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[twinzel]

EUPHORIA • Sydney Sweeney as Cassie Howard ━ S02E08: All My Life, My Heart Has Yearned for a Thing I Cannot Name

#⸻ you’re still an innocent — jackie.

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“ no. bring cass back. ”  it’s bad enough that her mother’s fling with bruce wayne has forced her to spend large amounts of time in the proximity of wayne’s band of freaks ( it takes one to know one,  jack ).  she tolerates bruce’s kids because of the razor thin level of respect she has for the man, but cassie?  bundle of energy,  golden retriever cassie?  no thanks.  jackie groans audibly,  but nevertheless scoots over on the couch.  she’d rather deal with little miss cheerleader than get one more of bruce’s concerned talks.  “ where is she,  anyways? ” 

@lightnlasso​​

#shes such a b*tch #lightnlasso #⸻ left yourself in your warpath — writing. #jackie likes........ cass..... and damian. #MAYBE dick.

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godblooded​⸻ 

“ no. ”

trish is expecting it. i want to give her a little bit of a warning so she isn’t shell-shocked by which version of her father she has to speak to, and how she has to adjust accordingly. it isn’t easy for her to have to change so drastically from moment to moment. it must exhaust her. i know it does, and i do everything in my power to prevent it. she must be panicking. 

jackie upsets harleen beyond measure. i don’t think they’re cruelties, but i think they’re childish aggressions she’s lashing out with because harleen is overcompensating for the mess she’s both been mired in and created for too many years. sometimes, you aren’t too late to something. you haven’t lost something. but it does become infinitely more difficult to regain, to balm the damage that’s been done. sometimes it becomes impossible to atone for the past but be there for the present, and that’s all you can do. 

i know. i’ve been trying to help patricia heal since i first took her home. harleen and i have not been perfect parents, but neither of us can be accused of not loving our children. 

i leave my statements open-ended. my no can resound with either if i’m friends with wayne or that i won’t pull over. it can also mean both. i leave it up to er imagination so i don’t have to deal with speech or specificity. the bat isn’t much for speech. here and there it escapes him, but normally it’s accidental. brief, snippy bits of dialogue. 

a glance over to her keeps me able to focus on whether or not she’s okay. how drunk she just might be. whether or not she’ll need help getting inside. i hate leaving these things to trish, because trish will insist they be left to her. trish won’t let go of jackie quinzel the second she’s within her reach. she’s inherited my protective instincts, and hers are much sharper. i feel my eyebrow twitch from sleeplessness under the cowl; bruce wayne spent all last night talking to harleen quinzel on the phone about trish doing audiotech and how he’s completely stressed about it. bruce wayne slept minimally. the bat suffers.

“ nauseous? ”

the question is cursory and calm but direct. i haven’t experienced college parties. she shouldn’t be experiencing them, but i haven’t, and even i know there’s always enough alcohol to flood every fraternity or sorority house on the campus. it’s all cheap and watered down, but one or two bottles of everclear will find their way in circulation, and doing shots is tradition. but if she isn’t feeling well, the least i can do is be sure she has a sick-bag before she’s given over to more capable hands. 

i wish he’d fucking talk.  at least my mom talks.  at least i always know exactly what harley is thinking,  even if i disagree with about 90% of what comes out of her mouth.  i know a lot of people think that i’m only acting this way because i’m a ‘teenager,’  but i don’t even know what that means.  am i not allowed to have opinions just because i’m under twenty?  it’s bullshit.  i don’t think anybody should question why i don’t respect her.  she’s a criminal.  she’s been in prison several times.  her drug benders are legendary - i know.  i’ve seen the tabloid articles.  and that’s without getting into how she was so fucking bad at her job that she broke the one sacred rule of psychiatry. also,  i don’t respect her because that’s not something i should know about my own fucking mother. 

