#the secret keeper fic

[shiorimakibawrites]

The Secret Keeper #1 (Daredevil Fan Fic)

Word Count: 3140 Warnings: Swearing, referenced drug use, Foggy Nelson being a bisexual disaster Taglist: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza, @bellaxgiornata, @loveroftoomanyfandoms The Secret Keeper Masterlist, My Masterlist Thank you for @loveroftoomanyfandoms for beta reading.

Chapter 1

“This thing is so fucking slow,” I grumbled with no small amount of irritation.

Given the eye-watering amount of money that Columbia charged for tuition, I would have thought that everything would be top notch. Apparently not. Part of my mind wondered what they were spending all that money on. Obviously not on their network.

Or the dorm room furniture. After seeing all those zeroes, I almost expected everything to be real fancy. A four-poster bed made of mahogany with velvet curtains. Fine porcelain cups. Gold toilet seats. Tacky in that way only the really rich could get away with. But what I found when I walked in looked like it came from Ikea.

Nothing wrong with Ikea. It was sturdy enough and didn’t look terrible. Just a little surprising. Or maybe they saved all the fancy stuff for the more public parts of the university. Like the Butler Library.

Or the academics. I really hoped so. I hadn’t busted my ass getting this scholarship for nothing.

Now if only this stupid website would fucking refresh . . . 

“Goddammit, come on!” I growled. “Load!”

The computer ignored me. I was giving the computer a piece of my mind when I was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“What?” I called out, unable to keep the annoyance out of my voice. I heard, more than saw, the door open.

“Excuse me,” said an unfamiliar voice. “Is this room 312?”

“Yeah, who are you looking for?” I said, reluctantly turning my attention to the visitor. And felt like I had been hit in the face with a hammer. Stepping into my dorm room was the hottest guy I had ever laid eyes on. Not even that little grimace or that he was wearing sunglasses indoors could diminish just how pretty this guy was . . . so pretty that I almost missed the cane in his hand.

A long cane, white except for the red bottom section.

I resisted the urge to smack myself in the forehead. Blind. Cute guy was blind, not the kind of weirdo who wears sunglasses inside. “Oh . . . sorry.”

“What for?” asked Cute Guy, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him. There was an olive green duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

“You’re blind, aren’t you?” I asked.

“So they tell me,” said Cute Guy, moving toward the second bed. I wondered if I should warn him about it when the white cane hit it. Cute Guy didn’t seem upset about that. Just leaned forward and stretched out his hand until he found the bare mattress. Apparently satisfied with this discovery, the duffel was slid off his shoulder and dropped onto the bed. “I hope that won’t be a problem.”

“Why would it?” I asked, confused about what this Calvin Klein model was doing in my dorm. Then it clicked. Man, I was slow on the uptake today. “Oh! You’re my roomie!”

Cute Guy nodded, turning toward me. He took a step in my direction, holding out his hand. “Matt Murdock.”

I got off my bed, willingly abandoning my computer. As much as I wanted to get into that class, Mama Nelson hadn’t raised a caveman. I took his head and shook it. It was a good shake. Cute Guy (Matt) had a solid, firm grip but didn’t try to break my fingers like some guys did. Immediate brownie points.

“Foggy Nelson,” I introduced myself, trying not to grin like a loon. I had the feeling that I failed. Cute Guy (Matt) was even prettier up close. Square jaw, good cheekbones still round with the last traces of baby fat. Not that I had any room to talk about baby fat.

Dropping Matt’s hand, I tried to remember where I had heard the name Matt Murdock before. I tried to chase my thoughts into some semblance of an order but I kept getting distracted by things. Like wondering if his hair was soft and fluffy as it looked . . .

Maybe that joint earlier had been a bad idea. I had been nervous about meeting my roomie and had smoked a little to steady my nerves. It had worked, setting aside the tooth-grinding at the slowness of the class registration portal. But I have been reliably informed that I was a bisexual disaster when I was stone cold sober. High? I just couldn’t stop myself from telling people just how pretty they were.

And damn was this Matt Murdock pretty . . .

And just like that, I remembered. But surely this wasn’t the same guy. It couldn’t be. Stuff like that only happened in movies. Matthew wasn’t an unusual name. Neither was Murdock. Especially not here. Irish surnames were a dime a dozen in New York. It couldn’t be him.

But there was only one way to find out.

“You’re not from Hell’s Kitchen, are you?” I asked.

“Born and raised,” Matt answered, his head tilting slightly to one side. It was rather adorable . . . Focus!

“So am I!” I said, feeling amazed. It was really him. Wow! “I heard about you! When you were a kid! What you did! Saving that old guy crossing the street!”

Matt ducked his head, turned back toward his bed and started feeling out for his duffel. “I just did what anyone would have.”

“Bullshit!” I immediately retorted. “You’re a hero!”

“I’m really not,” Matt said, fidgeting with the zipper of his bag. Was he embarrassed? Bashful? It was hard to tell with those dark glasses hiding his eyes and the way his shoulders were hunched, hiding even more of his face from me. But there was the faint tinge of pink dusting those cheekbones and creeping down the back of his neck. Which was also really adorable, dang it.

“Come on,” I pressed, not wanting Matt to downplay his heroism. Because, no, he hadn’t just done what anyone else would have done. I had read all of the articles about brave little Matty Murdock. Probably still had the newspaper clippings somewhere. “Of course, you’re a hero! You got your peepers knocked out saving that old dude!”

That got Matt to turn back toward me.

“They didn’t get knocked out,” he said, sounding incredulous. Like he couldn’t believe what had just come out of my mouth. Not an unusual occurrence for me. My brain-to-mouth filter had these giant holes in it.

“Good. Because that would be a little . . . freaky,” I said. Then I realized how that sounded and wanted to smack myself on the forehead. Again. Case in point. Way to put your foot in your mouth, Fog. “No offense!”

“None taken,” Matt said, then smiled. It was a little one, barely even a smile but it seemed more real. I mentally gave myself a pat on the back. I loved getting people to smile for real instead of just smiling politely. “Most people dance around me like I’m made of glass.”

Then, more softly but with a lot of feeling, he added, “I hate that.”

