#what shouldn't stop them? anything and everything
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marscardigan · 2 days ago
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through the valley, part iii
ellie williams x reader
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through the valley masterlist
summary: what if Joel didn’t lie? what if there was more people immune? more people like ellie? more people like you?
word count: 9.7k
warnings: this fic doesn’t follow the original plot from tlou part II. canon typical violence. homophobia. mentions of blood and brutal murder. mentions of strong religious themes. abuse.
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Five summers ago
Natalie's hand ran down your abdomen, making your eyes squint. "This is bad. We shouldn't-" The blonde silenced you with a kiss, which you whimpered at. She smiled at you, and suddenly all your bad thoughts disappeared. Still, the knot inside your chest was there. "This isn't bad" She whispered, pecking soft kisses into your jaw. "We love each other. What's wrong with that?"
You and Nat met two years before, when her father, Hugh, and her younger brother came after hearing the charismatic sermons your mother did. You soon noticed that although the teen followed and respected the Seraphite traditions, she did question them. As you did, in secret. So when you and her started becoming friends, you felt nervous around her. She didn't treat you like a sacred goddess, like the rest of the commune. She treated you like a normal being. But was it normal when she sought for your warmth? When she kissed you on the lips? You didn't know. Or maybe you knew, and yet still did it. "Your mother's thoughts about this is what's wrong. Why can men and women do this, and we can't?"
You couldn't answer that question. So, instead, you kissed her again. Because every time you did, your chest stopped hurting. Everything stopped hurting.
Everything changed two months later. You remember it all too well. Natalie didn't come that night though your window, as she always did. You didn't see her all day, either, and you started thinking she may have gone with her father for patrol. But something didn't feel right. You were about to escape to find out where she was, when your two guards opened your door, grabbing your arms and forcing you to walk. You screamed for your mother, pleading to her as tears threatened to come out. What was happening? Why Alec and Rosemary grabbed your wrists so tight?
They took you to the coast of the island, everyone was there, with torches in their hand and forming a circle around a big stick of wood. Nat was there. She was tied up with a rope, unconscious. You remember seeing her father, begging and crying at your mother. She nodded at Jason, and with a swift movement, he cut Hugh's throat. You remember screaming. You remember watching your mother speak about loyalty to the commune. About what to believe. About what was right, and what was wrong. You remember everyone throwing their torches at Natalie. You remember seeing her body burning. You remember screaming and throwing up. The last thing you remember was completely dark.
You woke up later, gasping or air. You were locked inside the chokey; a small, pitch-dark closet with broken glass and nails stuck to the walls. You mourned your friend's death. After hours of crying, you screamed for help. It was your mother who opened the casket you were trapped in. You hugged her tight, but she didn't say anything. Trying to look at her for comfort, you only saw disappointment. She whispered your name, "You need to tell your sins to me"
So you did. For every misdemeanor you did with Natalie, a strong whip was felt on your back. You didn't try to complain, because it is what you deserved. The thing about the whipping was that it would leave a path of notorious marks along your body, so every time you saw them, you would remember your mistakes. Your shouts were heard in every corner of the island.
After telling her everything, she dropped the lash, and made you turn back to her so you could see her. "The lord gave you another chance" Her warm hand found your cheek. "Don't ruin it in misdeeds. You are our salvation, don't ever forget that"
You nodded, and let her take you back to your room. The looks of disgust stopped after a month. They were able to forgive you for what you did. But you weren't sure if you could forgive them.
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"Hey" The voice of Ellie brought you back. "You zoomed out for a while there"
You weren't in Haven anymore. You were in a boat with a stranger you just met two days ago. "Sorry, it's just been years since I left"
Ellie nodded, looking at your eyes as if she could read them, "It's okay" You avoided her gaze, focusing on the view behind her. "We're getting close to the harbor. Grab your backpack"
Both of you started your way back to Ellie's first mission: to end Abby and all of her friends. You realized not asking why the redhead wanted that. You weren't sure you wanted to know, either. Hours passed and you followed quietly the girl. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, at least for you, but Ellie hated silence. So she tried to make you talk. Somehow, your voice soothed her. "You knew those two, right?"
She was talking about Lyra and Edmund. "Yeah, yeah, I know them"
"You are quite popular out there" She giggled. Her smile made you shiver. "You could say that" Was all your voice said.
When the night came, you and Ellie searched for a place to sleep. After making a bonfire, Ellie turned to face you, seeing if you could sleep. She pouted after seeing your winced expression. Ellie lifted her fingers and almost, almost, reached your face to comfort your pain, to try to take it away. But she removed before she made contact with your soft skin.
The sun came up and Ellie woke up, alone. You were gone, and your stuff was too. She looked rapidly at her own backpack, but everything was in its place. She started spiraling, thinking about when you could have left, why did you go, and where could you be now. But every question answered itself when you came back to her eyesight.
"Hey. Brought food" You raised your hand to show her the rabbit you hunted.
Somehow, Ellie felt like she could breathe again since she woke up. She tried not to look too close into this new emotion that jumped inside her chest every time she saw you. "Good, good. Bring it here"
Later, Ellie couldn't stop looking at you, like she wanted to say something. So, you encouraged her to speak. "It's nothing, just... You could've waited f'me. To go hunt together"
You shrugged, "You needed to sleep. I wanted to be useful while you rested". At the commune, no one let you do anything, because everything was already done by everyone else. However, outside the commune, you could show that you werent just the chosen one. You were much more than that. And you wanted to exhibit that with Ellie.
She wanted to tell you that you were useful, and you didn't need to prove yourself. You just needed to stay. But Ellie didn't say anything. She just finished her food. And you were back at the road.
You adored the silence. And being with Ellie didn't change that. What it did change, however, was how much you seem to like the girl's rants and bad jokes. It helped your chest to stop hurting for a bit.
You passed through a familiar face painted in a wall. You stopped in front of it. It felt weird, how much time it had passed since you saw her, and yet you could feel and see her everywhere. Every mural portrayed her perfectly. Ellie stopped too, just behind you. She was afraid to speak. But she could still see how your fear came back to the surface. Her hand reached for your shoulder, but you moved away from her touch. "We should move on" You continued your way. And Ellie still followed. She didn't comment on how the canvas looked exactly like you.
Your head still ranted. And with your head ranting, your senses became blurry, provoking you to not notice a runner close. Ellie screamed your name. You were fast to react, though, grabbing your machete, and driving into its head. You gasped for air, returning to reality. "That was close"
"No shit" Ellie even seem angry for your slip. Maybe she did see you as a burden instead of a companion. If that's what you even were. Both of you were quiet after that.
You and Ellie tried the shortcut you knew to go where Abby was supposed to be, finding a few infected along the way. Ellie showed you her ability with the shotgun, and she discovered how good you were hiding and killing quietly. Turns out you two were a pretty good team, after all.
Between one of those fights, Ellie ran out of ammo, leaving her unarmed and harmless. You were killing a runner when you saw her. Her hand covering her mouth to not make a sound. A clicker was within centimeters from her face. You tried to think fast, and pushed away the fear that rested inside your chest. Throwing a brick on the clicker's head maybe wasn't the brightest idea you had that day. But at least it left her alone. Now that fuck face was coming towards you. You didn't have your bow, and your machete was too far. You only had a gun that Ellie gave you.
You hated guns, everyone you knew loathed them. You also weren't familiar with their use, being raised only using melee weapons. But you needed to protect yourself. To protect her. So you pulled the trigger and fired three shots into his head, and the clicker fell dead on the ground. You ran towards Ellie, who was nastily injured. "Ain't no way that's your first time with a gun" She breathed out. "You are too good"
Scoffing, you took off your shirt, and pressed it on her wound. You didn't notice it, but Ellie's cheeks burned. She preferred to think that it was because of the pain from the injury, and not for the sight in front of her. The white undershirt turned red in a matter of seconds.
"We will have to stay here until that wound is healed"
"But-" "No" Ellie closed her eyes, already tired of your stubbornness. "I am perfectly capab-" "Nuh-uh" "Hey, it's not even that bad"
"Ellie" You warned. "I'll clear the zone so we can stay here for the rest of the day" You got up, and grabbed your bow. The redhead called softly your name, almost like a plea. You waited. "Could you stay here with me?”
You hesitated. You should look for more possible threaths. For more food, more supplies, more-
"Please?”
So you stayed.
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@vahnilla
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spookwriter-xo · 15 hours ago
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Coppélia
Chapter 12 - The Muscle
Chapter Summary - the cobra is active once again, and someone close to Y/N has a target on their back.
warnings: mentions of murder
Series Masterlist
MINORS DO NOT GO BEYOND THIS POINT
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I awoke the following morning to yelling from downstairs. It seemed the appearance of my father had caused some tension to arise.
"How did he even get onto the property? The guards know not to let him in unless we say so." I heard Wooyoung say, his voice strained from stress.
I could imagine the fallout. Not only the impact of me leaving halfway through my own party, but also the fact that the majority of the guests that were there hated my father equally as much. Seeing him supposedly invited to a party at the ATZ Manor could cause some damage to their reputation, or worse, cut ties with allies all together.
"It was a masquerade ball. He probably snuck in as a plus one." Yeosang answered Wooyoung, his voice indifferent. Yeosang had gone radio silent since our time in the library. He wasn't avoiding me, at least not on purpose, I suspected he was busy with work.
"With everything going on, why would he think it would be a good idea to show up here?" Mingi grumbles. By this time, I had made my way out of my room and was now hiding on top of the stairs. By the sound of it, they were gathered in the living room.
"He obviously wanted something. Yunho, did Y/N say anything?" Hongjoong asks.
"She didn't want to talk about it. Honestly, I didn't realise it was her father until she outright told me." Yunho says. I could imagine him sprawled out on one of the couches, his head resting on the arm with a hard expression on his face, his dark hair messy from sleep.
"She didn't say anything about why he could be here? Anything at all?"
"No, I don't think we have to worry about her. She wants nothing to do with him." Yunho says, his words causing a pang of confusion to prick at my stomach. Worry about me?
"Good, just in case, Yeosang can keep an eye on her since he's finished with his work." Hongjoong says, causing Yeosang to let out a groan.
"Are you really making me babysit? Yunho just said she's not a threat." Yeosang asks, his voice almost whiney.
"We don't know her well enough, she could be a spy." Hongjoong says.
"I think work is making you paranoid." Seonghwa says, his voice low in warning.
"Maybe you should all be paranoid." Hongjoong hisses, the sound of a chair scooting on the floor tells me he's stood up now. "The Cobra is on the move again, Y/N's father shows up uninvited to a party he shouldn't have known about. Not to mention, two of our generals were killed in their own homes."
"That still doesn't mean Y/N has anything to do with it!" Seonghwa argues, probably standing also. "Do you think she's the Cobra?" He scoffs.
Hongjoong laughs bitterly. "I don't know! It's possible, just like it's possible it could be one of us. But I trust you more, don't I? More then -" He stops when he sees me, now standing in the doorway of the living room with a heart broken expression.
Did they really think that of me? That I was a spy? Did Hongjoong not trust me even after all those nights we'd spent alone together?
The others turn to see me, Mingi and Jongho mirroring a saddened expression. The others just stared, probably not knowing what to do. Hongjoong looks down at his feet in shame.
"You're right," Hongjoong says, sighing deeply as he takes a seat once more. "I'm paranoid." He sounded more disappointed in himself, more than the fact that Seonghwa was right. I felt attacked yes, a little heartbroken sure, but I understood his worries.
He had a family here, one that I still needed to fond my place in, one that he needed to protect.
"The Cobra is back?" I ask, my hands fidgeting with the string of my night dress.
"A body was found last night." Mingi confirms softly, standing up and walking over to me. He reaches for my upper arms and gently rubs them with his calloused hands, giving my biceps a gentle and comforting squeeze. "Nowhere near here, but it was a his M.O."
"Were any of you going to tell me this?" I ask, glancing behind him and, for some reason, looking directly at Yeosang, who stared right back at me. It was like he was talking to me with his eyes, and I understood every word.
'Be calm, and all will be told.' Patience was never one of my strong suits.
"There's a lot to unpack." San says, the boy lounging in only a pair of sweatpants and a coat, his bare chest and abs distracting me for a breath moment.
"Like what?" I ask, moving away from Mingi and towards the empty spot beside Yeosang. "I want to know."
Hongjoong and Seonghwa share a look, before Seonghwa lets out a sigh.
"He's announced his next target." Hongjoong tells me, his expression serious. "It's someone you know."
"Who?" I ask, a sick feeling in my stomach.
"Mia Hua." Wooyoung answers for him, his voice soft but loud enough for me to catch the name.
"Mia? But she's not involved in this world! What would the Cobra have to gain from her death?" I question, my words coming out in a shout as I stand.
"Doll.." Seonghwa says, reaching forward, but I move away. I had to get out of there, a moment of peace to collect my thoughts.
The only girl who had been nice to me in 3rd grade, and had never left my side since. The girl who protected me, and gave me a home when life at home got too much. My best friend.
My sister.
She had a target on her back, and for what? Being a painter? Did The Cobra know I was searching for him already? Why has everyone I'm close to become a target?
Then it clicked.
Why did everyone I know become a target?
I made it to the library when I had my epiphany, the gears turning in my head, making it spin in turn. I hadn't noticed I'd been followed, not until his hands cupped my face.
Yeosang stared back at me, slowly bringing me back to earth with his gentle gaze. He understood the pain and fear. He had to have, especially with Aurora. I let my breathing settle, matching the patterns with his.
"There you are." He says gently, his thumb gently stroking my cheek. "It's okay, baby. Everything is going to be fine."
"It's me, Yeosang." I say, my breath heavy. "I'm the big target."
"What're you talking about?" He asks, his eyebrows furrowing. As I move towards the back windows.
"Everyone I know, every single target aside from Aurora I have met or known at some point. Yeosang, I'm a common factor." I say, starting to pace. "The Cobra has to be someone close to me, or someone associated with my family."
Yeosang stared back at me, genuinely considering my words. "I'll bite; if you're right, who could possibly be a mindless serial killer?"
"My father probably." I grumble.
"It can't have been, he was here last night." Yeosang says.
"When was the body found?"
"Early this morning." Yeosang answers, not missing a beat. It felt refreshing in an odd way.
"Do we know the time of death yet?" I ask next.
"Around 7:30 last night." He says, his voice going quiet as we both stare at each other. I could see the gears turning in his head now. "This is insane." He says. "As much as I hate that man, he's got too much going for him. Besides, would he really try and kill you or your sisters?"
I thought for a moment, sure he was a cruel father, but he'd never kill any of us.
"But you believed it." I say, taking a step forward. "Even if it was just for a second."
Yeosang relaxes his shoulders, looking away briefly. "If you're right.."
"Yeosang we could put a serial killer away!" I whisper, closing the gap between us and taking his hand. "The man who killed Aurora, the man whose been tormenting my family."
"That's not what I'm worried about. Not anymore." He says softly, his eyes gazing into my own again. "If it is your father.. Y/N that would destroy you, no matter how much you hate him."
I look down at our entwined hands. A small part of me didn't want to believe it.
"He is not my father." I say, "If putting him away saves whats left of my family then so be it."
I jolt slightly as I feel Yeosangs lips brush the crown of my head. "Just.. Let us do the dirty work." He whispers, cupping my cheek as I loft my head again. "I'm not letting history repeat itself."
I always had a feeling Yeosang was a romantic at heart, but this? This was a whole other level. I felt like I was in a movie with the way he was looking at me.
"I'm not going anywhere, Yeosang. You have my word."
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I slept beside Seonghwa that night, the mans arm draped over my waist as he slept soundly behind me. My mind couldn't stay in one place, my thoughts muddled with worry. Hongjoong had agreed to allow Mia to stay in a safe house deep in the city. Mark would love with her for added protection, though I'm sure the only thing he could do was talk them out of it (To which I had faith).
I felt Seonghwas lips on my shoulder, just above the elastic of my night dress.
"Doll, you should sleep." He murmers. "If you keep worrying about one thing, you'll never have any new ideas about other things."
I pondered his words for a moment before speaking. "Have any of you ever had a target on your back?"
My question seemed to humour him, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.
"All of us had, but they were empty threats." He says. "The only time the Cobra targeted one of us was after he killed Aurora." He says.
"He targeted one of you after?" I ask.
"Yeosang." Seonghwa answers softly. My eyes softened at the thought. They really couldn't catch a break.
