#and all of them dismissed or ignored my pleas in some level

[artsie-rosie]

okay, you know when you make a discovery about yourself and then you go through somewhat of a "mourning" period right after? like I have no idea if there's a name for this or not --

like when I came to terms with the fact that I was not neurotypical, it was a bit of a mindblow initially, and then I spent the next few days and weeks after having "Oh that explains this aspect of my childhood" moments 3x a day, and I remember I also had to process a deep sadness cus of what my life could have been if I had gotten the help I needed earlier in life, and all of the times I was yelled at for being "lazy", or a "weirdo", or abandoned for being a bad friend, and perhaps I could have achieved things if I wasn't left to paddle and drown by myself? And then I learned about MASKING and oh my god I had to basically rediscover who I was when I stopped trying to perform in certain ways only to please other people or fit in, and once I did that it was basically torture to mask again because I was now so aware of it?

Y'know?...

So... I think I'm going through the same thing now, but with my chronic pain instead.

[gotham-daydreams]

i just had a thought

you know what would really fuck up the batfam in the "not tonight" series imagine the reader instead of leaving gets kidnnaped and when the batfam saves them reader breaks down into crying in relief because they genuenly believed the batfam would not bother to save them

Imagine the absolute horror the batman would feel

I know its a little farfetched but i live for the angst

No, no! I love that idea!!! And it isn't all that farfetched seeing as the reader is a well known musician on some level, and even if that wasn't the case- they're still the kid of Bruce Wayne. Which, honestly, is enough motivation for someone to kidnap them, I'd say. Especially if the reasoning is for money, revenge/jealousy, or both honestly.

Besides all that, though- oh my god that would be awful! I love it!

Because imagine things from the reader's perspective (which, there is implied violence inflicted on the reader, mentions a blood, and a gun is pointed towards them. So, if it isn't your cup of tea then that's fine!):

Your 'family' that barely acknowledges you enough as it is, and the only guy who ever seems to notice that you're around is the single butler that basically takes care of everyone and everything in the manor. Now, you're kidnapped because of your relation/connection to the family, and have no hope to do anything besides just pray.

Maybe you have tried to escape before a few times at this point, but the punishment for such attempts have now gotten to the point where if you try again and fail, you'd surely die. Maybe you've also been trying so hard to escape yourself because you're just that certain and sure that the Batfam won't save you. Since, up until this point, anything dealing with or connecting back to you in some way has been ignored or dismissed one way or another. Why would something like a kidnapping be any different? Especially when they also haven't noticed other events where you have gotten hurt before.

Right from the gate, you're already thinking that the Batfam won't save you. Not that they can't, but just like with everything else- something will come up and steal away their attention, and you'll be left by yourself, and to defend yourself as always. That's what always seems to happen, and so why would now be different? In your mind, it wouldn't. So that's why when your attempts to escape fail, and the punishments not only get worse, but begin to pile up and reach a point where you think you're going to die- the situation quickly becomes much scarier.

You don't hope that Batman will suddenly show up, and instead pray that your best friend will notice your missing somehow. You don't think that Nightwing, Red Robin, Spoiler, or Orphan will suddenly swoop in and save the day, but instead try and hope that your producer/boss notices that you haven't replied to his calls or texts and contacts someone. You don't even consider that Red Hood or Robin will come barreling in and quickly deal with your kidnappers before rescuing you — instead all of your thoughts are filled with silent whispers and desperate pleas that someone- anyone you know will notice that you're gone, or that something is wrong, and will contact somebody. With that 'somebody' being the police or anyone of help, but not the Batfam.

Maybe a small thought does slip by, but you can only internally laugh at yourself because you either think that you've already lost enough blood to actually try and believe that lie, or your just growing that desperate to have a little hope. To have something to cling onto in this moment, that you chose the one thing that you're so convinced will never be given to you. A thought that only further cements itself in your mind the more time passes. With hours turning into days, and days to weeks.

Perhaps that's why you try to escape again. Deciding that you had better odds of succeeding despite your injuries, than the Batfam ever coming to save you. Let alone even thinking about it, or even realizing that you were gone in the first place. Taking that risk of getting caught again, and potentially getting killed this time, because no matter how hopeless or unlikely it seems for you to escape and make it out- those chances will always be higher than any single person from the Batfam showing up, and even attempting to save you. Even on accident, or on a whim- that possibility is so unlikely in your mind, that it's basically nothing more than a made up scenario or daydream to you. It's not an 'if' or 'when', but a flat out 'won't'.

Maybe that's why when you fail you get so scared, but can't help but feel like this was inevitable somehow. Of course, you don't want to die- but you had tried your best. You fought until the very end, and it almost feels a little too fitting that things ended up this way. With your efforts ending in vain, and you having nothing to show for it. With your attempts futile, and almost seeming idiotic from an outsider's point of view, and maybe it was.

You never stood a chance. You were doomed for failure. Not even all the training and experience you had could save you- and only now could you see how truly worthless all your efforts had been. With a gun pointed to your head, and your own blood providing the only warmth you've felt in days.

There's an odd sense of comfort and familiarity in the chill that shoots down your spine, and the cold gaze that one of your kidnappers give you. They're carelessness and disregard for your health reminding you of something, with their rough attacks and harsh punches bringing back times where you really did need the Batfam, only for no one to show up. Your call dying down as fast as it had risen that day, and one you never even bothered to make again.

So maybe that was why you were so surprised when help arrived, and even more so when you saw who exactly it was.

Before you could even fully register anything, you began to cry. A wide smile full of disbelief grows on your face, and more tears begin to fall as the smallest of laughs escape you. 'Unbelievable' is the first word that comes to mind when describing what you felt, and thought when you saw Batman drop down from the ceiling and deal with the guy who was about to kill you, and heard some commotion just down the hall.

At first, your convinced it's all some silly dream, and that maybe during your final moments- your mind decided to give you something nice to send you off. Almost like a warm parting gift to distract you from the hopelessness, and reality of the situation. Though it's only when pain shoots through your entire body when you move a certain way, that the thought of all of this being some made up hallucination or delusion vanishes, and you can't help but cry harder.

You don't know if it's a good or bad thing that after all this time- the one time they actually notice that you're gone, is when you not only get kidnapped, but can't escape by yourself. That the one time they acknowledge you, you're almost dead, bleeding out, and the most messy and vulnerable you've ever been.

Maybe life really did have some grudge against you to go to such lengths to fuck you over, but right now you're too relieved to be saved to care at the moment.

Yet, to say the Batfam feels awful on a totally new level, is an understatement. They understand feeling relieved, but to this extent? It's like you never expected them to come and save you at all... and that little thought seems to be true when one of them tries to help you out, and you're still laughing weakly as you continue to cry. Asking through a broken, wavering voice if all of this is real, and isn't some fucked up hallucination your having to make passing on easier. That they really showed up, and as a last ditch effort to not make your death anymore painful then it has to be- this isn't just some... dream, to make you feel like you were actually cared for in your final moments.

It breaks their hearts, a lot.

Especially when you repeat questions, as if trying to really make sure that they're there, that they're real, and aren't just some figment of your imagination. That they actually came to save you, and weren't off saving Gotham or the world itself instead. Constantly trying to be sure, as if the moment you weren't- then you'd be convinced that you were slowly dying all alone, with no hope of help coming — not even thinking that the Batfam would come — and just have to sit with that fact as you take your final breaths.

The pain you feel is almost equal to their's, and what really worries and scares most of them is how sure and certain you are that they wouldn't show up. That either the thought would never cross their minds, or that something else would come up and they'd leave you for dead, or that they just wouldn't notice that you were kidnapped at all.

Which, said fright and worry is only amplified when you have to keep asking "Are you really here? Are you sure?" And the like, and they have to keep finding ways to prove to you that yes, they are here. They're helping you, and they're not leaving- they actually managed to save you, and that you're going be okay now. That they aren't going away, and are very, very real.

Each little, broken laugh chips away at the pieces of their hearts, and your own disbelief that they can't seem to get rid of no matter what they do or say, is just a punch to the gut. You didn't just think that they wouldn't show up, but were fully convinced that they wouldn't even bother with it. That own realization just... hurts more than anything.

Had they really been that awful to you? Had they really caused you so much pain and hurt that you'd not only think of such a thing, but fully believe it? They didn't remember doing anything in particular that would cause you to think that way... but maybe that wasn't the problem. It wasn't what they did to you, but rather what they didn't do, and that's when the pieces finally begin to click.

Of course some don't want to believe it, similar to how some of them in "Not Here" express a brief moment of denial and disbelief themself, but they don't get to experience such a luxury anymore. Not with you here- bleeding, hurt, and crying from both relief and disbelief, because you couldn't believe that they actually showed up.

Even when they do quickly take you to a hospital and get you treated, that image of you is still ingrained into their minds. They can't forget it- how you looked at them and spoke, and just how you treated the whole situation because of how convinced you were.

