Summary:songfic inspired by “Moonlight on the River “by Mac Demarco.November 1981.
Pairing:Sirius Black x Male Reader
Key:(Y/N)- your name, (L/N)- last name
Word Count:1300
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I’d say, see you next time, if I thought there were a next time Easy conversation, ain’t exactly where we’re at It’s so strange, deciding, how I feel about you It ain’t like, I ain’t used, to going on without you I’m home, with moonlight on the river, saying my goodbyes I’m home, there’s moonlight on the river, everybody dies I’m home, with moonlight on the river, saying my goodbyes I’m home, there’s moonlight on the river, everybody dies
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The cold autumn night nipped at your nose as you searched. You hadn’t seen Sirius in two days and you were getting worried. Remus was resting as it was your turn to search. You felt dumb for letting him leave that night. You weren’t even sure what he was doing, rumors had started that he was the one who did it. It made your head spin as you cast a small warming spell on your hands, it was so cold.
You reached your door coming back from a fruitless mission to find him, but you noticed a hooded figure waiting at the door. As you got closer you noticed it was Sirius’s sleep deprived face, he looked like he hadn’t slept in the whole 72 hours since he left that morning. Your chest hurt as you approached him, the soft streetlight reflected on his face, stubble sat on his face unshaved, his hair greasy and unkept. It was hard to control yourself, you wanted to scream and shout at him for abandoning you until your voice was lost, yet you wanted to hug and kiss his face softly and cry.
He turned towards you, finally noticing you walking towards. He looked as if he wasn’t there anymore. He wasn’t your Sirius anymore. The man who stood in front of you was a shell of his former self. You almost failed to see the man you knew behind it. It felt too long ago that he was smiling, his hair blowing in the late summer air.
He was trying to say something to you, but your ears were ringing. You couldn’t focus on the words coming from his lips as you stared at them. He was going on about Wormtail, Prongs, secrets, how little time was left and explosions , but all your mind did was wonder to seeing him holding little Harry in his arms making little paper figures dance in the air. You took a step forward, trying to get a better look at who he had become. Maybe he was always this, you thought to yourself. How could you have not seen it?
As if it was an open, warm invitation, Sirius also took a step forward, closing the gap between you, his eyes searching for anything in yours. Anything that could make him believe you trusted him.
“Please don’t come any closer.” You said softly, your voices wavering. Your mind was on an unsteady balance, teetering on the end of caution. You crossed your arms, crawling into yourself. He looked hurt by this.
“You have to trust me.” He said as if he hadn’t been on the run since that night. He looked guilty enough. He looked terrible. You felt awful inside unable to trust the man who held you so sweetly in his arms not even a week ago.
“Did you-” You choked out as your eyes burned. It wasn’t really a question and Sirius had no real answer for it either. He just stood in silence, turning his back away from you. He couldn’t bear to look at you. You both knew what this was. You could feel your throat straining as you tried your best to repress a sob.
“I did something bad. I know.” He admitted guiltily, his eyes failing to meet you. “Something truly awful.” He laughed sadly. His shoulders trembled as he spoke to you. “Something I know you can never forgive me for.” Your eyes widen.
“Sirius, you’re scaring me.” You replied shakily, taking a step back. His voice ripped through his throat as he spoke like he’d been screaming for days.
“Please believe I didn’t mean for it to get here.” He cried out desperately. Couldn’t he just leave you out of something for once. Couldn’t he just die with his friends? Why did he have to be here? Now?
“He was our friend. They were our friends, Sirius.” You were horrified, he killed your friends. You started taking a few steps away from him, he followed the steps until you were backed up against your front door.
“Please believe me.” He begged you, his eyes lit up by the soft streetlight. His facial expressions were desperate for you to say anything he could cling to. He was scared.
“I don’t know w-what to believe.” Tears were freely falling down your face, your throat burned as you spoke, closing and opening as you sobbed, scared.
You screamed for Remus, praying he could hear you. Please don’t be asleep, you thought. You had found Sirius and yet now confronted with him. You were scared. You screamed once more trying to get anyone’s attention. Anyone.
“I’m sorry I did this to you.” He choked out, you looked into his eyes, tears falling down his cheeks. You heard people apparating around you as Sirius graced your memory with one more sad smile. The last sad smile.
“I love you, (Y/N). I hope you can trust me again one day, my dear.” That last thing he said to you, you screamed bloody murder as he got dragged away from you by aurors, but he just let it happen.
“Sirius Black was arrested on suspicion of use in black magic and the betrayal leading to murder of one James and Lily Potter who died earlier this week. The Boy who Lived’s location is yet to be revealed if it ever will. Later Sirius Black was found at the residence of his former (Y/N) (L/N) and known lycanthrope Remus Lupin. They-“ Your stomach felt ill as Remus read the paper to you, you couldn’t bring yourself to even look at it yet.
“Did they have to mention my lycanthropy?” Remus sighed as he read the news. You were still in shock, the cuppa in your hands shaking slightly as you listened.
“Black will be sent to Azkaban without trial being charged for misuse of magic, an account of conspiracy against the ministry and one account of first degree murder for the case of three victims…” Remus fell silent at the end, closing the pages of news. “It’s not that interesting anyway. That was all they had on him. The rest is about Harry.”
“Harry…” You said, looking at your uneaten toast. Your stomach curled further thinking about that poor boy. You missed him. You were supposed to have a birthday party today, Sirius’s birthday. Tears started to fall down your face as you stared harder at your toast. His gift was still underneath your bed. It felt trivial to cry over something like this, thinking about your favourite person in a cold cell on his birthday. The person who murdered and betrayed your other favourite people.
Remus looked like he was barely holding it together either, holding most of himself together trying to help you. You heard a soft tremble of sobs coming from the other side of the breakfast nook. You looked up at him, his head down as tears fell onto the pages of the Daily Prophet.
“He really can’t stay out of trouble.” He said it as if Sirius got caught sneaking cigarettes into the school again. “On his birthday no less. He’s always been for the drama. That bastard.” Remus looked up to meet your eyes, his face distorted in anger and sadness. You couldn’t help crying too, the walls you both put up came crashing down.
Remus was suddenly on the floor in front of you, his head in your lap as he cried violently. You pulled his head up to look at you, wiping the tears on his face, bringing yourself down to him as you hugged him. You buried your face in his shoulder, him doing the same as you both cried until you couldn’t do anything, but tremble in each other’s arms. The last two Marauders, left alone together.
“And if we could do that,” A concludes, turning towards their goal, “then yeah, everything will work out. It’ll be great…!”
B stares at A. Their eyes go from their friend’s back, down to their hands. “You’re shaking.”
A tenses slightly, then clenches his hands. He turns back towards B and smiles. “That’s probably the adrenaline, right? Can’t jump into danger without some of that.”
Even with his hands clenched, the tremors can be seen trailing their way up from his fists, to his arms, to his shoulders. B steps forward and places a hand on A’s arm.
“N-No really,” A says. The shaking becomes more obvious and makes its way into his smile. “I’m doing fine…”
Scenario 2: Antagonist
“So I guess we’re supposed to be working together now.”
“Yeah,” A mumbles, gaze locked determinedly on his work.
“And how do you feel about that?”
“It’s… whatever.”
B allows a smirk to creep onto their face. They walk up to A until they are standing a mere three inches from him. A doesn’t look up from his work, but he isn’t actually doing any work either, not anymore.
“Back off,” A says through grit teeth.
B trails their eyes up A’s body. “You’re shaking,” they coo.
A slams his hands against his work station and turns on B with a glare that does not quite match his stance. Like a rabbit attempting to snarl.
“Back off,” A snaps again.
B crosses their arms, meeting A’s glare with a widening smirk.
“…Please,” A adds quietly.
B lunges forward, and A recoils, arms rising instinctively to shield himself. B steps back, laughing.
“Awwww, you’re still just as much fun as you used to be!”
A’s face reddens and he opens his mouth, likely to give some yip of a retort. B lunges forward again, and A’s retort dies as a choked gasp as he again flinches back.
Allowing another short laugh, B leans back and sighs contentedly. “Well for the record, I am very much looking forward to working with you.”
A doesn’t reply or look at B. There’s a tremor in his still raised arms.
“I’m…” A weak cough. “I’m not gonna make it, am I…?”
No reply. Just slow embrace and the soft bump of one forehead against the other as tears fall from a face that can no longer hide them.
“Hey… Hey, it’s okay… We both knew this would happen eventually…”
B simply held onto A’s hand tightly, tears continuing to run down their face.
“Granted, in my case I was hoping it would be a bit more ceremonious but, y’know…” A let out a weak but genuine laugh, which devolved quickly into coughing and grimacing. “You’ll be fine… You’ll do great, I know you will.”
B sniffed and nodded. “…I’ll– I’ll try to believe you.”
“Hell yeah, go get ‘em–” A bit back another groan of pain as they curled in on themselves.
“…H- Hey, B…?” A said hoarsely, breathing beginning to pick up a bit more.
“What’s up?”
“I kn-know this sucks, but could you–” Another flinch. “Could you… stay with me…? Until, y’know…”
B tightened their grip on A’s hand, their other hand cupping A’s face gently. “I wasn’t planning on anything else.”
A smiled, just a little. “That’s… That’s good. Y- You really are gonna do awesome, B, I jus’ know it…”
And so the two stayed where they were, heedless of any approaching dangers as B remained by their friend’s side one last time.
She’d finally stopped actively torturing him. Gone were the cruel threats, the slaps, the harsh pulls at his hair, the stings of knife blades slicing into his skin. Here were the crooning words, the caresses, the gentle fingers through his hair, the barely chaste touch of lips on his skin.
He hated it. He hated it, he hated it, he hated it, he hated it.
She‘d promised him, at the start of it all, that she would make him beg for her to hurt him.
He could scream. He could cry. He could rage. But he could not deny that she was a woman of her word.
As promised, here’s a very quick fic inspired by a wedding I’ve just attended. Thought I would add in a nice little angsty twist! Hope you enjoy.
Warnings:None.
You gazed at him down the aisle and couldn’t help your smile. Arthur Morgan always looked handsome and today was no exception. While he wasn’t wearing the overly formal and scratchy black tie and too tight jacket that he had worn at the mayor’s party in Saint Denis, the blue waistcoat trimmed with silver and navy jacket brought out the intense blue-green of his eyes.
Your heart fluttered as he caught your gaze and smiled at you. Abigail had persuaded him to not wear his hat and he couldn’t hide his excited, nervous grin behind the brim. The usually soft gold of his hair was visible and you wished you could run your fingers through the strands.