“ yes, ” i snap,  because i am actually going to be sick if he doesn’t stop the car.  i’m too far in my head and i don’t know how to get out.  alana’s tried to teach me how to deal with this,  but i didn’t listen carefully enough.  i didn’t think any of it would actually help.  “ please pull over. ”

i don’t mean to say please.  i don’t mean to ask him nicely. i’m harley quinn’s bitch of a daughter and i don’t say please.  it’s what everybody expects of me.  the kids i go to school with.  my teachers.  my mom,  now.  even bryce and trish aren’t surprised when i snap at them.  why try to be something if everyone’s just going to assume the worst,  anyways? 

he shows no sign of pulling over,  and i almost grab the wheel,  but i’ll definitely be sick if i do.  i have tried it before.  he stopped me before i could.  i groan,  accept the bag that he hands me.  clutch it like it’s my fucking lifeline.  i can’t believe i broke my phone.  i’m already anxious about it.  how the fuck am i going to text trish?  what am i going to do in school? 

in an attempt to think about literally anything else,  i decide to do what i do best.  provoke the bat. “ did you know that mom’s seeing someone? ” i ask,  trying to make it sound casual.  i know he’s in love with her.  he wouldn’t be half as gentle with her if he wasn’t.  he wouldn’t put up with her shit.  he looks at her through rose-colored glasses and i don’t understand why. 

“ she was on the phone with him all night. there was giggling involved. she thinks we can’t hear her when she’s sitting on the fire escape but it’s hard not to. ”

the only reason i don’t tell him to get a move on is because i’m finally,  actually sick.  i’m glad he gave me the bag,  but i feel so much worse now than i did before. i groan again,  lean back against the seat ; i don’t know why that was so exhausting,  but it was.  

“ do you have any gatorade? or advil? ” 

i’m trying to do damage control before i get to trish.  trying not to throw up in front of my best friend.  gatorade and advil help with a hangover,  right?  so they should help me sober up a little faster. 

i’m crying a little bit.  why the fuck am i crying? 

#godblooded #⸻ left yourself in your warpath — writing. #he's her dad i can't believe he's her dad

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@godblooded

favorite oth friendship moments ( 9 / ∞ )

#trish tag. #⸻ who you are is not where you’ve been — study.

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godblooded​⸻ 

i have learned teenagers need space and patience. i’ve learned they require careful words of advice and frequent words of encouragement. they need attention, but if you make that obvious, they recoil with the hiss of a rattlesnake. they hurt without letting anyone know the hurt is there. i know i don’t read people well, but with teenagers, i’ve learned it’s not about reading. it’s about listening. it’s about waiting. it’s about, as much as you don’t want it to be, having to do things on their time, to an extent, and not your own.

jackie quinzel doesn’t want to admit she falls into all the same teenage categories. which is the reason i’m picking her up after breaking up a decisively underage party. i take no pleasure in wasting my time for something small, but i can’t leave what’s about to be a nest of inevitably debauchery with just one teenager. nothing decent happens at collegiate parties. the alcohol poisoning is enough; if you add in the possibilities for assault i at least have done something worthwhile. though the worthwhile factor is getting harleen’s daughter out of harm’s way. 

one person is always priority. one person who is bruce wayne’s daughter’s best friend even moreso. harleen’s daughter even moreso.

“ car-phone. ”

it’s behind the headrest, a perfectly standard-issue car-phone that’s been used for every purpose imaginable. calling the authorities, calling sisters, daughters, fathers, mothers, sons, aunts, uncles, calling partners trying to speak in code and thinking they get away with it until i break their noses with one swift push into the seat. it’s heard the conversations of a thousand lives, seen too many tears. 

“ you’re not. ”

i refuse to allow her to think this is a game. it isn’t. jackie stops eventually, as long as she remains ignored. 

“ call. trish. ”

she’ll be sitting in the drive when i turn in, arms wrapped around her knees. headlights will glint off her eyes and reflect so brightly for a moment it will be the only thing i can focus on. the bat will watch the familiar relief overcome here immediately; the way she can never keep her feelings off her face. and then the situation is out of my hands because i know patricia will insist on taking it into hers. 

i can’t help but be afraid for her kindness, sometimes.

i’m normally good at this -- good at getting everybody around me angry,  good at making people run out of patience.  i do it to my mom,  i do it to my teachers.  but the bat?  i’ve never been able to get his control to slip.  i know it’s possible -- i’ve seen shaky,  grainy cctv footage of him & my father. i’ve seen the bat be vicious. i think he’s angry with me now,  but it’s impossible to tell -- i always get three word sentences from him,  and it’s difficult to read into them. 

there’s anxiety curling at the pit of my stomach ⸻ anxiety like i’m fourteen all over again,  telling my mother i got into a fight at school.  she didn’t care.  harley’s never cared.  i wish she could be normal for two fucking seconds.  i wish she had been horrified.  i wish she’d have yelled.  i wish she’d have done anything except bandage my hands and told me to go for the guy’s nose next time.  she’s gone through all this trouble to build what she thinks is a normal life for bryce & i,  but walking into our house is like walking onto a fucking movie set. you see everything you’d expect to see ⸻ backpacks by the front door,  an embroidered handtowel hangig from the oven ⸻ but if you start picking things up,  they’re all hollow,  all cardboard and styrofoam.  our family is styrofoam.  there’s nothing holding us together. 