"The Cobra went into hiding before he could make anything of it." Seonghwa continues. "Until now at least."
"Would he still come after Yeosang?" I ask, feeling Seonghwa hold me a little tighter against his chest.
"I hope not." He whispers.
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a short one cause I've got two big chapters coming up! sorry I've been away for so long, I've been absolutely hounded by work right now, not to mention I start up again at Uni next week.
on a positive note; updates should return to normal once i set my routine up next week. so look forward to some more chapters! also, questions and feedback are always welcome! i love reading your comments!
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taglist:
@bellaptv @arilevenatz @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @hecateslittlewitchling @starhwacore @neuviloved @monstacheol @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @vtyb23 @bigbabygremlin @professormingisglasses @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @pinuspot @astral-trashcan @ateezswonderland @joonhasjiminsjams @atzlordz @lightwxodd
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hanibalistic · 2 days ago
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CANNIBAL, MURDER, CHURCH | LEE HEESEUNG. PARK JONGSEONG.
genre | brother!heeseung, godbrother!jay 
synopsis | jay always thought there was something weird about you and heeseung. turns out it's much worse than what he imagined.  
word count | 4.4k+
warning | mention of violence, killing, cannibalism, blood, injuries, bite marks / implications of an incestuous relationship
note | 哥哥我要殺了你 / i've been really into 骨科 recently so i brought this piece back
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Heeseung swung your bedroom door open with force strong enough to screw the doorknob loose. 
Jay ignored the frustrated footsteps raging behind him as he carefully laid you down on your bed. 
He remained silent when you pulled your legs up to your chest, avoiding the covers he grabbed to drape over you. He figured you were cold, considering your skin was; he felt the staking chill from the back of your knees when he carried you here from Heeseung’s room, which was left in a mess after the recent commotion. 
You might have dodged his good intention on purpose, and neither would he question nor denounce it. After all, he did just forcefully inject you with a sedative. Without proper medical training, the needle likely stabbed a new bruise on your arm. He couldn't check it if he tried to. The spot was covered by the sleeve of your shirt. 
Gently dropping the blankets at your feet, letting them cover your toes, Jay pulled from the edge of your bed. Heeseung stopped next to him. The bed of sweat on his head was kept afloat by his hair, and his chest still huffing from the marathon he ran from the hospital to home after he received multiple missed calls and one defining text of 'Help. [Name]' from Jay.
 “What happened?” Heeseung asked.
“I should be asking that,” Jay said after a moment of contemplating silence. 
When his father first brought you and Heeseung into his home, he recognized that you were like two peas in a pot. Being brought into a new environment so suddenly must have been difficult. Jay never questioned your inseparable bond, but it continued for the past few months. If anything, at this point, Jay would go as far as to say you two were unhealthily codependent on each other. 
He didn't judge it, though. It made sense for you two to be so close. His father, your godfather, had told him your parents died at an early age. After knowing the system had plans to separate you two, Heeseung fled with you and practically filled the role of a father. Nobody knew how that was possible, especially when Heeseung shouldn't have the ability to plot like that at his age. 
Jay’s father chalked it up to the system being underfunded and understaffed, so it must have slipped past their grasp when two children went missing. Jay thought it was a hoax on Heeseung’s part, that he wasn’t telling the whole story about what happened to your family.
But, other than history, things have been suspicious. For a pair of siblings, for being an older brother, Heeseung was alarmingly aware of your existence. He was protective and borderline possessive of you, but that didn't nearly baffle him as much as how you two regarded your physical intimacy as something natural to share. 
You always hung out with each other and went wherever the other one went. You ate the same meal simultaneously and always sat as close to each other as possible. He has never seen someone your age who'd still openly hold their brother's hands or sit between their brother's legs during a movie night. 
Given what you guys went through together, he understood being hyper-vigilant, but everything else was unreasonable. Jay had suspicions about the extent of your relationship with Heeseung, but he never spoke a word of it. 
He was never confrontational, to begin with. Not to mention, he was still trying to fit into your circle now that his father had moved you two into their home and started his role as the godfather. He ought to blend into your family by first becoming you and Heeseung's (god)brother, too, and interrogating you for answers would ruin it.
However, after what just happened, he changed his mind. 
Turning his body to face Heeseung fully, he raised his arm to show the unbuttoned cuff of his black dress shirt. Heeseung stepped back instinctively at the proximity of their bodies and sneered that he was intimidated by Jay’s firm silence. He curled his fists by his side as Jay carefully rolled his sleeve up to reveal three bite marks spanned irregularly across his forearm, all of them in the shape of teeth.
Your teeth, specifically. He has seen and felt enough of them to know.
“Care to explain what this means?” Jay asked, putting his injured arm in Heeseung’s line of sight.
Heeseung stared at it with a clenched jaw. That and the frantic attempts to reach him were enough resources for him to assume what happened while he was away. 
What a shame. He managed to keep the secret safe for so long. He was so diligent and meticulous, fixating on every timetable and operating based on strict discipline. He held your limbs together and bit your teeth back for you. All for an unpredictable accident to pull the curtains open. 
Heeseung curled and uncurled his hands, and then he glanced at you. You appeared unharmed. Even if you were, if his assumption was correct, the sedative would alleviate the pain and discomfort you were feeling anyway. But he doubted you were. 
He hated to admit it, but if there was one thing he could count on Jay to do, it was to never intentionally hurt you. 
“I asked you first,” he said. “What happened?”
“That’s not how this works. I hold more leverage against you,” Jay said. 
“I don’t know anything about tests and examinations, but I’m sure if I take this to the hospital, they will be able to find [Name]’s saliva over my injuries, and I will technically be able to press charges.”
He tilted his head. "Or are you going to forge the test results like you forge medical orders to steal sedatives from the hospital? I must say, Lee Heeseung, undetectable handwriting forgery is some skill to have."
Heeseung smirked bitterly. He hasn't gotten in trouble with the hospital yet, so Jay must have pulled some strings behind the scenes with his daddy's money to confirm a suspicion he already had. 
But Jay was right. With so much evidence on hand, he was at a loss here. Unfortunately, he wasn’t willing to kill anyone to keep a secret, so the only option was to tell the truth.
“What did you see?” he asked. 
“Are you going to keep fighting me on this?”
“It’s easier to explain it through your eyes,” Heeseung retorted. “Tell me what happened.”
Jay dropped his arm, careful not to press his wounds against his clothes. It stopped hurting for a while, but everything else lingered. Psychologically, he knew vividly the injuries were there and have been there, and how they were caused. He couldn't ignore anything about it despite it not reminding him anymore.
He smacked his tongue over his front teeth and rolled his eyes. Heeseung's question has an easy answer because it is so dramatic that he remembers everything that went down, and it has a difficult answer because it is a sorry sight. 
He had gone home to pick something up between classes. This would have never happened if he hadn't forgotten to bring it when he left for school this morning. What he initially thought was a burglar turned out to be you, but in Jay's head, he wasn't sure if he could ever consider such psychotic desperation as you. 
You were always so quiet and presentable, walking with a ghostly grace that alerted nobody. Stealth was your special skill, and he didn't think you even knew it. You have crept up on him multiple times, either to get something he was blocking or to get his attention. You often used gestures, though, pointing at objects and motioning for him to make space.
He rarely heard you speak. Jay always thought it was social anxiety that prevented you from verbally interacting one-on-one with others, and that very well might still be the case despite all the other factors. 
But, otherwise, Heeseung was your keeper. He made most of your decisions and spoke for you.
You had been rummaging through Heeseung’s room when Jay found you. Throwing papers off of desks and tissues out of trashcans, drool dripping uncontrollably down your chin as you hyperventilated away the hunger in the pit of your tummy. 
Jay had thought you were drunk off your mind when he saw you. He tried to coax you out of your endeavor; it didn’t work. When he circled his arm around your body, one hand reached out to pull your head away from sticking under your brother’s bed, you bit him and didn’t let go.
He had been careful not to shove you off or exert any force to pull you away from him, but his stability gifted him two additional sets of teeth marks, so he ended up having to hold your head and rip his skin off your teeth.
“They were looking for sedatives,” Jay said, holding back a wince as he recounted the event. “They told me to inject it, so I did.” 
He found it in a childish-looking safe located on top of a bookshelf. It was where people usually discard unwanted things, but in Heeseung's case, it was a hiding spot. Surprisingly, the password to access the safe wasn't related to either you or him, so Jay ended up having to pry it open with a tool. 
Inside the safe were bottles and needles. Sedatives, Jay recognized.
Heeseung licked his lower lip when Jay’s voice dropped from the brief explanation. He stared at the floor but managed enough consciousness away from his thoughts to shift his weight and rub the bridge of his oily noise by pinching it with his thumb and index finger. 
He wasn’t ready to face the idea of another person being in the know of your condition, but again, he wasn’t willing to kill someone again. 
“This is my fault,” he muttered. 
Jay raised a brow. “What is?”
Lowering himself, Heeseung extended his arm and ran his hand harshly over your hair. He moved closer to your face, intently observing the state of your unfocused eyes. They were clouded and sorrowful, filled with tears once fallen, and they were ready to fall again now that your brother was finally willing to touch you. 
"Hey," he smiled, rubbing his thumb over your eyes, " I'm back." 
"I did something bad," you whispered.
"No, you didn’t." Sighing, softened, smitten, Heeseung smoothed the back of his fingers down the side of your face. "Good job looking for the sedative.”
You spared no reaction to the tip of his nose brushing against yours. It could have been the sedation, or you were used to your brother being so close. Jay grimaced as Heeseung visibly glanced down at your mouth and then back up at your eyes, and then nothing more than that.
Getting onto your bed in his outdoor clothes, creasing your sheets into a familiar pattern, Heeseung placed his hands under your thigh and the small of your back to lift you forward. Once there was enough space, he moved to sit behind you, his legs spread to cage you between them. 
You habitually leaned back onto your brother’s chest. His frame towered over yours, familiar and safe.
"I'm sorry. I've been so busy with work and school lately that I neglected you," he whispered, nudging the side of your head with his jaw.
His adam’s apple bobbed nervously as he spoke, akin to the beat of his heart. You slowly moved a hand up to touched it with your fingers, pulling at his skin and pressing your thumb gently against it.
He never flinched when you touched his throat, even though a few years ago, you bit him so hard that you tore some skin off of it. He was left with ugly scabs for a while, and he made you apply medicinal cream on them daily as punishment.
Smirking at your silent pleas, he pulled your hand away from his neck, his fingers folding you snuggly around himself. The neck must have some anatomical advantage that makes it so well-loved. He was never sure what it was. It could be the strong shape, the pulsing blood flowing beneath, or its position on the human body providing easy access. 
One thing he knew for sure, though, was that it’ll be a long time before he allows you access to his throat again. 
"You are adorable, but that is off-limits," he said, and you obeyed. “You must be hungry."
His hair fell over his eyes as he stared down at you, making the perfect slant of his nose and his smile the only visible features to grace others. If Jay had to guess, he was sure Heeseung's eyes were soft and spoiled when he looked at you. 
The wavering chemistry of your positions and interactions that could be noticed by an unassuming passersby was not lost on Jay, but he wasn't sure if there was anything concrete to make of it. 
Heeseung circled his arm around your neck and tipped his finger at your mouth. ”Do you want a bite?”
Jay furrowed his brows. After the minor public display of affection, that was the last thing he thought would come out of Heeseung’s mouth.
"Excuse me. What?”
Heeseung looked surprised when he turned from you to his new brother as if he wasn't already aware of Jay's presence in the room. He stared at the other man to blatantly access him. Stone-faced, strong jaw, with grit spaced between each purse of his lips and furrow of his brows. 
Jay knew how to read the room. He wasn't stupid and supposed that was all Heeseung had to bet on. 
"[Name] is a bit of a cannibal," he said.
Was Jay surprised? In retrospect, not quite.
"What do you mean a little? You either eat people or you don't," Jay questioned.
"They have cravings. They do eat if an opportunity presents itself, but we've learned from our mistakes," Heeseung said. "I've trained them to settle with chewing on skin occasionally. They don't eat anymore, but they do get hungry. What happened just now will happen when you leave it too long." 
“Jesus Christ,” Jay whispered as he shook his head in disbelief. Heeseung made sense. His story wasn’t completely implausible. The worst part was that he was nonchalant about it. “How–how did you even find out?”
“We’re not ready to let you know yet,” Heeseung replied with a firm glare. 
“Have they actually eaten anyone?”
“We’re also not ready to let you know that yet.”
Jay held a hand up and closed his eyes, squeezing it to force discomfort so he could better maintain his composure. “This whole one entity, ‘we’ speaker thing is driving me out.”
“Then get out,” Heeseung mused, his brow raise borderline condescending. “You’re not required here.”
“Well, I require myself to be here,” Jay retorted with a frown. “How have they… dealt with the problem before?”
“It’s not a real problem. You people made it up.” Heeseung rolled his eyes.
"First of all, I'm not the founding father of words," Jay said. "Second of all, I'm not going to sit here and defend the dictionary definition of what a problem is."
“Like I said,” Heeseung pointed at the door, “you are welcome to leave.”
“I am also [Name]’s brother!”
“I’m not going to sit here and argue the legal definition of whether a godsibling counts as a real sibling.”
“Touché,” Jay clicked his tongue. He glanced at you and gulped, finally meeting eyes with you for the first time after standing here and arguing about you as if you weren’t here. But that’s what you were used to; leaving yourself up for others to debate, for your brothers to debate. 
He looked back up at Heeseung and exhaled, his jaw locking. “But if that’s who I consider myself, you can’t stop me. I deserve to know.”
Heeseung raised a brow in mild approval. He always knew Jay had everything it took to stand his ground. Being raised with immense wealth, that man grew up to be both confident and humble. However, if his upbringing taught him anything, it was that money talks. Someone with the trust fund he does should fear no one and nothing.
He let you play with his fingers and put them in your mouth, nibbling on them and trying to prick his nails out. You were clearly uninterested in the conversation. He pinched your cheek harshly when you hurt him, and you softened your approach. He rubbed the redness away, pressing his face to your head apologetically. 
“I used to feed myself to them,” he muttered without looking at Jay.
“You cut yourself up?”
“No, I’m afraid of self-inflicting pain,” he said. “I just let them gnaw on me until they’re satisfied.” 
Heeseung never took a knife and sliced parts of his flesh for you. But if you had asked for it, he thought he might forgo the pain and do it. He also never allowed you to actually consume flesh due to health reasons. Your body was not immune to diseases carried by others. God knows the horrific possibilities if you end up eating human meat. 
You settled with gnawing on flesh. Heeseung taught you to, and you never complained about that. You liked it. You were enamored with the sensation lingering at the tip of your teeth when you sank them into a place between skin and bone. You loved the threat of mutilation and the waltz of moving toward and backing away from that point. 
You remembered your brother's blood tasted bitter like expired grapefruit. You remembered how his gentle palm caressed your head after the deed to lure you to slumber.
"Have you never tried to get help?" Jay asked. 
“What do you think would happen to us if this gets out? We will get separated, so I made sure we can both keep a secret,” Heeseung said as he rolled his sleeve up, your head banging against his shoulder in the process. 
"No, that's not–" This wasn't a battle he understood, but the urge to prove his existing beliefs correct was overwhelming. Although he even thought he would have this conversation. "You're supposed to get them professional help.”
"Why do you think I'm planning to attend medical school?”
He hasn’t asked Jay’s father for any handouts so far. Besides the unstoppable freeloading in his home, which he would have compensated financially for if given the chance, Heeseung hasn’t asked for anything from his godfather because he was saving up all his favors for medical school expenses.
"Oh my god? So, what? You're just going to deal with this–" Jay cut himself back when he almost referred to you as baggage. He shook his head in dissatisfaction, avoiding Heeseung's divided attention. "You're planning to do this alone? For the rest of your life?"
"Yes," Heeseung said without hesitation. "I'm their brother.”
"You're missing a defining description of yourself, that's for sure.”
Heeseung looked up. His blanket stare prowled through Jay's conscience, and for the first time, Jay questioned himself. Intentionally bringing you closer to him, Heeseung sneered faintly. 
"What you're implying is inconsequential to the grand scheme of things.”
Jay returned the stare momentarily before he looked down at the floor, chuckling in defeat. Heeseung was a brother who loved you a little too much, and you were too dependent on his care and support. In a way, you both save and destroy each other.
