaware, hate to admit it but I’m getting scared.”

He’s trying to act normal and ignore his fear and paranoia. The song literally ends with him opening the door that someone has been knocking on for the whole song. I interpret this as him resisting abstraction and growing more and more afraid until he finally gives in and opens the door, so to speak, to abstraction.

This is all speculation and not meant to be taken too seriously. Just my thoughts that I tried and probably failed to organize. Feel free to let me know what you think

[jolluxiscool]

costume and omega,, maybe? maybe??

i hope you know im actually a big Closedcourtains fan and have em as my wallpaper in a gc...so silly

i struggle sm with costume actually this is helping me discover which characters i struggle with maybe i should do this type of thing more often

Closedcourtains....rubs my hands..

Okay first i gotta say, they look aesthetically pleasing together and i love that. For some reason Omega's red and Costume's grey go super good at least to me

Oh also everything that im writting from here onwards is supposing that Costume is Mike Robertson BECAUSE HOW ELSE DO I SO SOMETHING WITH HIS MYSTERIOUS ASS

Theyre the sun and moon dynamic in its purest form.

Costume, due to his past is very introverted. Very quiet, speaks only when he deems necessary — and even when he does, it does sound muffled. Its hard to read him for the....well...costume he wears, so you don't know what is in his mind often. He's to a point, paranoid too. And paranoia PLUS anger issues dont work well together! So most of the people in the cartridge avoid him.

And then you have Omega. The star of the show, loud, clear, almost always wearing a smile in his face — Impossible to miss, and not just because of his height! He's enthusiastic, overly dramatic...everything that Costume isn't.

So then, what happens when they have the chance to interact? First, Omega is curious, of course, how could he not be? And Costume is...overwhelmed! Yet, interesed too. Both trying to figure out how the other's brain chemistry works like. Soon, they discover they have a liking for eachother, the difference in personality makes up a great change in pace of their usual. Omega likes Costume, because despite being silent, he knows he listens. All about him makes him feel like hes watching a character taken from Poe's tales, he keeps him intrigued, and most importantly, entertained. On his own side, Costume likes this comically sized Tanooki's company. His voice, despite loud, does not come off as annoying, it reeks more a old man reading a book. He listens closely to whatever story the "raccoon" has to tell. It helps calm down his usually unravelled mind.

Probably at some point, Omega would try to make Costume act, to find out pretty quickly he's not made for the spotlight at all and then he'd act for him instead.

And i'd like to think that they have also noticed eachother staring directly in the other's eyes because theyre weird like that. WEIRS BUGS WE NEED TO KILL THEMGH

okay that was my rant i really like this ship

[darcyxpalmer]

Chance's reaction was a nice reminder for Darcy that most people don't walk around with secrets that would cause more than a mild embarrassment or the blowing up of a relationship, maybe. Maybe some meanness that reveals the true intentions and feelings of a person, but not something that would require more than apologies. That would result in more than judgement from some of the people here.

That, or Chance has the biggest secret of them all and is just extremely good at hiding it, a little voice in the back of Darcy's head says, reminding her of the secret Selin got. But no, that couldn't be it. There was just no way Chance was somebody who was capable of murder without remorse. Not to mention, if he was that kind of person, he never would have actually helped her when they were at the Tower. He would have just watched as she became one with the ground. It was nothing more than Darcy's paranoia talking.

Good job to whoever placed these secrets with everyone, really. Did its job perfectly.

The quietness of Chance's words, that innocent, curious, almost careful expression he gave her as he asked if she wouldn't admit to things made Darcy's heart clench for a moment. "I mean, if it's just something embarrassing from kindergarten, then sure, I would without hesitation. But there are mistakes I am not too proud of that I wouldn't necessarily want people to judge me based upon." She flittered the little piece of paper in her hand, "Nothing like this, of course, just stupid stuff from my youth."