From here they'll try to rebuild what they can, and all definitely be 100% more protective then they've ever been. The moment you're able to come home (which, you ARE coming home. No if's or but's. You don't get a chance this time.), they're doing everything in their power to not only 'fix' everything, but make sure that you are safe at all possible moments of the day.

It's safe to say that the whole experience traumatized the whole family to a certain degree. Not only with you being kidnapped- but you trying to escape multiple times and almost dying, because you were so convinced that no one would show up to help. (Which, while it was also because you can genuinely handle yourself and did believe you could escape on your own, the Batfam doesn't entirely believe that (and you almost dying doesn't help with that) so they chalk it up to you being desperate, because you 'knew' that no one was coming to save you. Which also may or may not make certain people worse in the process.) So they're already leaning pretty heavy on the yandere tendencies. Which most likely develop over the time you're in the hospital, and into your first week or so staying in the Manor.

Which does lead us to your little addition:

Which, you are very correct!!!

Our boy Jason, put in very simple terms, doesn't take the situation well. At all.

Seeing you bloodied, bruised, abused, malnourished, and on the brink of death no less- definitely doesn't help with his reaction at all.

Don't get me wrong! All of them react pretty negatively to the situation, and many of them have very strong reactions- Jason in particular just has the worst and strongest one. :]

The moment he sees you, he's immediately reminded of his death. The urge to comfort you is strong, but he just doesn't know what to do- and so he ends up not doing anything until you're in the hospital. Which, leading up to that point, he's checking your pulse as often as he can.

He knows what it's like to be hopeless, and feel that helpless- but to know that you experienced that? To know that you almost died like he did? It ruins him. It fucks him up more than anything else.

From the way you looked at the Batfam- the way you looked at him, and just how utterly relieved you were, despite drowning in your own disbelief- it haunts him. The state they found you in messed him up enough, but all of your questions, and just how you were even trying to reassure yourself that them showing up and saving you was real, fucked him up big time.

Before he knows it, he's hunting down the people who kidnapped you, and wiping out whatever is left of their bloodlines. Not sparing a single person, as they didn't spare you- with their generations leading to your kidnappers being born.

He's making their final moments just as painful as yours would've been. Their agony almost matching his, as he couldn't forget the night they saved you. He refused to. That moment forever engraved into his mind, reminding him of what also was if they were a second too late, and how it made him realize just how much he's fucked up along with everyone else.

While Jason can't exactly just waltz into the Hospital to visit you, since he is still considered dead and everything, he sneaks into your room instead. Trying to give what comfort he can in his own silent, but close way. Holding your hand with a gentleness even foreign to himself, and saying how he's sorry and that he'll make it up to you. Promising every night that he'll make those that made you suffer pay with their lives, and then some. Saying how he won't leave your side ever again, only to be gone by the morning.

He brings what he can as well. Even if it isn't as showy or extravagant as any of the things that Bruce, Damian, Dick and so on are getting you, or as pretty and lively as the flowers that are placed by your bedside. It's just his own little way of trying to make it up to you.

The small, little gifts he gives you are indeed little, and he doesn't give much since he doesn't think that your forgiveness or love can be bought. But he still tries to give something. So he'll give things that can be as little as hair ties or bracelets, to earrings (that totally aren't matching) and a little music box that reminded him of the melodies you've made thus far. It's all just another way of saying that he cares about you, and not only wants to build your relationship but be connected to you somehow.

The earrings, even if you don't wear them but just have them, make him feel closer to you then he can. He hopes that in some little way, that whenever you wind and let that music box play its tune, that you are reminded of him or think of him in some way. That when you wear or even look at the few ties and bracelets he's given you, he comes to mind in some small way, and manages to bring the smallest of smiles on your face.

Jason doesn't yearn to be remembered or seen fondly, but he would like to and deeply appreciate it. Since when he looks at his earnings, he's reminded of you, and the pair he managed to give you. Leaving him unable to fight back the smile that grows on his face.

For the most part, he just generally tries to be more present, hardly leaving you alone unless he has to, and spending every moment he can by your side. Moments that begin to last longer once he finishes his buisness with your kidnappers, and their families. He doesn't push too hard or is super in your face and constantly invading your personal space. He just exists in your presence, and as long as you're around he's got no complaints.

Though he does get extremely protective and possessive. Especially if your sleeping or something, and someone walks in. God have mercy if they need to wake you up, and dare to try without saying anything to Jason first.

Which- all of this boils down to you getting scary dog privileges every night, which turns into an almost 24/7 type of deal when you get discharged from the hospital.

---

Sorry if this is a little all over the place. I wrote it all in one go for the most part and haven't really looked it over, so there's probably some mistakes I didn't catch and missed 😅

Still, I hope that's alright, and as you can see- i really enjoy this idea :]

[unwhitewashthebadbatch]

Disney Email Draft 2

(going under a cut because it's much longer. Here is the Google Doc link for anyone who would like to comment directly)

Reminder that we are encouraging critiques and comments regarding this email!

To Bob Iger, Kathleen Kennedy, Dave Filoni, Jennifer Corbett, and the creative team of Star Wars: The Bad Batch:

We hope this email finds you all well. We are fans of color, disabled fans, neurodivergent fans, and Jewish fans writing out of concern for the portrayal of our communities in the Disney+ series Star Wars: The Bad Batch. For several months now, we have been campaigning on social media to spread awareness about these concerns through #UnwhitewashTBB, a movement we began to raise awareness about the ways in which the series has poorly represented several minoritized groups of people.

Just like the creators of Star Wars: The Bad Batch, all of the creators of #UnwhitewashTBB grew up with Star Wars as the backbones of their childhoods, and for many of us, Star Wars: The Clone Wars was crucial to our development as artists, writers, creators, and lifelong Star Wars fans. We are all firm believers in the phrase “Star Wars is for everyone”, and we would like to see Disney support that message by hearing our plea.

As fans of color, as disabled fans, as neurodivergent fans, and as Jewish fans, we’ve seen ourselves on screen in both good and bad ways, but recently it has been more the latter than the former. One such reason is Star Wars: The Bad Batch, a show whose premise piqued many fans’ interest, but whose main cast has left an increasingly sour taste in the mouths of those who watched.

The series follows an elite squad of clone troopers who have named themselves The Bad Batch, due in part to their series of mutations that gives them an edge over regular clones on the battlefield. These mutations drastically altered the appearance of each of the members to a generally lighter, more Caucasian appearance--one that is inconsistent with how the original Jango Fett actor Temuera Morisson looks. Fans take issue with the implications in the writing and design of The Bad Batch: that in order to be elite, special, and better than one’s contemporaries--in order to have a story worth telling--one must also be white or as close as possible.

Merriam-Webster defines whitewashing as “to alter (something) in a way that favors, features, or caters to white people: such as to alter (an original story) by casting a white performer in a role based on a nonwhite person or fictional character” The #UnwhitewashTBB movement comes with two carrds explaining the grievances of the fans. A summary for each character is given below:

Sergeant Hunter, the leader, closely resembles Sylvester Stallone’s Rambo character, despite being a clone of a man of color. The importance of his character, the fatherliness he has with Omega, and his centrality to both their Season 7 appearance in The Clone Wars and the series itself sends the message that important people look

Wrecker is the demolitions expert, and he’s the only member of The Bad Batch with features similar to that of a Maori man’s, like Temuera Morrison/Jango Fett. He’s large with broad features, brown skin, and is a stereotype of men of color. His personality as first introduced to the audience was that of a loud, aggressive, impatient, slow man who called frequently for violence/destruction. He falls into the “Loveable Brute” trope, an observation that is supported by statements from supervising director Brad Rau and voice actor Dee Bradely Baker that Wrecker is like a little boy and has a heart of gold.

Crosshair is the sniper on the team, and he’s the most derisive of the “regs”--the regular clone troopers. Taken in conjunction with his appearance (inspired by Clint Eastwood), the various messages being sent by the writing and appearance of the other team members, and his comment about the regular troopers--the he and the Batch are superior and thus should join the Empire--his character pushes forth a message that there is superiority inherent in whitened or fully white features.

Tech, the technology specialist, has incredibly light skin and hair compared to the regular clones. His mutation made him a genius, with an IQ that outpaces that of any other clone in the Republic. Fans of color are upset that Tech’s genius mutation apparently also affected his skin color, as now this creates a direct link between intelligence and appearance/race. Contrast Tech with Wrecker, who is the exact opposite in every way, and this harm becomes only more apparent. In addition to this, many Autistic fans of The Bad Batch have noted that Tech, being “on the spectrum” (according to Dee Bradley Baker) is a popular stereotype of Autistic people: a nerdy-looking white man with a formal way of speaking who’s a genius but dismissive of others’ feelings. Baker also plays Tech with a British accent, further cementing the harmful message that intelligence is in some way connected to ethnicity.

Omega is the newest member of The Bad Batch. Despite being a pure Jango clone, she’s come out looking nothing like Boba Fett--she has lighter skin than he does, as well as blonde hair. Fans are concerned about the connection between genetic purity and light skin/blonde hair, as this is directly harmful to the people of color who don’t sport those features.