“ i don’t know her phone number, ” i mumble,  pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms tightly around them.  is he mad at me?  am i in the front seat of this car because he’s worried about me,  or am i in the front seat of this car because he’s in love with my mother and would do anything for her? ( i know.  i’ve always known.  it’s obvious just by the way he looks at her and i hate them both for it. i hate them both for being cowards.  i hate them both for refusing to be happy. i wonder what my life would be like if my mom had been happy. ) sometimes i feel like everything in my life revolves around harley. besides my mom,  besides waylon,  the bat is the only steady thing in my life.  i get why harley clings to him the way she does.  he’s the only constant in her life,  too.  steady,  predictable,  in all the ways my dad wasn’t. i wish she’d tell him that.  i wish she’d stop denying it. i wish that i could trust him,  but i can’t,  because he’s only here because of my mom.  he’s not here for me. “ why would i know her phone number? ”

i say it like he’s stupid.  like we’re not in a situation right now that answers that very question.  i say it with every ounce of teenage indignation that’s expected of me. i shake my head to emphasize my point.  i only know two phone numbers.  his and harley’s.  

“ aren’t you friends with wayne? ”  i can’t imagine the bat having friends.  can’t imagine him having anybody other than harley.  my mom thinks i don’t know when he comes over,  but i can hear him opening the window,  every single night.  i can hear her crying. “ text him.  can you pull over? ”

#godblooded #⸻ left yourself in your warpath — writing.

[twinzel]

godblooded​⸻ 

i let her talk. she’s going to talk. so i allow it. i let each word go by. it passes my ears and i ignore it. i don’t respond to a thing. she smells like too much of the kind of stuff i don’t understand teenagers drinking. it’s percentage isn’t high enough for an actually dangerous blood-alcohol toxicity. she’s frightfully like her mother. it’s because she won’t admit that she is, and so the friction will only worsen. but there’s a reparation for all things. and a reason harleen has a global transmitter in case i’m needed. once she’d called me out on my identity i hadn’t blinked when i accepted it. i could see her seeing me in the suit, standing there, and for the first time we spoke to each other. we really spoke to each other. not for lack of wanting, only for lack of opportunity. when she’d smiled, she’d meant it. i read every tick and groove on her face. “ harleen. ” i wait more than a few beats of silence before i choose to speak. i correct her.

“ you bricked your phone. ” she did. it’s lying at the bottom of a toilet, unsalvageable now in its damage. “ my purpose is to help people. this is also helping. trish is already aware you’re on your way. as is your mother. call trish. ” i accentuate the last statement to punctuate it isn’t a question. trish will worry. trish is likely already crying a little. she’s tender-hearted. i refuse to allow her to be anything less; she’ll be nothing if not defended with me.

“ now. ”

he corrects me and i want to roll my eyes,  want to go through the list of my mother’s convictions,  want to tell him that just because he plays favorites the rest of us don’t.  she’s harley.  she made her choices and she chose harley.  but my head’s still spinning and i’m starting to feel a little sick to my stomach, so all i do is shake my head.

shit -- my phone’s dead.  i mean,  i probably could’ve seen that one coming,  given that i could not keep the damn thing in my hands,  but still.  i groan a little bit,  start to dread the iphone six harley’s going to get me in retaliation.  it’s not like she never partied -- and i would tell the bat that,  but i know that he knows.  he’s in more than a few of the pictures of my wasted mother stumbling out of some club. hypocrites.  both of them. 

“ whatever. ”  because i can barely go toe-to-toe with the bat on my best days,  and there’s no way i can convince him that he’s doing more harm than good. except i start talking,  anyways,  because a thought pops into my head and i can’t fucking keep it there. “ it’s like belling a cat.  you.  me.  i’m just going to get better at hiding next time. ” 

the sentiment makes perfect sense to me,  but i find myself peering over at him to see if he understands.  i don’t know why i care,  why underneath all the alcohol i’m somehow feeling anxious. maybe it’s my mother’s desperate need for his approval rubbing off on me. i hate her. i hate her for not knowing how to be enough.  i can’t imagine being in my forties and still feeling that insecure about everything. 

the bat says now and it makes my heart sink.  i can’t remember the last time my mother talked to me like that. 