You fiddled with your long sleeve, feeling self-conscious and sick with nerves. You tried to focus on anything else, the pretty flowers and ribbons decorating the hall, the sunlight streaming through the window and dancing along the grey stone under foot. The small ceremony was only being attended by a few close friends and family, you could see Hosea’s head of grey hair towards the front of the hall, Tilly’s beautiful curly black hair caught in its tight braid, even John, who was standing by Arthur, had scrubbed up for the event. You smirked at that, wondering if that had more to do with Abigail’s say-so than John.
‘Please rise for the bride,’ the officiator’s voice called from the end of the hall.
‘This was it,’ you thought, ‘Your big moment, the happiest day of your life,’ as you stood up along with everyone else.
It had always hurt, but seeing Arthur’s bride make her way down the aisle sent another sharp, dizzying pain rush through you. She looked beautiful, eyes fixed on Arthur, her lips slightly parted, a lace veil hanging down her back briefly lifted up in the breeze that rushed through the hall. She held a bouquet of pretty wildflowers, the pinks, blues and yellows looked wonderful against the pale blue dress she wore.
You couldn’t even comfort yourself with thinking, ‘That could’ve been me,’ because the truth was, no matter how much you had tried to win Arthur over or reveal your feelings for him, it hadn’t been enough. You had spent too long waiting, overthinking, second-guessing yourself, constantly dancing around the edge of revealing how you really felt. And someone else who was braver and more honest than you had spoken truthfully to Arthur, and now they had all of this.
It hadn’t felt quite real until she joined Arthur’s side and he had reached a hand out for her. She was still clutching her bouquet in one hand, but took the open palm and you saw him gently squeeze her fingers. His eyes were bright with love for her, and you clenched your hand tightly till your nails left little half moons in your skin. That’s all you had, a sick feeling in your stomach, your heart clenched tightly under your ribs and hot, burning tears that you could not shed.
You dully sat back down in your seat and stared down at your plain black boots, as the officiator began to speak but you couldn’t hear anything they were saying. You knew if you looked up you wouldn’t be able to keep that well practiced smile on your face or hide what you really felt anymore.
A/N:I’m sorry. Life’s been kind of hell right now and I’m struggling with all the happy and lovey doves stuff I had been planning on writing. I’m hurting at the moment so apparently that’s all I can write at the moment.
It’s doesn’t take Izuku long to realise that it wasn’t death that had saved him.
Things are blurry at best after he had been taken into the swirling purple mist, only small glimpses of the world making it through the heavy blackness that surround him, pulling him back down into nothingness time and time again. Izuku couldn’t say how much time had passed, having little grasp on the passing of time or even where he was but he had seen enough of the insides of hospitals to know he was in one, though this one wasn’t as bright and clean as the ones he had been to when he was a small child and still ever hopeful that he would someday get a quirk. He really had been an idealistic idiot back then hadn’t he?
Within the small glimpses of reality Izuku had seen people. The same purple smoke man who had found him and saved Kacchan from becoming a murderer was one of them. His voice was a low and soothing rumble, always assuring Izuku that he was safe now and that he could trust him, trust them. Strangely enough Izuku did. It might be the trauma and the blood loss. Maybe he had imprinted on the man or it might just be his naive insistence of seeing the best in everyone but whatever it was Izuku trusted the man who had saved his life, even if he sort of wished he hadn’t.
There was another man as well who was sometimes there when Izuku awoke, short in stature and on the plump side with a completely bald head and a rather large and bushy moustache that reminded Izuku of a video game villain. Izuku didn’t trust him, not in the slightest. He smiled to much but not like All Might did. No this man’s smiles were sinister and threatening and left Izuku feeling like he was a lab rat, waiting to be cut up and examined. The purple man with the yellow eyes told him it would be okay though, that the dr was trying to fix what Kacchan had broken so Izuku tried not to panic when he came back to himself and found the dr smiling maniacally down at him, sometimes blood splattered and wilding instruments that Izuku would rather not think about. They all looked sharp and painful, designed to rip people apart instead of put them back together and he didn’t want to even begin thinking about how they were being used on his unconscious body.
In and out of consciousness he drifted, every waking moment hazy and pain filled, Izuku unable to always grasp what was happening let alone what was being said to him. The pain though was a constant, Izuku’s throat feeling like it was burning as the phantom weight of Kacchan’s hand squeezed the very breath from his lungs. Even in the darkness he couldn’t escape it, those strong and deadly fingers wrapping around his throat, Izuku unable to move as the heat intensified until all he could smell was his burning flesh. Then came the explosions, every one deliberate and thought out. They rip through the already damaged tissue and deep into the muscle, burning the nerves and stealing his voice. Izuku wants to scream, wants to claw at the other boys hand and make him stop but it’s like he’s trapped in his own body, unable to move, unable to make even the slightest sound. All he does is stand there and smile whilst inside he screams and rages, crying out in helplessness and pain. It’s his whole life shrunk down to one moment, one painful and life shattering moment that he will never be able to escape. Again and again he relives the horror of his once friend attempting to take his life and each time he just stands there and smiles, even as blood bubbles up over his lips and the explosions ripping through his neck until his head topples from his shoulders.
Trapped in the darkness Izuku cries, begs for it to stop. He yearns for the small glimpses of reality, desperately tries to cling on to those moments for as long as he can but those moments of hazy clarity never last, the darkness pulling him back in, his obvious panic ignored as he slipped back under. He was alone once more, trapped in the darkness. Except he was never alone for long. Kacchan always comes creeping back, his mocking words and cruel laughter filling the void and the cycle starts all over again. Just him and Kacchan in the darkness and slowly driving Izuku crazy until he wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t any more.
Thenhe came and Izuku wasn’t so alone any more.
It’s just a whisper to start with, a deep and level voice that whispers Izuku’s name from the darkest parts of his mind. Izuku thinks it’s just his imagination to start with, his mind fracturing under the weight of his torment and maybe it is but as the voice grows louder he finds himself uncaring. If this is madness then so be it. At least he isn’t alone in the darkness any more.
Steadily the voice grows stronger, the simple whispers of Izuku’s name replaced by fully formed sentences. Though it remains a body less voice it becomes a welcomed point of contact, something Izuku clings into in an attempt to keep himself grounded though he fears that maybe he is already beyond that point now. The voice is distinctly male, obviously older than Izuku is and most likely the purple mist man as well. His voice hold an edge of authority, a distinct trace of power and confidence that has Izuku equal parts scared and interested. He has always been a curious boy though, desperate to learn new things so he pushes past the fear and unease, trusting in the voice and letting it’s deep rumble chase away the ghost of Kacchan who’s presence Izuku can feel even if the boy remains shrouded in darkness, waiting to slip through the cracks and rip Izuku apart all over again.
They talk for what seems like days, weeks, hours or even minutes. Sometimes the voice only comes to check that Izuku is still sane, though as time passes it’s becoming harder the answer that one. Other times it’s long and lengthy conversations about everything from the unbalanced structure of society to how quirks have impacted the corse of humanity. As these conversations progress Izuku finds his once firm beliefs wavering, the voices explanation of how unbalanced the world is making more sense then Izuku had thought they would.
The world was a cruel and unforgiving place that had no mercy for the weak and undesirable. Izuku had been written off the moment he had been diagnosed quirkless, his life deemed worthless because of that one simple fact that was outside of his control. It didn’t matter that he was smart or loyal or kind. It didn’t matter the potential he possessed to achieve great things. Izuku was quirkless and that was all he would ever be.
It wasn’t fair.
He hadn’t stood a chance against the rest of the world with quirks that made them better than Izuku. He hated them. Resented the fact that there were people out their like Kacchan who possessed amazing quirks with the power to change the world for the better but were abusive and vile, misusing their quirks and thinking that they had superiority over people like Izuku. People like that didn’t deserve the gifts they had been given, didn’t understand how to use them correctly but Izuku did. He had pages upon pages of action plans and battle strategies, books filled to the brim with information on every hero he had come across in his short life and even those in his class, detailed analysis of their strengths and weaknesses, of how to defend and counter almost every attack. Izuku knew how to be the perfect hero. He also knew how to put the majority of Japans top heroes out of a job, or into an early grave depending on how you looked at it.
As his talks with the bodiless voice grew more in-depth, delving into serious analysis of the state of their world Izuku found his opinions on quirks and hero’s shifting, looking at his own experiences with fresh eyes now the rose tinted glasses where gone. His pain had dulled now, Izuku able to stomach the moments of clarity better then he had before. The doctor no longer terrified him when he caught a glimpse, not even when he awoke to find the man hunched over him with a bloody scalpel in hand. Izuku knew now that he would always be in pain, would be forced to live in a constant state of anguish simply because of how he was born. He was resigned to his fate, willing enough to live through the torment though he wished for his death. This was his life and he would live it as best as he could for how ever long he could stand it.
It was then, when Izuku was at his lowest, no longer fighting Kacchan as he reminded Izuku time and time again of his rightful place in the world that the voice asked, “what if you could have quirk?” Izuku had laughed it off at first, informing the voice that his life had been filled with a lot of what ifs and he was through deluding himself with them now. The voice persisted though, often bring it up after lengthy conversations that had Izuku questioning everything he had known but the world he lived in and at some point Izuku had succumbed, the possibility festering inside Izuku’s mind until it was all he could think about.
What would his life have been like if he had gotten a quirk? Would he and Kacchan have remained friends, the two of them teaming up to get into U.A? Or would they have still drifted apart, the bullying now becomes of how small Izuku was or how weak his quirk was? Would he have even gotten into U.A or any of the hero schools? Just because he wanted to be a hero didn’t mean that Izuku would have achieved that even with a quirk. Maybe he would have found himself stuck in a boring and mundane life, drifting through unnoticed and unfulfilled as he watched Kacchan achieve his dream and become a hero despite his awful personality and tendency to resort to violence if he was even slightly inconvenienced. Would a quirk even have improve his life or would he still be stuck as he was now, alone and undesirable, forgotten by society as their attention turned to the bright and larger then life heroes who dominated their lives? Heroes that were idolised and worshiped like gods instead of the fragile and expendable mortals they actually were.
There were so many possibilities, so many what ifs and Izuku was drowning under the weight of what could have been. He had desperately wanted a quirk when he was younger and though that desire had never left him as he had gotten older Izuku had accepted the fact that he would never get his wish. So instead he had decided to prove himself without a quirk, convinced that he could achieve his goals with hard work and determination. A childish dream that had brought him more pain then joy in the end. He had long given up hope of being part of the masses, of being a normal member of society but that one question, that what if was making him think about those small slithers of hope that had unknowingly sunk their claws into his heart and mind.
What would Izuku do if he miraculously got a quirk now?
If he had been asked that question before Kacchan had found him in that alleyway Izuku would have been able to answer within seconds. He would want to become a hero. To smile as brightly as All Might as he saved countless lives, becoming a symbol of peace and hope. Izuku would have wanted to protect the very people who had shunned him, put his life on the line time and time again to make sure they were safe from the villains that plagued their city. He would have forgiven them all, dedicating his life to being the best hero he could possibly be, following in his roll models shoes until just the whisper of his hero name struck fear into the hearts of villains everywhere and made the innocent feel safe and cared for.