Echo is the ARC Trooper of the team, but many fans--disabled fans especially--fear that his series of disabilities have reduced him to the “droid sidekick”. Echo does not have a prosthetic, instead sporting a scomp-arm attachment that allows him to plug into computers but would otherwise hinder him greatly in daily tasks. He rarely is the focus of an episode, and the series has not given him as much attention as it has given characters like Hunter and Omega. Disabled fans worry about the lack of attention given to his medical trauma, and fans of color note that his skin color goes beyond what a brown man who’s been without sunlight for a few months would look like.

The issues do not stop here. Asian fans noticed and were harmed by a Tiananmen Square parallel in 1x10, “Common Ground”--a recreation that was led by an Eastern Asian-coded woman. Jewish fans are hurt by the antisemitic stereotype in Cid the broker, a greedy lizard woman who speaks with an accent commonly associated with New York Jews--and who is played by Jewish actress Rhea Perlman. Black fans were harmed by the whitewashing in Saw Gererra and the one other Black character in The Bad Batch being a Black woman who works for the Empire and burns civilians alive.

The full analyses can be found in the official #UnwhitewashTBB carrd: unwhitewashthebadbatch.carrd.co. We respectfully ask that you read this carrd and give a public statement in response to these criticisms.

Our movement has only gained traction since its inception on March 30th, 2021. A few months later, we wrote and released an open letter on Change.org to be signed by supporters of #UnwhitewashTBB, and every day it gains new signatures and draws nearer to the next milestone. A survey we released over a month ago has received over 1,100 responses and also continues to climb. The latter displays a range of opinions regarding The Bad Batch, but one sentiment stands out: Hunter, Crosshair, Tech, Wrecker, Omega, and Echo are written in stereotypical and actively harmful ways. Respondents were shocked at outdated portrayals of Autism, sickened by antisemitic stereotypes, and confused at how, in this current social and political climate, a family-friendly corporation like Disney could greenlight a series that sends a message that is the complete opposite of “Star Wars is for Everyone”. Some sample responses are below:

“I would just like to elaborate on the ableism aspect. As a amputee myself, I don’t like how Echo’s trauma has been ignored. The whole reason he is with the BB is because of what he went through. Losing one limb, never mind multiple, it’s extremely difficult. They made it seem like just because his prosthetic can be of use on missions, that means he isn’t grieving the loss of his actual hand. There is no healing or evolution. It also feels wrong to only address the fact that echo uses prosthetics for the sake of hacking into machinery. Prosthetics are so personal and become a real part of who you are as a person.” - Respondent 130

“...I can't believe Star Wars is still doing this, and that an entire team of animators with a huge budget can't get skin tone right. I didn't even know the clones were supposed to have a NZ Māori accent until a friend told me. That's a big deal, since I live in NZ and hear it every day…” - Respondent 209

“As someone who is neurodivergent myself, Tech and Wrecker just. sting, you know? in a “is that really what you think of us” kind of way. I grew up in an environment where intersectional equality was heavily discussed, and I can still miss things. Having Jewish friends does not mean that Cid’s antisemitic implications can’t go right over my head until someone points them out (thank you).” - Respondent 87

“As a fan of color, its irritating and painful to watch and be brushed off as "lighting issues" and see justifications made by white fans and producers...It also feels very bad to me that TCW spent 7 seasons with several arcs emphasizing that the clones were all as individual as a 'normal' person, but then undo all that with TBB, which centers a group of "special" clones (who are suspiciously white) and have them treat the "regs" as a homogeneous group who are lesser than them, and then expect us to find it within ourselves to put that aside to enjoy the MCs. The way the treat "regs" is very offputting and it made me dislike them since their introduction...Star Wars is no stranger to racist and antisemitic media, but I must say, the blantancy of Sid, a greedy lizard who essentially financially enslaves the protaganists, being Jewish-coded and being protrayed by a Jewish voice actress is really next-level even for Star Wars. As a Jewish fan, it really grates on me.” - Respondent 40

“I’m disabled and autistic, and the ableism is appalling to watch. Watching Echo be treated as subhuman for needing machinery to survive makes me feel like having implants to keep my spine from breaking itself would have me be the pitied member of any group. I am disgusted by the blatant antisemitism, as a fair number of my friends are Jewish and it hurts me to think that people can so easily hate others based on internalized stereotypes. Me and my friends have also critically analyzed the fact that, despite being clones of a character portrayed by Temuera Morrison, for some reason the bad batch look nothing like him in any way. No resemblance in any way: just a bunch of someone’s badly worked characters fraught with disgusting writing decisions and design choices that make no sense. It makes me angry to think that the writers for this show, and to an extent any modern writer, would believe that using harmful tropes to make a story is acceptable and someone brings in profit. I tried to watch it out of fact that my family likes Star Wars and we all grew up watching it, but all of these unhealthy assumptions and terrible choices in terms of writing and design leave a bitter and nauseating feeling.” - Respondent 605

In the survey, various questions were asked about fans’ feelings about The Bad Batch. Before reading the carrd, 34.7% of fans answered that writing was their least favorite aspect of the series, with the next being the main characters. Elaborations in the following free write made clear that the whitewashing and stereotypical writing were huge factors of these opinions. One a 1 to 5 satisfaction scale, 68.1% of respondents rated their satisfaction at a 3 or lower--again, due to the whitewashing and other issues respondents perceived in The Bad Batch. When asked to analyze pre-post carrd-reading feelings regarding the above issues, every category saw a marked increase in awareness of the issue at hand. The perceived prominence of the whitewashing went from 81.3% to 91.4% in respondents. The awareness of ableism jumped almost 30%, from 52.6% to 84.4%. The majority of respondents (59%) were not aware of the antisemitism in the series, but after reading the carrd, that statistic flipped to 80.5%, a near 60% increase from the original 26.7%. Regarding the other racist issues, the respondents went from 63.1% to 83.7%.

Fans of color, neurodivergent fans, disabled fans, and Jewish fans have been waiting for the day where we can see ourselves on screen a level of attention and care that makes us feel even more at home in the Star Wars community . If Disney’s message is truly family-friendly, if Star Wars is for everyone, then Disney needs to support these views with not just words, but with actions. Resolve the racism in Star Wars: The Bad Batch, take out the antisemitism, and treat your nonwhite, disabled, and neurodivergent characters--and fans--with the respect and dignity they deserve.

This will not be a benefit solely to the fans who are asking to be represented properly. In today’s time, popular media is facing a reckoning; media that is inclusive of and respectful towards minoritized groups ends up with leagues more popularity, high ratings, and good reviews than those that don’t. A recent and prominent example is Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, a movie for which the inclusion of Asian-Americans at nearly all levels of production boosted its image and aided in its successful box office release. Black Panther is another prominent example--a movie spearheaded by Black people that completed its box office run at more than five times its initial budget in total revenue. The proper representation of people of color is a two-fold benefit.

Star Wars: The Bad Batch already has beautiful animation that reminds many longtime Star Wars: The Clone Wars fans of their childhood.

It is our hope that you will take our concerns as well as the concerns of others into account, and address the issues that we have outlined in order to better reflect the Walt Disney Company’s commitment to inclusive, diverse entertainment for audiences of all ages. Thank you for your attention to this issue.

Respectfully,

Fans of The Bad Batch

[windmaedchen-fairytail]

Power Lust

It’s been a couple of weeks since Ivan’s experiment. Makarov hadn’t left him alone about this business, so in the end he had budged and admitted the use of the rare lacrima. What he failed to understand was the drama his father made out of it. Laxus was clearly fine and Ivan was there to help him adjust to the new found power. One could have thought that his efforts and time spend to nurture his son would be met with enthusiasm, however, in reality, Makarov was barely tolerating it.

Not that Ivan really expected anything else by now, as tolerating him was one of his father’s specialities. He shifted his weight and leaned against the frame of the open door. He was watching from afar as Laxus did some extra training, trying to conjure lightning and making it hit the dummy.

“KACHOW! KACHOW! Hahahahaha!”

Laxus shouted out loud above the noise of thunder every time his lightning struck. He danced when he hit his target and groaned when he did not. He wouldn’t sulk for long, however, as the joy of finally becoming a wizard like his Dad and Grandfather gave him the strength to continue.

The passion in Laxus’s movements and voice brought a smile to Ivan’s lips. His son had accepted the lacrima much better than he had anticipated and all he needed now was guidance to bring forth all that he is capable of.

When Ivan heard the faint steps behind him, his smile disappeared from his face. He turned around to see Makarov stand next to him, watching out into the garden. For a moment, there was silence between the two men but then the older Dreyar began the conversation he came to have.

“He is so motivated to learn and become stronger. He is doing that for you. Does that make you happy?”

“I am certainly pleased to see this, yes. The result is better than I had hoped for and Laxus might actually become a useful asset.”, replied Ivan calmly. When he heard Makarov grunt in disapproval, he looked over. Was that not what he had just asked for?

“That wasn’t quite what I was thinking of.”, sighed Makarov. “Result? Useful asset? Can’t you ever stop talking about people like they are tools and appreciate them for their souls?”