Given the circumstances, Jay couldn't imagine it otherwise.
"They get anxious with new people around. The anxiety makes them hungry like fear makes people's stomachs empty," Heeseung muttered. His breaths were soft against the back of your neck. "I should have taken precautions and fed them more. I was too careless." 
He might have begun his medicine studies for you, but he actually enjoyed the topic. He also wanted to give it his all at school and the workplace. It all got to his head, overloading him with tasks and stress. He got careless. 
Pulling the tip of his index finger out from between your teeth, he habitually rubbed away the wetness before moving to uncurl the sleeve of his undershirt. Jay silently gasped at the scars littered across Heeseung’s arm, all similar in shape but irregular in placement. 
His arm has become a template that measures the shape of your violence, your anxiety, your teeth. Bruises scattered across made more visible in comparison to his paleness. 
It was second nature to Heeseung, to a point where the habit of earning and owning those bruises cannot be unlearned. The next step of his mental leap would be the state of yearning—chaotically, desperately seeking for a morsel of your bite, to be mutilated by your mouth.
Jay looked down at his own arm. It was almost identical to Heeseung’s. This was just the beginning.
“Here." Heeseung put his arm to your mouth, angling it so there’s a plain surface to feast on. “Bite me, but not too hard. You’re gonna break me.”
It was like a love confession, or something much worse than that. It’s chronic suicide; an oath to it, between you and him.
Jay watched as you sniffed Heeseung's skin, rubbing your nose against the surface, and then, finally, you kissed a spot on his arm. The kiss led to a bite, your lips spreading open to bring him inside. 
Heeseung pursed his lips in pain, but his chest heaved out as he relaxed upon your satiation.
He couldn’t pinpoint the difference between this and the closeness of regular lovers. He wouldn’t point at one or the other and announce that one was true love while the other wasn’t.
"Wait." 
He didn't know what took over him, but the request came out before he knew it. Jay shrunk faintly at Heeseung's glare, his resolve breaking again. But this time, he was pathetic. He was a man with a favor to ask.
"You can leave,” Heeseung said monotonously.
“No. It's just–this is partially my fault," Jay said. "You said they get anxious around new people. I am considered one of those new people.”
“Get to the point.”
Jay’s thoughts were in complete disarray, but standing tall among all the incoherence was a fallacy birthed through one immense curiosity: how it feels to be bitten. Or at least it must be.
There was no other quality more fundamental to humanity than curiosity. Besides that, it must be love.
Jay has conditioned himself to care about you and Heeseung now that he has become part of the family, but he didn't think he loved you with the same intensity and meaning as Heeseung did.
It didn't make sense that he would offer himself the way Heeseung did to you. It wasn't natural. 
Surely, your brother knew that this wasn't normal. A man of his caliber—determined and intelligent, daring and responsible—must know this crosses an unspoken territory. 
So then, if it didn't come from him, the obsession must be you?
Approaching the bed, Jay ignored the dissatisfied expression on Heeseung's face as he propped one knee on the bed and exposed his skin to your face. Light gradually lit up your stoic eyes with an uncertain huger, and Jay cleared his throat.
"You can take a bite," he said.
You looked behind you at Heeseung for approval. His eyes flipped back and forth between you and Jay, and then he reluctantly nodded.
Patience was a virtue Jay had since birth, and endurance was a skill he learned.
He never knew how far he could take or was willing to take until he felt your fingers wrap around his hand and your teeth squeeze into his flesh. He furrowed his brows upon the initial clench, and he never got used to it as you printed your front teeth better than any tattoo gun has ever drawn on his skin.
Your bites were merciless, but it was different than the previous ones you left on him. You were more controlled now, eating with timid etiquette, a reflection of a wolf begging not to be feared, begging to feel intimacy. 
It hurt with a newfound sensation. 
Jay looked down at you. Saliva and blood painted the corners of your lips and his skin, and your teeth dragged against his skin whenever you hiccupped into a moan.
He watched you hold yourself back, your brain squirming to adhere to your brother's rules. His breathing picked up. It was uncanny. 
It hurt with a newfound sensation—perseverance, devotion, attachment.
He put himself in your brother's shoes for once, and he realized the roles were reversed.
Instead of Heeseung sacrificing everything for you, he has you caged in the confined of his walls. He taught you to only crave his flesh, to run everything by him first. He sculpted you to need him incessantly so he could have you all to himself.
He gives you everything you want, which is him, so you give him everything he wants, which is you. A neverending supply of mutual desire. An endless supply of love, which had always begun with consumption anyway. 
One cannot claim to love anymore without knowing how it feels inside them. And there was no God. There was no other God but your heaving satisfaction in creating and licking his wounds. An ambiguous truth, a corrupted awakening—the obsession to be consumed, the obsession to be chosen, the obsession of you.
Taboo, stigmatized, predatory, and real. More real than anything he has ever felt.
Jay understood. 
“[Name], careful,” Heeseung urged with a hand around Jay’s wrist, lightly pushing it out of your mouth. He stared straight at the blood rolling down your chin, seeping into the cracks of your dry lips, mixing with your saliva. The saliva he was used to smelling. “Not too much of him.”
"It's okay," Jay muttered immediately after, the stinging pain present and overwhelming. But in that instant, he knew Heeseung was right about everything. "They're hungry. Let them eat."
“You're bleeding,” Heeseung accused.
“Yes." Jay nodded. "What else am I supposed to do? Not let them get what they want?"
Heeseung's eye twitched, but he'd take cooperation over any other reaction. "I take it that you will keep a secret.”
"Of course," Jay said. "I am a brother, after all.”
And his hands are ready to bleed.
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pipedreamprayer · 20 hours ago
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There's some really good points in the comments and reblogs of this post about how the quest is establishing Jingliu as a manipulator, but while I agree that it 100% is showing us that she's twisting things, it's not presented clearly enough that she's an outright unreliable source of information considering this is one of the few voiced quests in the game. It's something people will sit up and listen to, and if they've not dug into the harder to find lore already the audience is primed to come away from this taking her words at face value
She's never fact checked or called out for, say, only having arrived st the end of the Sedition which should be a mnown fact, and gets treated with too much sympathy by the writers, the tone set up like a tragedy she was unable to prevent until the thing with Blade, and even then nobody really shows anger at her for what she did to him? I get that his respect to her is a sign of just how fucked up what she did was, but Jing Yuan and Dan Heng seem to stop being characters a certain points, like they exist for certain interactions the writers wanted but aside from that they just needed somebody to be there for Jingliu to talk at. Why don't we get more of what they think of what she said? What she did? This was the opportunity to have Jing Yuan talk about his views of the Sedition openly, and for Dan Heng to ask questions that must have haunted him his whole life, and for Blade to question even for a moment why he had become the weapon of Jinglius revenge instead of his own.
It's just...handled super strangely, you know? In many ways it feels like the quest is written to trick us into believing Jingliu, from how she wasn't treated like an outright antagonist through her interaction with Yanqing in the quest that introduced her, to the way she keeps being set up to have insight that nobody else does like how she tells Dan Heng that he's notna reincarnation and then the game happens to prove her right immediately by having Dan Heng recall a name he shouldn't have known.
But then everything with Blade is right at the end is clearly horrendous and blatantly her fault, her active choice to be cruel and to not even see anything wrong with it, and it undercuts the tone of "listen to her" that the entire rest of the quest seemed to be pushing us towards. And then, instead of the characters feeling as jarred as the audience is, the quest just...ends? Jing Yuan may have brought up that she's got an agenda, but nobody is shown to act on the possibility that she's lying through her teeth, nobody asks for proof or talks among themselves about why she might have chosen to tell them this if she's gunning for an agenda to do with killing Yaoshi, they all just seem to be accepting this current state of things!
TLDR OP is right that this quest is teaching false information about the Sedition to players. If the writers intended the quest to be a lesson in not trusting Jingliu they did a bad job of it! And if they didn't intend that and have a plan to trick us, why is the proof that she's a completely unreliable narrator so easy to find if you go looking at all? Players who trust that the game will provide what's necessary to know for main quests in main quests will be taking her at face value, and those who want to understand more are just left confused by the disparity!!
I am a huge high cloud quintet enjoyer so it may surprise you to learn that I absolutely hate the quest “Clouds Leave No Trace”.
let me explain. I will admit that a lot of it stems from my issues with Jingliu as a character. I appreciate that she’s meant to be cold and detached, but what bothers me is that although she says considers herself to be a sinner alongside Yingxing and Dan Feng, she constantly acts like she’s better than them, criticising them, acting as if their choice was an easy one while hers wasn’t. Her humility feels incredibly insincere, and she becomes very difficult to empathise with as a result.
then there’s the quest itself. I split it into three parts.
one: redundant infodumping
For the first part of the quest, Jingliu, Dan Heng and Yanqing travel to different parts of the Luofu so Jingliu can bid farewell to her past home. It’s basically a plot device for her to drop some lore about Yingxing and Baiheng, which is fine on its own, but the problem is, none of the information she gives is new. All of it was stuff we could already figure out from character stories and other in-game text.
the second issue with this part of the quest is Dan Heng’s presence, or rather, lack of it. Considering he’s the main character tying the quintet subplot into the main story, you’d think he’d be important to the quest focussed on them. But he’s just… there. He says and does pretty much nothing. You could cut him from the whole quest and it wouldn’t be any different.
In fact, Dan Heng also suffers greatly from the timing of the quest. If we look at the voice lines for IL, it’s obvious that he’s a snapshot of Dan Heng shortly after this quest, since he knows Blade is the one who made Cloudpiercer. Ichor Of Two Dragons also seems to take place at the end of this quest. This is an issue because both release in version 1.3, making the quest which takes place in version 1.4 feel like a regression in his character development when actually the story was for some reason out of order.
part 2: Dan Feng gets mischaracterised to hell and back
This is the worst part of the quest by far. Jingliu does her self-righteous monologue and nails the coffin shut by giving the most biased description possible of the Sedition.
she first says that Dan Feng was trying to revive Baiheng. Dan Heng’s and Jingliu’s character stories reveal that this is probably not the case, and that his actual goal was to create another high elder,
she also says that the reason Dan Feng did what he did was selfishness and an inability to accept Baiheng’s death. She fails to mention the fact that the Xianzhou treated him like a convenient weapon instead of an actual person, that he hated how many innocent people died in the war between Aeons, that his people were going extinct because of said war, that he hated how he gave the Xianzhou the power to cause so much death, that he had probably attempted less dramatic rebellions in his past lives to no avail, that the high elder succession was incredibly screwed up and he didn’t want to have to pass that burden on to his next incarnation (granted that lasts part’s only implicit). Not to mention that she didn’t actually bear witness to any of the events she described, only the aftermath.
part 3: Blade monologue
This is the only redeeming quality of the entire quest
he acknowledges that Dan Feng and Yingxing weren’t simply upset with Baiheng’s death, but with the unfairness of everything in general
he expresses genuine regret
and the way he looks up to Jingliu after she tortured him is the only time where that story genuinely presents her as someone who’s done terrible things, showing how she managed to break Blade so badly that he feels thankful for it
in conclusion, do not play this quest if you want to actually understand Dan Feng as a character
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weirdthinkingdragon · 11 hours ago
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Stay Close
Slight yandere Dan Heng x reader
warnings: a bit of awkwardness? Slight fluff
Yandere Dan Heng using his Lunae form to keep a "dragon lover" reader close to him. You being from a world they're nonexistent to now seeing one that shouldn't be possible when you joined the express.
Like a moth drawn to a flame the first time you saw it you were beyond fascinated to the point everyone could tell. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to question him about it feeling it would be disrespectful since he seems so avoidant of talking about it after just a few questions you tried to ask him.
That also lead you to feel unbelievably awkward around him for a while since you've already talked about your love of dragons to the express... If you knew then you would have never said a word. How were you supposed to know there was a draconic type of human??
That lead you to research in the archives a lot to make sure there isn't anything else you should know about before it was too late.
With time things got back to normal and you started to drift away from Dan Heng. He's a guy who likes his space. Why bother him when you have Trailblazer and March to bother? Plus you're pretty sure you learned everything you wanted to know by then and your visits became less and less often.
Little did you know at that point Dan Heng didn't really like that. He grew rather used to your previous frequent presence in the archives.
What he really didn't like is when you got separated on visiting another planet. That alone wouldn't have been so bad if the person you were with trying to help the world didn't try to stab you in the back. Literally. He saw it happen and nearly lost his cool. He threw his spear just in the nick of time and punctured the person's leg, causing them to stop and scream in pain.
Obviously that startled you to turn around and see them running up and what happened.
After that there was a shift in his actions with you. Almost always in the same room especially if no one else was. Another thing you noticed was him more often in his other form. Man you want to touch his tai- no. Bad. That's weird.
It's like a train wreck no matter how hard you try to stop looking, you can't.
He knows you want to touch it. It's not hard to tell. Quite frankly, it's the opposite. It's to the point you don't even have to say it. But that's what he wants. He's willing to show this part to you alone just to keep you near if he has to. He knows you don't think he sees you looking while he's reading.
"You can try touching it, if you want."
You're shocked for a good minute, then apprehensive. You wonder if he only is saying that because your looking is pressuring him so you can stop, or maybe another bad reason you don't want to try to think about. "...Are you sure?"
Aeons, please just do already! This is more of a delicate situation though. If he wasn't as level-headed he'd have already impulsively pulled you to him with his tail and made you stay close as much as possible. "if I wasn't, I wouldn't have offered."
You cave and carefully do. It wasn't what you were expecting. it was more smooth, airy to the touch, and rather cool. Not cold, but definitely not warm either. Maybe airy wasn't the right word? Felt more like water itself but a bit more solid. So like soft ice and not nearly as cold.
You didn't want to stop touching it but didn't want to push your luck. That alone was enough for you to be happy with.
But it didn't stop there. More frequently you'd go to the archives again and he kept offering. Eventually one day he pulled you to his lap and rested his head on you while you held it. He wrapped his arms around you as well and let a mental sigh of relief. He's glad it's this way now.
This is where you belong with him. Whatever happens or comes for him, he cannot leave the express anymore. Not with you. Not with something as great as this.
He's never been more glad to have his other form than now. If it helps make you stay close, well then he might just have to start staying in this form more often. Even if around other people too.
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morninkim · 3 months ago
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As a show of good faith toward the remaining Decepticons at the beginning of a new, united Cybertron, newly appointed Senators Bumblebee and Soundwave allowed Shatter and Dropkick to enlist into Autobot City's Defense Team.
These two turned out to be... not the best choices.
The city may have fallen to Insurgent Decepticon occupation had it not been for young recruits Hot Rod and Arcee's accidental interception of Shatter's communication with the fugitive Starscream.
To replace the errant Defense Team members, Springer and Blurr were reassigned from Iacon to Autobot City in their stead.