A glance down at the paper again before she looked at Chance. "But I'd also rather admit to mine than make it seem like some of the shittier ones might be about me. A little embarrassment from the past is much better than being considered a habitual liar or something." Which she wasn't. She absolutely was not. Nope.

She frowned at Chance's words about Lokni, "Wait, really? I am sure it wasn't anything bad, he's never been anything but cordial and kind and thoughtful with me, and others only really speak nicely of him too." Maybe she was a bit biased about Lokni - Darcy liked him and he was one of the few she fully, without any hesitation, trusted. "Maybe he was just having a bad day or something."

A momentary distraction from what they were talking about, but then Chance circled back to the secrets and suggested something she hasn't even considered - and that gave Darcy a pause. "That-- that would be fucked up," she couldn't help the visceral reaction even though she desperately wanted that to be true, wanted to jump on the theory and convince both of them, convince everyone, that it was the truth.

"It would be pretty convienient and I guess that would make our lives easier - despite the distrust, in the longrun it would mean we don't actually have to worry about people hiding in plain sight, lying to our faces." But the murderer one. That wasn't something they could truly just let go. Darcy, however, promised Selin not to tell anyone about that, and she was keeping that secret. The less people knew about that little piece of paper, the less chance it had of getting into the wrong ears.

"But it also feels like we're taking the easy way out," she ended up saying, part of her afraid she was talking against herself, but if she didn't see what Chance got, wouldn't she be saying that still? "Like we're trying to convince ourselves of the best solution and shoving our heads in the sand in the process? I know it might just feed into the paranoia and distrust, but what if we get just one wrong and then it turns into something-- something horribly bad?"

"I mean, yeah... I guess..."

Absolutely not. Even though he's sure that the secret he recieved was not about him - in that he doesn't lie about 'everything' - he lies about enough. Fuck these people. His life isn't for them to peruse.

"...I haven't heard anything so far that might sound like it's about me. And what would be gained by hiding stuff. I don't think there's anything that I would need to keep secret that badly. Like, sure I've done some embarassing stuff... But I doubt that would bother people here. So - yeah - I'd be okay about admitting it."

LOL. Liar liar pants on fire.

He does, however take the chance to look between the little strip of paper between Darcy's slender fingers and back to her face. Those puppy-eyes quite evident blinking in wide-eyed innocence before asking very, very quietly...

"Wouldn't you?"

Oh, the implication was clear from the moment the words left Darcy's mouth. That perhaps she might not be so open and honest about her secret. Whether it be this one or something else. Which also implied that the little astronaut here might really have something worth hiding. Ditzy Darcy really did just get more interesting by the minute.

But then Darcy is pulled back by his question 'why'? Of course, he doesn't correct her or let her know that - yeah - he's already worked it out, he just lets her continue until the end, spelling out his own suspicions with her words. At least, that one thing they can agree on, the sowing of discord among the ragtag populace. Just a few little pieces of paper and everyone was squinting, judging and suspicious. It really hadn't been hard to do at all - well played Flowr. One hand raises to his mouth as though to cover a mild shock about Darcy's revelation. That the idea would never have occured - though she does add a tidbit to the theory that hadn't occured to Chance yet - mix in the mundane secrets with the spicy ones. Validate a few and the rest had to be real, right? Nice work, little astronaut.

But then she laughs, as though she's brushing it off. As though the problem of secrets is hers and her's alone to solve. Spitballing about names of people who she might rule out. And he listens as she runs through them obviously dismissing each ons of her theories... it's not like couples didn't have secrets from each other - or siblings for that matter (not Chance and Cala though. One of the things that kept them strong and solid was the shared joy in each others - darker - delights). She finally mentions Lokni, and Chance just pulls a slight face.

"I dunno. The only time we talked, he was outside of Selin's hut when I showed up. Seemed to get real mad at me for just being there and then left without even knocking. Seemed a bit... Uh.... Weird."