“At least I DO appreciate the fact that they ARE tools and I will utilize Laxus to the best of his potential. It will give him a real purpose beyond just being my son - or your grandson.”

“Tools and experiments, is that all you really care for? Did you not feel any love for Laxus the way he was? Was he not good enough?”

Now it was time for Ivan to grunt in disapproval. How could that weak boy be good enough? He was constantly sick, couldn’t do any magic yet and still needed a nanny nearly 24/7. Was this not exactly what he needed, to become stronger, more powerful and gain independence from all the guild’s mother hens around him?

Another thought crossed Ivan’s mind, as he turned to answer his father.

“If challenging your son and training him to become better and stronger than the Status Quo of yesterday is, in your eyes, a lack of love - I dare say I love my son as much as you did yours.”

“Ivan! What are you--”

Makarov stopped mid-sentence and turned to face his son. While Ivan returned the gaze, his eyes were clouded and shielded the view into his soul from Makarov’s penetrating stare.

Laxus’s voice drew their attention before the conversation could continue.

“Whoohoo! More! More! Kachow—OUCH!”

The blonde boy jumped in circles for a moment, shaking his arm frantically. The lacrima had been implanted into a host body much weaker than its inert magic level. This meant that while being used so clumsily, overflowing magic will escape in an uncontrolled manner, causing some harm to the encompassing tissues. A minor problem that will go away with training. In fact, Laxus himself seemed hardly fazed by it, as he started laughing during his little dance of pain.

“Laxus! Remember what I told you about visualizing your attack first. If you go too fast, you’ll loose control!”

Ivan reprimanded him from afar. His son lifted his arm to the sky as if to say “All good!” and then turned around to get payback on the training dummy.

Makarov pointed at Laxus and reproached Ivan with it.

“This is hurting him! You WILL stop this.”

Ivan ignored the warning and chuckled quietly do himself.

“Come now, we all have had our accidents as we were training. I don’t remember letting that hold you back from encouraging me to continue. Isn’t this exactly as you like it?

“This is different, Ivan. There is a line to everything and this-”, Makarov pointed at Laxus, “-is crossing it. You KNOW that to be the case. Implanting that lacrima into his weak body could have killed him in the spot if you had made even the slightest mistake. It STILL could kill him now, if you excerpt him too much.”

With a wave of the hand and a groan Ivan dismissed the issue.

“Yes, yes. Stop complaining. Life is a risk. Look at him! He is making the best out of himself, overcoming his weakness. He would never have had any of that strength without me.”

“LOOK! DAD! GRAMPS!”

Laxus pointed excitedly at a charcoaled area on the dummy that glimmered a bright red around some sharp edges of the wood. His lightning had burned it. His family responded in unison, one in approval, one in dismay.

This wasn’t what Makarov hoped for.

“I know very well that as a father you wish to see your offspring become strong and self-sufficient. It is our responsibility to support them in that endeavour, too. But this is a shortcut that will harm him, Ivan. Why don’t you see that?”

“Oh quit it, old man. You have not the faintest idea nor do you care about my work and all you have ever done is impose sanctions and recite love poems to me. It has, frankly, long been useless to lecture me.”

Ivan’s tone changed. Where he showed patience before he exchanged it now for bitterness. He was too old to be lectured on anything any more, especially as he thought the lecturer to be a hypocrite on that matter.

Makarov lowered his head and resigned in agreement. 

“Indeed. Forgive me for having let you down at a time when I still had the chance to reach you. Now, all I can do is prevent damage to others…”

“Tsk. Do you even have the guts-”

“Yes.” Makarov interrupted his son decidedly. “I watched you and your schemes for long enough and I should have done this much sooner. Listen well for I am saying this only once.”

Makarov underlined the weight of his words with an unwavering, direct look into his son’s dark eyes.

“Ivan, CEASE your training this instant. Do not take your responsibility for your son’s well-being lightly…  if this continues in any shape or form, you will have no place to return to. Neither guild nor family.”

It was Ivan who looked away, focusing his gaze on Laxus. He couldn’t imagine Makarov to pull through with his threat. His father’s love for him made him weak and he always skirted around serious punishment before. So why would he do it now?

============================================

Ivan had seen enough. Laxus was still not ready yet and there was no point in watching his son any longer for today. He got up from the tree trunk and sighed heavily.

“It’s been a couple of days and you still haven’t destroyed that dummy. When you said you had chipped it, I thought we’d see you perform the final blow today… looks like I was mistaken. Time for me to get back to work.”

With alarm Laxus’s eyes darted over to the moving figure. He had sweat pouring down his body and bend forwards a bit to rest his hands on his knees. The dummy in front of him had nothing but a few new scratches.

“No, Dad, wait!”, gasped the young boy desperately. “I just need… ONE more try… and then I can go with you.”

“Hmm? I really can’t waste any more time here, Laxus. You are still too weak.”

Ivan graced his son with a look of disapproval, then turned and walked away, ignoring Laxus’s further pleas. He heard moans from behind him and thought for a moment that Laxus had started to cry again, so he focused on his own mind to distract himself. He had imagined that the intense desire to be strong and at his side would accelerate Laxus’s development, particularly since they had to meet in secret like this. Instead, despite the initial incredible pace, Laxus slowed down again. Is it possible that the cap Makarov is trying to put on the boy dampered the effectiveness of their training? He should try and send Laxus along some jobs with the others to encourage him to--

“AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!”

Ivan’s thoughts were harshly interrupted by an intense scream coming from behind him. He turned around instantly and looked back to the small clearing where Laxus had been standing a moment ago. Now he was down on the floor, jerking in visible pain. The continuous groans of agony drew him back very quickly. What on earth had happened? Was a stray, uncontrolled discharge of the lacrima able to bring Laxus down like this?

Lightning still sparked forth from the writhering boy and forced Ivan to approach with caution. He noticed the red blood on Laxus’s face, hands and hair and searched his pockets for something to cover the wound with. As he found nothing, his hands untied the knot of his cravat and folded it down to a smaller, double layered cloth.

Ivan knelt down besides Laxus and reached out to touch him by the shoulder but he withdrew his hand instantly. “Argh!” An electric spark shot through his body as he made direct contact with Laxus’s bare skin. Ivan gritted his teeth and tried to push Laxus onto his back once more anyway. This time the magical electricity was tolerable. The boy’s groans turned into weak sobs and his body grew limb as the effects of the sudden discharge ebbed down.

Ivan now gently lifted the protective hand covering Laxus’s face. He held the cloth ready but the moment he saw what was underneath, Ivan knew this was going to be some permanent damage. And a certain someone would NOT like this.

“Damn.”

======================= END PART 2

[kaepop-trash]

the miscellaneous are back! please ever since you made doyoung an absolute no in of snakes and lions i've been a mess. i need more of him anything but maybe doyoung and oc getting together or breaking up? i know i shouldn't but i feel so sad for him.

The Miscellaneous never left! My inbox is always open for them. Send any whenever you want, if you’re curious about something about the character. I can’t promise to always be as quick to reply as I was with this, I just happened to have some time and and the moment I read your ask the idea came to me. But irrespective, I will reply to all asks.

I did both getting together and breaking up. I was hoping this both justifies you feeling bad for him but also explains why it was one of the doomed ones. Kim Doyoung truly my king of doomed romances (haha) In case you want a genuinely well-written story that has a lot of similar elements but has Doyoung as the main lead, you should go read @notnctu‘s hogwarts au Push&Pull. It was incredible and I’m still not over it. For now, here’s what you wanted.

--

"No." (Y/N) furrowed her brows.

"No?" Doyoung raised his.

"No." She repeated herself.

Doyoung frowned, caught off-guard by her response. He chewed on the flesh inside his mouth till it was swollen.

He took a struggling breath, trying to keep his voice patient. "I'm asking you out on a date, (Y/N). After we've been sleeping together for three months. And you're saying no?" 

"Precisely." She didn't seem phased.

"Why?" His brows furrowed further, a look only Kim Doyoung could pull off.

"Because." She blinked twice, fluttering her gaze away from his intense stare, "You're clearly infatuated with that Gryffindor girl. You have been since 7th year. Sex is fine. But I'm not going to be anybody's emotional substitute." She stared at the grains of the wooden table before looking out the window, the library overlooking the grounds.

"You aren't a substitute. I used to like Jisoo." He sat down on the chair beside her.

She scoffed, turning to him. "And now, what? You like me? Why because I let you fuck me when she won't?" She scoffed again, a lump forming in her throat despite herself.

"No." He put his hand on her cheek, turning her to face him. "Because we're the same, you and I. Because I thought that you understood that I was falling for you despite me having to say it. Because despite myself, I found myself coming back to you over and over." He blinked.

A bitter smile formed on her lips, "I don't want to be someone a person likes despite their better judgement."

Doyoung groaned, "You're making this so much harder than it needs to be." He frowned again.

"Good." She interjected. "I didn't ask for this." She groaned herself when her vision blurred from tears she tried to blink away.