#my art#tf reconstruction#transformers#bumblebee movie#tf shatter#tf dropkick#maccadam#transformers au#semi-introduction to my idea for antagonists in tf:r - specifically being movie villains slotted into my au#bc if the main crux of the main reconstruction story in autobot city is about hot rod and her rise to becoming rodimus prime#which comes from the First movie - why not loosely adapt other movies too??#ive got ideas for most of them already - kinda jumping back and forth between the modern day story and my pre-war ''downfall'' story#which gives my brain a break from thinking about one to think about another#anyway - i imagine the first ''episode'' of tf:r would be like. hot rod shows up in autobot city on her first day > meets the team#> gets assigned arcee as her partner > arcee hates it > they over hear shatter talking to someone they don't recognise because rod's nosey#> huh that's weird > they intercept it next time by accident > its a communication to starscream about the city's defenses#> they take it to ultra magnus but they break the pad on the way because they were arguing about it#> ''hot rod i know you're new here. and you're intrigued about the war and everything. but we shouldn't be suspicious of everyone wearing a#purple badge. give them a chance.'' > arcee drops it bc she doesn't wanna start trouble + ''magnus will handle it. he always does somehow.'#> rod does not drop it and makes blaster monitor shatter's messages for anything unusual > blaster indulges her bc he's endeared to her#> he does end up intercepting an encrypted message > rod immediately acts and chases after shatter and dropkick on an outside-city mission#> arcee goes after her to stop her from fucking up really bad > blaster unencrypts the message. it's a rendezvous point to start an invasio#> magnus kup blaster and perceptor all head out to help the two young'uns before they get in over their heads#> rod and arcee meet and fight starscream and barely make it out by the skin of the teeth thanks to the more experienced autobots arrival#> starscream shatter dropkick and whoever else is there are driven off#> day is saved - magnus commends rod's gut instincts but rod goes back to what magnus said about not trusting bots with purple badges#> she was right this time but its an exception not a rule and most other decepticons in the city want to live in peace#> magnus also commends that attitude and the team head back > starscream starts plotting his Next Big Plan#''post credits'' scene of magnus putting the request in for springer and blurr + robot dinosaur opening its eye in the dark👀👀#longwinded but ya thats like the Clearest idea for Specific Events so far other things are Stuff I Want To Happen
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lilacerull0 · 3 months ago
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i feel like reading/watching mbf immediately means knowing who i am as a person and... i cannot allow this
#you all know that i can't stand gatekeeping and how that's why i bring up what i like all the time in various contexts#but the surprising thing with mbf for me is that i can't talk about it as freely to people who don't know me#because i can't find a way to translate it without having to offer some crucial segment of myself#i enjoy sharing ideas and thoughts more than anything else but i don't like sharing me the person behind them#because i really cherish my individuality as something important in spite of where it takes me sometimes#i don't want to tarnish it!!!! i don't want even the smallest piece of it to be missing because i wouldn't know what to do anymore#i'll stick to typing out thoughts here and to my mom and to my med textbooks#but i must say it feels strangely refreshing to have something that is only my own this way because i always have to put myself out there#and this way i am not giving anyone the opportunity to twist it into something terrible about me#my spontaneous outbursts might ruin this for me though#letters from stephanie*#i dislike that i can't step outside of my own experiences with this like i usually do because art should be shared#this is suchhh a crazy person post#i think i finally get what my dad means when we fight about how i shouldn't say everything i think all the time#he doesn't want me to filter myself he wants me to preserve who i am from harm because stepping up sometimes won't help#who i'm trying to help but it will ruin me in some way even if it just makes me upset#i think that's how he manages to be calm without betraying himself?#he isn't lying he's just saying what he thinks when it matters and to those that matter#like most of the time i am right to single myself out but there is a particular shade of grey when i shouldn't do it#idk this is literally donna telling the dr YOU CAN STOP NOW.#realistically i just need someone to calm me down when my passions turn against me#overly personal post once again i am sooo sorryyyy look away
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flameassassinqueen · 3 days ago
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I completely agree with this. Violet does a lot of things that are questionable. I'm not going to defend her just give a different perspective. Violet and Xaden both are horrible at communication. One needs to know everything, while other keeps secrets to protect the ones they love. They both need to grow into the relationship and figures out what works.
Now, violet i think people forget this, does need to know everything, especially stuff that will get her killed and anything she feels is important. Hence that scribe Mind. When in a relationship where you are dating you are getting to know the person you can take time and weed through those secrets. But unfortunately for them, they don't have that time. Like xaden admits in Iron flame there is knifes in the closet. Secrets that can hurt her. That will hurt her. Xaden won't allow it to kill her, but that doesn't stop them from hurting.
About Cat, well not everyone has a interest in knowing about other people Exs. Once they are in a relationship. It shouldn't matter. And it didn't. She states that it shouldn't matter cause they are a ex. Someone that came before for. It became important, once she realized that said Cat still had feelings for xaden. Xaden wanted to brush it under the rug. Even if she had ask at the beginning he wouldn't have told her shit. Just simply "She is my Ex and nothing to worry about" He knew Cat would be a problem and still didn't say anything until absolutely necessary. Even about the engagement. Which he knew Cat would bring up eventually.
Violets problem with Xaden is that he keeps on side stepping conversations. (Which violet starts doing too to avoid fighting) because he wants her to figure it out or ask him direct questions. She feels that if they want to work this relationship, there has to be complete honesty. Which is hard for all relationships.
Xaden on the other hand, sees Violet for what she is. Smart as hell. He understands her need for information, so he provides it when asked. But won't say it unless she asks, because he wants to keep her safe. He also doesn't know what the fuck he is doing. Lol it's his first real relationship. And Violet is insecure. Which Xaden is trying to help with that confidence (at least he thinks he is). Plus he feels like they don't need full honesty to make things work. They just need to trust each other in keeping each other safe.
At the end of the day, they are both flawed characters. But they love each other deeply. Xaden is holding back on Violet because he feels like that is the right thing to do. She shouldn't have to ask and he knows it. But he wants her to figure it out. Violet needs to know everything, because for so long she has allowed the truth to be kept from her. She was walking blindly just following what she was told.
I hope this gave you a extra layer to look at. I'm not saying Violet or Xaden are right. The miscommunication is all apart of growing as characters. And by the end of IF they have. They are communicating (though not 100% effectively) but they can work through the differences.
Ok, I need to get this out before we have Onyx Storm out on Tuesday.
If you are in the camp that Violet does no wrong, you may not enjoy. But, if not, I need someone to hear me out, so you're it beautiful people of Tumblr.
I need to know why in IF Violet cannot let go of the 'I don't know him' bull. Like girl, you asked I believe 3 personal questions the entire time of FW. How pray tell did you think you would get to know him after 3 questions?!?
You have a mind link. You can chat as if a cellphone is attached to your brain all damn day and night.
It's been a while since I've been in the dating scene, but when you were/are falling for someone, don't you want to know everything about them personally? More than just sibling count, favorite food, and where you were on one particular night.
I could honestly think of about 10 questions that would have been open-ended enough that could have gotten that man to talk. What about his favorite color? Favorite childhood memory? His dad is a sore spot, ask about favorite place he visited? What did he want to be when he grew up?
Did you never talk while training on the mat? While flying? You just spent every hour with the man in an instructional way or lusting after him???
In IF, it was a big deal that the cadre was keeping them apart, however, besides when her squad was drugged for RSC, why couldn't they talk mind to mind in Samara? You mean to tell me he blocked you out and didn't get any breaks for food to chit chat when he was on 24hr duty?
The first time he came back to Basgiath, he sharpened weapons and it seemed like there was a several hour time lapse. What did you do just stare at each other?
And I'm aware Xaden could've asked things too. But he wasn't the one making a big deal out of 'I need information to center myself'.
The man starts writing you letters and you have no damn questions for him, even after the letters.
Bodhi mentions Cat, but how long does it take for her to bring it up. If it were me, that would have been the first thing out of my mouth when I saw him next.
Sometimes it just frustrates me how it's always about Violet's attraction to Xaden physically, but I feel a lack in the actual pull just for the man he is because she never asks about him - even before the end of FW.
Don't get me wrong, I know Violet's going through it and she's got a lot to make sense of. If anything, getting to know him better would take your mind off of everything else going on.
On top of that, her mom is a General, she should be more than aware that she can't know every single detail. Brennan even told her the Assembly kept things from Xaden, so he didn't know everything. She isn't new to the military life, and between the scroll that drops and the missives in her mom's office they never hear of, it should be clear they are getting a very watered down version of everything going on.
Just ugh....I'll stop there. If you've read this far, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk, just needed to get that out. Also, another snippet will be coming out tomorrow!
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genderqueerpond · 10 months ago
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amyeleven fivenyssa crossover
#the three people who would like to read this get excited and then get disappointed because i never finish anything#but the thing about fivenyssa is that she's his daughter#and it's supremely fucked up#and the thing about amyeleven is that she's his Everything and it's supremely fucked up#and also she's the one who asked the doctor if he's a father and well. she'd get it the second she saw nyssa#i know that line was SUPPOSED to be about susan and susan's hypothetical parents but in my heart it's about nyssa of traken#and the thing about eleven and nyssa is that they'd have extremely deep and intimate conversation about being the last of their kind#she's probably the only person in the universe that he could talk about it truly openly with and it'd be like.#nyssa I'm so sorry i never fully understood you. i couldn't. i do now#and she'd be so SAD about it because she never ever wanted that for him#she never WANTED him to understand her like that because the only way he ever could was to go through the same thing#and nyssa would never consider that price to be worth it#but now she knows it's going to happen and she can never tell her own doctor#and it's devastating devastating but also deeply healing for them both but especially eleven#....#and the thing about amy & five is that she'd know him. of course she would. she'd Believe he's the doctor and Understand about regeneration#and immediately tell him about the first time she met Her raggedy Doctor and he'd be like. you shouldn't be telling me this but#he'd be stunned and captivated by the amount of love and also possesiveness in her voice and wouldn't be able to bring himself to stop her#and she'd see straight through him and make him feel naked and raw and at the end she'd hug him goodbye and kiss him on the forehead#the way eleven does her because he's a CHILD to amy compared to eleven and he can't hide that#and the thing about eleven and five is that they'd each be deeply ashamed of the other#and finally#the thing about amy and nyssa is that they'd make out sloppy style#.....#............#voices offscreen:#'i can't believe you called her my daughter and then made out with her'#'yeah and how many times have you made out with my daughter what's your point'#lavender thoughts#dw
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peppermintmochafem · 8 months ago
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#Um she told me she's in love with me and if anything happens to know I'm hot and she wants me#And then went into a lot of detail just repeating over and over the things she wants / fantasies about me incoherently#Which I'm sure means nothing right#I know this is complicated for her she hates being attracted to me but it is hard to have her be like this is bad when she says she wants m#I don't know what to do#personal#tbdeleted#Triggering for me yikes#messy messy messy#Honestly think she is just grieving so its latching onto me as a woman she can love in a safe way#And I am glad I can be that I guess like obviously she needs that and I want to keep her safe#But I know I can't and she even said it#Like I know she will go home and then be gone forever#I think I am already grieving her in a way#And she has hurt many people I love dearly#Hurt them in deeply upsetting triggering ways that aren't okay and don't make me feel safe#She really lacks understanding of consent and that hurts people but I know she does want me and i think if I tried to stop her I could#I shouldn't be in situations where I am unsure of that though but at the same time it's like if something happens it happens#Idk how much of this is my own issues and thinking I'm not deserving of safe respectful sex and intimacy and my own guilt for everything#And how much of it is her own issues and guilt and grief#But I know I can be safe and loving for her#And I do know there is genuine love there no matter what other factors there are#Anyways sorry if you read all that I am giving you the biggest forehead kisses#I just think about how different it might have been if I had *** **** *** ** *** *** ****** ** *****#I thought I couldn't cope if I had but how can I cope that I didnt#I should have *** *** *** when I could have#This is unrelated but its all tangled up and it's just been bad trauma day already#If I had **** * ****** **** if I had *** *** if I had **** ***** or#Anyways **** ***** ****** **
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unproduciblesmackdown · 1 year ago
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billions figuring winston shouldn't just also still be there in the end with the guys we accept so he needs to be sent out, which, it's also remarkable to recall like "okay does he still technically, partially work at/for axe global then? it's a 'maybe' but what matters is that he's not There even if so"....the way that even if we infer he did get to finally be sick of waiting on better, we weren't even given so much of an arc of a couple episode's leadup showing him markedly being more frustrated / fed up with The Usual bullshit or anything like that, the way it went with one ep to spare "oh right winston's catchphrases! we all know & loathe them" like don't strain yourselves....that even in giving up on things, winston still has to be further let down by everyone even after quitting, like well that's probably ultimately helpful for him but it was (a) forced on him and (b) not sure i'd give billions the credit for anything sympathetic towards winston versus "well the only thing to be done with winston material is have fun while epic winners shit on him however they want," the wags plotline had no point just like the later one that could've been scrapped & transformed into "how about taylor gets any dialogue this episode"....the way that billions may imagine like hmm what to do with winston? all that can Ultimately happen with him is he has to go away and die, for him it's [out of sight out of mind out of Existence], just as has been the show's approach for the consequences of him being shitted on all th time for years before this: there are none, b/c we're not looking at them, and winston is never not completely [othered] including right now, and if it helps for some reason we'll talk about how we might be fine if he literally dies. and so we're graced with a "who knows or cares, he's just gone, finally. after being kept around b/c it's so fun seeing winners torment him" ending as the only one they find imaginable for winston
#uptick in annoyance about it on this day....#fundamentally at odds w/billions thanks in no small part to a pretty guaranteed inherent [this is a meritocracy] approach#when the cocreators expect us to simply Understand that people on the show have a superior level of Smartness; for one....ruh roh#and where then everything abt being Critical & Questioning is like....abt possible Exceptions or small adjustments to The Rules....#would not be surprised if winston is such ''proof'' like ''see; someone like him shouldn't be able to be here''#at least there's the checks & balances of being ignored; dispreferred; bullied; to the point of eventually driving him out!#rian only being ''wrong'' to have made herself his personal bully b/c what would've been more correct would be ignoring him more often#whilest again like can't suppose based on anything that billions asks us to Reflect on winston leaving. it's just good#so too is Corrective(tm) bullying / interpersonal abuse. would've had wendy push aba if they did consider winston to be autistic....#but instead kept it informal....#winston billions#billions world: where yeah autistic ppl just have to go away i guess#where they cease to exist b/c they aren't real people like us. just as winston's feelings this whole time never Had to be relevant....#they barely existed & were surely just incorrect when they did. kind of like him overall#and in the meantime didn't we all enjoy going ''god i wish that were me'' at bullying assaulting abusing the autistic guy#bit charitable of us if anything! guiding them towards the light like that. cue ''wow rian aren't you just Too pityingly nice to him*''#(*the being more godawful to him than anyone since she showed up; including being just as bad if not as usual worse right now)#anyways like nodding dehumanizing the autistic person start to finish. who must Stop Being Here
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mobpd · 3 months ago
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I'm so lonely i'm so lonely i'm so fucking lonely
#thinking about death and i'm just. crying#sometimes I finally find the perfect way to describe all of my pain in a way that'll actually make sense to someone else#and I just cry. it hurts. it hurts#of course i'm not telling anyone. but imagine getting the chance to#i'm tired of feeling the same pains over and over again#it gets old. it gets old complaining about it. people get tired of hearing it#eventually you just have to stay silent. stay silent. unnoticeable. keep your head down. never smile. never express yourself#but that ruins everything too#why can't I do anything right#what does everyone else seem to get that I don't#I shouldn't even be so afraid in the first place. it's the fact my head's not normal#everything will always break because I can't be normal#I try so hard to break the cycle or stop myself from doing what ruined everything before and it doesn't work. it doesn't work!#I just ruin everything still! nobody wants or loves you enough to deal with you! nobody can stand you!#even if they did you just wear them down until they can't anymore#nobody cares about you nobody cares if you're hurting nobody cares about your happiness nobody cares if you end up dead#everyone can see what you really are#they would laugh if they saw you die#they want you to die. just give them what they want. this is the best for everyone. things aren't better because you haven't done it#I have dreams of people I know murdering me raping me telling me to kill myself walking on my corpse#I feel like an object. a bug. am I even real? what am i? why do I exist? why is this happening? why does my head hurt?#god doesn't like who I am either#just swallow them down. swallow them down and nothing will be wrong
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my-soft-sunshine · 9 months ago
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nightingale-prompts · 5 months ago
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Nightwing gets a sidekick introducing: "Batboy"
Continuation of this post: "Danny has Bat wings"
|Next|
Dick tries to tell himself that he's better then Bruce. He's not going around taking young orphaned boys with unique abilities willy-nilly. No, he very careful. Besides this is first- well second sidekick.
He's doing a public service anyways. You can't have a kid with giant bat wings just falling from buildings. If Nightwing hadn't stepped in to stop those goons trying to catch the kid and sell him then who knows what would have happened. What if they tried to cut off his wings and turn the boy into a bloody trophy for the Bats?
There are many villains in Bludhaven who'd take the boy out or take him in. Dick already had a sinking feeling that Heartless would try his hand at killing the kid after all he targets the weak and helpless like a coward.
It was easy enough to convince the boy to be his friend. Dick did have natural charm and charisma after all. All it took was a meal from batburger and a fruit cup to get the kid to open up.
Danny (apparently his family gave him a normal name) didn't live with his family anymore due to ideological differences. That difference was that they thought he shouldn't exist anymore and wanted to turn him into an experiment. Poor kid didn't even get to finish his freshman year of school before he had to leave. He was a small town vigilante for a few months before the incident.
Dick saw an opportunity but was subtle about it. He invited the kid to live with him until he got his education. Its also totally ethical because the kid was a vigilante already.
Everything kind of went by quickly. Dick had done everything possible to hide Danny until he could come up with a plan of how to tell everyone.