Pity is a four-letter word. Suzie’s familiar voice rang through my mind like she was actually in the room. She had said that with the same soft but bone-deep tiredness that Matt just said ‘I hate that.’ And, not for the first time since we got our acceptance letters, realized how much I was going to miss seeing her everyday.

“Well, you’re just a guy, right?” I said, trying to distract myself before I got mopey.  “A really good looking guy.”

Good looking was an understatement. Matt was one of the prettiest people that Foggy had ever seen in person. Maybe even the prettiest. So pretty that he almost didn’t seem real. He had the kind of face that you expected to see staring back at you from a magazine cover not from across the dorm room. Not that Matt was staring at me. Since he couldn’t. And wouldn’t if he could . . . I cleaned up good but I was solidly guy-next-door. Aka practically invisible to people this pretty.

And it wasn’t just his face either. Matt’s clothes were kinda worn and a little ill-fitting but I could still see the hints of a lean, athletic body . . . the broad shoulders that he hadn’t quite grown into yet . . . 

“Hmmm . . . I . . .”

Awwww, that blush from earlier was back. And brighter. Be still my heart. He looked even cuter, flustered and sputtering . . .

And that’s when I realized that I had just hit on my roommate. My roommate who could very well be straight. Or homophobic. Nevermind that I was bi, not gay . . . And then compounded that by checking him out so blatantly that even a blind guy who could tell I was doing it . . .

“Girls must love that!” I said in a rush, giving a silent thanks to my drama teacher Mrs. Wilde. All those improv skits and learning the yes-and style of comedy was paying off. Again. Thinking on my feet, turning flirty comments into a joke had saved me from many an ass-kicking. “That whole handsome wounded duck thing? Am I right?”

“Yeah,” Matt said, recovering his equilibrium quickly now that we were on (I assumed) more familiar ground. Though his cheeks were still faintly pink. “It’s been known to happen.”

“This is gonna be awesome!” I said. Maybe it was just the weed talking but I have a good feeling about this.

****

A month later and I was still feeling good.

I was doing well in my classes. My professors were knowledgeable. Most were at least decent at teaching and a few were really good. The class discussions had been interesting. Still hadn’t worked up the nerve to talk to that hot girl in my Punjabi class but the semester wasn’t over. I had plenty of time.

Matt was fast becoming my best friend. No offense meant to all my other friends. They are all awesome but I’ve never clicked with someone this quickly before. It felt like I had known Matt for years instead of just four weeks. A feeling that seemed to be entirely mutual.

I hope it was mutual. I really liked Matt. And not just because he was unfairly pretty. He was smart. Really smart. Getting a full-ride scholarship out of Columbia was no easy feat. I would know. He was funny. Especially when he relaxed enough to let that sarcastic, smart mouth come out.

As a roommate, I couldn’t have asked for a better one. He stayed quiet when I was asleep or studying. Matt never took my things without asking first. Which more than I could say for Theo. And while he was meticulously neat, he did not demand that I conform to the same standards. His only requests were that I keep the walking paths free of clutter and if I borrowed anything of his to put it back exactly where I found it. Which was more than reasonable.

Granted so far that had applied more to the former than the latter. Matt hadn’t brought a lot with him that weren’t necessities. A nice rosary and a few non-school books seemed to be it. And I didn’t know braille so which nixed borrowing quite a bit of Matt’s things in the first place. But, out of pure curiosity, I did pull one of his books off the shelf.

It was surprisingly thick. Thicker than any of my books. Maybe it was the paper? It looked and felt more like card stock than paper. And those lines of dots were not as pronounced? . . . on the page as I had imagined. I could feel them but not very well . . . how does - 

“What are you doing?”

I jumped. I hadn’t even heard Matt come in. If there was one downside to being Matt’s roomie, it was his cat-like ability to walk silently through walls. But my mind was soon distracted away from that by losing my grip on the book. It fell right on my sock-clad foot. “Ow! Fuck!”

“What’s wrong?” Matt asked, concerned.

“Just dropped your book on my foot,” I explained, rubbing my foot with one hand and picking up the book in the other. It seemed even thicker and heavier after hitting my foot.

“Oh . . . which book?” Matt asked.

“One of your textbooks,” I said, straightening back up. And putting the book on Matt’s desk, well away from the edge, before it ended up on my foot again.

Matt’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t know you knew braille.”

“I don’t,” I said honestly. “I was just curious, never seen a book completely printed in braille before. And since you weren’t trying to study, it seemed like a good time to be nosy.”

Matt made a thoughtful humming noise, his fingers running over the cover “And what was your impression of the Frontiers of Science Part I?”

“Of course it was a science book,” I said. “Science has had it out for me since chemistry.”

Matt’s lips twitched. “Aside from that?”

“It was foot-crushingly large.”

Lips twitched again before spreading into another small but real smile. Totally worth the aching foot. “They have to be. You can’t emboss thin paper. It will tear. And cells take up more space on the page than standard typeface. The result is thicker pages and more of them.”

I nodded to myself. That made sense but there was something else that didn’t . . . I thought back to the foundation core requirements . . . “Part I? I thought Frontiers was a one-semester class.”

“It is,” Matt confirmed. “But you can only make a book so large before it becomes unwieldy. So a lot of the time, the braille version ends up split into multiple volumes.”

“So that’s why you have twice as many textbooks as me,” I said. “I thought you had found a time-turner or something so you could take twice as many classes.”

Matt laughed. “Afraid not.”

His little smile got that mischievous edge. “You should see my copy of the Bible.”

I hadn’t been to church in years. My parents weren’t especially religious. But I remember the Bible Nana has. Which I had also dropped on my foot. It felt just as crushing as Matt’s book . . . then I thought about the size of my copy of Frontiers and did the math . . . .

“Holy shit! I bet you could build a decent size fort out of that many books!”

This time Matt laughed. I loved getting Matt to laugh. There was something so satisfying about seeing that almost somber, distant expression on his face transform into something delighted and happy. And it usually left him smiling wide enough for that dimple to show up. Because, of course, Matt had a dimple. He wasn’t already cute enough.

“Never tried,” Matt said. “But I can almost hear the exasperated ‘Matthew!’ I’d get from Sister Maggie and Sister Beatrice.”