Izuku wasn’t so sure about that anymore.
Things had changed.
He had changed.
Izuku still wanted justice. He still wanted to save the innocent and protect the weak and helpless but knowing what he did now he wasn’t so sure he would want to do it as a hero, a false god to the adoring masses. He wanted to help others like him, the downtrodden and abused, the ones society tossed aside and forgot about and he wanted to punish those who sat by and allowed it to happen. Those that only saw the worth of others depending on the strength and usefulness of their quirk.
There were so many people who had seen Izuku’s torment and simply turned away, his quirkless status making their actions (or lack there of) seem justifiable to them. All it would have taken was one person to stand up and send him to put an end to his mistreatment but his saviour had never come. Not a single teacher, class mate or passerby had stepped forward to save Izuku from his torment. Not even his own mother had tried to understand why he was so withdrawn, why he took the long way home or always wore long sleeves and trousers to hide the bruises but how could she understand? She had a quirk and though it may be weak it was still something. Something that Izuku would never have. So no, she would never understand what life was like for Izuku, no one but another quirkless genetic mistake could and they were few and far between.
Life wasn’t fair and the odds were stacked so high against people like Izuku that he had never stood a chance in the first place. The harsh reality was that people just didn’t care enough. He knew his mother loved him, knew that she had done what she had thought best but she had been resigned to the fate that awaited Izuku, awaiting the day he just gave up or disappeared into the unknown. Just another statistic. He wanted justice, wanted the world to see what it had become and for those who had made it that way to be held accountable for it. The world was corrupt, quirks the virus that had infected it and heroes the symptoms of the disease. Izuku wanted to reset the balance, make sure only the just and true ascended to the dizzying heights of heroism. People like Mount Lady who only cared about money and fame or Best Jeanist who seemed more concerned with his appearance then helping people, they should never have been allowed to become heroes and yet they were popular for those very reasons. And they weren’t the only ones.
So may heroes were only in it for the money, the fame, the power it gave them and yet they were still showered with praise and affection even those like Endeavor who were a little to aggressive towards the villains they captured but society turned a blind eye to unnecessary violence, letting the man get away with it simply because he was a hero, the number two, coming second only to All Might, the grate pretender. There were others like Endeavor, heroes that didn’t care if the villains they apprehended had a few extra cuts and bruises, maybe a broken bone or two. How had he not seen it before? How had he been so naive and stupid to think that these so called heroes were justified some how? He had been just as guilty as the rest of them, buying into the notion that heroes were somehow above the law as they were the ones upholding it, protecting people and keeping the world safe but not anymore. Izuku could see it for what it was now and the truth was ugly and vicious.
Izuku remained trapped in the darkness for so long, the voice gone and just his thoughts and Kacchan for company. He had no idea how long he stayed trapped there, stuck in a constant loop of fear and pain but Izuku didn’t stop thinking, didn’t stop turning over what he now knew, the thoughts sinking in and festering within his fragile and splintering mind. Izuku’s perspective shifted, an understanding settling over him. If left as it was the world would never change but it would not awaken on its own. Someone had to show the world the truth, had to open their eyes to the lies they had been sold to make them feel safe when they were anything but. Izuku had a responsibility now, to help those that couldn’t help themselves, that didn’t know any better and he knew the perfect place to start.
When the voice returned, seeking to make sure Izuku was still sane it was to a pool of blood, Izuku’s hands and chin dripping with the stuff and Kacchan’s lifeless body laying at his feet, the blondes head dangling by its hair from Izuku’s fist. There was no horror, no declaration that Izuku had done wrong. There was only laughter, deep and rumbling and a question that he had been asked time and time again but now felt ready to answer p. “What if you could have quirk?” Izuku had smiled then, turning his blood splattered face towards where the voice had come from and simply answered “then I would set the world free”. That laughter had rung out around the darkness, echoing back at him endlessly. Izuku knew he should probably be scared, that same sense of danger prickling along his spine but he was beyond fear now. What was there left to be scared of when he had already been through hell?
“Then awaken my son and begin your crusade”.
The darkness thickened, Kacchan lifeless body being swallowed up by the shadows as they advanced until Izuku was blinded by it, unable to even see his own body through the darkness. The laughter remained, echoing hauntingly from inside Izuku’s mind and twisting his stomach. It felt like the darkness was pressing down on him, forcing him to his knees and still moving ever closer, pressing on his chest and stealing his breath away. A bright burning pain erupted in his throat and head, like Kacchan’s quirk but from the inside out growing hotter and hotter till Izuku was convinced he was on fire, the flames choking the life from him. His hands clawed at his throat or yanked on his hair, desperate for it to stop but it did nothing to dull the sensation, the pain so intense that it felt like he knew nothing else, his whole body burning with it now. Izuku screamed but in the darkness that to was taken, the empty nothingness ringing with its silence. The darkness pressed in, the shadows claiming him as it forced its way into his burning throat, his ears, his eyes, his nose until it swallowed him whole and chocked the very last breath from his lungs.
Rating: M (hurt no comfort ~ violence ~ mild description of injury ~ bully Bakugou ~ self hatred ~ no happy ending ~ Bakugou is not a good person in this)
A/N: I don’t know what this is. I wrote this instead of sleeping. Now it’s your problem. To those who are waiting for the next instalment of twos company threes a crowd I am sorry but this is not it. Life’s been getting me down lately and I just can’t do lovey dovey at the moment.
Things don’t go as planned but Izuku has found that they rarely do.
He’s worked hard his whole life, tried to be the best possible version of himself and look where it’s gotten him, bloody and broken and left to rot in a back ally amongst the trash. He should have known that standing up to Kacchan would have ended up like this. He had been stupid and naïve to think that if he stood his ground for once that the other boy would back down. He knew better then that. Knew that Kacchan would see it as some kind of slight against him and yet Izuku had still tried. He had wanted it all to just stop, wanted the pain to go away but instead it had just gotten worse. So much worse.
He knew he had at least a couple of broken ribs, maybe even a broken wrist from the way it was throbbing and hanging limply at his side. He could taste blood in his mouth, his left eye already swelling shut from the force of the other boys punch. His whole body hurt, a thousand bruises blooming to life across his skin like some sort of twisted watercolour of purple, blue and yellow. It all hurt but the worst one of all was the one around his throat because it didn’t hurt at all.
At some point between Kacchan throwing him against the wall and breaking the second rib Izuku had started to apologise, begging for the other boys forgiveness and for him to stop. That had been yet another mistake in a string of bad decisions, his wailing just seeming to make things worse. Kacchan had yelled for him to shut up but it was like a damn had burst and Izuku couldn’t stop, the words tumbling out of his trembling lips and tears streaming down his face. So Kacchan had shut him up himself, wrapping his hand around his throat and squeezing tightly until Izuku was gasping for breath. He had tried to pry his hands off him, panicking as Kacchan’s hold got tighter and his hand began to warm. He hadn’t listened though, hadn’t let Izuku go and dropped him to the floor like the worthless worm he was always telling Izuku he was. No, he had leaned in, snapping and snarling about how weak Izuku was, how pathetic and disgusting he was and how his very existence was a stain on humanity.
On and on he went, his words cutting into Izuku like fine blades, slicing away at him until he was nothing but a bloody and mangled mess. He just kept squeezing, Izuku barely able to suck in a breath. He had felt light headed, his vision going hazy and arms falling limply to his sides. Kacchan had said he would do him a favour, do the whole world a favour and put an end to his misery and in that moment Izuku had both feared and welcomed his death, wanting the pain to stop and fearing what came after the darkness. His breath had stuttered, vision almost gone apart from those angry and vicious eyes staring back at him. Eyes of a demon, a monster, a future hero. Izuku had enough time to fear for those who Kacchan ever went against before an all consuming pain ripped through him, chasing any other thought from his mind.
He screamed, Izuku was sure of it. How could he have not with the feeling of a hundred little explosions going off against his delicate skin, burning away his flesh and eating away at the muscle below. His ears were ringing with it, the smell of burning flesh filling his nose and making his stomach churn. It hurt, the worse pain he had ever experienced, all consuming and endless, stretching on until the end of eternity, until it was all Izuku knew. There was nothing else, just his scream ringing in his ears, a pain so bright it felt like it was burning him alive and those red eyes, bright like a blood moon and ripping into his soul.
And then everything had stopped, the world consumed in darkness and his mind blissfully empty.
When he had come to everything had still been hazy, Izuku struggling to stay conscious. There had been a voice, familiar but yet unrecognisable in the panic and fear that dripped from everyone word. There had been hands on him, shaking and petting as that voice begged for Izuku to stay with them. He tried to answer, tried to ask for help but his throat was raw and every time he tried to speak it was like he was swallowing razor blades. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t see past the spots in his vision and the unfocused image of someone running away, their retreating figure a black silhouette that disappeared into the far off light at the end of the alleyway.
Izuku had been alone then, body burning and unable to call for help or force himself to move towards the light. He stayed where he was, slumped against the dirty wall and surround by trash. Used and thrown away like a broken and useless toy. That was what Izuku was after all. Useless. Unloved. Unwanted. He wasn’t worth the air he breathed. Pathetic. Quirkless. Society didn’t want him, didn’t see any value in a quirkless runt with dreams far beyond his station. He was so stupid, completely delusional. How could he ever have hoped to be a hero, saving lives and defeating villains when he couldn’t even save himself. Kacchan had been right all along. He really was a useless Deku.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, eyes closed and body getting colder by the second. It felt like time had stopped, dragging out his suffering one sharp and jagged breath at a time. He thought of his mother as he waited for the darkness to take him once more. She had tried but even she had been unable to love him the way he needed. She hadn’t encouraged him to go for his dreams, hadn’t told Izuku that he was capable of achieving anything if he just put his mind to it but she hadn’t outright told him no either. Never once had she told Izuku to stop, to give up his foolish dream and strive for something obtainable. She had left Izuku in some kind of limbo, not encouraged but not dissuaded either.
Sometimes he wished she had put a stop to his hero worship. That she had refused to indulge his All Might obsession and pushed him to be realistic. He was quirkless after all and everyone had known that there was no miracle great enough to grant his wish and make him a hero. It would have been harsh, probably would have broken him a little but it would have been better than this. Izuku was pretty sure he was going to die here, alone and forgotten and he knew it would hurt her, that his mother would blame herself for this instead of Izuku’s blind determination. She was his mother so his death would be her failure and Izuku would never get the chance to tell her that he forgave her, that this was his fault and his alone. He really was a horrible son, to put her through this. She was going to have to bury her only son and no matter how much of a disappointment he was Izuku knew that she would grieve for years to come. Maybe even decades.