“ i can’t call trish, ” i say, narrowing my eyes at him. “ i bricked my phone. also,  stop telling me what to do.  that didn’t really work out for you with my mom,  did it? ”

#jackie using the word 'retaliation' as if harley is somehow in the wrong for being like STOP PARTYING WITH COLLEGE STUDENTS #godblooded #⸻ left yourself in your warpath — writing.

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it’s not the first time a quinzel has been in the front seat of the batmobile drunk and angry,  though it’s been over a decade since it last happened. jackie lets out a frustrated sound that’s somewhere between an ugh and a scream,  slamming her head back against the headrest. it’s teenager for you’re ruining my life. “ ow -- ”  and she’s glaring at @godblooded​ like it’s somehow his fault. it doesn’t even hurt.  she’s a drink too deep for it to hurt. “ y’know you don’t have to come runnin’ every time my mom calls,  y'know. it’s kind of pathetic.  don’t you have better things to be doing than chasing a teenager down?  you’re fucking batman. it’s pathetic. batman . . . ”

she twists as much as she can in the seat,  trying to turn her entire body towards the window.  the seatbelt locks at the sudden movement and she ends up more trapped than before,  but she keeps her body contorted,  watching the city fly by outside the window.  as they take a turn that she knows leads to her house,  jackie’s head snaps back towards the bat so quickly that the world starts to spin. “ harley’s . .  ‘s’working. if you bring me home,  she’s gonna have to . . . ”  and the thoughts slip away,  her head far too fuzzy. “ come home . . . you could drop me off at the waynes . . . was supposed to meet trish,  and she’s gonna worry,  and her dad’ll be home,  and mom won’t have to come home. do you have my phone? ”

#dont question this #i just Thought about this and then had to write it #i'm imagining this is in jackie's 'partying at gotham u' phase #harley freaks and calls b like i can't find my fucking child ?? #godblooded #⸻ left yourself in your warpath — writing.

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ataviisms⸻ 

waylon only blinks when he finds her. he’s always been sort of a safe space for the twins, someone they can go to when they don’t feel like they can go to their mother. which means jackie has wound up here more often than not. but he won’t tell harley that she’s here—not right away, at least. even though harley would probably rather know that jackie is safe in the sewers with him than getting into trouble somewhere.

“ it’s too cold for you down here. ” it’s almost too cold for him, too. he grabs a tattered (but thankfully dry) blanket from the corner and wraps it around jackie’s shoulders before he sits down next to her. “ of course she invited me. who else is gonna be santa? ”

“ i’m fine. ”  it comes out a little grumpy,  the kind of tone that her mother would scold her for,  and jackie looks up at waylon a little sheepishly.  she never means to snap at him -- she’s just so tired of all the fussing and the refusing to treat her like an adult. she accepts the blanket without further arguing,  sighs a little as she looks at him. it’s a face he’s probably seen on her mother a thousand times -- frustrated,  a little tired,  definitely not sulking. “ just checking. you know how weird she gets. half the time she’s worse than uncle bruce. ” 

and she feels bad for that one,  too.  jackie likes bruce -- likes him a hell of a lot more than she likes harley. “ you know you don’t have to keep pretending. aren’t bryce and i a little old for that? ” she hopes he says no. 

#ataviisms #⸻ left yourself in your warpath — writing.

[twinzel]

i think oh so frequently about how jackie ( canonically ) wears joker’s old clothes & dyes her hair & calls harleen pudding . . . and about how immensely fucking triggering that must be for harleen to be constantly confronted with reminders of a horribly abusive relationship from her own daughter.  jackie will not let harleen forget that she’s joker’s kid,  that she’s a result of harleen’s biggest mistake. 

from jackie’s perspective i think -- and this is not to justify that at all -- that she is so fucking insecure about being joker’s daughter,  terrified of becoming cruel like her father,  that she blames harleen for putting her into that position in the first place.  she’s very vocal ( head-canonically ) about how she thinks harleen was wrong to have her & bryce,  knowing that they would be half-joker.  idk. i’m just sad for both of them ( harls & jackie ) 

#abuse / #⸻ to live for the hope of it all — ooc.