I laughed, picturing a pair of stern-faced old women dressed in black with that head-veil thing scolding a younger Matt.

“Did you bring Fort Bible with you? And if so, why am I only hearing about this now?”

Matt laughed again. “No. I left it with Father Lanthom.”

“I think you mean Fort Commander Lanthom.”

Another laugh from Matt. Maybe it wasn’t the funniest joke in the world but it was funny enough to leave Matt smiling and his shoulders relaxed. I gave myself a mental high five. After getting him to laugh the first time, I had promised myself to get Matt to smile and laugh as often as possible. Seriousness had its place in life but it seemed to me that Matt needed more joy in his.

Even if it turned Matt from a ten to a solid twelve on the cutie scale. Which made keeping the flirting to myself difficult. Matt had taken my chronic foot-in-mouth disease in stride. Seemed to like how candid I was. That I didn’t tapdance around things. Especially things like his disability. I had seen first hand how thin and hard Matt’s mouth got whenever someone else did, the wall that immediately went up between Matt and the offender.

Well, another wall. My roommate was rather guarded. What little of himself he had shared were things anyone could find out with some googling. I hoped that one day Matt will discover that it’s safe to let me behind those walls of his.

Part of that was curbing the flirting. Matt never got mean or even complained about it but it was pretty obvious that it made him uncomfortable. So I was trying to avoid doing that. Even if Matt wasn’t my roommate, I’d be trying. Continuing to hit on someone who very clearly wasn’t into it wasn’t cool.

And, as previously noted, Mama Nelson hadn’t raised a caveman. If my mother didn’t kick my ass for pulling creepy shit like that, Suzie absolutely would. That the top of her head barely came up to my shoulder was irrelevant.

It was still a work in progress so sometimes the flirtiness slipped out. Usually I turned it into a joke. It helped that Matt seemed to find my dumb jokes funny. Or I distracted him with one of my many dumb questions about being blind. Not that I demanded that Matt do all the hard work of educating me on how not to be an asshole to a blind person. I had the internet. And some pretty decent Google skills. Most of it was common sense if you started thinking about it longer than two seconds.

The only thing that really surprised me about the advice was learning that apparently many people felt they had the right to grab a stranger and try to haul them off. I hadn’t quite believed it but then every single list mentioned it . . . and then I asked Matt.

***

“Hey, Matt?”

“Yeah?” He said, taking off one earbud.

“There’s something I keep seeing . . . have strangers actually grabbed your arm? And started dragging you along?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice terse. Angry. I couldn’t blame him. “And not just strangers. People seem to think that I cannot get around on my own. Which, for the record, I can.”

“Never doubted that, buddy,” I said. Suzie had broken me of that particular ableist habit - of assuming what a disabled person could or could not do - before high school. I made a mental note to get her a very special gift for Christmas this year. She had earned it.

“You ever hit anyone for it, give ‘em a good wack with your cane? Yell loudly about kidnappers?” I asked.

“Maybe,” Matt said.

“I saw that smile, buddy. You absolutely have.”

“I plead the Fifth.”

***

I shook my head and realized the time. “Hey, Matt, wanna get some dinner before hitting the books?”

“I suppose.” He didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic but I didn’t take it personally. The food on our meal plan wasn’t terrible but it wasn’t great either. But brains needed fuel so off to the dinning hall we went.

[aithusarosekiller]

Lily leaving Mary not because she doesn't love her anymore but because she'd never truly seen herself making it out of the war

She settles for someone simple and easy because she doesn't think she could bare to imagine Mary having to wake up one day without her being in their shared home. She doesn't want Mary to live with the pain of losing her so she tries to soften it by going back to being friends. As if it would make it any easier.

Unfortunately that choice is the one that gets her killed in the end. Maybe if she'd have stayed she would have made it out.

[uhhlifeig]

Gryffindor Common Room - Nov. 25 - word count: 794 - @wolfstarmicrofic (TW: Allusions to Walburga's A+ Parenting, SH kinda? oh and Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms)

The Gryffindor common room was almost empty. 

Sirius Black sat on the edge of the armchair closest to the hearth, wand spinning nervously in his fingers.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since that night, and every moment since had felt like dragging his feet through mud. He had apologized to James, to Peter, even to McGonagall. 

They’d all forgiven him- eventually, in James’s case, but none of it mattered because Remus hadn’t. 

Remus, who still wouldn’t meet his eyes in class, who barely spoke to him except when absolutely necessary.

Sirius didn’t blame him.

And for why he was sitting in the common room? He was planning to apologize again- and maybe, just maybe, Remus would hate him a little bit less.

But now, all his carefully constructed words felt hollow, like a dead tree stump. He didn’t know if he could fix this. 

He wasn’t sure he even deserved to.

The sound of footsteps on the boys’ staircase pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up sharply, his heart leaping to his throat as Remus appeared, rubbing a hand through his messy hair.

The werewolf froze when he saw him. His once-warm amber eyes were sharp now, wary. “What are you doing here?”

Sirius shot to his feet, gripping his wand tightly as a reassurance that this was real. “Remus, I- I was waiting for you. I need to talk to you.”

The other boy’s expression tightened. “You’ve already said enough, don’t you think?”

The words cut deep, but he couldn’t back out now. “I have to make this right.”

“Make it right?” Remus laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You can’t just- wave your wand and undo what you did.”

“I know. I know I messed up. I know I betrayed you.”

“You don’t know,” the taller boy snapped. He took a step closer. “You don’t know what it feels like to have your worst fear used against you. To know someone you trusted- someone you loved- put you in that position.”

Sirius flinched. Every word was like a punch to the gut. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But please, just let me-”

“Let you what?” Remus’s voice rose. “Say you’re sorry again? Beg me to act like nothing happened? It doesn’t work like that!”

The dog animagus’s throat tightened. He couldn’t find the words he’d practiced. Everything in him screamed that words weren’t enough anyway. 

Nothing would ever be enough. 

“Then do something about it,” Sirius said abruptly, his voice shaky. He took a step forward and held out his wand to his ex-lover. “Here.”

Remus blinked. “What?”

The wand was shoved into his hands. “Take it. Just take it.”