She hated him. 

She hated him for kissing her that one night three months ago in the library. She hated him for leaving without a word and then coming back the next day for more. She hated him for saying all the right things in her ears while he was deep inside her. But most of all she hated herself for allowing herself to grow feelings for him while knowing better.

"Please." His voice was a soft plea, it made her heart flutter. "Just try it. Go out with me once." He took her cold hands in his clammy ones, the heat spreading through her, "If at any point I do anything to hurt you then put some dreadful potion in a glass and give it to me. Or hex me. But don't just push this away without giving it a try." 

She knew this would be wrong. She knew she should say no. But against her better judgement, she kissed him instead.

_

Doyoung knew that out of all the way to deal with fights, walking away wasn't the best. But he also knew himself, he knew it was better than saying things he did not mean in a moment's anger.

He drew in an irritated breath, frustrated with everything. Everything was impossibly hard with (Y/N). They both felt with equal ferocity but stayed silent about most things. It was one of the similarities they had that had turned into a vice over the years; a long relationship of bitter things left unsaid till it was spat in a fit of rage. 

He looked over the viaduct at the gaping precipice it stood over. Caught off-guard by the sound of shuffling footsteps as they came and stood beside him. He wasn't sure how he missed it.

"Oh hey it is you! I was wondering if I was seeing correctly." A voice he knew too well made him look away from the edge to upturned eyes.

He hadn't seen her in a while, the castle was large enough for that to happen sometimes, but age only made Jisoo more beautiful. He blushed when he realised he was staring at her.

"I haven't seen you ever since I dropped potions for divination. I used to think the castle wasn't that big, but I guess not huh?" She bumped her shoulder with his as she placed her elbows on the balustrade, looking down at where he was looking before. "What are we looking at?" She questioned, eyes focusing on searching whatever he was looking at.

"Nothing." He spoke too soon, his voice too gruff.

She looked up at him, lips parted and eyes wide. Then something seemed to click inside, "Oh. I interrupted some deep thought, didn't I?" She winced.

"No!" He defended, again too quick. He cleared his throat, looking away and trying to level his voice, "Nothing too deep." He dismissed.

She scoffed, “You’re always thinking something deep. You’re the smart one.” Her words stirred something inside Doyoung. 

He cursed himself.

"You look good, Doyoung." Her words made his neck snap to face her. She bit her lip, fluttering her gaze away from his. He noted the pink tint of her cheeks, eyes furrowing in confusion.

What was going on?

Jisoo took a step back from the edge, her form lingering as she turned to him, "It was nice to see you again Doyoung. Really nice. You've really grown into yourself." Her eyes brushed against his shoulders and it was his turn to blush.

"Thank you." The words were spat out, distracted. She gave him one last breathtaking smile before turning and walking into the fog that had settled on the grounds.

_

Doyoung was sure he had forgotten to breathe when he heard his door open. (Y/N) stood at the door, first with a look of devastation in her eyes and then nothing. Her hand gripped the handle so tight that it creaked under the assault.

"(Y/N), baby." He pushed Jisoo off his lap with a swift motion. Getting out of his bed and following her while she walked out of his rooms and to the stairs. Not caring that he wasn't wearing a shirt.

"(Y/N)!" He cried out, grabbing her arm desperately. A pain shot through the arm he used to grab her, noticing her wand in the other hand.

“Touch me again and I will honour your promise and hex you. Go back to your room, Doyoung. You are shirtless and have an erection. Don’t embarrass yourself and more importantly, do not embarrass me.” Her eyes welled up but her voice was hollow.

Panic clawed up Doyoung’s throat till it burned worse than his arm, “Darling, please.” He begged, grabbing her shoulder. He flew back from another unspoken spell, hitting the wall beside his door with a loud thud and a vicious crack in his arm. He sat helplessly and heard the echoes of her rushing down the stairs of the tower.

When he walked back into the room, Jisoo was sitting at the edge of his bed. Her shirt still had the buttons of the top half open, her chest exposed.

“You’re hurt.” She looked at her arm, twisted at an excruciating angle.

“Leave.” His voice was frigid.

She ignored his words, “Let me look at your arm.” She got up.

“Get out, Jisoo.” He repeated with more anger. Her steps faltered.

She looked up at him, her eyes fighting between guilt from what happened and the hurt his voice made her feel, “She’s gone, Doyoung.” She felt small as the words left her, “I’m still here.” She took a few steps closer.

“Exactly.” He spat the word at her, “I was wrong. I made a mistake. Now she’s gone.” There was a passing pain in his eyes, one that turned to bitter ice when they met hers, “And you’re still here.” While he felt utterly ashamed at the moment, it was easier to lash out on the person in front of him.

“Doyoung.” Her voice quivered as tears fell from her eyes, “Please.” She looked to the floor.

“You aren’t her, Jisoo. You’re just a beautiful face I was infatuated with my entire childhood. (Y/N) is my other half, you can’t be that.” He turned away from her, searching for his shirt on the floor.

“Then why?” She whispered, “Why did you sleep with me? Why did you do it thrice?” Her voice gained in volume and hatred. Doyoung was glad he wasn’t in front of her when the words made him wince.

He looked up at her and shrugged, “I told you. I wanted to know how it would feel to have what I wanted for so many years. It wasn’t that great.” He tried to keep his eyes bored.

She stared at him in disbelief before biting down her jaw. She looked away and buttoned her shirt back up, “Then I guess you just saved two people from wasting their time on a vile person like you.” She looked up when she was done. He suppressed the effect of the sting her words caused again, giving her nothing in his eyes. She huffed one last time, picking up what she had left of her dignity and left with the head held high.

Doyoung slowly sat down on his bed, putting his head on the palm of one hand, while his broken arm stayed limp beside him. Taking a shaky breath, he let the pain that seared from the fractured bone feel like a well-deserved punishment..

[holderofthebowl]

Chapter Ten: If You Had But Asked

- Chapter One: In the Service of the Queen - Chapter Two: Peace Offerings - Chapter Three: Salve for the Soul - Chapter Four: Kings Guard - Chapter Five: Not a Door, but a Window - Chapter Six: Typical Æsir Arrogance - Chapter Seven: For Odin’s Sons Are We - Chapter Eight: A Demonstration - Chapter Nine: What the Gods have Joined, Let None Put Asunder -

Summary: The start of a multi chapter origin story for Loki x Sigyn in the Marvel Movie Verse which will incorporate both mythological elements and elements from her comic backstory. This takes place between the Avengers and Thor 2 during his imprisonment.

Author: holderofthebowl

Which Tom/Character: Loki

Authors Note: Well it’s been almost 5 years... hahaha sorry about deserting you all, in the middle of the climax and everything. Med school and then the first few years of being a real grownup with a big kid job, moving back to the states and 1000 other things in life and such. Anyhow, if you are new to this fic start at chapter 1 or you are gonna be real confused. Sorry if I’m a little rusty, but an update 5 years later is better than nothing :) Anyhow ‘So I made you some content, daddy made you your favorite open wide’ I hope you enjoy. 

Rating: PG, A slow burn but we’re finally there. A whole kiss in this chapter and everything. 

Sigyn’s slippers clicked with purpose as she marched down the marble steps toward the dungeon. She angrily whipped both her cheeks with her palms. Her tears had changed from mortified embarrassment to red hot anger. The long train of her heavily embroidered and laced wedding dress draped along the steps behind her. 

She turned the corner toward Loki’s cell. The scene there did not surprise her. Four Crimson Hawks were upon him. Two of them pointed their weapons at her dark haired bride groom’s back. The other two, were pinning him to the bed, one was clamping manacles to his wrists, the other leaned an elbow across the back of his neck, holding him in a kneeling position with the side of his face to the mattress. No doubt trying to pull from him the location of their missing comrade.

“Where is he?” Sigyn spat at her now husband, with a level of venom that startled Odin’s soldiers slightly from their own interrogation, as they all turned to meet her gaze. 

Loki beamed at her, speaking as though there weren't soldiers leaning on his neck. “Sigyn, what a fine ceremony that was, beautiful, I especially loved the floral arrangements. So very sorry I wasn’t able to stay till the end. By any chance, would you be willing to tell me how it went?” 

Sigyn ignored his question. “Where is he Loki. Did you kill him? Is he dead?” She moved closer to the force field in front of her, her hands clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. 

Loki chuckled “ I mean, one can only hope.” he said shrugging, The man above Loki snarled and increased the pressure on Loki’s neck causing him to wince. Sigyn pursed her lips before addressing the Odin’s men. 

“I demand to speak to my husband. Alone! Asgardian law gives me that right!”  Everyone in the cell froze. None had been there for the conclusion of the ceremony and for a single moment, the entire cell of men was shocked, including Loki. It was he that cut through the silence. A deep full laugh that reverberated down the stone hall, only slightly muffled with half his face pressed into his linen sheets.