True Dick didn't "need" a sidekick but come on, look at him! He's a boy with bat wings! Dick could put a little cowl on him and dress him up like Batman. I mean he's not a dog but it would be funny. The irony there, the bird-themed hero now had a bat-themed sidekick. That is the universe's way of sending a message.
After training Danny Dick learned that the kid had an endless supply of energy and ADHD that rivaled his own at that age. The kid also couldn't fly, it was actually closer to gliding which was still useful but he kind of looked like a flying squirrel when he jumped off ledges.
The term issue with taking Danny in was that Dick was still a Wayne and while he could hide the kid while he was swinging through Bludhaven, Dick Grayson could not.
Danny could hide his wings like they weren't even there whenever he wanted to look human. Which was a start, next he needed a new identity. One that wouldn't tip anyone off.
Dick needed to pull some strings without alerting Barbara or Tim. A new name was forged: "Daniel Nightingale" (Dick patted himself on the back for that one).
With that Dick was ready to let Danny out in the field. For the most part, Danny was as reliable as any Robin if not a bit crazy. Danny was way too charming for his own good but also completely feral. The public adored the domino-masked kid in his green and black costume. Danny didn't wear a cape because of his wings so he used them as a cloak.
When citizens saw them in public they'd offer the kid fruit cups and candies just to get close enough to see his wings. The people of Bludhaven were also excited to have their own version of Robin since Gotham had so many. Also, the kid was so marketable. Look at the way his wings flapped when he was excited.
Danny's or more specifically "Batboy's" presence would not go unnoticed.
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Well, this can't end well.
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Welp. Dick should have expected this. He couldn't even be upset. He doesn't regret anything that he's done.
Danny was still in bed, actually it was a hammock which was more comfortable for a bat. Dick wondered if he could sleep upside down. The kid was comfortable here and probably better off here than in Gotham. Once the adoption goes public however things will get complicated. Danny may end up Bludhaven's sweetheart or outcast. He'll probably end up fine...probably.
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acid-ixx · 7 months ago
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ch.3: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)
directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1
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read until the end for an author's note.
tw: allusions to sexual assault, prostitution, and alcohol abuse.
"hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!"
please stop.
"i know that we haven't been talking for quite a long time—"
no, you have never once had a solid conversation with him.
and you wish it stays that way between the two of you.
"—so let's catch up over coffee, yeah? i'll be staying at the manor for a week!"
you don't want to, you don't want to see his face at all, his dismissive eyes. don't want to hear his voice, how it only sings praises for everyone but you.
"(name)??? it says you have seen the messages :( are you asleep? you shouldn't sleep with your phone on, baby bird, that's dangerous!"
he doesn't have the right to scold you, he's not your older brother anymore. and you're not asleep, fuck, you regret not dozing off this afternoon. hell, you're more than awake and aware of the messages he's sending you, eyes scanning over the train of spam that clutters what was once an empty one-sided conversation.
"baby bird? c'mon, i miss you!!!"
lies, lies, lies. all he ever says are lies and you wouldn't fall for it, not anymore.
yet you're simply frozen in shock, seated up in bed as you simply watch dick's messages stack upon each other.
you watch, and wait. it's like you have lost autonomy over your body's actions.
five minutes pass.
your phone rings.
it was the only sound that fills the room other than the wringing in your ears.
it continues ringing, reverberating throughout the room, but all you do is stare, stare until the it ends, for everything to end and for all of this to be a sick hallucination your brain played on you.
there's nothing else you could focus on, your heartbeats spike the longer the call sound continues. you didn't even have the strength to decline the call, let alone move as you fear you might end up pressing the accept button.
so you wait, you wait until it stops.
and once it does cease, your sweaty thumb immediately pressed the block button on dick's profile, even going as far to delete all the past chats you had sent him. then, without moments hesitation, hastily scrolled all the way to the bottom of the list, where their other contacts lay barren of messages.
you have only used enough effort to message dick. that's what probably triggered his sudden intent on spending time with you, no? or was this all for his sick pleasure?
fortunately, all your other contacts with your past family are empty.
it will remain empty.
so you immediately blocked them, all of them. the thumps in your heart are erratic, so much so that you had to remind yourself to breath. through your nose, and out your mouth.
that's it, right? he'll get the message, definitely. that you don't want him to talk to you, to get rid of the false pretenses between the two of you, you don't want to "catch up" over coffee, or over anything.
it's all over, you tell yourself.
'calm down, relax...' you're in the safety of your own apartment, you should feel safe right now, he wouldn't bother you anymore.
not anymore would you be led to believe that they care for you.
— so why is it that you can feel that familiar rise of bile? taste it, even? why is it that your body is shaking so uncontrollably?
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what the fuck.
seriously, just what the absolute fuck is wrong with you?
you never take yourself as an overdramatic person, especially not now, at the age of eighteen where you had finally learned to live for yourself, to never yearn what you knew was unattainable. your past tantrums were no more, no more you say but you wish so badly to carve a knife into your very heart.
why is it that now— now that you were out of your comfort zone, out of their empty presences and their overwhelming absences; why is it now that he just suddenly decided to appear? why is it just now that you feel your skin scorching uncomfortably at just a single message.
shit, your heart hurts so much. you want to take the beating organ out of your chest, just to make the pain stop.
your momma always told you, she said it herself that you are a brave child, her pride and joy despite the hellish living conditions you both were subjected to.
why is it so hard to believe her now?
just, why are you so weak?
when your mother hid you inside that closet - one too small for even a malnourished child like you to fit - telling you to hush for her, and that it's just a game of hide and seek with the 'bad guys', to not make a single sound at all or even come out if you hear screaming— you did what you were told, obediently, covering your mouth, trying your hardest to ignore your sore joints and heavy breathing.
"woah, mommy! is this really me?! you always make me look so nice." a young voice squeals, the sound echoing throughout the hollow room.
"yes, it's you, baby. you who are so strong, unlike me. momma will always love you." scarred hand, littered with gashes and soiled bandages run brush through your messy hair as your small form sat on the dirty bathroom sink. your eyes are drifted towards a mirror, checking out the new shirt your mother had bought for you.
"i love you too..."
you never cried that loud when light suddenly hits the cramped interiors of the closet, when you were caught and shoved outside of your hiding space by strange men, your mother nowhere to be found. when you felt the same men ripping your clothes apart, knives branding your skin like a searing hot pan; you never fought back because that's what your mother taught you. even when they pinned you down and injected you with a strange substance, head suddenly numbing and vision darkening; you still woke up alive, no?
... you woke up alive and conscious in a police station, where you had questiomed to the kind officer about your mother's disappearance, where she had bared the news that you would be taken in to a new family; a new home where your father resides in. one way cleaner, way safer she says.
yet for the next 15 years you were neglectef of the love your mother had given you. you were only raised by a butler too busy to fully focus on you. you had compared yourself to your siblings, siblings who had achieved so much in so little time.
and you?
you are only a wayne by name, but a (last name) by heart.
but you are brave, you are strong— you came from the lowest of the low, yet you pushed through and through to be a better person, and look where you are now...!
... just look at yourself now.
your phone lays untouched on the bed sheets. it tempts you, mocks your panicked state, and you want to rip that rectangular piece of metal apart. yet all you do is stare at it, sitting upright as one hands supports your weight. your fingers clench the mattress, it does nothing as your vision darkens from your lack of breathing.
breathing.
oh, breath in, breath out. do what alfred has taught you years ago, the- the one he uses whenever you would run alone in the desolate halls of the manor to alfred's room, just because you were anxious of the monsters in the corner of your eyes, where he would help you return to your senses and play you a lullaby from an old music box right after. the one he uses after you two would watch horror movies and you were too scared of any sounds that engulf your surroundings.
your throat tightens, and you want to vomit out the contents of what you have eaten— but you have to try.
five things you can see.
your eyes, although frozen wide and stinging with tears, darts around the room. everything is darker now, it's cold and you feel so small. your apartment was small. unlike the place you had lived before, it lacks of furniture, of life, of personality. the only things in your tiny apartment were basic necessities, but even food was scarce for someone like you who had juggle working multiple jobs and college just to pay for rent.
you can see your phone, the candy wrappers you had forgotten to throw, the overflowing trash bin, an empty bottle of prescription pills, alfred's gifts on the shelves counts, right? you laugh sarcastically at yourself; even a trashcan has more contents in your shitty apartment.
fuck, your chest throbs, you remind yourself to breath a little deeper.
four things you can feel.
the mattress is too hot for you, sweat already running down your forehead as if you had ran a marathon. you can feel the tears well up your eyes, overflowing with bitterness that you thought you had already buried deep down, and your hands gripping the sheets so uncomfortably tight. the weather is too cold, winter's nearing but the blood pumping through your veins scorches your very being.
that's four, three more to go and you hope this would all be over. you hope that this would all be a dream, a hallucination, anything.
three things you can hear.
does your choked sounds count? or does it need to be anything else? fuck, why doesn't it work as well as when alfred helps you through? you told yourself that you could take on anything in life, but is it all just a lie—?
focus. focus on your surroundings. you can hear your sniffling, heavy intakes of air, and a repeat of the phone ringing with dick's name as the contact.
shit, shit, shit. don't remind yourself of that. move on, just get onto the next thing.
two things you can smell or... taste? you don't remember, why can't you remember? your thoughts keep running back in circles to the messages, that stupid '<3', the way his desperation could be felt through the phone.
it reminds you of yourself.
before you knew it, your fist brought itself to punch your chest.
thump, beat, thump.
every time your heart beats too loudly, you strike your chest as hard as you can, uncaring for the pain it inflicts you, uncaring for the way you beat the air out of yourself. as long as it distracts you from the bile rising up your throat and the unsated nausea from sitting in the same position— it'll be fine if you hurt yourself. you've already done so a million times, no?
... yet nothing works.
why doesn't anything work out in your favor?
please don't do this to me.
your fists eventually stops. everything hurts even worse.
just earlier ago, you were praising yourself for all the progress you had made. how you weren't in need of validation anymore. you try so desperately to erase any inch of evidence that you were a wayne.
it all crashes down, again and again, and again and again.
moments ago, you were laying on your bed, scrolling through social media, making plans to hangout with your small group of friends in college, trying to cling on to the good parts of your past— ignoring the empty chats of what was once family.
but even without them, even if they haven't knew that you pushed them away from your life— they're always seeping their way at the back of your mind.
you truly can not erase your past. no matter how much you shake your head to rid of the thoughts, no matter how much you try to erase any documentations, any
even talking to alfred reminds you of your stupid past. a past that eats you up every time you wake up from the nightmares, wishing that there would be someone, anyone, who would hold your body tight and tell you it's alright. your mother, your father, your brothers and your sisters— they just were never there for you for so many years. and you hate to admit it but; you still cling to the wish that one of them would...
would hug you and kiss all your wounds away. drive away the countless of dreams filled with terror and torture.
you're independent now, but at what cost? what good does it do when you still try your damn hardest to live? when you know it in your soul that you still desire for a semblence of familial love.
and now that you've pushed alfred away, you're truly alone.
alone and stuck in a loop of trying to run away from your past and failing miserably.
and all you can ever do is, well...
you cry.
the tears bursts out of your eyes like a broken faucet.
you cry because that's the only thing you know how to do. you let the waters loose, hands quickly tangling itself on your hair, ripping fragile strands apart. you cry because you've been living a such a life full of lies, of broken promises, a life where you have to constantly walk on eggshells. you cry because you want to turn back and throw away all your progress just to feel the embrace of a family who had never once held you in their arms. you let yourself heave, let your voice wail out to its deepest frustration, uncaring for the thin walls, or the sleeping neighbors next door, or the rumbling of your empty stomach.
you cry, for what seems like hours, unending like the memories of solitary isolation, like the wanting of a love that you could never quite catch. you let your eyes become all puffy and red; red like the gashes you have scratched upon your skin, like the crimson, beaded blood from your bitten lips.
you don't find any strength in yourself to stifle your sobs anymore.
not when you're so, so lonely in this world.
and when your voice dies down, when your hoarse shrieking becomes no more; you simply force yourself to stand, despite the spinning of your vision, the stumble in your steps and the lack of air in your lungs; you run to your bathroom, slamming the door shut, letting adrenaline take its course into your already tired body.
your knees, they buckle after its few wobbly steps. it's sore and lacks the circulation to be properly controlled, but you ignore it in favor of expelling the acidic bile that finally rushes itself up your tongue.
at least you find just one thing to be grateful for— that your knees slipped on the wet tiles and land coincidentally towards the toilet's rim, a loud thud vibrating through the room.
alfred says the best way to cope is to never jar your emotions.
it's painful, everything is so painful that you want to scream; you need to let it all out.
you don't care if your knees were to bruise because you couldn't help it anymore, spilling out the contents of your breakfast onto the toilet bowl. your throat constricts into itself, and all you could do is gag and force every bit of food out of your mouth.
and it tastes so bitter that you cry even more. there were some bits and chunks stuck on the sides of your tongue, you can taste the acid on the back of your throat. you feel the urge to vomit even more but there's no more to expel. all you can do is dry heave, shaking hands finding its way to cover your mouth from gagging anymore.
it's so pungent, so fucking disgusting— but all you do is force yourself to stand once more, to look away from the mess you had created and flush it away.
the tears just wouldn't stop, the throbbing in your heart could never be expelled just as easily as the contents of your stomach.
yet you chose this life, there's no more alfred to assist you on your own personal struggles. there's no more rubs on the pack, pats on the head or a warm meal that greets you every time you drown in your own emotions. it's only you who can solve your own problems. you can't depend on anyone but yourself...
if only life was as easy as it is to flush away unwanted contents from your stomach.
if only you weren't in gotham... if only dick wasn't in...
gotham.
he's in gotham right now.
shit.
shit, shit, shit.
dick is in gotham, and you know he just doesn't give up.
he can track you down, he'll find you, he might hurt you because you blocked him— you know of his temper, of his unadulterated anger; you're scared of that. just what have you done wrong? did you take something that was his? no, no, never.
you've never been in his room before. he knows yours because he had visited once, but you don't know his. you don't even know which hallway leads to it.
oh, fuck.
you stumble towards the bathroom sink, hastily twisting the faucet's valve. cold water immediately rushes down, you cup your two hands together to collect the running water.
you need to get to you bearings, prepare for the absolute worst because you know, you know the power he holds in his arms.
with the amount of times he had spammed you, called you even— there's something he wants from you, and you don't want to entertain whatever he has on his mind.
you splash your face - splotched with tears, snot and drool - clean multiple times, rub your swollen, red eyes, and wipe the bits of vomit on the sides of your mouth. you can still taste the vomit. god, it's disgusting.
so you hastily grabbed your toothbrush, pushing an insanely large amount of toothpaste on the bristles. you scrub your teeth aggressively, feeling the urge to rid of the pungent taste of stomach acid. then you gargle mouthwash, twice, and spit it all out.
your movements are too quick for your own self to catch up, but you have to do this. your brain tells you to follow through whatever it has to do.
follow through instincts, get him out of your mind.
distract yourself from dick and the cryptic messages he had sent, that you had thoroughly deleted but...
it dawns upon you that albeit all your failed attempts at bonding with him— you know nothing about dick beyond the circus incident that had killed his parents and his identity as gotham and bludhaven's vigilante, nightwing.
you know nothing about him...
and you fucking blocked him before you could ask for an explanation.
what does that message mean? what does he want to talk about all of a sudden? a person doesn't just fucking waltz in someone's life after 15 years of absence and exclaims himself as close as your friend, no?
it had been so long since you had last heard him call you baby bird, let alone even read your messages, so why spam you now?
your knuckles grip at the bathroom sink's tiles, it was the only thing that provides you balance, legs too wobbly to support the dizziness. you feel a huge lump on your throat again, but you can't just erase all the efforts you had done to get yourself together.
— but at the same time, it's too hard to ignore the panic that resurfaces on your very mind.
so what do you need exactly?
distraction, something to get your mind off of the current situation? before you run away from gotham—
you need a distraction, anything. even if it's stupid, you'll regret it later, just not now.
cigarettes? no, you don't smoke. alfred will kill you if he finds out and you can never lie to him.
drugs? you'll be shot in the head by nasty criminals scamming naive citizens for half the price before you could even purchase them.
... then what?
you look at yourself in the mirror, puffy eyes glazing with emotions you yourself couldn't comprehend.