Which - for a change, was actually the absolute truth. Of course, Chance had rather enjoyed the attempt at posturing, rather taking advantage of Lokni's clear defensiveness over the whole situation. That had been a fun little interlude.

And while he's not outwardly accusing him of anything, Chance does like to sow those little seeds of doubt here and there. And now seemed like the perfect opportunity.

However, when Darcy asks what he thinks, Chance decides it's time for curveball number two-o.

He doesn't waste his time procrastinating over who might be the owner of said secret.

"What if... Some of the secrets... aren't secrets at all?"

"I mean, like you said, if some of them turn out to be true, then people will assume they all are. So... Maybe some people had secrets shared that they wouldn't mind admitting to... To... Y'know... Validate or something. And the rest are just bits of paper with awful things written on them - but they don't actually belong to anyone?"

"What if people aren't owning up to a secret because... Well... There isn't one about them. And the... uh... meaner ones are just there to throw more shade and rile folks up, get them all suspicious over nothing? Like... We can't prove or disprove that they are ALL real... Y'know?"

[annabthesolitarywriter]

IMPORTANT!

I've seen some of my moots post New Year Resolution lists/To-do lists so I thought I'd share mine. It contains important information my mutuals deserve to know.

I suppose you all don't remember my WIP The Lady of Ithilien.

Don't worry, it's a very small thing I've never really talked about. Enna? Eönwë? I don't know who these people are (just kidding, of course). Well, I have to announce that it will no longer be a WIP. It won't be a WIP for a long time, since I don't plan on posting new chapters until the latter part of this year and possibly even early 2026.

Much has changed since I posted chapter 3 back in April. I've created many, many, many OCs and some of them will appear in the story quite soon. As such, I need to have them completely (or semi-completely) figured out (full names, lineage, background, personality and role within the plot) BEFORE I start writing about them.

This is why answering character asks will be my main priority for early 2025 at the very least. I need to know who my characters are before I write them and make a mess. Please send as many asks as you can (even random questions), so that I can flesh them out as much as possible. Even stupid questions are okay. Seemingly stupid questions—I reckon questions are never stupid—are actually the best because they force me to think. Trust me, I do need to think 😂 it's the overthinking part that which I don't like.

I was re-reading the LOI prologue last night and I couldn't help but notice how different Ioreth's personality is if compared to how I wrote her character just two chapters later. She sort of has some of the same traits, but she's much more gentle and understanding in the prologue than she is later, and I don't think Enna "misbehaving" could trigger such a massive change in her personality if she hadn't shown signs of being a complete b*tch beforehand. Luckily for me, I haven't written much yet, so that issue could be easily solved by deleting the prologue and reposting it separately as a general introduction to Enna as a character. I have already copied the prologue in my AO3 drafts in case I decide go through with it, but I will wait a while longer before I make a decision since I'm notoriously volatile and change my mind every five seconds about everything. This example is just to show how writing instinctively and without thinking can impact things in the long run, so I definitely need to develop my characters. That's the first thing I intend to do this year.

Second, I need to finish the Tolkien OC Week one-shots that should've been done by the end of this past August. I am still working on the one-shot for Day 5 and I have changed my mind about the prompt for Day 6 at least a billion times. I have to expand the one for Day 7 and finish the one-shot for day 1 (Maiarin world-building is the stuff of nightmares).

Plus, I need to make sure that I don't further change my mind about things I've already written, which is something I unfortunately always end up doing. I change my mind all the time and it's honestly kind of debilitating at this point. I feel like I'll never finish anything and it's disheartening.

I legit can't stop coming up with newer ideas that I think are better than the old ones and replacing stuff I've already written with new scenarios. The thing is, my excitement wears off pretty quickly and I soon get even better ideas that quickly replace the new ones. It's a never-ending cycle which needs to stop ASAP.