“What are-”

The noiret dropped to his knees before he could think about it. He hit the stone floor hard, but he didn’t care. The sting felt right. 

“Do it.”

“Do what?” Remus asked, his voice sharp with confusion.

“Curse me. Hurt me. I don’t care. I deserve it.”

The room was silent except for the crackle of the fire and Sirius’s ragged breathing. The dirty blonde stared at him, his expression frozen somewhere between shock and horror. “What are you talking about?”

“I betrayed you. I hurt you, so you can hurt me back. This is what I deserve.” the older boy’s voice broke on the last word. His mother’s voice echoed in his mind, cold and cruel. 

Repent. Learn. 

Take the punishment you deserve.

It’s what you do for the people you’re a burden to.

“Sirius...”

“You’ll feel better,” he insisted, his voice rising in desperation. “You’ll see.” He bowed his head, his shoulders trembling. 

Nothing happened. 

There was no spell, no harsh words, no punishment. Sirius looked up, confused, only to find Remus standing frozen, the wand hanging limply in his hand. 

“Why did you give me this?” 

“Because you should use it,” the gray-eyed boy said. “I know you want to. You have my permission, okay?”

The werewolf’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “Sirius, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“But you should. It’ll help.”

“No, it won't.” Remus sounded very sure of himself- so sure, in fact, that Sirius looked up out of shock. 

He watched, shocked, as his ex-boyfriend knelt down in front of him, setting the wand aside. “You’re not your mother, Sirius,” he said quietly. “And I’m sorry for saying you were.”

The dam broke. Sirius’s chest heaved as tears spilled down his face. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Remus reached out hesitantly, his hands settling on the shorter boy’s shoulders. “We’ll figure it out- but not like this. Never like this.”

The dog animagus sniffled. “I’m so sorry.”

“And so am I.”

(heavily inspired by "but i want it, it's a crime" by fertilizingdaffodils on ao3! check it out, i love that fic sm)

pt. 1, pt. 2

@estellethewriter

[myfairkatiecat]

SECRET SANTA GIFT!

Thank you @song-tam for hosting!

My gift is an Anne of Green Gables AU for the very very lovely....

Well, uh. @permanently-stressed

Isa, on a scale of "I'm rereading the letters you wrote me, I'm searching and scanning for answers in every line for some kind of sign" to "I knew it, I ALWAYS KNEW IT," where are you at right now?

ANYWAY! LOVE YOU COGNATE! LOVE YOU SO SO SO MUCH AND I'M SO GLAD I GOT YOU FOR SECRET SANTA AND I HOPE YOU LIKE YOUR GIFT!!!!

Tag list

@bookwormgirl123 @thatrandomlemononyourcounter1 @a-lil-rats-art @imobsessed123 @jedikeeper @randomity-101 @stunning-mess @lucentstarss @justalunaticfangirl @alaydabug2 @nowjumpinthewater @swans-chirping-in-the-distance @permanently-stressed @periwinkle-the-11th @personnotofintrest @aspenaspenaspenaspenaspen @sketchy-potato @theleopardstalker @2857142 @sharksinyourswimmingpool @lostwarllock @ohmygoly @sophieswundergarten @rosenightmares @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @f1gure-skater @cuethesolareclipse13 @thishumanformislimiting @blooky8 @sophiefostersno1stan @keefe--sencen @doodle-do-wop @ryasunshine @winterfireice @ase-worm-on-a-fandom

[fairyfortalliance]

the imagery of no health regen…… wounded skin that doesn’t heal…. torn clothes….. burns…. scorch marks….. bite marks….. blood everywhere…… unraveling bandages…… oh…….

[thetangycheesemanwithaplan]

Eddie: You got this all planned out haven’t you? Probably got a clipboard with a little checklist on and everything

Buck: Firstly, no there isn't a checklist, at least not a physical one

Buck: Secondly, don't act like you wouldn’t be turned on if i had a clipboard right now

Buck: And lastly-yes, I have got plans within the plan, to ensure this time it’s a success. I’d get my metaphorical clipboard out to show you but i think you've lost that privilege

Eddie, laughing: Okay I get it, don't come between a man and his clipboard, real or metaphorical!

Buck: You know it!

[crossbackpoke-check]

tagged by ko @tofumilanesa for wip wednesday! big shout out to writevember for making me feel like i can actually call any of these works in progress… your guide to my emoji code under the cut

wip!

🪻🐈‍⬛ - the doc title is still just. YOWLING but i am like 7/8 of the way done with omega yamo fic and hopefully salem isn’t reading this so i can just drop it over a year later with no warning <3

🫃2️⃣ - DEWEY^2 P2!!!! she is almost done (i am lying) but she is so close i can almost taste it. sorry to my pwp that grew its own feelings baby

😇🤭 (🕒 -> 🕜) - rip i’m not telling you about this one until it’s posted but it IS complete aside from being ao3 formatted and the eight billion edits i inevitably do right before full-sending it

☁️💧 - cloud petey fic, which exists mostly as an embarrassingly large tag on a different blog and is condensing into a narrative about as well as water at 30° N/S. the time loop fic also falls under this description

eternally in progress (short list)

🌑🐕 - tyler borzoituzzi exists… there is an index of scenes/plot points… it plays like a movie in my head…

💯❕- fantastic! ‘verse

👁️👻 - stevie brandon seeing ghosts au, which has eight different (now nine i guess but you haven't seen the mustache adam post yet) plots. sorry

just. rotating like a microwave

🍎 - because they didn’t have a pomegranate emoji, this is what i used for the fic that feels like it should be a 50k connor bedard character study hanif abdurraqib/cathal kelly thesis about legends and mythmaking in sports and eating your young. yes i know pomegranates aren’t actually pomes and apples are but it’s fine

🦈 - the one cat da fuck they doing over there meme but about the sharks just like. in general. more on this at five

tagging @colap1nto, @songsandswords, @whitenikes, @gordiemeow, @acheronist, and anybody else who wants to share!!