'despite everything, it's still you, no?'
if you could describe yourself right now, you would call yourself a mess, a big loser who had let their emotions run free for too long, let themself go way too quickly, gave up too quickly, and believed too naively. you had lost so much yet gained so little. a wayne so stubborn that it was the only thing you could ever relate to your father who had estranged you without knowing it.
there was more negatives than positives, you're aware of it.
but if there's one trait that anyone could generalize off of you, it would be that you're always desperate for something.
anything.
and just one time, you tell yourself. one time and that's it, nothing more, nothing less.
once you done relaxing, you're packing your bags and making a run for it. you'll even cut alfred off of your life once and for all. no matter how much it pains you to do so, it's necessary so you could make a new identity from scratch.
it'll hurt you so deeply.
but that's why you're going to do what you wish you had done back when you were still so young—
you need a drink right now.
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the wayne manor, in all its glory, is truly just an empty palace that houses buried memories.
with walls that cover the cries of one lonely child; a child who yearns for the unreciprocated love of their family. it was a cage for a child who stalks the frigid halls without any company, who sleeps in a room too small for their age, who cries for anybody to notice the pain that they had hidden with rose colored tints for so long, who yearns for a warmth that could never be provided in the spaces of harsh, black wallpaper and harsh winters.
it will always be innately lonely, and cold.
yet it's even more sullen now, an atmosphere so empty nobody could pinpoint.
no more was the voice that sings of the butler's splendid cooking. no more was the etching of ballpens on smooth paper on an intricately designed diary that stores all the rants of one's daily life. no more were the strokes on colorful canvases that paint dreams of a different life. no more was the humming of multiple tunes every morning. no more was the presence of the ghost who water the plants every afternoon. no more were the footsteps that thud in the kitchen and the hands that opens the fridge.
and most importantly—
no more were the hushed cries of the kid who resides in the smallest room of the wayne manor.
a house could be described as a building where a unit, moreover a family, lives in; but a home is what represents comfort, a place of belonging and safety.
it was a place encased with deep, historical roots.
but right now, encased in a field of damp grass - wet from heavy rain - and the overwhelming scent of petrichor— the manor is simply a house.
for it could never be complete without the presence of the very lonely child who cries for a love never to be attained.
the wayne manor, in all its worth, would never be the same without (name) wayne, a child who had always belonged, but at the same time, always wronged.
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bruce wayne never considered himself the greatest father.
he could be gotham's best detective, the most feared vigilante, or the heavily beloved billionaire who donates millions on hospitals, hosts charity events, and so much more.
he could spend his entire life saving countless of other lives that do not deserve the turmoil of living on edge constantly, attend meetings, plan out his every moves, sit on cushioned seats as he broods over where the all the next criminal hideouts; he could do everything and he'll be damned great at it.
—but he will never be the greatest at being a father.
he had long accepted that fact, embraced it even, facing countless of criticism from both alfred and media alike, but it would never be an excuse to neglect or mistreat any one of his children, just like how it would never be right to just ignore a kid's cry for comfort in the barren halls of a manor.
bruce was never outright cruel towards anyone, every action of his baring significance to his moral code.
which was why bruce feels a pit of neverending regret now.
in all the years that he had spent trying to raise his children, children who, in a way, are trouble. who all differ from each other from ideals, to pasts, to habits, to preferences— he wouldn't lie and say that he never had difficulty helping each and every one of them grow to be who they are now.
living through his decisions are never easy, especially if the outcomes were unpredictable; raising a child, let alone children, could go so many ways.
the lives that he had to juggle, alongside his identity as bruce wayne and as batman, they were all an endeavor that he had chose to balance. he had come so far and stumbled so often. but at least by the end of it, he would be proud to say that he truly will never regret having them by his side when he was at the lowest points of his life.
he had his flaws and his mistakes, he had done irreversible actions that he wishes he could reverse, and most importantly, he had failed each and every one of his children indubitably.
but he really tried.
he tried his best to be there for every single one of them. he was there for dick when he had witnessed the death of his mom and dad, adopting the boy who was overflowing with rage towards the killer of his parents and utilizing his gymnastic skills for good. he was there to pick jason up when he had stolen the batmobile's tires, helping the child unlearn the past abuse he had fallen victim to (and although he had died, then resurrected, and turned cold-blooded towards criminals, murdering without hesitation— he still cares for jason deeply). he was there when tim had lost his parents. there for damian who had only been raised as an assassin since he was born. for cass, for duke, for everyone.
he really tried to be active in their lives, supporting them through their blood, sweat, and tears.
... but he had never tried to be there for you.
his forgotten third child, the biological firstborn, child of a well-known prostitute, (name) (last name), whose identity has long been erased off of the face of the internet; the scandal of a century that took the shared efforts of him and barbara to decimate whatever information the late (or missing?) (last name) has in the underground.
(name), his child he has never once bat an eye on, too preoccupied with tim, aversing his attention away from you to train the other kid; ultimately ignoring the immense trauma you must have dealt with from being raised by a mother targeted by most criminal organizations from extorting their cash. it was sickening for him to think of just how cruel were the conditions the two of you were forced to live through.
it was sickening for bruce to imagine the even lonelier years you had to suffer through after your mother's disappearance— years where your father's presence was elsewhere, years that a child has to suffer through alone without any figure to look up to.
it was your name that he had hesitated to even say, in fear of butchering the pronunciation and earning more of alfred's judgemental looks.
(name) wayne.
not even a face can be associated with you, not your voice, your hobbies, nothing.
he couldn't recall a memory where he had taken you to a fancy gala, or one-on-one father-child dates, or any occasions that requires bonding with each other.
he wasn't the man who welcomed you through the doors of the manor, nor was he the father who should've picked you up at the police station.
bruce wayne knows nothing of his third child.
if alfred hadn't confronted him about your terrible living conditions as of now, living in debt whilst trying to push through college, then how long would he have ignored your presence inside the manor? how long would the years pass without him acknowledging any important milestones that you would reach?
until your untimely demise perhaps?
he couldn't even remember a time he had at least given you a gift during christmas or new year or any time of the day.
not even the name of your elementary and high school, or your college university. he doesn't know of your friends, your teachers or what subject you excel in.
you had already graduated highschool, and he wasn't even there for your ceremony. he wasn't there to walk you up the stage, wasn't there to shield you from the thousands of photographers who would've attended should they know that a wayne would attend, wasn't there to offer you a pat on the shoulders for a job well done.
then who had to walk you up the stage?
"alfred..." he stops walking, clearing his throat as alfred turns back at bruce, offering a raised eyebrow at the sudden pause and bruce's rigid pose.
"yes, master?"
"when... (name) graduated," he hesitated on saying your name again, catching on alfred's sudden squint of the eyes. "who walked them up the stage?"
he hopes you didn't have to go up there alone, that a teacher at least accompanied you or—
"i was the one who attended in your stead, master bruce." the butler replies without hesitation, as if it was a normal occurrence. he sighs again, too tired to scold bruce's surprise for absolutely dismissing all the important dates that include you and instead turns back to continue on his treck to guiding bruce to your room.
alfred's look of condescension makes him sink deeper into the void of regret. for being unable to
fuck, how many important events had bruce missed? from school plays, to parent-teacher conferences, to talent shows— was there ever a "bring your father to school" day?
oh... he really hopes there wasn't.
his hands find itself scratching his head, fingers tangling itself onto his hair in hopes of providing distraction— but his thoughts all circulate towards you, a faceless entity, an itch that he could never reach unless he sees you for himself.
the further he walks through frigid halls, the smaller the space seems to get.
how many birthdays had he missed?
when even is your birthday?
you are eighteen now, five when you were taken in which means... almost fourteen years of missed birthdays...
he didn't even give you a single gift card out of pity. not even money for allowance, or a birthday cake.
bruce was never there for you, and he has a feeling that that may have been one of the reasons of you moving out.
he needs to make up for it at least, once he contacts you he'll apologize for everything—
but first, he needs to see the state of your room. to at least have a first impression of you, of what your life was in the manor; any clues that pertains to just who his child is, as humiliating as that sounds for a father.
which was why he didn't hesitate to let alfred lead him straight to your room, albeit the shame he feels for not even knowing where his own child's room is located.
back when he had taken damian in, it was him who introduced the boy to his own room, whom had promptly thrown a tantrum and demanded someplace bigger before ultimately accepting his fate.
... how would you have reacted to your own? he wishes to at least picture your face, probably opposite to damian's, as you get to live in an entirely different space from what you're used to.
would you be pleased? would you look at him with sparkling eyes and thank him? or would you maintain a neutral stance? an overwhelmed one?
he really wants to see you, your expressions, just a sliver of your presence.
but nothing comes up in his mind. not the length or color of your hair, not your height, not anything. he could picture a vague imagery of your mother, but not you.
it makes him wonder; does any of your siblings know what you look like? were you at least any closer to them that you are to him?
he hates just how much desperately the darkness in the pit of his chest is crawling in need to hasten his steps towards wherever your room was.
the rain outside had already ceased, but a newer thunderstorm was brewing inside bruce's heart.
he needs to see you.
as he walks behind alfred through the halls of the manor, he had just noticed how barren the other side of the manor truly is.
cob webs and dust particles litter through the corners of the untouched furniture, the wallpaper peeling off itself and revealing untreated mold and even more cocoons of baby spiders that would soon crawl out, and even most of the ceramic vases they had passed by houses no flowers, instead being covered in a thin sheen of dust.
it was obvious just how neglected this corner of the house is.
just like you.
alfred was always meticulous in his duty as a butler, but bruce had advised the old man to leave unexplored parts of the manor be, seeing as how nobody would stroll by; and to only clean it whenever he would host an expensive gala in the manor with spare rooms as guest rooms.
it made bruce wonder if these halls are the path that leads directly to your room, which it actually does, and he feels even more guilty at just how... different your living condition is compared to your siblings.
it was no wonder why the butler would always excuse himself early, seemingly always making a treck towards a forgotten chamber that he rarely visited.
he'll make a note of relocating you to a room closer than his if you ever were to decide to come visit during holidays or vacations.
... alfred said it had been six or seven months since you had left, just how many occasions have he missed?
counting only fills the dread in his the growing hole of the pit of his heart.
yeah... he will get you a new room, one preferably closer to his; just so he could greet you every morning by knocking on your door and at least escorting you to the kitchen for breakfast. he'll try to make small talk, invite you over and... bond with you.
that'll be a good habit he could incorporate into his daily life.
a small part of him wishes you wouldn't look at him in disdain if he had to forcibly visit your apartment.
he swears it's in all the good of his heard; he just needs to check for himself if you were doing okay.
as him and alfred nearly arrives at your bedroom, the two had already noticed the light peaking from outside the doors and what seems to be two voices ensuing an argument.
even alfred, who had ceased his steps, looked surprised at the presence of the people who seemed to be there before them.
bruce doesn't even hesitate jogging towards the room, unaware of alfred's immediate shift to a calculating gaze, as bruce immediately opens polished, mahogany doors, inviting himself in.
... it smells of bleach and fabric refresher.
his heart clenches at the implication.
"father...? why are you here?" damian's voice cuts through the tension, bruce merely dismisses youngest child as his eyes takes in the space, ignoring how the other presence in the room - dick, with wide, feral eyes - quips about an ongoing "family" reunion.
bruce analyzes every detail, heart thumping loudly in his chest.
small... your room is way too small, and lacks of any design or life whatsoever. a tiny bed is shoved in the corner, the closet too miniscule to even contain clothes for someone your age (just where do you store them, then?), the windows barely welcome any ventilation nor sunlight, even your bedside table was too small to be considered one; the lampshade on top of it could be easily toppled over by a single sway of a hand.
everything is clean, too clean and orderly.
his eyebrows furrow at its state. even a model's walk-in closet is significantly bigger than the cramped space he calls your bedroom.
no proper ventilation, not even any space is provided for... your hobbies. hobbies that he wasn't even aware of.
is this how you had been living for almost eighteen years of your life?
how do you live like this?
just how much has he neglected you?
"bruce...?" it was dick's voice that he had now registered. it sounds out of breath, way too abnormally distraught and out of character.
he slowly looks at dick, equally befuddled at the presence of his eldest and youngest sons.
he seems disheveled, stressed even. the athlete's blue eyes were wide and dilated, seemingly unfocused as his stance was rigid. he was breathing too deep, hand clenching his phone too tight, veins popping through muscles, and he holds a... notebook in the other, this time like it was a delicate piece or artifact.
"... why are you here?" dick tries to cover his current state with an awkward laugh, but he could never hide the furrow of his brows, the flickering in his eyes, nor the anxious stomping of the his feet. sweat runs down dick's forehead; it looks like he's been inside the room the longest.
and dick refuses to get out of it. he won't, not until he finds out just why were you pushing him always all of a sudden.
he's afraid of forgetting his baby bird once more and neglecting your needs. if you were just as self-depracating as he is then... just how well would you be coping all by yourself?
does bruce share the same intentions as him? he doesn't know, his thoughts all leading to a path of thinking about, well, you.
you and your wide eyes looking at him like he was the world.
"i'm just here to visit... (name)'s room." bruce replies, a deep tremor in his parched throat, threading even further into the cramped space as his eyes seem to lock into the multitudes of messily stacked notebooks in the center of the bed.
they were all captioned '(name)'s diary', each having different fonts for every notebook and a date plastered on the very bottom.
"and you both are...?" he stares at them, demanding an answer as he sits on your too small bed (—it creaks, he hates that it does so he promises to get you a new one, a bigger one even, with enough space to fit in at least four people just as you deserve), picking up one of the diaries in his hand; it sports messy calligraphy and peeling stickers, reminiscent of just how old it was.
the hold he has on the diary is delicate as he flips through the first page the same way the eldest child had done. the papers were stained gray from the lead of the pencil, doodles littering every page, from flowers to animals and even faces that bruce couldn't recognize.
at least it provides the void in his heart food for thought, taking in every small detail about you and your hobbies.
you like documenting your life through diaries, that was the first thing he noted about you. the entries all date far from back when you were five or younger, the earlier pages highlighting, well, you and your mother's life. though the handwriting wasn't all that eligible, bruce finds himself becoming fond of the common topics you often rant about from "momma's burnt stack of pancakes" (paired with a drawing on the side, colored with dried markers and glitter gel pens), to the fairytales your mother loves to read you.
as much as it was entertaining for him to read through your mind, it's sad how aged the papers were and how some pages were crumpled to the point some contents were incomprehensible.
he'll get you even more high quality ones, rather than the cheap paper the one he's currently holding has. and he'll buy you designer pens, or do you prefer the more functional ones? would you like fountain pens or glass dip ones just to enjoy the experience?
bruce notices a pattern of the pen's strokes, an array of thinner lines were preferred in most of your entries compared to the thick pencils you sometimes force yourself to use, as there was an entry you had mentioned where if you use thicker lines then you'll run out of pages quicker, and "my mom doesn't have enough money to buy me one right now."
even the doodles in pencil had prefered line widths. finer quality for even finer details, thicker lines to emphasize and exaggerate your art on the side of the papers.
would you prefer mechanical or charcoal pencils? charcoal is messy and smudges, bruce knows as he sees small drawings of a tiny sprite that point towards a smeared sketch of a flower, a look of disdain on its furrowed brows.
he couldn't contain the upward quirk of his lips, blocking out dick's shadow that seems to get closer to bruce.
unfortunately, there were no ballpens of your preference on your bedside table for him to take for himself. he'll find out himself sooner enough though; what materials you like to utilize for your diaries and sketches. hell, it seems you like using a mix of normal and puffy stickers alongside a mix medium to obtain different colors.
journaling supplies, you'll find a lot of them in your arsenal soon.
he'll make sure of that once he finds out where you live.
he looks at damian flipping through what seems to be one of your sketchbooks.
art is, undoubtedly, one of your hobbies too— that's the second thing he notes, picking up what seems to be your second diary right after he flips through the first one, wasting no time to learn more about you.
this time, your second diary talks about your early life into the gotham manor. your anxious yet earger energy to meet your father, how the dick grayson (presumably your idol, with how you mention him as the) is now your brother, and how you almost got lost just wondering in the manor; they all highlight your innocence and curiousity about the world. you write so effortlessly, unafraid of writing down what you truly feel.
though you barely mention the incident regarding your mother, you have stated multiple times about how you miss her beautiful smile and her captivating laughter.
he's grateful that you're fond of writing diaries, exposing bruce to the deeper, more personal parts of your life. he doesn't need to pinpoint any lies or truth. all your secrets, your endeavors, your dreams and your passions are buried deep into the crevices of your diaries, etched in thousands of words and drawings that tell bruce just who you are.
and truly, you are his child.
bruce craves to know more about you in person the more he reads through your entries.
fortunately, it wasn't only him that feels an intense need to take you in, as the presence of his eldest cuts him off of the his train of thoughts.