I do plan to make some changes to the LOI chapters I've already posted. I'll edit the story before I resume posting later this year/next year. I've planned the following changes so far:

Possibly take out the prologue and reposting it separately [the reasons for this change are mentioned above]. Should that be the case, LOI will start with chapter 1. I haven't really made up my mind about this though. I kind of don't want to delete it because, in doing so, I would lose all my comments and comments are very important to me, but I suppose I could screenshot them, print them and frame them 😂

Change Eönwë's Quenya lines in what is now Chapter 2 to Valarin. I mean, the guy is basically in a coma and starts speaking in a second/third language? I know that Maiar and Valar are supposed to be more or less masters of all languages, but I think it would make much more sense if he muttered stuff in Valarin rather than Quenya. I did not think of this when I first wrote the chapter a year ago and I wasn't not yet obsessed with Turkish period dramas.

Carefully review the parts of Chapter 4 that I have already written and make major adjustments. Write new parts that make more sense considering the events that have just occurred story-wise (don't worry, I won't discard anything. The "current" chapter 4 will be pushed back in the timeline and possibly become Chapter 7 or 8.

Pay a lot more attention to grammar and spelling. I usually don't mind it when other writers make spelling mistakes, but when it happens to me...it's a whole other matter entirely. I've been learning English for a long time and the fact that I still make that kind of mistakes—mostly due to distraction—really irks me. I'm talking capitalization issues, wrong vowels and such. I know how to write correctly and I cannot stress how I roll my eyes whenever I spot misspelled words I perfectly know how to write. And it usually happens after re-reading the same paragraph four or five times.

Stop adding lore to asks I've already posted. How are people going to keep up if I keep adding more and more things? I literally posted the Eleniel/Celebrían ask on New Year's Day and I've edited the post twice already because I obviously came up with slightly different concepts and ideas. It's been two days and I have no doubt I'll come up with slightly different variations of things anytime I re-read the post. I don't think it's fair to the person who sent the ask (@lucifers-legions in this case, but it could be anyone) to keep changing things. I never do it on purpose (it's more of an impulse things), but I need to make decisions and stick to them. People should be able to read the answers to my asks without stressing over what I'm going to change. This applies to everyone sending asks (anons and mutuals alike), but it's even more important when someone is borrowing your characters for their story. So, I plan to be better and I really hope I will succeed. Also, constantly updating things is not good for me either (I forget half of the stuff and get confused, which is...not ideal)

Try and work on all the other asks I have queued. They include a second unusual OC/creator questions ask from @fishing4stars, four more from @lucifers-legions (three character asks and one fic-request), one from @dilettantefeminist, one from @jhelenivarsimae, one from @quillofspirit and two from @saurongorthaur9 (one character ask and one fic-request). I have started some of these and for others I had ideas which I momentarily abandoned/discarded. What I am trying to say is that I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN about these and that I'm working on them. I wish I could put things out more quickly, but...you know me by now. I'm slow. And I wish I wasn't.

Try and be more organized. I have a bunch of random files and notes that need to be neatly stored somewhere. My brain is a mess as it is and it doesn't need any more distractions.

Speaking of distractions...Tumblr (and social media in general) happens to be one. While I love scrolling through my feed here...it prevents me from actually writing and planning. Which is why I think it won't be surprising if I take even longer breaks from it. Despite this, I would like to keep in contact with all the awesome people I've met on here so. You can text me on Insta (I can give it to you via text on here) or you can email me if you like. Just text me and we'll talk about it. I'll still come back to Tumblr every once in a while (I'll never deactivate my account or things like that), but...I think I need to take drastic measures to stay focused and actually update my fics. I'll come back here to reply to the asks I get and to comments and texts I might get, but I don't think I'll ever be as active as I once was. Maybe I will be again one day, but I need to work on my concentration skills first (I honestly think I might have ADHD and I kind of would like to get it checked out. I've been doing some reading about it and most of the symptoms I have are a match for ADHD. It might also not be the case, but...I don't know.)