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: graphic(ish) death

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

NICO ALLEN NICO ALLEN NICO ALLEN NICO ALLEN

this chapter is so JAM PACKED you’ve got info hitting you from ALL angles about ALL three of the boys… eee

also… like… they really can’t catch a break can they

part twenty-six

❝ A GLIMPSE INTO THE FUTURE(S) ❞

MONDAY — AUGUST 17 — 5:12AM

BENTLEY HAD TO HELP NICO USE HIS INHALER FOUR TIMES. He didn’t stop crying until there seemed to be no tears left in his body.

Now, it was probably an hour later, and Asten still hadn’t returned. Nico had taken up residence on the bench under the awning, looking pretty much like a sad little wet cat. He hadn’t said a word since he’d calmed down — which was fine. Bentley didn’t blame him.

It had started to sprinkle again, which made the cold even colder. The streets were hazy from a thin fog that had rolled in, making it hard to see things that were far away, and Bentley was now twice as anxious about being able to spot oncoming Vigilantes. He wasn’t sure where Asten’s house was, but he was starting to get a little worried that he hadn’t come back yet.

The only sound besides the steady, soft breeze was the repetitive tap-tap-tap of Nico’s anxiously bouncing tennis shoe.

Bentley shifted where he stood with Asten’s black backpack hanging on his shoulders. He’d thought about sitting on the bench with Nico, but he didn’t really want his butt to be wet, so he took to standing against the inside of the bus stop instead. He wished he could do more. Why did hugs seem to be the only thing he was good for anymore?

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Bentley looked up into the streets beyond. What if something bad happened to Asten?

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Should they go in and see? Just to make sure? Surely Nico knew where Asten lived, right?

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-

Bentley glanced over at Nico, whose incessant tapping was accelerating. The blonde was paying no mind to it, staring straight forward, stuck somewhere deep in his own thoughts.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-

“Nico?” Bentley questioned, glancing down at his leg. It was moving so fast it looked kind of like a blur. How was he doing that? The blonde didn’t hear him — only kept staring forward.

“Nico?” He tried again. The tapping was so fast that it didn’t even sound like tapping anymore, but one, long sound. Like a hummingbird beating its wings so quickly it sounded like vibrating. Bentley blinked once, twice, counted his fingers to make sure he was awake. He was awake, and Nico’s leg was moving at an ungodly speed.

“Nico!”

“Huh?” He questioned, turning toward Bentley. Something flashed — like literally flashed — in Nico’s eyes. Something yellow, streaking across his blue irises like lightning. There was yellow lightning in Nico’s eyes that left just as quickly as it came.

Bentley must’ve made a face, because Nico looked down at himself, searching for something off. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Bentley said a bit too quickly, glancing down the road.

“Why’d you look at me like that?” Nico questioned, looking up at Bentley. His eyes were just blue now — no lightning.

Bentley blinked, trying to gather his bearings. He didn’t just see that, did he? He had to have been, like, hallucinating or something. Right? 

“Like what?” He tried.

“Like there was a bug on my face,” Nico replied, wiping at his face with his hands. “Is there a bug on my face?”

Bentley opened his mouth to reply, but a different voice pierced the air. 

“Jesus! Mrs. Harrison hardly let me escape her house,”

Both Bentley and Nico turned, the latter rising from the bench on the immediate. Every hint of lingering emotion seemed to fade from Nico’s eyes when Asten approached, any hint of his earlier breakdown being skillfully wiped from his face. He turned it on, like a switch, changing from mental wreck to typical Nico in a blink. Bentley wasn’t sure why, nor was he sure if it was a good thing.

Asten stopped ahead of them, green irises flicking from one to the other. “I got a crowbar. And this article I meant to bring.”

Asten now had some kind of toolbelt on his waist that was way too big for him, where a crowbar was dangling from his torso all the way down to his knees. There were other tools there, but Bentley wasn’t quite sure what they were. He had a handful of papers in his hands, and from what Bentley could see, most of them looked like old articles that he’d printed out.

He stepped up to them and handed each of them a page. “I checked the cabins bookings again while I had my phone and, take a look at this-“ He pointed to the paper in Bentley’s hand, which had a calendar table on it. “-Davis Henderson, star Princeton student and yadda yadda had that place booked right before he went missing, too.”

Nico scrunched his face up. “How in the world did you print these out?”

“I know someone for everything, nosebleed,” Asten said, raising a brow at Nico. “I could get anything from a fake ID to a box of butterfly wings in less than thirty minutes.”

Nico blinked. “A box of butterfly wings.”

“Yeah, there’s an old woman on eighth that collects them, I think she’s kind of insane. But that doesn’t matter. Check this out,” Asten pointed to the paper in Nico’s hands. “This girl, Charlie Reins, died in a freak mine collapse on a gemstone expedition to Brazil two years ago. No body was ever recovered. Closed casket funeral.”

Bentley moved closer to Nico’s side, glancing at the photograph of a blonde girl, maybe a little older than Jason? Why did she look kind of familiar? 

“A little more research revealed that-“ Asten grabbed the page from Nico and gave him a second one, with a picture of a girl and… Dr. Keene? “It was Dr. Keene’s step-daughter.”

Nico blinked. “Uh-huh. And what does this have to do with the Secret Keeper?”

Asten’s eyes flicked between them, a glint of something swirling around deep in his irises. “Well… I don’t actually know. But I thought it was interesting.”

Bentley glanced down at the pages, watching as the letters suddenly began to swim around like they were in water. He blinked twice as a dull ache surfaced at the back of his skull. Someone was talking — he couldn’t hear them. The dull colors around them mixed into an indiscernible blur, and he could feel someone touching him, he could feel himself moving.

“Don’t worry, babybird. I won’t tell your secrets,”

And the ground fell out from under him.

When he stopped falling, he was in a car.

He blinked a few times, trying to right his teetering mind. Everything was sort of spinning, still, and the rocking of the vehicle wasn’t helping. It made him feel like he was going to throw up. Had he passed out? Was he being taken home?

Asten was sitting — no, laying next to him, curled in a small ball in the rightmost car seat. Dumbly, Bentley reached for the older boy, and his hand moved and moved and moved until his arm couldn’t go any farther, but he still wasn’t touching him. He was right there but Bentley couldn’t touch him.

