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  1. Summary

    In which Reginald Hargreeves can almost resemble a passable father figure after Allison helps him along. Who knew the apocalypse could be averted with something as simple as a proper childhood?

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    6,070
    Works:
    2
    Bookmarks:
    94
  2. Summary

    Liar! is still the first thing Harry Potter ever says to Lord Voldemort. Quirrell doesn’t know the words, had never met his master with a body and a scribbled-on wrist, but the thing on the back of his head starts, hesitates.

    Her wrist, he hisses to Quirrell, before he can stop himself, check her wrist.

    Quirrell flicks his wand at Harry’s tied up body, and her right sleeve rises. Her ribbon flutters to the ground. Even Quirrell understands, then. Master, he says, the stutter now long forgotten, Master it says… it says...

    Show me!

    Obedient, and terrified, Quirrell turns and the terrible, snake-like face looks down on Harry with those red, red eyes. She scrabbles for her sleeve, a task harder said than done when your arms are trapped at your sides, and she isn’t quick enough. Avada Kedavra, Voldemort reads in his own flawless script, and fury rises in him along with understanding.

    Words:
    87,981
    Works:
    3
    Bookmarks:
    526
  3. Words:
    97,066
    Works:
    1
    Bookmarks:
    190

Recent bookmarks

  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Summary

    Dick’s eleven. Not thirteen and eager to prove himself. Not seventeen and mourning a brother. Not nineteen and wishing his best friend wasn’t dead and Bruce would look him in the eyes. He’s only eleven. So why does he remember all of that?

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    29,090
    Chapters:
    9/?
    Comments:
    166
    Kudos:
    1007
    Bookmarks:
    282
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    24 Aug 2019

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Dick dreams of the dark. He dreams of dying, of his family dying. Of being unable to keep his world safe. The dark presses in around him, and he finds it so hard to breathe, so hard to not suffocate on the blackness, and he wonders what he’s done in his life to deserve all of this. To deserve to watch Jason and Wally and Tim and Alfred and Leslie and Roy and Conner and M’gann and all of his friends—he wonders what he’s done to watch them die.

    He’s twenty—he’s eleven—and he’s done things he regrets, but he doesn’t think he’s done anything bad enough to warrant something like the grief that’s dragging him along through the darkness right now.

    Or maybe he has. Maybe he just can’t remember.

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    There’s a glass case in the Batcave that hasn’t been touched in years. Inside it is a suit that’s still ripped in the middle, a little bloodied around the edges.

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    Dick Grayson is the one to die and resurrect as the second Red Hood, and Jason can't ever shake the ghost from his back.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    11,909
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Comments:
    70
    Kudos:
    758
    Bookmarks:
    146
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    24 Aug 2019

    Bookmarker's Notes

    So there are days where he feels like he’s drowning under ghosts. It’s not a big deal. The house is draughty and old and all these phantoms have to come out some time. Must be a blast on Halloween.

    “Good,” Bruce acknowledges, and his face closes off faster than Jason can blink. “You’re doing good.”

    It’s hard. There’s no bigger measuring stick than Dick Grayson (fallen idol and fallen son), and Jason is always, always, imperfectly alive. He’ll pull a move one day in training and a muscle'll jump in Bruce's jaw. It’s the only sign Jason gets, alone in this sprawling tomb, that he’s starting to blend in with his predecessor, their faces and bodies and lives totally superimposed. One day, he’s sure, he’s gonna wake up in that too big rich-person bed and even he won’t know who he is anymore.

    There are days where he hates Dick Grayson. It bubbles, acidic, in the pits of his gut and beats through his body like a poison. There’s a case in the Batcave and there’s a case in Bruce’s mind where the memory of Dick is whole, untarnished and pure.

    Sometimes-

    God, sometimes, he thinks about how it coulda been him.

  3. Public Bookmark 92

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    Bruce Wayne and Batman are no more.

    Now Bruce is just a man, in the car with a son who hates him, trying to figure out what went wrong.