Update (sometime down the line) my masterlist, make it more pretty to look at and make a headcanon list to be kept in my files and also to be posted here. Most of my asks are buried somewhere and I need to keep them all in the same place so that I can easily find them. Not urgent, but also...quite urgent.

All in all, I would like to thank all of you for your continued support and thank you for putting up with me. 💕

I understand I can be a pain and I'm sorry (I'm honestly starting to think Enna and I are the same person. She's just way more unlucky)

PS: *As a testament to my overthinking, it seems I cannot stop thinking about that darn prologue (it's been LITERAL HOURS since I first queued this post and it's been haunting me ever since). Ioreth's characterization is my main issue with it at the moment, but, on second thoughts, I suppose that the whole "personality change" issue could be attributed to her acting nice while Enna was a young child in an attempt to gain her trust and manipulate her into thinking that she was way better than her mother. That's kind of plausible. She basically gaslighted her throughout her childhood and started showing her true colors when Enna grew up and started to "rebel". Okay, that's more or less fine, I suppose.

It's just that the prologue is set in Ithilien and the first chapter is literally a year later in Minas Tirith and she's already met Mairon. Mmm...🤔

Should I add a few chapters in between showing Enna's pre-drama daily life, her lessons with the most sensible tutor in Middle-earth aka Finnas, her moving to Minas Tirith with Faramir and Elboron, introduce her two main attendants and address the differences between her life in Ithilien and in Minas Tirith? Should I also include a chapter where she meets Mairon and he starts manipulating right off the bat?

I'm literally debating whether I should rewrite the story from the start [the most complicated option what will probably cause me to abandon the fic altogether], add the extra chapters between the prologue and Chapter 1 [if that ends up happening, the prologue will go back to being Chapter 1 and the other chapters will follow accordingly], or just delete the prologue and leave everything else as it is now [the easiest option]

In any case, I doubt I'll be able to post anything before next October/November, my ultimate deadline being early to mid 2026.

IF I DON'T UPDATE BY THEN...then you're allowed to consider the story officially discontinued/abandoned.

Writing LOI requires a lot of work and hopefully finishing off the one-shots first will give me inspo and motivation to work on the story. If not, Elenwë and all my OCs will only live in my mind and in the one-shots that are already posted.

Also, all the planned fics I listed on my masterlist... probably won't happen either. Let's be realistic, I'll never ever get to them in this lifetime. I get distracted too often, I can't meet deadlines and I'm never satisfied with my own work. I am never happy about it. Perhaps I'm just not cut out for writing. Maybe I should stop writing right this instant.

Lastly, I would like to thank all of my moots for their unwavering support. I have met so many wonderful people here and, even if I stop writing, I'll always keep reading and commenting!

[villain-disorder]

The thing is, I'll never know if it's me as the problem. I will never know if people really don't show they care enough, or in the right ways--or if I will never be happy because the wiring of my brain will never accept however people express care as truth. I don't know if I'll ever be able to trust that people care, that it will get better and people have my back, or feel comforted by anything.

I don't know what to say to people when they ask how to help. "Show me you care" is so fucking vague, and I don't know what to answer with if I'm asked how to do that. I don't know what my brain will accept. On one hand I have no idea how to help myself, and my psychologist doesn't seem to either--it feels like I will never heal or feel secure. On the other, if I knew how to help myself, the things people could say to calm me, and I explained to them how.... Would they feel fake because I spelled it out for them? Would my mind just twist their care into an act of silencing me?

I am so, so tired. I hold so much in so that I don't hurt people. I don't lash out and yell at people about how little they seem to care, I don't touch anyone, I don't even blame anyone but myself. All this weight applied to myself to protect others from my pain, and even at my most paletable and small and weak, no one can help.

Mind you, I'm not going anywhere. I'm just severely hurting, and every time I get into a place like this, it feels awkward, or just another "wait till he shuts up and then act like it never happened". I don't feel like I'm ever taken seriously by anyone in my life, sometimes.