At least she wouldn’t be alone once he was gone. She had friends, Kacchan’s mother her closest one. She would look after his mother, would make sure she continued to live when he didn’t. Unless they blamed her of Izuku getting Kacchan in trouble. That was if he even got into trouble for this. Izuku was a quirkless nothing wheres Kacchan had a promising future ahead of him. Izuku’s death would probably end up marked as an accident, a quirk mishap and Kacchan would get a slap on the wrist and be free to carry on with his life, probably uncaring that he had taken a life. Doing the world a favour, that’s what he had said because Izuku’s death now meant that he wouldn’t get himself and others killed in the future when he tried to play hero and it all went wrong. Kacchan, always the hero.
If Izuku could if he would have laughed but all that came out was a scratchy cough, fresh blood trickling over his lips and his throat being ripped to shreds. Kacchan, a hero. It would have been laughable if it wasn’t going to happen. The boy was psychotic, more a villain than anyone aiming for the U.A hero course had the right to be. Kacchan was a monster. A bully with a vicious streak a mile long and an explosive attitude to rival his quirk. He had anger issues, a superiority complex and if Izuku was right an inferiority complex to. He was more likely to blow someone up than save them, yet he would be the one to become a hero.
Why? Why did people like that get the chance for greatness when Izuku was condemned to be the lowest scum of society, even blow the villains that caused so much pain and destruction? It was fair. Izuku deserved more than this. He had been a good boy, studied hard and always polite. He helped his mum out around the house and always made sure to stay out of trouble. Well, stay away from trouble that wasn’t Kacchan but the blonde was impossible to ignore considering they were in the same class. Izuku had deserved a chance to try. Had deserved to be treated better than a walking talking punching bag. He deserved more than for society to turn a blind eye to his suffering. Izuku deserved respect, to be judged by his capabilities and not by his genetics. He deserved all of that and more but now he would never get the chance to achieve anything. Now he was just another statistic about how quirkless people didn’t make it to thirty.
There was a noise in the distance, like footsteps but they seemed so far away that Izuku wasn’t sure that he hadn’t imagined them. It was probably the last slither of hope, reaching out for even the slimmest possibility that someone cared enough to help. No one cared though, never had and just because he was inching towards death didn’t change that. He’s resigned himself to this. To sitting quiet and still until he’s finally free. He should just give in already. Should let it all be over so he can start again. Maybe Kacchan will be right. Maybe in the next life he will get a quirk and finally be worth something to the society he is born into. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe there’s nothing but but empty blackness waiting for him. An eternity of nothingness. Whatever there is waiting for him Izuku wished it would hurry up. He didn’t want to feel anymore. Didn’t want to think.
Someone is talking a deep and steady voice that strangely calming. It’s talking to Izuku, something about a waist and taking him somewhere. It must be death, come to take Izuku away. He smiles at that, tries to thank death but all that comes out is a rough and strangled noise that has him coughing up more blood. Death shush’s him, tells Izuku not to speak and save his energy for what’s to come. That strikes Izuku as odd. Surely he wouldn’t need the energy to do anything now? It takes a lot more effort that Izuku thought to pry an eye open, his eyelid heavy like it was made of lead. There’s a purple mist before him, dancing and moving like wisps of smoke in the air. Yellow slits stare back at him, empty and endless and yet full of possibilities.
Izuku’s eyes flutter closed, blessed darkness so close now and he willingly gives himself over to it, gives himself over to the vision of death before him. There are hands on him, an arm sliding under his knees and one behind his back, lifting I g him from the ground. Izuku feels weightless, cradled in deaths arms and his body limp and useless. In the distance someone calls his name, the same guilty and panic stricken voice as before but it’s to late now, death has him and as that purple mist consumed him Izuku finally feels at peace.
Today, Dick decides as he stares up at the ceiling, today will be a potato day. It’s easy for him to reach out for his phone and send a dispassionate but apologetic message to the gymnastics school calling in sick. His head is pounding behind his eyes – not painful per say but very much making its presence known. The room is dark apart from the slivers of light that sneak in through the blinds. He lets out a small groan and pulls the duvet over himself a little tighter, closing his eyes and turning on his side.
The tiredness runs bone-deep, his head hurts and he feels like his bed is going to swallow him whole. He’s meant to be going to the manor that evening for the weekend but the very thought of having to move even an inch from the bed, of having to make conversation with his family only makes his head hurt more. Just another hour, he tells himself. Then I’ll get up.
Potato days is a self-coined term Dick had come up with for the days where he simply couldn’t bring himself to do anything but stay in bed and let sleep reclaim him or simply stare into space. They’re the days where his body and mind decide they need to have a reset. The days where everything has caught up and he can’t handle it right that moment. He tries to push it to days he won’t be missed or when he knows he might be able to skip out on plans. But those days are rare and far between and sometimes, these moments sneak up on him.
Dick’s not even entirely sure what triggered it this time. There have been no huge cases, his day and night job were going well, nothing huge in Gotham had gone down, his siblings were all alive and getting along as well as they would. The mental checklist filters through his head in a daze and he huffs out a breath. He’s still groggy, the grasp of sleep still clinging to his exhausted mind and he can’t bring himself to have another thought. Just another hour of sleep, he repeats, then I’ll be fine.
He wakes up much too warm, eyes feeling like they were being dragged down by weights and the headache even more present than before. Prying his eyes open a fraction, he blindly searches for his phone.
1.24pm
He’d slept significantly longer than he had wanted to and the thought sends a shooting panic through his chest that goes just as quickly as it comes. Dick does the maths in his head. In total he’s had almost eleven hours of sleep now. Why is he still so exhausted? Will more sleep help?
No. No, he has to get up now or he won’t leave his bed. Shoving the covers to the side feels like he’s just run a marathon. He lies on his back for a moment with his eyes half-open staring at a mark on the ceiling he hadn’t noticed before. Squeezes his eyes shut again and takes a breath. He can do this.
I can’t do this.
And then he starts to cry.
All at once the bed feels too big, his apartment too small, his life so empty, his family too far away. and fuck, he’s lonely and tired and the work never ends and he just- he just wants a hug.
God, he just wants someone to hold him together as he falls apart.
1. “You’d hurt yourself just to make them smile and then they want to see you bleed”
2. “One who holds the blade doesn’t claim his innocence”
3. “You killed them all in-front of me, and you expect me to blind it from my conscious ?”
4. “You won’t get what you’re looking for here, you’re nothing but a liar. I thought I knew you back then - but I guess I was wrong”
5. “Why spare me when I would kill you in an instant”
- “Because I know you, I may not trust you, but I know you”
6. “No amount of pain could ever amount to when you left me, no amount of tears that fall from your face will ever make up for the agony I’ve endured in your hand”
7. “No matter what you will never be a saint, you will always be a husk of who you were - if you ever were something to begin with”
8. “I loved you at some point, but the person I loved isn’t the person I see in-front of me”
- “Then fake it”
- “I don’t think I can fake it anymore”
9. “You’re more of a monster than any of your past has ever been”
- “Don’t act like you know what I’ve been through !”
10. “You’re a condescending, compulsive liar - who can’t be trusted as far as they can be thrown and even at that is a stretch”
11. “It’s all been a ruse, hasn’t it ?”
12. “You aren’t the hero you claim to be, I see that now”
13. “You’re cocky for someone whose been outed as a manipulative liar”
- “Because there’ll always be fools who’ll believe me”
14. “Why must you torment me with more promises that you’ll break as soon as you make them”
15. “I have a job to do, trust me or not I’m sure you understand”
- “Trust you ? You’re a fucking murderer ! You — you killed my friend ! And — and you were going to kill me - !”
- “I want to keep one person alive each time to tell my story”
16. “You’re quite cowardly than when we first met”
17. “I might’ve did all that horrible stuff but I’m still your spouse/friend/best friend !”
- “You’re not them, you never were - you’ve made that perfectly clear”
18. “The terrors only just beginning ? What the fuck does that mean you vague cynical bastard ?!”
19. “You fucking traitor ! You traitor I hate you I HATE YOU !”
20. “You bring dishonor to your family”
- “Not like there was any there to begin with”
21. “You were able to make these decisions, you were knowingly hurting people and I can’t stand by and do nothing anymore, not again”
22. “You..I trusted you - I treated your word as gospel !”
Summary: Lila had made good on her promise to make sure Marinette lost her friends. She didn’t do it by antagonizing Marinette, she didn’t convince everyone Marinette was a bully, no, Lila Rossi made everyone forget about Marinette Dupain-Cheng. They replaced her with a liar, with Fool’s Gold, and even though it hurt she knew she had to move on. They replaced her, so it only seemed fitting she replace them so she could heal and be happy.
They truly didn’t know what they lost till it was gone.
Did You Hear?
To run a boulangerie/patisserie was no walk in the park, especially not to run one in Paris, France, more so if it was a popular one that was known for its treats by many. That was Tom & Sabine’s Boulangerie and Patisserie to a T, it was loved by many, it had a good chunk of regulars, and it tended to stay busy no matter the time of day. That was why they were looking to hire more help. Sure, Marinette helped when she could, but that was just the problem, “when she could” started to turn into a less and less frequent thing. She was busy with her friends and she was busy with her own work as a designer. Of course they were proud of her, but they had always hoped she would take over for them, even with her clumsiness. So it hurt to admit they couldn’t rely on her like they wanted to, thus the post on their official social media pages went up, as well as their signs. Word spread that Tom and Sabine were looking to hire, and they were beyond pleased.
They had many applicants apply, and they had already done their fair share of interviews, and yet, no one stood out to the couple. There had been teens looking for a part-time job or just work experience in general, they even had some regulars apply, and yet, none of them felt like the right fit for the shop. Then a woman came in, she was a single mother looking for a job that would help support her child and her better than all the multiple part-time gigs she worked already. She wanted stability and was willing to work for it. They were instantly taken in with her drive to work and her obvious compassion for her child. She was Italian so she hit it off with Tom right away as he told stories of his mother and she shared her own. She did admit she had no baking experience other than baking in her own home but she told them she was more than willing to learn and would put in the effort to do so.
Maybe it was foolish, maybe it was risky, but they both really liked her and felt like she would be the perfect fit for their shop, so they hired her on the spot. Giada Rossi was the newest employee at Tom & Sabine’s Boulangerie and Patisserie, and all were thrilled. Tom and Sabine had another set of hands to help lighten their ever increasing load, and Giada had a well paying job that would let her quit all her small paying, time consuming, part-time jobs. It was a happy moment that was shared with some eclairs, handshakes, and a goodbye from the couple with a promise to work hard from Giada in return. It made the whole day feel lighter for Tom and Sabine, soon they would have more help, they wouldn’t have to wonder whether or not Marinette could help them out or not.