Slowly the soldiers withdrew, undoing the manacles, letting Loki push himself into a standing position. He dusted himself off with dramatic flare, his face beaming. The Hawks lowered the barrier allowing Sigyn to enter. They shot her looks as if she had grown a second head, too shocked to be upset about the betrayal of their brother in arms. She walked past them trying not to notice. She doubted this would be the end of looks and side glances she’d receive, likely for the rest of her days on Asgard. 

Loki approached her arms out, as though he thought to embrace her. The sound of the slap reverberated across the cell. Loki took a step back, and rubbed his cheek, but his smile didn’t dissipate. “Where is Theoric?” Sigyn demanded crossing her arms. 

Loki let a noise of irritation slip from between his lips and rolled his eyes. He threw a hand up in a gesture of dismissal. “That’s not important right now. What’s important is...”

“It’s important to me Loki.” she cut him off. Loki ignored her plea 

“And Odin really let the marriage stand? Ha! I can’t believe it worked. I can just imagine the row that caused. Was my brother there? I didn’t see him in the crowd beforehand.” Sygin watched him start to pace, he was having a difficult time keeping the energy of a successful scheme contained. 

Her shoulders slumped slightly and she sighed. This was not working. She was going to have to find a different tactic. Why she thought insisting Loki do anything directly would work in the first place was beyond her. Threats and orders were not in the prince’s nature to obey. She thought a moment. “Well, I guess there is one benefit to him being dead..”

This comment stopped Loki cold, and he turned to her. “What benefit?” he asked. Good, he was confused. He hadn’t expected that. He didn’t like being confused. 

“I mean at least I won’t have to tell him.” she said shaking her head. Loki lifted a single sculpted black eyebrow. “You know, I won’t have to tell him how you tricked him into missing his own wedding day. How it caused a huge scene, humiliating him in front of the All Father and the entire court of the Æsir. And then, how in front of his family, and his friends, at his own wedding, I married that man instead.” She paused for effect, allowing Loki to contemplate that a moment. “You’re right, I’d rather not have to break that news to him. Can you even imagine how humiliating that will be?”

Loki was still for a moment, and then the corner of his mouth began to drift upward. “Oh, no my dear. You are right, that’s much better.” He turned and strode away to her toward the corner of the cell, addressing the Crimson Hawks who had been standing back, eavesdropping no doubt. “Tell Heimdall to cast his eye toward Svartalfheim. He should find your man there. If he didn’t die falling through the portal, or succumb to something on the planet.” Loki chuckled to himself. The guards left to find their fallen comrade. And they were left alone.

“Thank you” said Sigyn, some of the tightness dissipating from her chest. 

“Are you happy now?’ Loki asked.

Sigyn narrowed her eyes and stepped towards him “Am I happy now?” she parroted back her hand balling back into a fist. All her previous rage flooding to the forefront. Loki instinctually took a step back, his eyes flicking toward the hand that had slapped him with earlier. “You humiliated me, that was mortifying. That was possibly the worst thing anyone has ever done to me.”

Loki face contorted suddenly into confusion. “But, you said yes? You still married me?” 

“Of course I married you. If you had just spoken to me, but once, anytime during the months we’d spent together, before I ended up in front of the All Father. If you had given me any indication that...” the words were getting stuck in her throat now, fresh tears on her cheeks.  “If you had said anything, anything at all about how you fel...” she cleared her throat to choke back a sob. “But no, talking to me like a peer, a person would have been too difficult. Instead you come up with some grand scheme to get your way. Consequences to others be damned. You arrogant emotionally stunted child!”

“You wouldn’t have married him. If I had but asked you not to?” his voice was quiet. An innocent honesty to it as he searched her face, so profoundly uncharacteristic and sincere. 

Sigyn felt the angry leave her body, she let it go with a breath. “I wouldn't have married him.” her reply was simple. 

It was all she needed to say. He closed the distance between then so quickly Sigyn barely noticed and then his lips were on hers. He pulled her in tightly, arms warping around her back. She leaned into him, her hands finding his dark hair and kissed him back, just as hard.   

[927roses-and-stuff]

Miracles in Gotham: Chapter 3: Unwelcome Discoveries (Part 1)

Hey, guys! This fic is inspired by @ozmav mav’s Maribat AU. Shoutout to @mystery-5-5  for brainstorming ideas with me for this fic. 

Midterms have got me acting up. Despite the quarantine, I literally wasn’t motivated to write until the moment I could use writing to procrastinate. Absolutely brilliant logic. Truly. Thank you guys so much for the wait and I hope you enjoy this chapter.  

If you want to see more, follow: #miraclesingotham or ask to be added to the tag list.

P.S. For the sake of continuity, I’m going to ignore the Heroes United thing because that episode was basically a fanfic of the fanfic and as much as I loved the animation and the new characters...I’ve seen better plots and explanations for a lot of the similar problems in the Maribat fandom. Also Sparrow is probably a reference to Batman, anyways. Also, canon has just gone out the window...I guess...whoops. 

P.P.S. Swearing tw, death tw. 

Please remember this is rated M for a reason. Also, it is my headcanon that not everyone who dies during the akuma attacks come back. Of course, it’s not mentioned in a children’s show, but I’ve always seen the Miraculous Cure as a cure for physical, non-living objects as they’re easier to fix, and lives take a lot more effort and energy from the user to revive. And since Marinette is a child, there’s not going to be a lot of energy to spare.

Tag list: @northernbluetongue @spicybelladonna @my-name-is-michell @legendaryneckjudgestudent @lokiifriggasonn @zerotosiki

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To the members of the Justice League…

I am writing to you as Chat Noir, superhero of Paris and holder of the Black Cat Miraculous of Destruction, and partner to Ladybug, the official Guardian and the holder of the Ladybug Miraculous of Creation. I come to you with a plea similar to ones that we have sent you a year ago. The magical terrorist, Hawkmoth, is still at large here in Paris, France. If you are not aware of who he is, Hawkmoth is a domestic terrorist in Paris who relies on the power of the Butterfly Miraculous to create a physical and amplified manifestation of a person’s negative emotions, using the victim as a host, using magical butterflies as his form of transmission. These are called akumas. The akuma allows Hakwmoth to essentially get inside the mind of  his victims and manipulate and amplify their emotions.  We have been fortunate enough to have a failsafe in Ladybug, who can repair any physical damages, and even bring back lives, from these attacks. However, both Ladybug and I have reached our wits’ ends with no lead to Hawkmoth’s true identity. The people of Paris are suffering both from emotional trauma and the physical trauma of being subjugated, manipulated, experiencing bouts of amnesia, and even resurrecting multiple times. Hawkmoth has even taken to exclusively targeting a middle-school class at College Francois-Dupont.

Ladybug and I are aware of the risks superhero presence may bring since we will not survive a fight if any more experienced superheroes such as yourselves are akumatized. However, I feel that we have no other choice. Our Master has recently been put out of commission and the rest of our comrades have had their identities compromised. Ladybug is now the Guardian of the rest of the Miraculous. And although she will not approve of my plea, even your  advice or insight will be of use to us.

Please consider our plight and contact us as soon as you can.

Chat Noir 

Bruce Wayne was not a perfect man, he will admit. However, he did pride himself on his sense of logic and adaptability to most situations, as long as they stayed within the mortal realms of believability that is. Magic, however, or anything pertaining to the supernatural was out of his forte; in fact, he often liked to pretend it did not exist despite having acquaintances and enemies whose entire lives revolved around it. There was a reason he did not tolerate the  prolonged presence of meta-humans in Gotham, after all. 

He re-read through the email once, twice, again and again, desperately wishing that it had not been his shift to look through the messages that the Justice League received on a daily basis. Why couldn’t it have been Superman or Wonder Woman? Or better yet, Dr. Fate or Zatanna, never mind the fact that the latter was technically retired. Any of them would’ve made sense of this gibberish that was laid out in front of him. 

Initially, he thought it had been a coded message. It made perfect sense, in his opinion. The only concrete fact he could dissect out of this nonsense was the presence of a domestic terrorist and how they were targeting some middle school students for whatever reason. His mind recalled  the recent conversation he had with André Bourgeois yesterday. Even he had mentioned a domestic terrorist going after his daughter’s class, which was why he reached out to Bruce, since Bruce would be the most fitted to protect them with his resources, despite Gotham being the crime capital of the world. He nodded to himself; the facts were consistent then. There was a terrorist and middle school students were the targets. 

On one of the other screen monitors, he had pulled up records of College Francois Dupont School for a background check using a VPN to connect to French service networks. Both the email from this Chat Noir (Selina would get a kick out of that) and André failed to mention the terrorist’s intentions with these kids. However, looking through the different classes, there had been a special note besides Mme. Bustier’s class that stated:

“High vulnerability to akumas.”

This was where Bruce was once again stumped. Of course, he really couldn’t deny the existence of magic, but accepting that meant accepting that the terrorist used magical butterflies as his form of attack. Bruce wasn’t a qualified psychologist or any sort of specialist, but surely magical butterflies could not give you emotional trauma, mind-control, or even as Chat Noir had implied, a means to murder. 