    Series
    Language:
    English
    Words:
    26,684
    Chapters:
    10/10
    Comments:
    212
    Kudos:
    726
    Bookmarks:
    92
    Hits:
    12327

    23 Aug 2019

    Bookmarker's Notes

    “I don’t know why I saved you. I don’t know why I came back. I hate you.” As he spoke, his bandaged fingers crunched around the packaging of his apple pie, breaking the pastry and sticky apple oozing from his fingers. “I hate you, Bruce. I hate you so much and…” The more he spoke the more agitated his voice became. “I want to kill you. I’ve killed people, y’know. A lot of people. And I’m not going to stop. Not until every single one of them is finished.” The apple pie broke, a piece of it falling on the table and another onto his lap.

    He had a distant look in his eyes, like he wasn’t completely there and Bruce’s heart broke at what he was saying. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known Jason wished to kill before. It was their biggest argument as Batman and Robin – Robin’s desire to kill wrongdoers, especially those who wronged children, and Batman’s insistence that they couldn’t. “Who have you killed, Jason?”

    Jason’s fingers were filled with sticky apple, and even so, he lowered the cigarette into his mouth and struck another match. When the cigarette was lit he took in a deep, deep breath and held it in his lungs. When he let it go, words started to spill out. “Thomas Blake, Mark Desmond, Rodney Clarke, James Lawson, Eric Brady…” He recited names and Bruce began to memorise each of them as Jason had. He hated it. Each and every name was a slash against his son’s name and the list grew on. Bruce didn’t believe much in religion but he had too many friends who told him about heaven and hell because they’d been there, and Diana was related to Hades.

    When the names started changing into the guy who robbed the old woman and the man who jumped Deathstroke, Bruce’s throat closed up. Because there was a point where Jason stopped learning the names of people. At least before, Bruce could pretend to imagine that Jason hadn’t been taking his new role as Death’s Accomplice lightly. But soon names became villages, on the command of Deathstroke – Bruce wanted to go back to Gotham and break the hitman in two – and some just became Joker’s henchman, Two-Face’s henchman.

    It mapped the last five years for Bruce. The first few names were generic but then they became more Latin based. He’d moved through South America, and Africa before they became generic again. Bruce sat and listened to every single kill until Jason ran out of people. “That’s… That’s it, I think.” He seemed stunned. He lifted his head up, eyes locking onto Bruce’s across the table. The cigarette was finished, stubbed out on the motels table. He didn’t look away from Bruce, unashamed, but shaking. He couldn’t seem to stop shaking. “So do you still think I can be saved? Do you still think I’m your son?”

    For a second Bruce forgot every single name. All he saw was hurt in Jason and a kid who ran away to see if his Bruce would look for him. “Always.” No matter what.

  4. Public Bookmark 24

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    Voldemort is, therefore Harry thinks.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    100
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Comments:
    7
    Kudos:
    200
    Bookmarks:
    24
    Hits:
    3545

    23 Aug 2019

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Remember when you died?

    That was me.

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    Harry gets de-aged. Malfoy has to help him.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    153,881
    Chapters:
    13/13
    Collections:
    2
    Comments:
    3314
    Kudos:
    8715
    Bookmarks:
    2855
    Hits:
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    22 Aug 2019

    Bookmarker's Notes

    “Fuck,” someone said. It was the blond man, and fire roared to life against one wall. Harry was busy jumping out of skin, while the blond man strode about saying, “Fuck, fuck, Merlin, fuck,” pointing a stick at various places in the room. Fire leapt up after him, burning on candles, and Harry realized the fire against the wall was in an old sturdy hearth.

    Finite incantatem,” the blond man said, pointing the stick at Harry.

    Harry jumped again, quite certain he would catch on fire too, but nothing happened.

    The blond man swirled his stick at Harry and said, “Juvenis recanto,” but despite the fact that the situation was superbly terrifying there was still no effect, which made the man’s next stick-swish and words more moderately terrifying. “Libera temporo,” the man said. Then he made another swish—a downward slash, and said, “Potia evanesce.”

    “Um.” The man was obviously mental, and somehow he had a remote control flamethrower, but Harry tried to be polite, particularly with adults who were scary. “Have you gone mental?” he asked politely.

    “Fuck!” said the man.

    “All right, then,” Harry said, slowly edging away.