It was a wonderful start to their day, so why did it have to take such a turn? No, it wasn’t an akuma, there wasn’t an emergency that disturbed their day, it was a comment. A simple thing that was said without much thought, but maybe that’s what made it worse? It was said with such casualty, like it was something they should have known, or should have been funny, and instead it was like an anchor dropped in their stomachs.
“Can you believe this?” Nadja had asked with a laugh as she held up her phone, though she failed to notice she hadn’t exactly shown Sabine what she had been talking about. Tom was out front with her as it was after the lunch rush and it had been helping out with the influx of customers they always got during lunch.
“I don’t think I’m caught up on the latest gossip, Nadj.” Sabine joked as she boxed up her friend’s order, she made sure nothing was smudged or broken as she placed them in the box before closing the lid and finishing off the order with a ribbon.
“Oh it’s so silly! Some magazine reporter saw Marinette having lunch with Jagged Stone and his assistant and they thought Marinette was their daughter.” Nadja said with a laugh as she turned her phone to face Sabine and show her friend what she was talking about. “Now everyone is coming forward with pictures of the trio to show off the “Rolling-Stone Family,” it’s so funny.”
Nadja said it was silly, it was funny, but when Sabine saw the picture of her daughter sitting at a table at what seemed to be that new café she had been talking about for months and had wanted her and her father to visit with her, with Jagged and Penny, she felt a lump in her throat. They did look like a family, she couldn’t even deny it. With the way you could see Penny mid-shake of her head with a fond smile on her face as Jagged ruffled Marinette’s hair and how the little Chinese-French teen was trying to slap away his hand as she laughed. It would have made for a warm wholesome picture if it didn’t make Sabine’s heart squeeze nor made her feel like she had been hit with a tidal wave of guilt. That should have been her and Tom sitting with their daughter, laughing with her, having a meal with her. When…when was the last time they had a meal like that together?
“Sabine?”
“Hm? Oh. Oh! Sorry Nadja. That is funny. Here’s your order, I hope you have a good rest of your day, say ‘Hi’ to Manon for me and Tom.” Sabine said with the best smile she could muster as she tried to rush her friend out so she could be alone with her thoughts for a moment.
“Oh, uh, merci Sabine. I’ll talk to you later.” Nadja gave Sabine an awkward smile as she grabbed her order and made her way to the door with a short wave, one Sabine barely returned.
Once she saw the door close with a final click, she immediately grabbed her phone from its spot under the counter. Usually she was never on her phone unless it was an emergency or her break, but this was something she had to see, had to look at with her own eyes. She wouldn’t tell Tom, not yet, not until they closed. There was no need to cause him worry and distract him while he was in the kitchen. No, no, that was a disaster waiting to happen, so she would just tell him once their day was done. But what exactly would she tell him? Marinette had lunch with Jagged and Penny? No. If she said that, Tom would just be happy for their daughter and the fact she was achieving more success in her dream towards being a designer. He wouldn’t understand, so she would have to see just how far this “silly” rumor went so she could warn him beforehand. Her husband had always been the more emotional of the two, he let things get to him very easily, an example being his akumatization. In that way, he and Marinette were very similar, sometimes she just didn’t know what was going on with her daughter.
Maybe that’s why that picture, that article, and all the other pictures she was now looking at made her heart wrench. When was the last time her daughter smiled at her and Tom the way she was smiling at Penny and Jagged in the photos, or laughed and joked with them, there was one picture that nearly made her cry then and there if she hadn’t heard the bell of the door ring. She helped the customer or customers out but it was all a haze, before she knew it, it was closing time and even that passed in a haze. Tom made his usual conversation she was sure, but she wasn’t certain if she actually responded in kind or not, she just went through the motions. She wasn’t even sure when they had gotten upstairs into their living room but she felt herself being led to the couch and all she could think was how thankful she was for her husband and how kind and caring he was.
“Mon chou?” She heard Tom say softly.
“It’s…It’s stupid.” Sabine wasn’t going to pretend there was nothing wrong, because she felt like everything was.
“Feelings aren’t stupid, especially not yours Sabine. What happened?” Tom asked as he took one of her hands in his.
“Are we good parents?”
“…I would like to think we are Honeybun. Where is this coming from?”
“Tom. We forgot Marinette’s birthday.” The words were out in the air before she could stop them and the memory of the last picture she had seen came flooding back. Jagged and Penny were standing on either side of Marinette as the girl smiled down at a cake full of candles in a dimly lit room. All three were wearing party hats and the biggest smiles for the world to see and it ripped at Sabine’s heart. She couldn’t even bring herself to read the caption that Jagged had written out, there was no doubt it was probably heartfelt and sweet. She couldn’t even describe the picture to Tom so she handed him her phone that had the picture still there when she unlocked it. She flinched when she heard his sharp intake of breath.
“What…?” Was all that came out of his lips and Sabine understood. She did, she really did, but she needed him to say more, anything more. She couldn’t stand the silence that stretched as her husband looked down at the picture on her phone, despite him being a large man, he looked incredibly small in that moment as he cradled her phone in his hands and just shook his head in disbelief. “We forgot…we never forget.”
“It was last week and we forgot.” She confirmed as she stared at nothing in particular straight ahead. “And…and that’s not all.”
“Sabine? What do you mean? What could be worse than missing her birthday? Is she hurt? Is Marinette hurt?” Tom asked in a hurry, already ready to run into action, but all Sabine had to do was put a hand on his arm for him to somewhat calm down and sit back down on the couch beside her.
“She’s not hurt. Physically at least, I can’t say for sure she’s not hurt emotionally with us.” Sabine explained, if it was even possible, Tom seemed to deflate further into himself. “And by ‘that’s not all,’ I meant, there are more moments like that one on my phone. You just have to scroll to see them.”
She didn’t watch but she knew he was going through the pictures she had seen and probably others she had not. She didn’t have the heart to keep looking at the admittedly long list of posts that had to do with her daughter, Jagged and Penny as a “family.” The thought of it stung the more she tried not to think about it, but she couldn’t fight it, when was the last time they had done anything as a family? Not something that was for the bakery even if it was all three of them, nothing for Marinette’s school that was obligatory, and not a holiday or just their dinners. How sad was that? She couldn’t even count breakfast nor lunch as they weren’t always together or it was rushed, it really was sad and it made the pang in her heart sharpen.
Sabine heard Tom grinding his teeth so she turned to look at him and saw the powerful grip he had on her phone and the intense look he was giving it so she gently took it from him and pressed the side button to put it to sleep. “Tom?”
“Give me a minute.” He rasped out before he exhaled loudly and planted his face in his hands. Where once he looked as stiff and ready to pop at a moment’s notice like a wind-up toy, now he just looked defeated. “How did we miss so much? Sabine … this … this is…”
“It’s bad. I know. Tom … Tom we missed so much.” Sabine couldn’t hold back the sob that forced its way out at the end of her sentence.
She felt her husband rub circles into her back as she cried. “I don’t know. I… we’ve really messed up.” He mumbled wetly.
“Her birthday… We have to make it up to her somehow. I just can’t believe we forgot! We didn’t forget last year so how is this year any different?” Sabine asked, though she didn’t really expect a response.
Tom was quiet, he was never quiet, not even in his sleep, his snores had taken time to get used to but now they were something that lulled Sabine to sleep. “Last year… Last year, didn’t her friends help plan a party for her?”
“No? No. I think last year was the dinner with your father and mother.”
“Are you sure? I don’t remember that, I remember my mom and dad, I just don’t remember dinner… maybe if I go through my pictures.” Sabine watched her husband pull out his phone and still continued to watch as he most likely went through his picture like he said he would do. Though, the more she watched, the more the pit in her stomach grew, Tom’s face had become so distraught merely moments after he had begun his search.
“Tom?”
“Sabine…Sabine, we have so much more to apologize for. We haven’t been the best parents…and that’s hard to admit but I think we also have to admit we haven’t even been goodparents.”
“Tom, what do you mean?” Sabine asked, she hated how her voice shook and her mouth felt like cotton.
She heard her husband take in a shaky breath before he ran a hand over his face. “We… Sabine… We weren’t here for her birthday last year.”
Her heart dropped. “What? No… No, that can’t be right. If, and that is a big ‘if’ Tom, if we weren’t here, where were we?”
“Honeybun, we were at Europain.” Her husband’s voice came out strained as he answered.
“We were at the exhibition…that’s right. We got tickets because we had been saving up, but the dates…”
“They were during Marinette’s birthday.”
“I remember.” Sabine mumbled brokenly. “I remember because we were so happy but then your mother had called and asked what we were doing for Marinette’s birthday because she was going to be in town.”
“And we panicked because we forgot. We forgot her birthday was coming up and we didn’t have enough money set aside to get Marinette a ticket so we could take her with us.” Tom continued her train of thought.
“We told her we had had the tickets for a while…we lied, Tom…we told her we had forgotten about them and she told us to go. That’s when your mom offered to watch Marinette for the days we would be gone…”
“And that’s when my mom and dad took Marinette out to dinner. They sent us a picture of them all.” Tom finished. There were no more words said between the two. Really, what else could be said?
What finally broke their seemingly never ending silence was the sound of the front door opening and closing. Sabine winced when she felt her neck pop from how fast her and Tom looked over at the door from their spots on the couch, Marinette who had just walked in stared back at them. Sabine had opened her mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out, she guessed the same could be said about her husband. The small family just stared at one another before Marinette shrugged and gave them a small smile, Sabine let herself feel some small amount of hope. Maybe they still had a chance to reconcile their relationship, Sabine didn’t know how they would but she was confident they would be able to. They were the Dupain-Chengs’! People always admired them, always complimented them on having a wonderful business and beautiful family, so they could surely get over this little hurdle. There was no doubt in Sabine’s mind.
“Good, I’m glad you guys are here.” Marinette said as she made her way over to them, but instead of sitting on the bigger couch with them she pulled the foot rest of the chair so it was on the other side of the coffee table and took a seat on it.
“Where,” Tom had to cough to clear his throat when his voice came out a bit strained at first. “Where else would we be, Marinette?”
Sabine watched as Marinette raised a brow at them, the small bit of hope she had made way and all Sabine could feel was that something bad was going to happen. “Well, I mean, you guys are always in the bakery. If not there then you’re out getting groceries together or planning something new for the shop, or…”
“W-Well, we’re here now Sweetheart. Was there something you wanted to talk about?” Sabine asked as calmly as she could, she didn’t want to let her daughter know about their worries, and the fact they just realized how awful of parents they had been. Sure they weren’t mean or anything of the like, but they had been absent and that could be just as cruel to a child.