[the-flowerpatch]

welo v you we lov coming up with pet names for you. iddjduaisidjfjsjfjsd////

[mothbeasts]

sometimes I wish I wasn't a hater over such stupid things but like. it all builds up and boils over and if I can't be a hater about stupid fandom drama I'm vaguely involved in I know it will actually ruin my life. c'est la vie.

[habitual-creatures]

HERE ONE MOMENT . . .

GONE THE NEXT

I can't tell what's real... He's back... but he isn't... I heard him, I saw him... then he was gone...

This doesn't seem like him... Who is he? Who is he? Who is he? Who is he? Who is he? Who is he? Who is he? Who is he?

Can you see him too, or am I just losing my mind...?

[alectoperdita]

Hey, I saw you hadn’t posted in a while and I hope you’re doing okay. I’m sorry if you’ve been going through a hard time lately, and if that’s the case I hope you have some better days soon. Please take care <3

In news that probably surprises no one, I am struggling.

Thank you for your kind sentiments, anon. Hope you are better off than I am.

[mars-ipan]

worst thing abt anxiety attacks for me is that while i've gotten good at Managing them and generally Preventing them i still have no clue what to do to Make Them Stop once they're here. i just have to accept that i'm gonna feel vaguely Bad in the background for a week or two

[pikslasrce]

bro i was asleep for less than an hour and im back here already 😍😍😍

[reel-fear]

👁️👁️

You must tell 👀

*rubs my little hands together* sorry for taking a bit on answering this! My brain has not been braining lately but your ask couldn't have come at a better time bc Grant has been on the mind as of late and I am hyped at the excuse to infodump abt him- [this is gonna be long I am so sorry-]

now for quick disclaimers for anyone reading this that isnt the asker or me- we're not discussing canon Grant Cohen, we're talking my Grant, this black haired dude, that guy. Another fun disclaimer, I was HEAVILY, inspired by Grant's role/character in abomination for my Grant. Taking time to awknowledge every part of his character or story that was inspired by it would make this 10x longer so if similarities are spotted know its very likely I did that on purpose bc I just really love abomination KJHFSDGKJDHGSD-

Alright with that outta the way I'ma talk a lot abt what happens to Grant in the canon of Showtime to explain what I meant and also maybe a bit of me rambling about aus that explore Grants relationship with Sammy n Joey under a more romantic lens. Should be obvious but spoilers for It's Showtime down below~

So Grant in Showtime after he dies ends up joining the ink demon cult, becoming a lost one and earning the title of The Priest.

When the cult was all together him and Sammy worked together to run it. Sammy used his connection to the ink demon to recieve messages and learn more on how to survive in this new situation and Grant made sure the lost ones acted accordingly. [A role not so far off from the one he was forced to take when the studio started facing troubles before his death] Grant also took the job of dealing with sacrificing souls and sending them back to the dark puddles, which sometimes was members of the following chosen at random and sometimes whatever poor soul found themselves captured by them.

However when Malice rose from the puddles and made a deal with the Projectionist to seize a considerable amount of the studio as theirs, the cult was split up, Sammy and Jack forced to flee to the music department and Grant with the rest of the following being down in the area of Chapter 4. This put Grant in a very bad spot, the lost ones were very shaken by this event and since then Grant worries their faith in him has wavered.

An important thing with the ink demon cult was that it is meant to be a more realistic take on how a cult works. The Ink Demon runs the cult, he is the most powerful figure in it and yet the hardest to contact, so Grant and Sammy are little more than middlemen tasked with keeping things running or else they face the ink demon's wrath. Sammy is sadly very aware that the ink demon is not as benevolent as he or the lost ones would like the believe. Grant likes to think being the Priest will at the very least protect him if things go wrong, but he is sadly mistaken.