[twinzel]

godblooded​⸻ 

“ you won’t call your mom, jack. ”

trish is looking down out her window. balance does the kitten, peering with a quizzical, iridescent green glance. her eyes glow softly in the dark. she chews her lip, rife with indecision. it’s a school night, trish is what she knows will be the statement. daddy’s not exactly strict, but–

she shouldn’t. she should tell him she’s going out. what if she doesn’t? what if he has one of his episodes and she finds him home, flings himself around her. he’s always so scared whenever anything happens. he’s always so scared when she’s out of his sight. the house is huge and quiet, and if she asks, she’ll definitely get a ‘no’. but if she goes for a couple hours, it’s no big, right? it’s just jackie. and if jackie won’t call her mom, probably trish will. 

“ just come upstairs and let me get changed. ”

the kitten holds out a hand at the edge of her balcony to help her best friend up, being she’s the one with the super strength and all. 

“ but i could if i needed to. ”  and at least harleen’s done that one thing right ; at least both of her children know that she will always come to their rescue in the middle of the night. “ and that’s pretty much the same thing.  besides,  why would we need to?  it’s a party.  what’s the worst thing that can happen? ”

she takes trish’s hand confidently,  never doubting for a second whether the other girl would let her fall.  it helps that she’s inherited her mother’s talent for gymnastics,  though jackie’s never had harleen’s drive -- she prefers to use the skill to get places she shouldn’t rather than to take gold on the mat. 

“ okay.  wear those jeans with the hearts on the ass.  the ones i got you last christmas? you know they look good on you,  don’t look at me like that. ” 

#ugh ugh ugh thinking about harleen and bruce as parents WITHOUT being able to balance each other out #no harleen to be like 'bruce it'll be okay they're teenagers they gotta live a little bit' #but on the other hand no bruce to be like 'harleen it's okay to tell them no sometimes their brains aren't fully developed yet' #godblooded #⸻ left yourself in your warpath — writing.

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CASSIE & LEXI 

EUPHORIA | 2.06 - A Thousand Little Trees of Blood

#i don't watch this show but i just know that that little blonde bitch is jackie #⸻ who you are is not where you’ve been — study.

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#⸻ who you are is not where you’ve been — study. #⸻ wasn’t it easier in your firefly catching days? — bryce. #⸻ you booked the night train for a reason — queue.

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“ come on,  trish.  if you’re not doing anything else tonight,  come out with me.  there’s no way your dad will care,  and if you don’t like it when we get there i’ll just call my mom or something. ”  a great solution,  if harley wasn’t working overnight tonight . . . and if jackie had ever called her mother for anything in her life. “ please.  i don’t want to go alone. or with my brother. ”

yes,  she is turning those inherited quinzel puppy eyes on @godblooded​. she will get what she wants. she always does. 

#this is mm #for trish #godblooded #⸻ left yourself in your warpath — writing.

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“  auntie babs -- ”  a childish nickname for a woman who insists she isn’t that anymore ; still,  it feels stranger to avoid the nickname all the other.  is she supposed to call her barbara? jackie holds out a cup of to @bctglrl​,  then takes a sip of her own. “ i have something i need to ask you.  about my dad. ”

#im sorry ur starter is a month late #bctglrl #⸻ left yourself in your warpath — writing.

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#u know what so true #this should be my pinned post #⸻ who you are is not where you’ve been — study.

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“ you should come back,  @urushiol​.  mom’s happier when you’re around. ”  it’s a soft admission,  the kind that can only be made under the cover of nightfall.  jackie’s sitting on ivy’s couch,  wearing a pair of pajamas that live in ivy’s penthouse.  she’s a runner just like her mother,  always fleeing at the smallest sign of trouble.  at least she’s started to run to ivy,  instead of to her father. “ all she does now that me and bryce are gone is work.  it’s kind of pathetic. ”

#urushiol #⸻ left yourself in your warpath — writing.

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“ please don’t tell my mom i’m down here. ”  it’s late december,  one of those miserable gotham nights where it’s not quite cold enough to snow and everything’s just gray.  @ataviisms​ has come home to find a quinzel curled up on his couch,  not for the first time,  though it’s daughter instead of mother. “ she’s doing that annoying helicopter parent thing again and i can’t take it.  it’s not like i just survived three months on my own or anything.  did she invite you for christmas? ”

#u liked for a starter like a month ago and i am finally Doing It #idk what's up with waylon and harley we can discuss #i just feel like jackie would like way a Lot #jackie thinks waylon is the only good choice her mother's ever made sldkjfsdfkj #ataviisms #⸻ left yourself in your warpath — writing.