“Actually yes!” It was said with Marinette’s usual brand of enthusiasm, maybe even more so, but it did nothing to lessen the grip of uneasiness that seemed to clench harder around Sabine’s stomach. It grew when Marinette pulled out a stack of papers and set them on the table in front of them with a smile directed at them that scrunched up her nose. Sabine hadn’t seen that smile in a long time.
“What is the stack of papers Mari-bear?” Tom asked as he finally found his voice.
“Those,” Marinette said as she gestured to the papers but didn’t actually look in their direction, she was maintaining eye contact with Sabine, “are emancipation papers that I would like you to sign.”
It was like a punch to the gut, and from the wheeze she heard from her husband, Sabine guessed she wasn’t the only one who felt like that. She shakily reached out to take a paper, to confirm that what her daughter said was true. She desperately hoped this was some sick joke, she prayed it was, but when that paper was in front of her face by her own hands’ doing, she knew it wasn’t some cruel joke. This was very much real. Neither parent made a sound, neither one could even think of words to respond to their daughter who was still smiling at them. The smile was not cruel, it was not smug, it was not even sad, it was just expectant.
“Now I know this probably came as a shock, but I honestly don’t know how it could be considering you two have been neglecting your parental responsibilities for much longer than is legal and appropriate. I understand that running your own business is time consuming but I’ve also come to understand that just because you had another responsibility did not mean you had any right to make me less of one. You are under legal obligation to fulfill your parental duties just as much as I, the child, am to fulfill mine.” Marinette spoke confidently, with no hesitation and Sabine felt the cracks in her heart deepen.
“I have given you both my respect as is expected of me according to the Article 371 French CC. I think it would be in your best interests to sign off on the forms, it is a way to come out of this with at least some respect still intact towards you two. Either way we would be going to court, what I mean is, if you are going to try and fight my decision, but I warn you, the evidence is stacked against you and I won’t hold back. You as parents were supposed to protect me, in safety, in health, and in morality. You may have given me a home as per your duties…” At this Marinette began to look around their house as though it truly were just a place she had to stay, and not as the home Sabine and Tom had created.
“So you did fulfill the Garde aspect of your responsibilities, but what about Surveillance? You took care of me, that is until you deemed I was “mature” enough to be left to my own devices. I…five years of age is not that age of majority, then and only then are your parental responsibilities fulfilled. You had to protect me, I thought you would protect me from anything, everything. But when bullies came along you did the bare minimum. That’s not even getting into the fact you left me unsupervised in the kitchens more times than I can count. I have scars that are proof enough of that. And don’t get me started on my mental health. Neither of you helped or protected me from that. Surveillance says you have to pay attention to your child and its needs…” Marinette didn’t explain further, and really she didn’t have to. Tom and Sabine were realizing they well and truly screwed up worse than they had both ever expected.
“And that’s not even to mention the Éducation part of everything. We have had many problems with my schooling, namely you two not taking my concerns seriously when it came to my asking for a transfer of classes or just a transfer plainly. Even when I begged and begged. There’s so so much more but I don’t want to get into everything, and I think you would prefer it if I didn’t as well. I have a job already, I make a steady income, I can cook for myself, I know how to budget, I can be happy on my own. I’ve basically been practicing my whole life so really this would just be making it official and it would help me get out of one of the several unhealthy environments I am in. So please, I ask the last thing you do for me is let me go, so I can be free and you can be done and not worry about parental duties anymore.”
Sabine started sobbing.
Footnotes:
*Europain: also known as Sirha Europain, is the leading exhibition for bakery and pastry professionals in France and abroad.
*Until the Act of April 4, 1970, the French CC used the terms ‘puissance paternelle,’ which states the power of decision the father had over his child or children (this power belonged only to the father.) In Art. 371-1 French CC the “autorite parentale (parental authority)” is now defined as “a collection of rights and duties aimed at the child’s interests.” This concept of parental authority encompasses several aspects, including care and protection, legal representation, a maintenance of personal relationships, determination of the child’s residence, the child’s education, a maintenance obligation towards the child, administration of property, and civil liability of the parents for damages caused by their child.
*“Autorite Parentale” encompasses several different rights and duties. The child, regardless of age, owes honor and respect to their parent(s) (Art. 371 French CC). The parental authority belongs to the father and mother until the child reaches the age of majority or is emancipated.
*Although the March 4, 2002 reform of the French CC no longer mentions the classical triptych that formed the contents of parental responsibilities (Garde, Surveillance, Education), French authors assert that these three fundamental parental tasks still exist and remain part of the parental responsibilities. Garde means that the parents should live with their child or, more generally, determine where the child should live. Surveillance, a term no longer used in the new legal provisions, still exists as a parental duty. It means to take care of, to protect, and to pay attention to the child and its needs. Education, the last duty, means that each parent shall contribute to the education and support of their child in proportion to their means, to those of the other parent and in proportion to the child’s needs.
sorry, it’s been a hot second since I’ve posted. Lots of work and writers block do NOT go together. I’d like to thank my friend cybergeist for helping me finish this by giving me some ideas of what I can do with it.
I’m the strong one, I’m not nervous I’m as tough as the crust of the earth is
There were certain expectations put upon both Marinette and Damian Al Ghul, but especially Marinette. She was the first born twin and was unfortunately, the born the weakest of the two. Ra’s Al Ghul was not pleased when he had found out that Marinette had to be put on life support as soon as she was born. Ra’s had no care for the gender of the first born, afterall he did plan to pass down his legacy to Talia. No, what he cared about was that Marinette was small, sickly, weak, and most importantly, she was defective. But Talia had begged him to keep the girl alive, so he did, but the expectation of perfection was placed higher for her than it had ever been for Damian. She would have to prove that it was worth the energy to keep her alive. Show that she wasn’t a defect. Prove that she was worthy of the name. She had to be the strongest one for the both of them, she had to be the strongest or else she would be discarded for her failures, that is if she ever allowed herself to have any.
I move mountains, I move churches And I glow ‘cause I know what my worth is
Marinette knew what her worth was equal to. Her life was worth as much as she could give to the League that raised her. Mother taught her how to “glow” and lure her enemies with her looks. She could move around and push down the strongest and more muscular assassins with ease. Her physical body was worth nothing, what she used it for never mattered to anyone. The only thing that mattered was that the mission was completed. Her worth depended on the basis that she followed orders to a ‘T’. Her worth relied on if she lived through everything she was put up against.
I don’t ask how hard the work is
There was a silent rule that you never questioned the assignment you were given. It never mattered how hard the task was, how deadly it may be, you got it done without another word or you died trying. Marinette and Damian knew this rule well. Failure wasn’t even supposed to be a thought of, it wasn’t supposed to exist in their vocabulary, but they had seen Grandfather kill failures. They knew that not all assassins made it back from their missions, they knew that death was always one slip up away. So they never failed, they weren’t allowed to, they were perfect weapons. She knew that they would be severely punished if any dared to break the ideal of perfection and question the Demon Head.
Got a rough indestructible surface Diamonds and platinum, I find 'em, I flatten 'em I take what I’m handed, I break what’s demanded
Marinette was seen as an indestructible warrior. It didn’t matter what the task was, how hard it was, or how deadly it might have been; she finished her missions and returned back to the League every. Single. Time. And it was all to please her mother and grandfather (Grandfather never was). She vowed to herself that she would one day make them proud of her, even if it was only for a short amount of time.
Damian looked up to his older sister. Her smooth confidence, the way she handled all the expectations that were placed on her shoulders, the way she was able to hide her emotions, and how she treated him when they were alone. There were so many missions that she had taken that made him fear for her life, but she always returned. Many times she was so badly injured that he feared that she would not survive the night when he had seen her return, but she always recovered in the end. She would never become the heir to the Demon’s Head, but she was his sister and he knew that she would stand by his side when it was his turn to rule the assassins. She would be his guard and stay at his right hand at all times.
But Under the surface I feel berserk as a tightrope walker in a three-ring circus
But under Marinette’s cool indifference was this itch, no, a fireunder her skin that would never leave her. She knew that if she messed up even oncethat it would be the end for her. Every step she took hadto be calculated, every move was important if she wanted to survive and not fall into some trap or her own inevitable death. She was walking a very thin line, and she knew that if she tipped even a little bit, she would never be able to balance herself again. She would never have the opportunity as there would be no safety net to catch her.
Under the surface Was Hercules ever like “Yo, I don’t wanna fight Cerberus”?
Marinette loved mythology. It was one of the few classes that she looked forward to when she was back on base. Many times on missions she would think of Hercules and wondered what his thoughts were when he went through The Twelve Tasks. While Marinette could relate to the many tasks that they were both put through, all designed to make sure they died. They never did though, and they continued on to the next deadly task trying to prove that they were not defective and that they could be worthy.
Marinette often wondered if Hercules ever wanted to run away from the death that constantly surrounded him. Did he ever actually want to fight Cerberus or any of the beasts he was told to kill for forgiveness? Did he likekilling all of those creatures? Was he really that loyalto his family that he himself murdered that he would go through allof that to “repent”? Would shedo that for her own family? Damian, yes, but what about Grandfather and Mother? If she were being completely honest, she didn’t think she would. Did that make her a despicable person? Was she really the monster that she always heard people call her when they thought she wasn’t there or wasn’t listening?
She didn’t like taking the lives of her targets, especially when they were just little children. She hated what she was told to do, but she did it anyway because failure to finish the mission was never a thought when she was on the field. She was tiredof all the blood and death that always surrounded her, tiredof having to carry it all out. But she could never even thinkof leaving Damian alone with the League for longer than a month.
Hercules wasn’t her favorite God though. No, her favorite God was Hephaestus. He was known as the ugliest God and was cast out of Heaven for his defective form. He was a master blacksmith, and proved to the other God’s that even if he looked wrong, that didn’t mean he was worthless. Just because Marinette was born wrong and still had defects because of her birth such as her small frame and her mental defects of depression and anxiety, that didn’t mean that she was useless. She was strong, powerful, and a trickster when she needed or wanted to be, just like Hephaestus. She would make her own name for herself, and one day, people willrespect it if they ever want her help.
Under the surface I’m pretty sure I’m worthless if I can’t be of service
After years of living in the League and absolutely nothingin her life had changed even remotely. She would often just let her mind wander and let herself go through the motions of her constant never ending routine. She often wondered if she was worthless even with all the work she did. Was the only reason she was alive really because of her service or was there something else at play that she just couldn’t see? If she didn’t do what she was told, how quickly would they kill her? Would they just disown her and kick her out? No, they wouldn’t want evidence, they would have to kill her and get rid of her body. Would they kill her quickly, or would they draw it out and use the same torture methods she used on others? It would be almost poetic if that were the case, especially if they made Damian conduct it. She shivered at the mere thought of it though. She prayed that they wouldn’t make him do it, anyone besides him.