Bruce scanned through Mme. Bustier’s class to look for anything that might be different from other classes. If he recalled correctly, this was the same class that André’s kid was in. He took note of the name, Chloé Bourgeois, and other notable names such as Adrien Agreste (who’s father was a fashion mogul and a model in his own right), Lila Rossi (a diplomat’s daughter), Max Kanté (a genius, and he noted to himself to see if that held true when the class was under his supervision), Marinette Dupain-Cheng (the class president and the designer of a recent rock album according to Jason who had obsessed over the cover for a few weeks before Alfred confiscated it), and Alya Césaire (an aspiring journalist who ran a blog called the Ladyblog). 

Okay, he rationalized. While not all of these kids were significant, some, like the Mayor’s own daughter, would be prime targets for a terrorist, so that made some sort of sense in Bruce’s mind. 

He sighed again, wishing that he had a cup of coffee or an energy drink with him at the moment. Unfortunately, Tim’s recent addiction meant no one could have it. Bruce scoffed underneath his breath. Alfred had really weird rules when it came to show “family support.” Tim was a grown man who should suffer his own consequences. Alas, no one argues with Alfred lest they risked his wrath. 

Bruce hovered over the link under Mlle. Césaire’s file, the Ladyblog. Perhaps it would give him some answers. 

As a bright ladybug designed website popped up, Bruce realized he might have been so wrong. 

He scrolled through the website thoroughly from the latest posts to the earliest. He noticed a concerning trend where the later blog posts centered more around one of Césaire’s classmates, Lila Rossi, and shaky videos of a red and black spotted figurem and a black cat figure fleeing the scene, or fighting some sort of abomination that Bruce did not even attempt to understand. In one video it was the two heroes against a flock of pigeons, or a gigantic baby, or whatever else. Bruce had half a mind to dismiss the entire blog as based on falsities, however one of the videos caught his eye. 

It was a video titled: “Syren: Paris Going Underwater!!” 

That was concerning, considering a flooded Paris would’ve featured on international news, not just on an amateur blog by a middle schooler. Fortunately for him, the video quality was clearer, allowing him to watch as the camera recorded the scene of that day. 

Bruce jolted awake and snapped to attention when he realized it was being filmed on a rooftop, and that the water levels were still rising as the video progressed. From what the camera captured, there were only a handful of people on each rooftop; not even making up a fifth of the Parisian population in total. 

What the fuck?

Then, as the video concluded, gigantic swarms of red and white bugs (ladybugs?) filled the camera’s frame and when it disappeared, everything was back to what he presumed was normal. The video then faded to black, posting statistics that chilled Bruce to the fucking bone. 

“Death count: 1.528 million Parisians

Resurrection count: 1.51 million Parisians

Injured count: 10 000 Parisians

Permanent death count: 18 000 Parisians

In honour of the Parisians who were not revived and were injured during the attack, the Ladyblog, offers our condolences, and will help in any way we can online and offline.  The akuma victim, as always, will remain anonymous for safety purposes.  Links to help organizations and donation funds to the peoples and families affected will be posted below. Additional links will be posted for available online mental health services.”

And, if Chat Noir was to be believed, some people had died multiple times. 

After making sure the video was not doctored in any way (though that would be cruel to assume about a kid’s blog), Bruce sent Chat Noir’s email (along with the earlier videos from both heroes and an email from Marinette Dupain-Cheng that he had found) and all of the links he had amassed to his own computer in the Bat Cave before closing all the tabs on the monitors. Swerving around, he stormed to the Batmobile, eyebrows furrowed in solemnity. 

Magic or not, whatever terrorist was plaguing Paris had a pretty damn high casualty count, and the only people that were stopping him were this Ladybug and Chat Noir people, who did not seem to be properly equipped (the Ladybug heroine was using a yoyo, for fuck’s sake) to deal with someone of this power. Not to mention, Bruce winced, their mentor  was “out of commission” whatever that meant, with their peers being compromised, so they probably had no outside help.

And it seems, Bruce’s features darkened into a scowl, his dear friend André Bourgeois had a lot of explaining to do. Police department has it handled, his ass. 

In the meantime, he was going to make damn sure the class under his care would have a relaxing reprieve even if he had to lock up every villain in Arkham Asylum himself. 

________________________________________________________________

Dear Diary, 

The talk with Chat was a bust. I know he thinks I don’t trust him, but I wish he knew how much I’m trying to, but it’s not as simple as he makes it out to be...right?  And of course I trust him with my life, but as the Guardian, I can’t just make impulsive decisions like going to other superheroes, especially when there’s no guarantee they would help us, or can even be trusted in the first place! And I can’t just reveal our identities to each other either. It would put Chat and the rest of the Miraculous at risk. And I really don’t want a repeat of Chat Blanc…

That future will never happen on my watch. I forbid it. 

Speaking of other superheroes, I think there might be someone though, who could help us, even a little bit. 

Marianne. 

She wasn’t a Guardian, but she was a Ladybug user for a while and was really close to Master Fu. She must know something. She’s in London so she might not be available but...

I’ll check up on her today after class! If she has any helpful advice, I’ll be sure to share it with Chat too. 

Gotta go!

Bisoux, 

Marinette

Scrambling to get ready, Marinette fumbled with her pigtails and shoulder bag simultaneously, trying to make sure that her pigtails were just right. Tikki zoomed around, helping her get ready by shoving stray pens and pencils into her pockets. When they were done, Marinette rushed downstairs, swiping one of the freshly-made quiche along the way. Just before she exited the store, she turned back to give her Maman and Papa a smooch. Hastily, she then left the bakery, the bakery’s bell ringing behind her as she sprinted to school. 

It was a mystery for most people, but despite living less than five minutes away from the school, Marinette was always late. Marinette liked to blame her Ladybug duties when Tikki asked, but she knew better. She had the habit of being late since before she knew the Miraculous existed. 

To be fair though, Marinette usually slept in because she was exhausted from schoolwork, designing,

and Ladybug duties. Was it her fault that Hawkmoth liked making 3 AM akumas? Was it her fault that coffee- for all the espresso and sugar she dumped into it, and despite all those hipster blogs saying otherwise- did nothing to help her stay awake? Of course not. If anything she was a victim here; a victim of late night akumas and faulty biology. 

Fortunately for her (and her quiche), she was actually earlier today than usual. She could see students milling around the courtyard behind the school. Some sat with their friend groups while others huddled to catch up on the homework from the night before. 

Unfortunately, one of those groups was Lila and her friends. Lila sat on one of the picnic tables, talking about whatever grand adventure she supposedly went on or whichever famous celebrity she supposedly saved from a rare type of cancer or something while her friends sat around her, captivated with every word. Marinette rolled her eyes. It was too early for this. 

She steered away from them towards the other side of the yard, where she could see Alya and Nino cuddling while finishing their homework. She glanced back at Lila, who waved at the couple before going back to whatever story she was regaling to her loving audience. It was probably because Alya and Nino hadn’t seen Lila greet them in the first place, but Marinette couldn’t help feeling a bit happy that they didn’t return her greeting. 

“Morning, guys!” She greeted as she approached their table, sitting on the other side. 

Alya looked up first. “Hey! You woke up early today,” she teased, giving her shoulder a friendly nudge.

“Heh, guess it’s my lucky day today,” she said. As she sat down, she began eating the quiche she had swiped earlier. “Well, almost, anyway.”

Alya rolled her eyes and smirked. “You live in front of the school. It’s your own damn fault at this point.” 

Nino, who had been pouring over a worksheet that was due today, finally looked up. Upon seeing Marinette, he smiled. “Hey, dude. You’re actually early!” 

At Marinette’s exasperated groan, both Alya and Nino fell into giggles, Marinette shortly following along. 

“Keep that up, and I’m not gonna let you guys eat at my place for lunch,” she teased, wagging a finger at them. 

Alya wagged her own finger, engaging in a finger sword fight. “As if your mom would ever let us starve!” 

Marinette laughed, as she wrapped her finger around Alya’s and lightly slammed it onto the table, declaring her victory. 

“Okay, okay, you got me.” Marinette went back to eating her quiche, devouring it before it got too cold. For once, she was in a pretty good mood. 

“Hey, Alya, Nino,”

And of course, she just had  to jinx it. 

Marinette didn’t even try to join in the conversation to acknowledge Lila’s presence. If Lila wanted to talk to her, she needed to stop lying about everything; and with her supposed “lying disease,” that wasn’t happening anytime soon. She only wished Adrien was here so someone could sympathize with her. 

“Oh, hey Lila,” Alya greeted, having gained her hand back and waved. “Ignore Nino here. He forgot about Mendeleiv’s worksheet due today.” 

“Oh, I see.” Lila said. “Well, you know, Nino. If you ever need help with science, one of my cousins actually won a Noble Peace Prize for his contributions in molecular chemistry.” 

Nino, to his credit, only muttered an “uh huh” before turning the worksheet over and frantically scribbling all over it. Marinette briefly wondered if Nino understood what he was writing down- or if he cared. 