"y'know, before you forget we're even here, bruce," dick quips with a fond smile as he looks at his bruce's unkempt state, taking a seat next to his father who seems to be in his own world just like damian. the bed creaks against their weight, both cringing at the sound before bruce returns to his own world of... analyzing you, just like he did hours ago.
but he knows that his father knows how to multitask, so he doesn't hesitate to answer.
"i'm also here for (name), i promised to take them out for dinner month's ago." that seems to actually catch bruce's attention, as he looks up from reading your second diary, gazing at dick as if to urge him to continue.
dick proceeds with a sigh, a smitten smile plastered on his face as he recalls the only memory he has of you.
"(name) really has a knack for writing and all, right? i love them for it. when i first met them, they were just so adorable. my baby bird tried to ask me for an autograph!" dick couldn't help himself from yapping, chuckling lightly as he remembers the deathly grip you had on alfred's cuffs, how you were hiding behind the butler's legs and looked at dick so enamored. he couldn't contain his unhinged smile, the goosebumps on his skin made shivers ripple throughout his entire body.
bruce (and even damian, who had all his attention on your sketches) had listened in on his monologue.
"i was the one who helped lead them to their room," he continued confidently, tapping his phone with his fingers, "they clung really close to me when we climbed up the steps, even tried to hide under my jacket..."
looking back, dick wishes he had carried you up the steps. thing was, you were incredibly small back then, and the manor's staircase is particularly hard to transverse through when ascending, so you must've felt exhausted and leaned onto him for support. your tiny legs must've been sore once you two had arrived by your room.
oh, he should've noticed. dick swears he won't make that mistake again once he gets you back in his arms, he promises to carry you the moment you even show the slightest bit of fatigue.
he swears he will, and he'll make sure to spoil you rotten with all the affection you deserve.
oh, dick really wants to see his baby bird again.
"yeah, that's, uh, the only time we had only ever talked." he admits shamefully, opening his phone for what seems like the thousandth time, looking at your profile over and over again, one that had him blocked.
he bites his lips, nibbling his skin in anticipation, in hopes that in the good of your heart that you just, unblock him.
it was just so unbelievable, despite you having all the reasons to push them away from your life, he just doesn't want to accept it. doesn't want to think of the worst outcome; of you hating him.
his baby bird blocked him and he just couldn't comprehend the amount of hurt he's feeling right now. what's wrong with checking up on his baby sibling? on someone he hasn't talked to for a long time already?
scrolling up through your previous messages fills him with both dread, and another emotion he doesn't want to admit— the slightest bit of pride he feels that you chose him over everybody else. you chose dick grayson as your idol, as someone to look up to and eagerly wanted as your older brother.
he was the favorite.
yet he feels terrible at the same time for taking it for granted, for forgetting your his own younger sibling. and bruce? bruce feels terrible just looking at how much your disappearance - an existence he didn't even know existed not until a few hours ago - impacted the atmosphere of the house.
is your absence the reason why the manor had felt too empty, then...?
even alfred seemed to sulk more often, always having his phone around and... talking to someone?
does alfred know where you are? or at least maintain communication with you?
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it seems like the family was equally keen to find out just who you were.
whilst the two engross themselves in their own personal matters, damian continues to stand near the middle where the light hits the brightest, analyzing all the pages of your sketchbook. the youngest couldn't even afford to miss a single detail, green eyes mulling over the poses of your human sketches; the anatomy, the composition. all the progress, the mistakes, the erasures... his mind seems to eat up every drawing as if it was a piece of art hung in a museum.
which it should've been— but he wouldn't even let worthless critiques lay their eyes on any one of your sketches. they wouldn't understand you as much as he does.
it's his to look upon, nobody else could understand the meaning of your art, the meaning of his older sibling's art.
the older sibling who he used to threaten with his sword, who he called vile names — a bastard child, he told you one day. he was unable to ignore the glare you sent him, how he felt a pang in his heart after — the older sibling who he ridiculed endlessly in front of his best friend, whose actions he criticized without end; who had started to avoid him like the plague after all of his incessant bullying.
his older sibling who he had used as a punching bag for all his negative emotions, who he was incredibly jealous of, who he felt the need to fight, to compete with, all for the sake of grabbing your attention without seeming frail in his intentions.
his weak and incapable older sibling, who he knew hated him with all their gut.
the unwanted and undeserved treatment he had subjected you to was gruesome.
it was just exactly like your drawings... gruesome and brutal, to say the least. as if it was a medium of releasing all your unparalleled anger. charcoal strokes violently covers the entirety of your pages, it was unpredictable where the lines meet and end, whenever there is color, they blotch each other without harmony, all the subjects of your art either human or anything else within your vicinity.
if someone else with inexperienced, undeserving eyes were to witness your sketches, they would not understand and dare say, criticize your art pieces for being too contemporary, for letting your emotions run free through cheap quality paper without any ounce of care for the rips and tears of the pages.
but damian likes it... he likes the rawness of your pieces, likes it when you incidentally find a way to express tragedy, grief, and all the antagonistic traits a human could bare. he likes just how all thr subjects you paint were muddled with dull colors, sometimes too vibrant, sometimes too neon, sometimes a mix of all— your hectic personality bleeds through the pages.
you should've... shared your talents with him. albeit the jealousy he feels towards you, the sense of competitiveness— a small part of him admits his desire to bond with his only blood sibling... he doesn't even know why he treated you like trash, yet felt so incredibly heartbroken whenever you would retaliate with a blank, soulless stare.
he doesn't know why he felt so compelled to melt into your embrace, despite never once being physically close to you. your warmth always emanates off of your body; he hates that he wanted your validation, your praise and your attention.
he'll apologize to you sooner, damian will drag you back even if he has to, he needs to, actually.
needs to get you to forgive him, to look at him fondly, and to love him without bounds. he's on his path to redemption, he acknowledges his wrongs, all the wrongs he had done to you, he couldn't list it all out but he knows just much it affected your views on him.
damian knows he should've dismissed your reactions— he was raised by assassins for gods sake! he should not be so perceptive of every micro expression of yours, but the connection he feels towards his blood sibling is stronger than any bond, a bond that he himself chose to sever and came to regret afterwards.
he remembers one specific expression of yours after he had criticized your anger issues when he had heard news of you being transferred into another school. it was a glare that lacked any fight or bite, you had long since given up on him and allowed him him harass you whenever he felt like so. but that day was the same day you had snapped, nearly choking on his
he told himself to ignore it, that you were merely throwing a tantrum (despite how hypocritical he seemed)
yet he didn't expect to be overcome with regret.
with hurt.
with empathy at the tears that welled on your eyes.
damian doesn't want to admit it but, that was one of the first times he had hesitated to retaliate with an even crueler comeback to your glare. he wanted to so badly run to you and bond with you and your unadulterated anger, to comfort you and provide you the affection you had so desperately needed— but in the bitterness and the jealousy of his heart, he had forced himself to leave you be; a decision even until now he regrets because... you had no longer seen him as a younger brother, let alone treat him as one, as he desired to.
after that incident, you tend to avoid him more and more, not even eating in the same room as him, let alone ditching whatever you were doing in favor of keeping to yourself.
he should've held himself back from hurting his older sibling, the one who, despite doning no skills or talent in combat whatsoever, who knew that he was more of a threat than a younger brother; was brave enough to approach him with a tray of alfred's baked cookies and a hesitant yet welcoming grin.
and yet he had replied with a sword to your neck and an insult to your origin, calling you a bastard child; the product of a whore and his father's terrible decisions.
he had simply watched as you had left the hallway with a knick on your neck and a wobble on your steps, nearly dropping the tray of untouched goods due to the inconsolable shivers you must've felt.
you hate him, no? he could see it in your eyes, no matter how defeated it may be, there was always a tinge of resentment towards him that he knows he couldn't undo.
you hate him, you must've hated him so much and he hates that. hates how he wants to throw a rampage over the fact that you would never consider him as a younger brother.
... if things were different, if he had never let his emotions and his past dictate his actions, would you love him?
for the first time in quite a while, he had felt tender longing and desire, his hands caressing the pages of your sketchbook as if it could bring you back to the manor.
for the first time in a while, damian allows himself to want, to dream about a fantasy where you would cherish him, allow him to melt on your chest whenever he feels the pressure of the world getting to him, let him sulk about his deepest darkest insecurities as you would run your fingers through his hair and tell him it's all alright.
for the first time in so long, he would openly admit the immense regret he feels, wishing for an opportunity to turn back time, to never unsheath his sword towards you and to never open his mouth to allow vile words to spew out of it.
time passes by oh-so quickly when you are left alone with only your thoughts to accompany you.
it had been quite awhile since the trio were left pondering about your very existence, alfred noted, watching the three scramble about through their minds. they had seemed to have forgotten the very butler who had been observing every single one of their actions.
alfred had waited so long for this moment to come, for them to realize just how crucial you are to the family, how you are the very final jigsaw puzzle the complete the picture perfect definition of a home, how much they need you if they wish to maintain even the slightest bit of sanity.
it was only right that he decides to place the final nail in the coffin.
after all, this was all to get you back to your safety, to where you rightfully belong.
—"it seems like the family has finally taken notice of young master (name)'s disappearance...?" alfred buts in by the door, a single eyebrow raised, crossed arms, an all-knowing look that just screams 'i told you so'.
he continues once he had their complete attention, "i would like to say that i am heavily disappointed in how it took more than a decade and a half for all of you to find out about their existence. if it wasn't for the long months of their absence and even a personal sermon towards master bruce about their financial struggles, they would've long been gone. well... they would be gone soon if they are unable to pay this month's rent for their apartment."
his tone was sullen as he nitpicks every single one of their reactions, a mixture of confusion, shame and regret a commonality between the three.
"(name) is in financial debt?" it was damian who asked first with furrowed brows and wide eyes, unbelieving of what alfred had just stated. "but father wires money to all of his children, right?
the youngest turns back to his father's seated form, expecting a nod of some sorts, but all bruce had was a tense jaw and a solid stare. it speaks of volumes, all damian could do was shut his mouth, looking back at alfred with a pout.
alfred expected this reaction. it was truly unfortunate how the family would never know just how important you were in their life.
yet all he could do was press on, further their guilt and desperation.
"young master damian, i am aware of bruce's willingness towards providing for his children, but (name), like you, had adopted your father's stubbornness to accept any financial aid on their part..."
the silence was defeaning now, tension so thick that not even a knife could cut through it. fortunately, the people alfred were with are trained combatants, formidle not only through fights but with words.
it was a shame they had never used their brains to connect the dots with just how sullen the manor was the moment you were gone.
"how do we...?" this time it was dick who talked, albeit hesitantly. "bruce could at least send a few thousands to them, then? or i could do it, you could just give us their location and—"
"unfortunately, there is nothing i could do about it, master dick," alfred interrupts dick's sudden onslaught, "for even i do not have master (name)'s address. they refuse even the slightest bit of a clue, hence why i have confronted master bruce about it."
it was like a needle had dropped on the floor, an intense, numbing feeling everyone present was subjected to feel.
... what?
it was dick who had reacted first, springing up from his seated position as he stared at alfred's defeated eyes incredulously.
"are you serious, alfred? (name) could be anywhere in gotham right now? unprotected, unsafe, and in debt?"
a long, defeated sigh was what he had merely received from the alfred.
"yes, master dick, you hear exactly what i say."
"but the world outside is too dangerous for (name)! we can't just let them loose in a street filled with criminals who can take advantage of their innocence!"
"they're eighteen, dick." all of a sudden, it was damian who cuts back with a roll of his eyes, "i'm sure they can survive on their own."
"yeah right, and have you even read their latest diary, or are you just gonna pretend like you aren't going to keep their sketchbooks all for yourself, huh?" dick retaliates with clenched teeth, letting himself be swayed by his own emotions. "or... you're planning to track their location without us so you can get a reservation to visit them first?"
"calm down, dick—" bruce stands, immediately holding dick back, gripping the athlete's tense shoulders.
"why should i, bruce?! (name) can be anywhere, we— i can't afford to bide time on anything but them!" he glared back at his father, slammimg his fist onto your bedroom walls without hesitation. cracks immediately formed on the chipped wallpaper, a testament to dick's strength; you'll be relocated to another room, a better one anyways and they'll... they'll turn this one into a bigger atelier for you.
dick just needs to let his anger out, yeah... unfortunately, his father seems to think otherwise.
bruce retaliates with a snarl, "we need a solid plan, dick. we can't just randomly search where they are—"
"look, if none of you are willing to help, then fine, i'll track (name) all by myself—"
"— i've never mentioned not coming, grayson." damian cuts him off with a glare, possessively holding all your sketchbook in one hand. "i'll be the one spending time with them first."
"yeah, right... and you, bruce? you coming with or no?"
defeated, bruce replies, "... you already know the answer, dick."
"of course, dad. glad to know we're on the same team after all," dick lets out an airy laugh, returning to his old demeanor. but bruce could easily pinpoint the sharp edge to his giggles, how calculated it is and how it's all merely a cover up to hide the unbearable itch to get you into his arms.
not like bruce could help it too, feeling the same way dick does— all he wants to do is see you for himself after all.
"then call the others into the batcave, now. tell them it's a priority mission, don't let them say otherwise, and don't settle on any excuses."
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bruce is so grateful that he had his hands on your diaries, that he was given the grace to read through your entries and embrace even the slightest clue about you.
although there was no face to associate with your name, no photograph nor portrait— he at least has an idea of your personality, of what you like and prefer; something that bruce would hold dear, something that feeds the growing urge to find you.
find you to not only correct his mistakes, to make up for all the lost time, but to also get closer to you. to bond with his child, the one he should've focused on all those years ago. the one who, despite showing disinterest to vigilantism, chose to not fall deep into the pits of resentment, of committing heinous acts— you had chosen to run away from them without any intentions of badmouthing your own family even after the years of neglect.
his child, (name) wayne.
you were a symbol of what he had strived to cherish, to protect. it was your innocence through these pages, your eagerness to the world despite its cruelty, that relays the message to bruce that he should've centered his attention on both you and tim instead of just tim.
maybe then the dispair he had felt after jason's death would've been less devastating, maybe then you'd act as his source of light in the darkness he had choose to brood in. maybe then he wouldn't have acted so rash, so impulsive and tense.
after all, you had lost your mother too early, and your father was just somebody you can watch through the television and read through the newspaper.
and you? you were forced to take the short end of the stick, without any familial attention nor emotional support whatsoever— a substantial failure on bruce's part. you didn't deserve anything you were subjected to, didn't deserve to know what pain and despair felt like.
bruce should've been the father who had to shoulder all your burden. he should've been there for you as he was there for all your other siblings.
he should've been the man who would kiss your wounds away whenever you go out to the park with him to play. he should've been the man who would sit on the crowded bleachers to watch you perform on a talent show. he was supposed to be the father who would hold you close to your chest as you cry about your first heartbreak, about your overdue projects, about the bullies in the school.
but he wasn't that father for you. and now, you seek love and attention from people who weren't even family. because they had failed you, he had failed you.
there was so much things about you that he doesn't know of, so much he had missed out on. his absence was a constant in your life; what would you have felt if he suddenly barged in on it then? especially now that you've moved out on the presumption of neglect?
but could he help it if he does?
could bruce help it if he was already concocting a way to bring you back? alfred had explicitly told him that you were living off of debt
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reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.