A flaw or a crack The straw in the stack That breaks the camel’s back What breaks the camel’s back it’s Pressure like a drip, drip, drip that’ll never stop, whoa
She couldn’t risk showing anyone that she had a flaw or crack her walls. She couldn’t let a single thing, no matter how small, break her. She chanted this to herself over and over again in her head. She could feel the blood drip off of her forehead from the ambush. Everything was starting to get blurry, but she had to keep fighting.
Father would be so disappointed if she failed, and Damian would tell her that she was acting like a failure, again. She panted as she looked around at the still conscious assassins and the ones that kept spawning out of the shadows and began to circle around her. There were so many voices in her head, Oracle was telling her to runon the comms. Unfortunately the voices in her head were muchlouder. All she could hear was her Father telling her she needed to work harderand be better, Damian telling her that she was letting him down and bringing dishonorto the family, Grandfather telling her that she was worthlessif she didn’t fulfill her duty.
Drip
Drip
Drip
The sound of her blood running down her face and into the puddle of blood below her filled the street. Was this where she failed, was this small thing what broke her? Normally she could take out all these assassins easily, her head would be clear and she would be able to pull herself together and focus.
Pressure that’ll tip, tip, tip 'till you just go pop, whoa
But it wasn’t one of those days, she was tired, her mind was clouded, and all she could hear were the voices screaming in her head that all reminded her of her failures. Her head was spinning a million miles a minute and she just could notkeep the voices in her head straight or silence them like she had been able to before. Her head felt like it was going to explode, it was so full and clouded, and it felt like she was going to collapse with all of the weight mounted on her shoulders. At this point she couldn’t even tell if the weight was invisible anymore, could others see it? Would anybody be able to see the load that was about to make her finally tip over the edge? Would they even care?
Give it to your sister, your sister’s older Give her all the heavy things we can’t shoulder Who am I if I can’t run with the ball?
Memory upon memory flooded her mind of all the responsibilities that she needed to carry and be fully aware of even now. She knew that many of the punishments for Damian’s “failures” were too much, far too harsh, for him, so she would plead with her grandfather to give them to her. He’d often give them to her with little convincing on her part. She had also tried to do this with Father, but he would never let her. He said that Damian needed to learn for himself what the consequences for his actions were.
Her mind flashed back to one of the many incidents that caused permanent reminders to liter her back.
“Please Grandfather. It was not Damian’s fault! Please, I will take the punishment, give me the burden. He will never repeat the offense again. I will make sure of it.”
She pleaded with her head bowed as she kneeled down at her grandfather’s throne. Last time she had made eye contact while she pleaded for her little brother he carried a look in his eyes that made her feel sick with fear. It was some kind of sick amusement, and she was scared she would actually vomit if she ever saw it again.
“Very well. His punishment was twenty lashes in front of the entire League, you will take them instead.”
Marinette swallowed slightly at the thought of more lashings on her still healing back. She knew that he was lying in the fact that Damian’s punishment would have been public. He just wanted to humiliate her, remind her of her place and worth in his eyes. She needed to do this though, Damian would one day lead the League and he needed to be in perfect condition for that to happen. Who was she if she couldn’t protect her brother, it was her duty to protect him.
She didn’t understand why Grandfather’s assassin’s were going after her. She knew Damian was currently with Father, so why come after someone as useless as her? It didn’t matter though, she would continue to carry on the duty of protector for her family. She would shoulder all of the responsibility that Damian doesn’t understand quite yet. She couldn’t fall yet, and even though her entire body wanted to collapse, she got back into her fighting stance and attacked.
If I fall to Pressure like a grip, grip, grip and it won’t let go, whoa
Marinette gripped at the restraints keeping her arms above her head as the whip lashed down against her back again, and again, and again. She stood tall through all of it because she knew that if she fell onto her knees the pain would be so. Much. Worse. She could feel Damian’s gaze on her, it burned even worse than the lashes that continued to rain against her back. It definitely felt like more than 20 (Damian said it was).
Pressure like a tick, tick, tick 'til it’s ready to blow, whoa Give it to your sister, your sister’s stronger See if she can hang on a little longer Who am I if I can’t carry it all?
The voices continued to grow louder and louder in her head and ear, so without thinking she took the comm out and threw it. She needed to focus, get away from all of the distractions right now because if she was going to live through this attack she needed to clear her head! She had to do this, they were after her, and who knew if they were also going after Damian.
She could do this, Father and the others should be on route, right? She just needed to hang on a little longer, she could do it! If she couldn’t do this simple task then who was she? Her back burned at the mere memory of what failure can cost.
If I falter Under the surface I hide my nerves and it worsens, I worry something is gonna hurt us
She needed to pull herself together, Marinette thought as she stabbed one of the assassins in a non-vital area in the leg.
Under the surface The ship doesn’t swerve as it heard how big the iceberg is
Marinette had a feeling that her family was close by. She couldn’t know for sure as she had thrown out her comm, but she’d like to believe that. It didn’t matter though, she had three assassins left. She could handle them, then she could go back home and sleep. The thought of sleep was enough of a distraction that for a brief second she lost her focus, and that was her biggest mistake. She jumped for one of the assassins and it felt like everything stopped before continuing in slow motion as another one came at her from her left side. She couldn’t stop her movement now that she had set her full momentum into play. She would need to find a way to get out of this with minimal harm done to herself quickly.
Under they surface I think about my purpose,
Instead of thinking logically to make a plan to get out of the situation, her brain just did notwant to function. They really had to pick today of all days where she just didn’t have her head screwed on right to go after her. Her mind instead wandered to one of her favorite moments with her little brother, even though he’s taller than her now.
It was a small recon mission, nothing grand or overly complex. They were in Hong Kong, China and it was the Chinese New Year. She remembered walking down the festive streets, the scent of all of the different foods, and all of the different styles of clothes the people wore. It was magical, and she could tell Damian was also fascinated with the scenes around them.
“Shaqiq, can we go watch the firework show? I hear they are a big and important tradition here.”
Damian was silent for a few moments before he gave a sharp nod.
“I believe that it would be a satisfactory reward for our work.”
And with that the twins ran around the city often stopping to watch small parades, dragon dances, and so many other festivities that occurred on the streets. Finally they made it to the firework show and watched the colorful explosions used only for show and the benefit of others rather than the death and destruction they were used to. They both laid side by side on the soft grass, almost cuddling together as they watched the lights and shapes made by the fireworks. It was a beautiful night, and one of the only times she could remember where both she and her brother were at peace, even for just a few moments.
It was hard to think of other times after that where she was able to help Damian. Soon it was hard to ever impress him, and she became a disappointment in his eyes as well. Had she done something wrong? Was she ever a good big sister? She tried to be, she tried everyday to be the best sibling, but it never seemed to be enough. Even after they left the League he always spent time with Grayson or Todd, was she no longer enough? She had to be a terrible sister if he never wanted to be around her anymore. And if he was always gone and she couldn’t protect him, did that mean she no longer had a purpose? Did that mean she really was worthless now?
can I somehow preserve this?
Marinette knew that she was doomed as soon as she felt the prick in her leg. She felt everything begin to tilt on its axis in a terrible and horrifying way. Could she find a way to get out of this before she passed out? Could she fight through the sedative and preserve her life? Did she even have a chanceof winning now?
Line up the dominoes A light wind blows You try to stop it tumbling But on and on it goes
Each step she took grew heavier and heavier. Her eyes seemed to droop more and more with each blink. Her breathing was becoming more laborious and staying awake seemed now and more pointless by the second. She couldn’t fall asleep though, not here, not now! Marinette fought through the sedative as hard as she could and even managed to knock out one of the three assassins.
Unfortunately she was getting sloppier as each step took more and more of an effort to make. Everything felt almost numb and it only took one step on a puddle of her own blood to make her slip up. It was poetic in a way, that her blood was what led to her downfall as the next thing she knew she was on the ground. Her brain just couldn’t process things fast enough and before she knew it her hands and feet were hogtied behind her back. She tried to struggle out of the ropes, but all of her energy seemed to be completely drained from her body and all she could do was lay there and let her eyes fall shut.
But wait If I could shake the crushing weight of expectations Would that free some room up for joy
Marinette remembered what it was like to stare at the manor that she would now live in with her father and apparently other brothers for the first time. Her chest seemed to lighten at the thought of not having the same expectations the League had put upon her. She wouldn’t have to train to kill as she had heard that her father forbade murder. She may not even have to fight or be a vigilante if she didn’t want to. That thought brought a warm feeling that bloomed in her chest. She nearly cried at the thought of finally living a peaceful life.
Or relaxation, or simple pleasure?
Maybe she could draw and not have to hide it from anyone. Maybe her family would even like her drawings! Or she could read books for fun rather than educational purposes. She had heard of all of these different types of books and genres from her missions, so maybe she could read and understand what they were talking about now! She closed her eyes and imagined drinking tea in the beautiful garden or just taking a nap in the sun when it was day. Being able to let her guard down and just…be. Nothing to drag her down, no one trying to kill her, a life of tranquility and maybe even love…
Instead we measure this growing pressure Keeps growing, keep going
Her dreams immediately crashed down around her when she saw Damian attack one of Father’s partners. Not just any partner, his right hand partner. Robin, A.K.A. Timothy Jackson Drake. She quickly jumped in and pulled Damian back, saving the boy from the random and unexpected attack.
“Damian! What are you doing? We can not attack Father’s partners.”
She scolded. Damian just glared at her and crossed his arms replying haughtily,
“He is not worthy of being Father’s partner. He is not blood, I am.”
And with that response Marinette knew that she would never be free of the pressure and expectations that immediately dropped back onto her shoulders tenfold. Damian was going to be the difficult twin, the obvious troublemaker. That meant that she had to be the good, perfect twin, just like before. She would have to keep Damian in line and stop him from causing problems so Father wouldn’t hate her them. Afterall, if they caused too many problems Father might kick them out and send them back to the League, and Marinette would do anythingtonever go back there. She refused to ever let that happen. She would kill herself before she was ever brought back to that wretched place.
So with a bright smile that was meant to send a warning to Damian and show she meant no harm to the others she calmly replied,
“That is no way to speak to your new brother Damian. He is important to Father so he must be important to us.”
Damian looked down and mumbled under his breath,
“Maybe to you, but not me.”
It was barely audible, but she heard it. Damian had been picking up more of Grandfather’s methods when he was around her. Of course they were never as horrible, but the verbal lashings had been more harsh and frequent than ever before.
Her shoulders felt so heavy, how much more if this could she really handle? The answer: More . One of the many voices in the back of her mind whispered. You can and must handle so muchmore. Marinette stood up and turned to the boy that Damian attacked and began to apologize for Damian’s actions as one of Father’s other partners began to talk to her brother and lead him away from Tim…and herself.