“Asten. What happened? Where’s Nico?” He tried. The outside world passed in pitch black blurs, only illuminated dimly by the car’s headlights. There were two people in the front seats — a man and a woman. Bentley couldn’t look at them very long, because the brightness of the headlights was making his head hurt worse. Asten didn’t move, nor did he respond.

The woman, however, turned from her spot in the passengers seat. She didn’t seem to see Bentley. “Está tudo bem, amor, estamos quase lá.”

Bentley winced when another stabbing pain shot through his head. It’s okay, baby, we’re almost there.

He looked up at the woman, at her unmistakably green eyes. She was speaking in Portuguese but… Bentley… he knew what she was saying. How did he know what she was saying?

“Dói tanto mãe... por favor, faça isso parar,” Asten replied, and Bentley only noticed right then that he was… crying. Curled up in the car seat and crying. 

It hurts so bad, mom, please make it stop.

“Tem que ser o apêndice dele, é tudo que sei que pode causar tanta dor,” The man said softly, leaning a little toward the woman in the seat next to him. Were these Asten’s parents?

It has to be his appendix, it's all I know that can cause so much pain.

“Acalme-se amor, você vai assustá-lo,” His mother replied. Calm down, love, you’ll scare him. Then she turned back to Asten, a petite hand finding its way between the seats to rest in his blue hair. “Você vai ficar bem, querido, só mais alguns minutos.”

You’ll be okay, baby, just a few more minutes.

Bentley brought a hand up to his skull, wincing when the pain behind his eyes heightened at the slightest touch. “Asten…?”

The older boy did move, that time. But it wasn’t in response to Bentley’s call, it was in response to his mother’s hands that were beckoning him forward. He looked younger. 

“Venha aqui Asten, você ficará bem,” Come here, Asten, you’ll be okay.

Bentley watched in silence as Asten summoned all the strength he had left to climb over the center console into his mother’s arms. It was nothing short of pitiful — he was sobbing from whatever pain he was in, and his mother couldn’t really do much about it except hold him.

Bentley winced again when his head throbbed rather spectacularly, his vision blurring and then returning to normal a few times in a row. “Bruce?”

“Honey, stop!” Asten’s mother shouted rather loudly in English, causing everybody in the car, including Bentley, to leap out of their skin.

There was a girl standing in the middle of the road.

It was…

The Secret Keeper, in all her glory. Smiling at them with her twisted smile that looked gruesome and terrifying as usual, with her glowing amber eyes that only appeared when it was too late.

Asten’s father swerved into the other lane to miss her.

No one had a second to react before the car rammed into the front of an oncoming semi-truck, and Bentley’s ears rang deafeningly loud, his vision turned into nothing more than a blur of white. It felt like someone was stabbing a hatchet into his skull.

He opened his eyes. When had he closed them? He didn’t know. What he did know was that his head hurt so bad, and all he could see was white.

He looked down. He was standing on white — a solid white floor. He was still wearing the old black jacket and red tennis shoes. He was in a white box: white walls, white ceiling, white floor.

He turned, and the Secret Keeper was staring at him.

Bentley screamed, his heart immediately starting to hammer behind his ribcage as he scurried to get away from her. She didn’t pursue him, didn’t chase, just stood. Smiling.

“The past is a fickle thing,” Her voice came, but her mouth didn’t move. Bentley moved away until he found himself pressed into the furthest corner of the white room, as far from her as he could be.

“I can see your memories, babybird, but I can also see your future. Every possible variation,”

A gray smoke appeared, hovering over the floor only feet from Bentley. It swirled like storm clouds until it rose into a spinning pillar. After a moment, the smoke faded away, and a gravestone was left in its wake; a gravestone with the words Bentley Whittaker — ten years old engraved on it. A church bell that didn’t exist rang in the distance, and Bentley tried to push himself further into the wall.

And suddenly, the wall was gone. He stumbled backward a solid five steps before he was able to regain his balance, turning back to face the supervillain. 

The Secret Keeper was gone, too.

“Coming, Robin?” 

It wasn’t her voice coming from behind him, but Tim’s. Bentley turned. Tim was standing far off in the white room (Abyss? He couldn’t see walls anymore), wearing a suit that was very much not his Red Robin suit, but a solid black cloak that starkly contrasted the rest of the white everything Bentley could see.

Robin faded into view a few dozen feet from him, in a suit that seemed… somehow familiar, but also brand new. It only had two colors as opposed to the typical three or four — black and yellow, just like the bird. The black hood of the cape was tugged over Robin’s head. A glass case appeared in front of him, holding what looked like Dick’s Nightwing suit.

Tim stepped forward, the cape of his Batman suit dragging the floor. He rested a black-gloved hand on Robin’s shoulder. “Bentley?”

Robin turned, and Bentley blinked. 

He was staring at himself. Older, thirteen or fourteen, maybe, with a black domino mask clutched tightly in his left hand.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” The other Bentley replied, bringing his Robin mask up and resting it on his face.

One variation of his future was… for him to be Robin to Tim’s Batman?

He and Tim faded away in clouds of gray smoke. The Secret Keeper’s voice came: “The good variations… the bad.”

“C’mon, Bentley, c’mon, c’mon…” Another voice that wasn’t her’s echoed around the white chasm. Bentley turned, inhaling sharply when he saw himself… dead.

He… or… another Bentley was hanging slack in someone’s arms. His face was pale and lifeless, brown, glassy eyes staring at nothing. He was wearing a Robin suit — Damian’s old one, that Bruce had just made a replacement for — and there was…

God, he felt like he was going to throw up. There was a huge, jagged piece of metal debris sticking out of the other Bentley’s stomach, coating the entire midsection of the Robin suit in crimson. Jason was the one holding him, in his Red Hood get-up minus the helmet, and they were standing in what looked to be… a pool of glowing green water?

“C’mon!” Jason shouted at no one in particular. “You saved me, so save him!”

Bruce came into the scene, drifting up next to Jason in the pool. “You’ve been in here for hours. He’s gone, Jay.”

Bentley’s head throbbed as he stared into his own lifeless eyes for what seemed like forever, until that, too, faded into smoke.

“Even the ugliest variations. I can see them all,” Her voice came.

“Puppeteer!”