PLEASE READ: 11,100+ words. no beta we just die. undertale reference. this is my least favorite chapter LMAO, despite it's length i had to waste blood sweat and tears for this and i hate it so much. anways guys pls comment or send as ask if u like this and what's good abt it bec this chapter literally made me question my ability as a write 😭 erm im gonna take a break after this and mostly answer asks bec istg my energy is so drained. also is it jst me or does everyone default the reader as female ^^' it's jst weird for me bec i always write them as gn/male. oh and if anyone is wondering, yes i am gonna add the batgirls too bec they r family !! the entire family (universe) is obsessed with u !! also yall i cant add anymore to the taglist, tumblr won't allow me.
taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku , @okaybutfullhomo , @trasshy-artist , @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa , @ilovvmyhusband , @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony , @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts , @darling006 , @starringyau , @samanthahanes, @rosecentury , @jaythes1mp , @pi1nkl0ver , @i-thirsty-boy, @sharks-are-cool-l, @silverklaus, @traumaramacenter , @maddimoon , @anxrq, @thedarknesslord , @h0rr0r-10ver-69 , @lazy-idate , @cupids-pretty-boy , @alishii, @mel-star636 , @sitepathos , @freakyotaku059-blog , @dirtydiavolo, @sunbleachedantlers, @24hrsoflanii, @ceramic-raven , @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit , @tdickensstuff4 , @thickerthanthieves , @arlandvery , @distressed-lezbo, @bunbunboysworld , @bellethesleepypotato, @nebuluma, @alliwantisadonut, @alishii, @kusakiguzen, @sirenetheblogger, @emmbny, @ryukyuin, @solkara, @starsdotalk, @nightstarblue, @huhuhhuhh, @shadowpup163, @sunshine-skz, @24hrsoflanii, @bazellawrites, @pato-spoiler-27, @harumy07cat, @rains-mae, @funnybunnyxxx, @littlelilithspost, @howisgroguthiscute, @yuyuzi-ling, @tullipam, @coldcrusadehideout, @princessloveweird, @hybridcon
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redeemingvillains · 3 months ago
Text
veritaserum - mattheo riddle
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summary: when mattheo drinks veritaserum on a bet, he's confident he doesn't have anything to hide... until you show up.
word count: 3.1k
a/n: gosh i love this messy boy. just a little something sweet + fun!
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"I don't know... shouldn't we save it for something... important?"
"Like, what Blaise?" Malfoy responded, exasperated.
"Yeah, got any plans you want to share?" Theo asked.
"All ears, bud" Mattheo joined in.
Blaise threw his hands up. "Fine, fuck it, do what you want with it" he said, resigned, referring to the small vial in Malfoy's hand that had the group's rapt attention as they huddled in the corner of their dormitory like they were first years at a sleepover.
"We should put it in somebody's goblet at dinner."
"We should slip it into Dumbledore's cup, Merlin knows what the geezer would say."
Theo got a wicked look on his face, "I'll give any of you lot 100 galleons to drink it."
Eyes widened around their circle at that.
"You're joking."
"Piss off."
"No, listen to me, we think we know everything about each other, don't we?" Theo continued, letting the sentiment linger "Which means the things we don't know are deep."
He grabbed the vial from Malfoy and dangled it in front of them; Veritaserum, the most powerful truth serum in the wizarding world, even having it in their possession was breaking about 15 Ministry laws.
Members of the group stared shiftily at one another, but Theo found Mattheo's gaze staring boldly at him as he leaned casually against his four-poster, a smirk on his face.
"Make it 200 and you've got yourself a deal" Mattheo grinned.
Snickers of laughter took the group as they punched one another in amusement and excitement.
"Bottoms up" Theo said, tossing the vial at him.
"I've got nothing to hide" Mattheo replied with an air of emblazoned confidence as he deftly popped the cork and threw the liquid back like a shot of firewhiskey before anyone could stop him.
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It didn't taste like anything other than water, and for a moment Mattheo thought this was the easiest 200 galleons he'd ever make, but then he felt a sort of bubbling in his chest, like every feeling, every sentence he'd ever held back wanted to burst forth.
"...Well?" asked Malfoy, cautiously, leaning in, "How do you feel?"
"Bloody weird" Mattheo said, looking down at the empty vial in his hand. "And apprehensive, like I definitely don't want you to ask me things." His eyes widened at the words that had come so truthfully and vulnerably out of his mouth before he could stop them, suddenly realizing that he'd made a horrible mistake.
Theo was howling with laughter, leaning in and rubbing his hands together as he got ready to obliterate his best friend for being so cocky; he was going to make every galleon worth it.
"Did you take Blaise's Chudley Cannons scarf last term?" he asked.
"Yup, sold it to a fifth year for a bag of weed— SHIT" Mattheo said quickly, eyes wide before slapping a hand over his mouth.
"Mate, what the fuck?—" Blaise started, but Theo was on a tear.
"—Did you cheat off of Lorenzo's potions exam this week?"
"Of course" Mattheo admitted, the words blasting by his hand, "I've been doing it since fourth year, his handwritings the size of my fist, thanks for that by the way" he said, looking at Enzo.
"Prego, amico" Lorenzo said smiling and shrugging, "happy to help."
"Alright then" Blaise said, the anger and frustration clear in his voice as he eyed Mattheo, "better own up, didn't you slip McLaggen a galleon to let Theo score on him last match?"
"Yeah, fuck, and I'm not sorry about it. I'm tired of hearing Theo piss and complain about losing when he barely shows up to practice and lets the rest of us down."
"OOHHH!" shouted several of the guys.
"Fucking harsh mate!!"
"What the fuck?!?" Theo shouted angrily as he lunged for Mattheo and the others tried to hold him back.
Amidst the shouting and commotion, they didn't hear you knock on the door.
"Guys?" you asked, raising your voice to be heard.
Five heads turned your way as they stopped mid-brawl and began to stand up and right themselves, adjusting their ties and smoothing their robes. For his part, Mattheo's heart nearly shot out of his chest. No, no no no not right now he thought as you pushed your way into their room. On any other occasion he'd be thrilled to see you, but now the bubbling in his chest was reaching its peak at the sight of his deepest, most tightly held secret: you, and every single thing he felt about you.
He took in your amused smile, the light laughter on your lips, the way it made your eyes sparkle and he felt his palms tingle with sweat as he grasped them into fists and swallowed deeply, like he could ingest his own thoughts. You were his best friend, had been since the moment he met you on his first train ride to Hogwarts and he had no illusions about ruining your friendship by trying for anything else; girls like you didn't end up with guys like him.
"Are you alright?" you asked, looking at him strangely before his friends chimed in for him.
"S'fine!"
"Yeah, yeah!"
"Never better!"
"What do you need, love?"
"I am NOT fine!" Mattheo said boldly and rather loudly before he could stop himself and your eyes shot to him with concern.
"Wait, what's wrong Matty?" you asked, using the nickname he only tolerated coming from you.
He pursed his lips tightly and shook his head, averting his eyes to the floor, physically warring with the words that were flooding his subconscious.
What's wrong? A lot of things are wrong, YN. For starters, I love you. I love you so much it physically pains me to spend as much time as we do together and not to grab your hand, to pull you onto my lap, to nuzzle into your neck, to kiss you; I have a list of things I want to do to you every time I see you. Especially in that godsdamn skirt you're wearing. It's my favorite. You should know that. And I wish you would stop wearing it, you have no idea the ways guys look at you. I wish you'd wear it only for me. I wish you'd want me the way I want you, because I want you so badly. I wish you were mine, but I'm scared, no, fucking terrified of the way I feel about you because love is vulnerability and vulnerability is weakness and I can't tell you any of this so please, please don't ask me anything and please, please stop looking at me like that.
"Matty?" you asked again, now thoroughly concerned as your best friend slammed his hands over his ears as you walked towards him.
Theo was burning hot with anger, stewing over what Mattheo had said about him, he wanted to take him down a notch, to embarrass him in return. "Admit it" he interrupted, staring at Mattheo "you have a thing for Pansy and you've tried to make a move on her even though she's with Draco."
You stopped short of approaching Mattheo and stared at Theo.
"What?" you whispered, feeling physically ill, jealous and hurt even though you had no such right.
Mattheo straightened up and glared at Theo.
"What the fuck did you just say?!" Draco said, brushing past you as he came for Mattheo.
"I'm right, aren't I?" Theo pushed further, so smug, so certain he was right.
"No you fucking prat" Mattheo spat at him.
Draco grabbed Mattheo by the front of his robes. "You swear it, you haven't made a move on her?"
"I swear it."
"Not even before we were dating?" Malfoy pressed.
"Not even before you were dating" Mattheo confirmed.
"What the fuck is going on?" you said, exasperated, almost to yourself as you tried to calm down.
"Veritaserum" Blaise said by way of explanation as he leaned in to be heard over the continued shouting of your friends. "Theo bet one of us to drink it and, well..." he said, gesturing his hand by way of explanation at the calamity in front of you.
Malfoy was shouting questions at Mattheo who looked genuinely surprised if not annoyed, and Enzo was looking back and forth at them like it was a tennis match. Theo had a deeply skeptical look on his face as he listened on, "No, you're always weird around Pansy and YN though, I thought..." then, like a lightbulb went off, Theo looked at you, to Mattheo and back again.
"Do you think Pansy's hot?" Malfoy continued.
"Bro, give it up" Blaise said finally, stepping to pull him back, "I think you're in the clear."
"I mean yeah she's hot, but she's not my type. FUCK!" Mattheo replied, rubbing a hand over his face at the admission.
"She's not, but YN is" Theo said finally.
Mattheo bit his bottom lip and stared at the floor, concentrating very hard on the tassels of the rug beneath his feet as he shook his head, a grimace on his face.
Your heart trilled in your chest, which was literally rising and falling in both panic and excitement. Mattheo was shaking his head no, but his whole body was fighting something, there was something he didn't want to say... about you.
"So, she's not your type? Not attractive to you at all?" Theo pushed.
Mattheo's face was turning a dark shade of red as pursed his lips closed and shook his head vehemently, refusing to meet anyone's eyes, his own nearly watering with the exertion of fighting the potion within him.
"Totally platonic? Didn't give a shit when Seamus Finnegan asked her out last term?"
Mattheo glanced at Theo, gathering himself, as he tried desperately to say the only truth he wanted to share. "He's a prick, no secret I didn't think it was a good idea—"
"—You never told me that" you said quietly, confused, and not a little bit angry. "But you avoided me for a few weeks after, I remember..." you said, trailing off as you stepped closer to him, and Mattheo's looked genuinely afraid, outstretching his hands to stop you from coming any closer.
"What don't you want to say?—"
"—I don't want you here right now!" he said loudly.
You physically reared back at the harshness of his words. You caught his eye, trying to communicate the way you often did with one another, to ask things that could only be said without words, but you got nothing in response.
"R-Right" you said, your voice wobbling as you turned to leave, thoroughly embarassed.
And the sound of it nearly broke Mattheo's heart.
"Wait, wait, I didn't meant it like that, I don't want you to be upset, please don't be upset" he said, moving to reach for your hand urgently, the unmasked care and compassion in his voice making you turn and making Draco and Blaise bat at each other's arms in excitement like school girls at the scene unfolding in front of them.
"I don't want you to hear my truth" Mattheo said quietly, and just like that it was just the two of you, you who knew more than any of these idiots, you knew about Blaise's scarf (you had told him not to sell it), about him cheating in potions and paying off McLaggen, but even you didn't know his most deeply held secret and this isn't how he wanted it to come out.
"Please" he begged, in way none of his friends had ever heard him speak before.
"I just... I thought I knew all of your truths?" you said vulnerably, your chin wobbling, saddened at the idea that there was a part of him you didn't know.
"You don't. I'm sorry" he said simply.
"But they get to hear them?" you said, gesturing towards your friends.
"No, they don't know them either."
"What would be so bad that you wouldn't want anyone in your life to know, Matty?"
He bit his tongue as he tilted his head. "It isn't bad. I didn't say it was bad" he said.
You could tell he was playing with you, selectively choosing his words. Your curiosity piqued as you turned to face him fully with your arms crossed.
"What don't you want us to know?" you asked.
"How I — FUCK — feel — mmhmm" he tried to physically shove the words back into his mouth, clapping his hands over his mouth again as his body betrayed him.
Theo stepped forward, trying to pry his hands back. "Say it!" he said.
Mattheo tried to wiggle out of his grasp, the two of them thrashing back and forth.
"C'mon mate, time to earn those galleons! Cough it up! How you feel about what?" and Theo yanked Mattheo's hands away from his mouth just long enough for Mattheo to all but shout:
"HER!" he said, loudly, pointing to you. "About YN. I — FUCK — fucking love her."
You could have heard an owl feather hit the floor.
"Oh shit" Malfoy whispered.
Theo took a step back as he realized the enormity of what he'd just done. He'd thought Mattheo had a little crush on you, I mean, didn't they all? He thought it was just a bit of fun. But love? He'd know Mattheo for 7 years and he never so much as heard him say the word, let alone direct it at another person, in fact he knew just how much the concept had been beaten out of him as a child.
"Mate, I'm—" he started.
Mattheo glared at him in way that reminded you for a moment about the family he came from, and it was the first time you'd ever seen Theo genuinely afraid as the smile dropped from his lips and he took an unconscious step back.
"Fuck you" Mattheo said, stepping towards him, the measured control in his voice somehow more frightening than the alternative. "You always take shit too far, you know that? That's why—"
"—Matty?" you said, your quiet whisper and the questions that lingered behind it tugging at his heart and pulling his attention back to you.
He met your eyes and the fury he felt at Theo dissolved in an instant, like it had apparated from the room, because the way you were looking at him was an expression he'd only seen in his dreams. You didn't look angry or confused, you weren't laughing or embarrassed, the sparkle in your eye was back and a soft smile rested on your lips, your eyes were blown wide, hopeful even, with a hint of something else underneath that had a sensation like melted honey spreading throughout his entire body.
"Can we maybe talk... outside...?" you asked.
"Yes, for the love of the gods" he said, walking quickly to your side, letting his hand rest gently at your back, the intimate gesture not lost on anybody as your friends wolf-whistled and snickered and he flipped them the finger over his head.
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Now that the truth was out, there was nothing stopping the words that flew out of Mattheo's mouth as you led him to a nearby secluded corridor.
"I really want to talk to you about this" he said, the moment you were outside of the dormitory, "I am so embarrassed that it came out that way, that's not at all how I wanted to tell you, well, I didn't want to tell you at all, I was terrified actually. I've liked you for a long time, really since the first day we met, do you remember? On the train? You were wearing that blue jumper, you smelled like cinnamon and vanilla... You always smell so fucking good—"
You laughed as you pulled him with greater urgency by the hand away from prying eyes as he continued to ramble on, the truth serum creating a veritable waterfall of words out of his mouth.
"—You're so fucking beautiful, I love your hair, your eyes, your smile, your nose... that sounds weird, but it's true, it's so fucking cute—"
"—Mattheo" you said, as you stopped, placing your hands on his chest and pressing him gently against the stone wall to get him to slow down. "Breathe."
He shook his head.
"No, it's out now, and I don't know how long this shit lasts and if I don't say this stuff now, I'm not sure I'll ever have the balls to say it to your face, I've held onto this for 7 years YN."
Your lips curled into a small pout at how sweet he was being, at the idea that your best friend had been pining for you since you were 11 years old.
"I love you" he continued breathlessly, "and not like a little bit. Like, a lot. I don't know..." he said, carding his hand through his brown curls, "I've never felt this way about anyone, anything. I'm all consumed with you. You're the only thing I think about, the only girl I want, I'd do anything for you. And I'm sorry if this is going to totally wreck our friendship, if you want things to stay the way they are, I will try my level best—"
But his words were cut short as you pressed your lips to his, capturing his truth, letting it wash over you, every word you had been desperate to hear, every thought you'd shared the same. It surprised him for only a second before his hands grasped your face and he pulled you further into him.
"You're fucking perfect" he whispered after a moment, his eyes dancing over your features.
"Remind me again why I didn't give you veritaserum like years ago?" you said, smiling against his lips.
"It's a felony?" he said, laughing.
"...Right" you said, laughing back.
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You were only gone a few minutes, but as you scurried back to the dormitory you tried to fix your hair, and wipe the lipgloss off of Mattheo's face as he smiled down at you with puppy dog eyes.
"They're going to lose their mind" you said quietly just outside the door, "let's just play it cool, alright?"
And before he could respond that there was no way on earth he could possibly do that, you pushed the door open and all conversation stopped.
"...Alright?" Theo asked, turning to face you both, nervous at the potential mess he may have caused.
"Fine, we were just talking—"
"—She macked me!!" Mattheo shouted truthfully with a huge grin on his face as he wrapped his arm around you.
You gasped and swatted at him playfully, your cheeks blushing a rosy pink as your friends erupted into cheers, hoot and hollers, descending on you both as Mattheo looked down at you, glowing, happier than you could ever remember seeing him.
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