Grant is in a very dangerous spot, he knows the lost ones beneath him are getting angsty and worried about just how truthfully safe the cult is or if they should believe in the power of the ink demon. But he also knows if things fall apart the lost ones will come to tear him apart long before they go for the ink demon. Despite him merely being a puppet for their lord. A role Grant is not ready to acknowledge, not because he isn't smart enough to see he is just a pawn, but because he chooses not to think about it, less his paranoia eat him alive yet again... A very important thing to keep in mind with Grants character.

Grant did in fact play this role in life as well however, when things started going wrong in the studio, Joey was very quick to turn away from what was going on and continue asserting everything would be fine. Which while a lie he himself believed was a lie nonetheless. However Grant quickly became his right hand man as people like Thomas and Wally started noticing cracks forming all through out the studio. Staff going missing, the ink changing in the way it behaved and an eerie feeling the machine created in both of them.

Grant despite deep down being smart enough to know things were going poorly, parroted Joey's words, hanging off of them himself and doing whatever he could to shut down any attempts to bring to light the things going wrong. Of course, him and Joey both ended up paying the price for their lies, but so did everyone else around them. But unlike Sammy, Grant barely even seemed shaken to see that, like a conspiracy theorist seeing evidence their theory isn't true only makes them double down harder, Grant only seemed to double down on the idea that if he followed every order he was given. Surely things would turn out better this time.

So that's canon to the story of Showtime, but I do want to take a second to get some AU non canon ideas out of my brain centering around Grant and his relationship to both Joey n Sammy. In canon Grant's only romantic interest is Thomas, his literal husband and there is a lot of interesting conflict there, but I fucking love shipping so of course I have a million aus merely indulging in ships I think would also be interesting to explore in their own contexts. In this case, I'm gonna ramble a bit about Sammy x Grant and Grant x Joey and the interesting things I think there are to explore in their relationships in Showtime.

So you might've noticed that while not literally [as saying the ink demon is Joey in Showtime, while somewhat true, is not the entire truth of the situation and simplifies it quite a bit] Grant did end up following Joey to the grave... And then kept following him beyond it. Something that is objectively~ very queer of him.

There's just something so compelling about the idea of Grant yearning for Joey so much, being so close yet so far as his right hand man but not being brave enough to become his lover eventually drove Grant's love for Joey to become an outright obsession. The idea that Grant's feelings for Joey became so intense from how hard he pushed them down it blinded him from seeing the truth of the situation outside of the way Joey painted it. Then dying and his obsession turning into an outright worship of him.

The idea of Grant settling for just being Joey's favorite lackey, his most loyal pet and knowing that's his role but not caring bc at least it makes him stay by Joey's side. Ohh it's an interesting one to say the least. I even did a few sketches of them u can see-

They are doomed by the narrative to me and have been on my mind a lot lately can ya tell? KJDHSFGKJHDFSGKJHDFGSD

However when it comes to Sammy and Grant, I think there is a lot of interesting potential between them too. After all they share being the Ink Demon's henchmen in all of this and to see them both come to terms with that and try to find comfort in each other is such a fun idea to me.

An au where they both decide to ditch the cult and the ink demon and on their own try to figure out what happened to Joey and how to fix things is very compelling to me. I could see their relationship starting out as doing all these things for each other under the excuse they just need comfort until it starts to turn to actual feelings for each other. Both of them coming to terms with the fact Joey was not in fact a perfect person and maybe didn't even know how bad things were getting deep down himself but also finally letting themselves hold him accountable for the lies he told... It's a very fun healing narrative and very in line with a lot of the themes It's Showtime deals with.

Either way, I just really love what I've done with Grant's character in It's Showtime, he's for sure one of the most fascinating to me and the themes his story explores are ones that are important to the story as a whole and by extension me. Umm this turned out very long but I hope u enjoyed the read! Tysm for the excuse to infodump abt him, I was itching for one as u can see KDJHGKJDHFGKJDHFGSD.

[elytrafemme]

i need this guy who is viewed by literally everyone who has ever met him including myself as one of the kindest most genuine people ever to stop being fucking scared of me and ANSWER MY TEXTS!!!