Bentley whipped around again, and standing a few dozen feet ahead of him, was his father. Laying limp at his father’s feet was Damian, in his new black Robin suit. The white floor beneath him was stained and streaked with blood, and his suit and mask had been burned and torn, leaving seared and ripped flesh in its wake. He was gasping for breath, and he coughed up a mouthful of blood that made Bentley’s head swirl.

Another Bentley came into view, sauntering up behind his father. Their red hair and brown eyes matched in a way that made him feel sick. They were each wearing suits. Full-blown tuxedos. His father pulled a pistol from a holster on his side, chambering a round and flicking the safety off. Then he held it over to the other Bentley.

“The last bird is yours,”

The scene seemed to expand, and several more battered and bloody corpses came into view — Jason, Dick, Tim, Bruce, Steph, Duke, Bruce, Cass, Barbara, even Alfred.

Bentley watched with mounting horror as the other Bentley — the Puppeteer — took the gun in his small fingers and aimed it at Damian’s head.

His own voice made his ears itch like nails on a chalkboard. “See you on the other side, Babybird.”

BAM!

Bentley — the��Bentley, the only Bentley — snapped his eyes shut as the resounding gunshot echoed through the white, a soft whine escaping his lips. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to pass out. He wanted Bruce.

When he worked up the courage to open his eyes again, all of his possible futures were gone, and the Secret Keeper was standing mere feet from his face.

“Your future rides on what you choose when you wake up. Remember that,”

Pain. Searing pain, like a million red hot knives were penetrating straight into his brain. Bentley screamed. Couldn’t see anything. Felt something cold. God, he was so cold. He was so cold. Where was Bruce?

“Bentley, buddy, please wake up,”

He was so cold.

“I knew we shouldn’t have left!”

“This could’ve happened even if he was at home!”

“Well, he’s not at home!”

Bentley was so cold.

“Oh my God, Bentley!”

When he peeled his eyes open, Asten and Nico’s faces were both hovering ominously above him. The light from the single flickering streetlamp shined behind them like some kind of indecisive halo, coming and going, making Bentley’s head hurt even worse, if that was possible. The nights sky was still shining above them.

He was soaking wet. They all were, actually. It was pouring rain now, and Bentley was laying on the sidewalk. Well… not just laying, but shaking — trembling like a leaf, actually, and only when he hiccuped pitifully did he realize he was crying.

He felt like he got hit by a truck.

He tried to push himself upright, but his mind swirled and left him nothing but nauseous.

“You probably shouldn’t move too much,” Asten suggested. “You look like you might hurl.”

He felt like he might hurl. The Secret Keeper could see the future. His future. All of them. Him dying, him being Robin, him being the Pupeteer… And he could… he… he…

The Secret Keeper was the reason Asten’s parents died.

That’s why he was so hellbent on killing her.

Bentley buried his face in his hands with a low noise.

“We should just go home. I knew something like this was going to happen,” Nico muttered. It was only then that Bentley felt a hand beneath his head, keeping it from resting on the pavement.

He blinked a few times, pushing his hands against his eyes in a futile attempt to make the tears stop. “What… happened?” The force it took to push the words out made the pain in his head triple, and he audibly winced.

“You… your eyes… they turned amber. And then you passed out,” Asten explained softly, his stringy, wet blue hair dripping rainwater. “What did you see?”

Bentley shook his head to dismiss him, but it ended up being a terrible mistake. It just made everything spin. And he was so cold.

“Let’s take you back to the Manor,” Asten said, a gentle hand resting on Bentley’s left shoulder. 

The Secret Keeper… had said what he chose to do next would impact his future.

Maybe she was trying to scare them off. Maybe they really were on her trail.

He couldn’t go home yet.

“No,” Bentley argued, blinking a few times. Their faces went in and out of focus, and even though most of his mind was writhing, he breathed in deep. “No, I’ll be okay. We have to find her. I just… I just… need a few minutes. I’m okay.”

Asten grimaced and glanced over at Nico. The blonde looked back at him, an expression of pity and understanding painted across his features. “Look, I’m all for pushing through the worst of times, but you really don’t look good, dude.”

“No. I’m… okay, I just… don’t feel very good. Right now. I’ll be okay. Just… just give me a minute,”

He almost sighed in relief when he felt Nico’s hand brush his hair away from his face. It made him miss Bruce. He was so cold.

“Just give me a minute. I’ll be okay. I’m okay…”

Bentley curled up against Nico’s knees and cried.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod @skylathescholar @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

[springs-hurts]

ahh... Why it's always a good fic that disappoint you so utterly with some of the things? Was reading a Ron and Harry fic, and honestly it's too good, not wholly bout the ship but intermingled with the plot. And then the author goes and make Sirius of all people a (little?) Homophobe. I genuinely can't believe it. One moment he's all good and funny and next he's talking bout it in such weird way? And Lupin of all people goes and talks like oh he's such a moral compass. I've never been so utterly disappointed with a fic to right about it on tumblr. But it was so good, till that part it was so good, the writing and the characters, not a single off thing. But fuck this one hurts.

EDIT- Cause damn I think I took it too far? But yeah that was my bias against oh so moral everything right Remus. It wasn't that bad. I mean remus part was but Sirius part wasn't if it makes sense? Idk when this fic was written but if it was written around the time when everyone used to think remus as moral compass than I think I can forget bout this bitty problem cause the fic is genuinely awesome.

[up-to-some-good]

The Prophecy

I don't normally write angst, but this song inspired me the first time I heard it, so there's this.

Fics from my playlist (4/?)

I guess a lesser woman would've lost hope

A greater woman wouldn't beg

But I looked to the sky and said

Please

I've been on my knees

Change the prophecy

The small church in Godric's Hollow was unfamiliar. For a moment, Lily considered apparating somewhere else. Maybe the church she'd grown up in, where she and James had gotten married and her parents had been buried. Or her primary school chapel, with its soft carpets and gentle light. Even Petunia's church, where Lily had never felt welcome, would be more familiar.

But it wouldn't be fair to James to go so far. Not with all the traveling she had done recently. And certainly not since they had cast the Fidelius charm that morning, sending Sirius into hiding. So Godric's Hollow would have to work.