'Cause all we know is Pressure like a drip, drip, drip that’ll never stop, whoa
The tears wouldn’t stop falling onto the floor. The drip, drip, drip of salt water fell onto the smooth cement floor. The weight was both physical and mental as she was held down by Grandfather’s assassins. Father had been too late, if he had even come for her at all, and now she awaited her inevitable fate at the hands of the merciless Demon’s Head.
Each tear that had fallen held a memory of her past that had led to the current breakdown that was years in the making as she was being transported to who knew where. The League of Assassins had so many bases all over the world, many of which had a Lazarus Pit that it was impossible for her to truly know where she would end up till she was there. Her body shook with the effort to keep her sorrow silent, but she hadn’t made a sound yet, and she was going to keep it that way.
Pressure that’ll tip, tip, tip 'til you just go pop, whoa-oh-oh
She tried to hold back her tears, but everytime she did it felt like someone was pouring acid on her eyes. Everything was broken, her mind felt fractured and her facade of strength and confidence finally broke. They always said that the bottle always shatters during the worst of times. Her frame seemed to shake even though she refused to let out the sobs that burned her throat and needed to escape! The salt of her tears burnedagainst her skin, falling deep into the cracks of her soul and scorched it with every drop.
Give it to your sister, it doesn’t hurt
Damian’s disappointed face flashed before her eyes and his voice rang in her ears, “Don’t be weak sister, you need to be strong. Your tears are useless.” Marinette didn’t want to disappoint him again, she hated disappointing anyone she cared about.
And see if she can handle every family burden Watch as she buckles and bends but never breaks
She steeled back the tears, let the pressure burn behind her eyes. She hoped that Damian would neverknow of her moment of weakness. She prayed that she would stay strong and face this trial without more embarrassing things such as her stupid emotions getting in the way. She would stand strong, and she won’t let anything get to her again. She could feel the stone walls being built up again as she composed herself. She would never be weak again.
No mistakes just
Marinette was practically thrown to her knees as they entered the room that contained Grandfather’s once intimidating throne room that she had once feared as she knew that being there meant only terrible news and/or pain. Taking in a deep breath and knowing that she was now stronger than she was the last time she was in this predicament she lifted her head and stared directly into Ra’s deadly green eyes. She had never been happier than she was at this moment that she had inherited her father’s blue eyes rather than his. Ra’s glared at her, a silent warning to look away, but she refused. She would show him. She wasn’t a defect, her birth was only a setback, being a weak sickly child was and never would be her fate.
“What a pleasant greeting Grandfather, I don’t suppose I’m here for a family reunion.”
Marientte said sarcastically as she stared almost bored at the man standing above her. The glare he sent her would have once made her cower in fear, but not anymore. Never again.
Pressure like a grip, grip, grip and it won’t let go, woah
Ra’s was dragging her somewhere now, his grip firm and achingly tight around her wrist. She tried to fight against it, but she was too weak from the previous battle as none of the wounds had been tended to. It didn’t help that the world was practically spinning due to the concussion she had received, not to mention the amount of blood loss.
Pressure like a tick, tick, tick 'till it’s ready to blow, woah Give it to your sister and never wonder If the same pressure would’ve pulled you under
Damian paced the back of the Batplane front and back, front and back, front and back, until he yelled out his frustration and punched at the wall. Unfortunately it did nothing to take away the anxiety that tore and ate at him alive. The tension was thick as everyone did everything they could to find his sister, their sister, Bruce’s daughter. Damian knew how strong his sister was, how much she had grown from being trained under Father’s wing, but he also knew what she had gone through with their Grandfather. She was born sick, wrong, but she became such an amazing fighter and was extremely intellectual. She had taken on so many things for him, taken so many of his punishments to prove her strength, but it was always for not. He had to get his sister back!
Damian snapped his head to the side and watched as Drake hacked into different sections of the League and listened to what his moles knew about what was happening. Apparently they knew nothing. They reported that they didn’t even know the Demon Head was on a base as he had gone incognito over two months ago. Damian had never been religious, had too much blood on his hands and knowledge of the horrors that were on this Earth to believe that a God would ever let these things happen. But at this moment, he prayed to any and every God that seemed to exist that they would reach her in time. That she was fine, well as fine as she could be after the battle she endured, and most importantly. He prayedthat she was ALIVE.
Who am I if I don’t have what it takes?
Marinette gripped at the hand that was wrapped tightly around her neck as she was held right above the green bubbling pit that Ra’s loved so much. There was a sword exactly where her heart was, the sharp point teasing her. The bite gave her the smallest sample of what was to come.
“You were born weak and defective, an abomination of what an Al Ghul should be.”
Ra’s began in his deep stoic voice. Marinette was tempted to spit in his face, but she knew better than to further anger the man who could kill her in a second’s time.
“Though you have grown you are still defective, you have not reached the perfection you need to be a true fighter for our family. But I will make you perfect, I will reforge you in the Lazarus Pit so that you will be my perfect blade. The weapon you were always meant to be. Only then will you truly be ready to protect me and your brother, to protect your true family.”
No cracks, no breaks No mistakes, no pressure
Marinette looked Ra’s directly in the eyes and used the glare that her father had taught her. She had already lost hope that her family would get to her in time, she had always known that it was unlikely they would. She knew her grandfather well, she knew that this was planned far in advance. Everything calculated so that the plan would go through without interruption and that she would not be able to escape. But that didn’t mean that she was going to surrender.
“I am perfect the way I am. I am not and never have been defective. I will never be your weapon,”
She said disgusted and filled with a righteous anger that blazed to life inside her chest.
“I am Damian’s sword, I am his armor, and I am his shield. Nothing you do, no sword, no whip, no torture, and no Lazarus Pit will ever change that.”
Ra’s laughed at her, but Marinette only continued to glare at the man. Even as the grip around her neck grew tighter, she would never again cower away from him or anyone.
“You may have found some strength, but you forget. You are the property of The League of Assassins, and that means you will always be mine.”
He said, whispering “mine” in her ear before running the sword through her. A gasp tore through Marinette as her eyes widened as nothing but pure agonyburnedandruptured through her body. It didn’t stop there as she felt the sword be pulled out of her in small increments that caused anguished screams to rip their way out of her throat. But even through the torment, she never broke her gaze with the monster that was her grandfather. She didn’t break it when she was falling. She didn’t break it when she was submerged in the thin pool of green, bubbling, scathing waters. She didn’t break it when her body burned from the inside out and her thoughts were replaced with an angered voice that whispered for her to kill,kill,kill! Destroy the Ba* that caused your torment and anguish. Make him feel all of the pain you felt. Kill him, and you’ll be free of him and the burdens he places upon you. Kill him and you and brother will never have to fear him everagain. Marinette blinked once. All she see was green. And all she could feel was pure unadulterated rage.
The lights were already turned on in Villain’s room when Hero walked in. Hero felt exposed under the bright fluorescent lights, wearing nothing to hide his identity from Villain. He closed the door behind him but made no move to walk in further.
The room reminded him of Villain’s apartment. There was a twin-size bed, a desk and chair, and a closet with no door or hangers. And there were, unsurprisingly, no windows in the room.
“[Villain],” he said, “I know you’re in here. There’s nowhere for you to hide.”
Hero waited patiently. Well, as patiently as he could. The room was uncomfortably quiet. He took a few steps forward. Wherever Villain was hiding, he didn’t know, but it wasn’t visible from this vantage.
“It’s just me. [Hero],” he continued. “I wanted to see how you’ve been doing. The city hasn’t been the same without you.”
After another tense silence, Hero was tired of waiting. Coaxing Villain out was clearly a waste of time.
He circled the bed. Villain wasn’t hiding there. He checked under the desk. Villain wasn’t there either. Nor was he crouched in between the wall and the closet, which left only one place left for him to check.
He peered around the corner into the bathroom, which, like the closet, did not have a door for privacy. It was small and cramped. The light was already on, dim, but bright enough to illuminate the floor to ceiling tile.
He stepped into the bathroom, and was greeted by his own reflection in the mirror above the sink. It was strange looking at himself now. Ever since they locked Villain up, Hero had changed in an indescribable way. He daresay that he looked betternow that Villain was gone.
On the floor, a trail of water led to the shower. And that was where Hero finally found him.
Villain, who he hadn’t seen so long, was now hiding in the shower. He was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, and his arms wrapped tightly around himself. He was shaking quite badly.
Hero approached him. He crouched down so that only a few inches stood between them.
“Go away,” Villain said, voice muffled.
“I’m here to help you.”
“You put me here.”
Hero tried to put a hand on his knee; Villain jerked away. His clothes were soaking wet, clinging to him like a second skin.
“I did it for you own good,” Hero lied. It was easier to pretend this way, that he didn’t do it for his own selfish reasons. He asked, “Why are your clothes wet?”
For the first time tonight, Villain finally looked at him. “I was showering,” he said.
“With your clothes on?” Hero questioned.
“Yes. There’s… There’s no privacy in here. They watch every move I make. I can’t be sure that they aren’t watching me in here too.”
Villain sounds paranoid, but Hero keeps that to himself. Instead, he brushes a dripping lock of Villain’s hair aside. He doesn’t flinch this time.
“I could get you out of here,” Hero said simply.
“No,” Villain denied.
“You said so yourself. I put you in here, so I can get you out.”
Villain shook his head. “You’re lying to me.”
“Well… I may want one thing in return,” Hero admitted. Ge rubbed his hand up and down Villain’s leg. Villain’s eyes went wide.
“Don’t touch me!” Villain shrieked, kicking his legs out and pushing Hero away. Ge was pushing himself further into the corner, but there was nowhere to go. “Go away! Get out!”
Hero backed away. Showing his palms to Villain, he said, “Relax. I’m not here to hurt you.”
“That’s what they all say!”
“I was going to say…” Hero trailed off. “I’ll convince them to let you go if—”
“No. I don’t want to hear it.”
“—if you’ll agree to live with me. In my penthouse. Just the two of us and the city skyline.”
“Why on earth would I agree to that?” Villain stared at him incredulously. I’d rather—I’d live anywhere other than with you!”
Hero shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Considering that Villain basically lived in a basement before he came here, Hero thought he’d be grateful for the offer. Seriously, Hero was offering to do him a big favor. And for nothing in return.
Hero stood up. There was nothing left for him here. Maybe he would go out for a late night dinner before heading home, he thought. Maybe he’d find a new enemy.
“Wait. Where are you going?” Villain asked.
“Home,” Hero replied. “It was nice knowing you, [Villain].”
“You’re just going to leave me here?” Villain cried loudly. “[Hero], please.”
Villain stumbled out of the bathroom behind him. Hero refused to turn around. He walked quickly.
Until Villain finally caught his hand. He was crawling on the floor, tears streaming down his face.