The church was her last resort. She had tried everything else. She had consulted Sybill Trelawney about her original words, desperately pleading the woman to admit she lied. The Seer had been no help, not even remembering her own prediction. So Lily had turned to others, trying to get some answers. She consulted Seers all over England to no avail.

She started with tarot. She tried three different readers, the cards were the same each time. A loss of control, a sacrifice and a reckoning.

She tried a palm reader. She took James and Harry with her, though the woman said she couldn't do much with a baby's hand. She didn't receive much insight that she didn't already know. As the palmist explained, palm reading had little predictive value and stood mostly for interpretation.

She stared into a crystal ball, desparately trying to see beyond the shape of the Grim, to see something hopeful, something she could change, but the black dog remained, offering little comfort despite its familiarity.

Her last attempt in divination took place that morning, before they cast the spell. She sat down with Sirius and shared a pot of tea. In her cup, the Grim, the cross and and hourglass. Death and imminent danger. In his, a fox and what could be snakes or worms. Betrayal from a friend and bad omens, or hidden enemies.

For the first time, magic had failed her. Death and destruction were coming for her family. But Lily Potter was stubborn. Other mothers would have given up, would have held their son close and cherished the time they had left. Instead she was here, begging God to realign her fate.

"Please," she whispered, kneeling in the pew. "I will do anything. Let it be someone else. Let Harry grow up safe and loved, and let James and I live to see it. Keep Sirius safe. Let him keep us safe. Just this once, let it turn out okay.

Please."

[kasienda]

Rena Rouge secret keeper??? 👀👉🏽👈🏽

Okay! Okay! I've been working on this one for since forever. It's Season four. Adrien resigns after his not being in on the plan backfires on team miraculous. Marinette is distraught but still insistent she can't know Chat's identity because of Chat Blanc. Alya proposes that SHE be the one to know his identity to act as go between. Then it's her job to keep the two of them in communication while also not tipping them off to one another. She's going insane and Nino is her anchor. She gets more close to all of them while this is happening. She might even fall in love more than she already is. It's supposed to focus on ALYA'S relationships with each of them, but all the corners of this OT4 square get some attention in this one because I was having too much fun.

I actually finished chapter one earlier this month. I didn't post it because I have so many wips right now, and don't think this one will take center stage any time soon and it's kinda looking like it'll be a big fic. But... could probably be talked into it pretty easily if literally any ONE person wants to read it and is willing to be super patient!

...

Preview:

Alya waited by her phone for Marinette to call, chewing the inside of her cheek. She shouldn’t have chewed Chat Noir out like that. She knew he could be sensitive and it definitely was not his fault that Marientte was ridiculous about secret identities.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. Alya glanced down. 

Marinette:

I’m going to be akumatized. 

The words blurred as Alya read them. Damn that stupid cat! What did he say?! 

Alya:

Where are you? 

Marinette:

In my room. 

Alya transformed immediately and took off towards Marinette’s balcony. She dropped through the skylight barely slowing down. Marinette was curled in the fetal position at the foot of her bed, sobbing brokenly.

Marinette had never looked so small. 

Gone was the clever and confident superhero everyone looked up to and relied upon. No one else ever got to see the Ladybug that overthought and doubted herself, the girl who was so nervous she couldn’t complete an intelligible sentence in front of her crush, the girl who took responsibility for everyone in their class and their city, the girl who felt so much and so deeply when she saw others were hurting.

Alya dropped to the bed, not bothering to detransform. Her arms wrapped around Marinette. Alya wished she could do something, anything at all to ease Marientte’s wracking sobs.

[shiorimakibawrites]

The Secret Keeper (Daredevil Fan Fic)

Foggy Nelson has noticed there's something . . . . peculiar about his roommate Matt Murdock. Not bad! Just odd.

Main Characters: Foggy Nelson, Matt Murdock Tags: 1st Person POV, Male Friendship Warnings: Swearing, referenced drug use, Foggy being a bisexual disaster, referenced ableism Taglist: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza, @bellaxgiornata, @loveroftoomanyfandoms My Masterlist Please let me know if you wished to be tagged for this story (or not).

Chapter List

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 {coming soon}

[something-in-your-walls]

“The seventh planet from the sun is called….Uranus.” Muffled laughter came from the kids on both sides of Melvin. The noise had always been oddly irritating to him, seemingly for no good reason. He chose not to acknowledge it at all. Maybe then, it would go away. The teacher continued to ramble on as the kid on Melvin’s right looked at the kid on his left and mumbled something, trying not to laugh. The teacher turned around quickly and the two kids went silent. Melvin was a little annoyed with them, but he couldn’t help but admire how quick their reactions were. The teacher turned back to the board. “Known as a gas giant…..” The two kids exploded into laughter again. Melvin’s annoyance washed away into pure confusion now, as he always was when things like this happened. He looked at the two of them, looking annoyed, even though he really wasn’t. “I…don’t get it. It’s just science, you guys….” That…came out a bit ruder than he wanted it to. He only realized it after he’d already said it, which left him with a bit of guilt. They didn’t seem to hear it, though, so the guilt went away quicker than expected. The kid on Melvin’s right looked over him, his eyes tracking the blonde on Melvin’s left, wanting to speak with him and him only, it seemed. “Hey, I’m George. You wanna hang out at my treehouse after school?” “You have a treehouse?” George and…the other one, he didn’t bother paying attention to names, seemed to either be unable to hear him, or were purposefully ignoring him. So, Melvin just stopped trying. He had a science class to pay attention to, anyways.

[scionshtola]

i need to write more fic from cori’s pov, esp pre-relationship

[three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat]

Why do I keep doing this to myself

[kitsunespawz]

6 & 10 for the ask game?

- 🐝

Ty for the ask! :)

6 - new alliance

Mumbo, Etho and Lizzie would be a fun team I think. The pathetic washed up wet cats /j

10 - headcanons or theories

I actually don't have any headcanons or theories - I think it's fun how other people come up with this wild and interesting stuff, but for me it's just a silly little minecraft death game.

If I'm being honest, I'm actually a bit sick and tired of the watcher stuff, and the headcanons and theories are going wild around secret life - and really all of the life series - so that's one of the reasons I don't really bother with my own for the series