Alya perked up. “Wow, that’s amazing Lila! What did your cousin do?”

Lila smiled bashfully, and looked away, waving her hand. “Oh, you know, it was the discovery of some man-made element.” Marinette had to give Lila credit- she knew how to fake her blushes really well. “I’m nowhere near as smart as my cousin, you know? All the scientific words get me so confused!” 

Marinette buried her head in her arms. Did she need to be here for this? She could just slip away? Glancing at Lila, who caught her eyes, she decided against it. Like hell she was letting Lila take away her time with her  friends. 

Alya laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, I understand completely. English is so much more of my forté, you know?” 

“Yeah I totally get what you mean.” Lila stopped laughing as her gaze landed on Marinette. Only she seemed to notice the glare she gave her.  “Oh, hi, Marinette. Glad to see you’re early today.” 

“Yeah,” she deadpanned. “Hi.” With a fake smile, she robotically waved at her. 

“Well, anyways I got to go. See you later Alya.”  Lila said, waving her fingers before finally walking away. Marinette exhaled. Thank kwami. She may have been less obnoxious today but that was probably because of Alya’s presence. 

Speaking of, the said girl turned towards her. “You could be nicer towards her.” 

“She almost got me expelled.” Marinette had had this conversation with Alya many times before. At this point, her responses came like clockwork. She contemplated telling Alya’s threat back in Lila’s first day, but she really wasn’t ready for the backlash if Alya accused her  of lying. 

“Well,” Alya stuttered. “It was because she has an illness that makes her lie uncontrollably.” 

Marinette was pretty sure there was no such illness but at this point, Lila had somehow convinced everyone it was an actual illness. That, or no one wanted to point out the obvious lie, including administration. Which would be pretty negligent of the school admin so she hoped not. 

“Alya, if it was just an illness that makes her tell lies, pray tell, who put the test answers in my bag and the necklace in my locker?” she asked. 

“Maybe, well,” Alya tried coming up with an answer but failed, thereby changing the subjects. “Look, both of you are my friends, and I don’t want to get in between the two of you.” 

Marinette sighed. “Yeah, yeah.” She picked up the discarded quiche container and her bag. “I gotta go to class and see if Mme. Bustier needs help.” 

Alya frowned. “Marinette, wait.” 

“It’s okay, really.” Marinette assured her, before walking away. When she was climbing up the steps to the entrance, she sighed heavily. She didn’t really understand Alya’s logic sometimes. If she knew about Lila’s supposed lying disease, why did she put Lila’s trash on the Ladyblog? If Alya knew Lila’s lies had led to Marinette’s initial expulsion, why still defend her? Marinette shook the thoughts away, not wanting to get into that impeding headache. Lila Rossi was never worth her time. 

When she reached the entrance, Lila was leaning against the doors, her arms crossed. Her olive green eyes were glaring right at her. 

“Dupain-Cheng.” 

“Rossi.” 

Lila strutted up to her, getting uncomfortably close to her face. “I told you what would happen if you didn’t play along.” 

Marinette stared back, unimpressed. She really had more pressing issues than this weird power play Lila wanted to play. Leaning back and stepping to the side, she said, “I already told you I’m not scared of you, Lila.” 

Marinette didn’t spare her another glance. In some ways, she pitied Lila. What kind of life did you have that you were so desperate for attention you lied about everything, and tried to get rid of anyone else who called you out? 

She really hoped Alya would soon see sense. Adrien had once told her to take the high road, and honestly? Sometimes, it felt good to not let Lila’s lies get under her skin. 

Then again, when did Lila ever go down so simply? 

[marril96]

Extra to the Bone

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Unhinged members of Rowena's former coven kidnap her girlfriend, and she enlists Sam and Dean's help to rescue her.

A/N: I wrote this back in April. It just never felt like the right time to publish it. So I just figured, why not today?

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian​

*****

The last thing you expected when you went grocery shopping was to be kidnapped by a group of women — girls, really, for even the oldest among them had the minds of adolescents, though it didn't make them any less dangerous.

They appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and before you could utter a spell to protect yourself, they were spouting magic of their own. Strength in numbers, because why play fair when they could gang up on their target?

Girls like them never played fair.

You supposed you should have expected it. After all, it was you who had been warning Rowena about them for months now. All your pleas to be careful fell on deaf ears; they were harmless, Rowena had said, and stood by it. Just an overly enthusiastic group of witches. A coven — hers, once upon a time, now independent, theirs. And, oh, boy, had they made it theirs.

Rowena considered them nothing more than a nuisance. A part of her, you assumed, was flattered by their antics, even as they leveled up from annoying to creepy and, in what seemed like no time, stalkerish. Even when the two of you had put on a new set of warding on your home — just in case they managed to track you down — Rowena had insisted you were safe. They adored her. They wanted her attention, her approval. They weren't interested in you.

Until today when, apparently, they were, and, god, it sucked. You hated them. Loathed them from the depths of your soul. Less than pleasant (to say the least) words burned at your tongue, itching to break free, to set loose at them, but before you could utter anything, a piece of cloth was pressed over your mouth, and, moment by moment, everything went black.

As you faded into nothingness, it wasn't fear that occupied your thoughts. Or worry, or desire to rip them apart.

It was, Damn, they can't even knock me out with magic.

Some witches they were.

*****

It wasn't every day that Rowena showed up at the Bunker — willingly — but desperate times called for desperate measures. She stormed in without even ringing the bell and started shouting for Sam and Dean as if her life depended on it.

Yours, however much she wanted to deny it, might have.

"Y/N's been taken!" she yelled when the brothers showed up, looking at her as if she'd grown a second head.

It was Sam who spoke first. "What? Taken by whom?"

"The Extra Coven!"

Dean raised his eyebrows, baffled. "The what?"

"The Extra Coven!" Rowena repeated in the voice of someone announcing the antichrist's second coming. Or was it third, at this point?

"What's the Extra Coven?" Sam inquired.

Now wasn't that a story? "It's a coven of rather mediocre witches," she explained, face contorting with disgust at the memories that flooded her brain. Screeching. Cheering. The pride she used to beam with at the sight of those girls, which quickly became unease as their antics, once cute, precious, became uncomfortable. "My former coven, to be precise."

Sam frowned. "Your former coven?"

"Aye." Rowena's cheeks flushed with shame. It wasn't something she looked back on fondly — not anymore. "After the Mega Coven fiasco, I tried again. Y/N wasn't too thrilled at the idea—" and that was putting it lightly "—but I wanted a coven of my own." She wanted the admiration. The adoration. The Grand Coven had taken it from her, and she wanted it back.

You were right there, loving her more than anything in the world, but she didn't appreciate it. Not nearly enough. Her icy heart had started to melt at that point; she could tell you cared, and she was starting to realize she felt something, too. Something she, at the time, was too afraid to give in to, to even attempt to understand. It was just there, and it was terrifying.

Amara had just been dealt with, the world saved, and Rowena was left confused. All the power she sought, all the magic wasn't enough anymore. She felt… empty. Without purpose. Brimming with feelings she was too frightened to explore. If two divine beings couldn't figure their lives out, what hope was there for her?

So she'd decided to try for a new coven. It was a new world. New beginning. New Rowena. You'd told her it wasn't the best idea, but she was adamant to give it a try. What was the worst that could happen?

"I named it the Extra Coven, because Extra is better than Mega," she continued with a grin, which earned her puzzled stares. She ignored them. People never appreciated her genius. "Things were going well at first. The girls were learning fast, everybody got along. Then a few of them started getting… odd."

Odd was too mild a word. They'd started showing up at Rowena's hotel room unannounced, bearing gifts and jolly smiles. Every magic lesson she started would be interrupted by the select few individuals asking irrelevant questions. Often they would demand help, even if the spell they were being taught was easy; they would pout and whine, and when Rowena would approach them to go over it step by step, they would dissolve into giggles.

At first Rowena was flattered. Attention was like a drug to her; the more she got, the more she craved it. So what if it was a tad unconventional? Those girls admired her. Cherished her. Loved her. She could do no wrong in their eyes. When you complained they were taking a bit too much of her time, she dismissed you. So a few of them would show up at her hotel room for some after-hours tutoring, or they would take her to dinner to the most expensive restaurant in the city — so what? What was wrong in being pampered by her proteges?

As time went on, though, Rowena's enthusiasm withered. The Extra Coven was doing well, for the most part. Most of the witches were hard workers, genuinely interested in the craft and, at the same time, mesmerized by her presence. Fans, one might call them. They were kind and friendly, and they did as they were told. Rowena was beaming with pride.

However, as the rest of the group was growing into a true coven, the girls that had taken so much of her time had started to demand even more. It was always the same five girls. They never seemed to be improving; they asked for help, but they never took her advice. She might as well have taught the wall. They wanted after-hours lessons, but never learned anything. All they appeared to be interested in was being around her. The fact would have flattered Rowena had they not gone about it in such a way.

Your warnings suddenly started making sense. They weren't in the coven for the experience of witchcraft. They were there to be close to her. It had gotten to the point where, if you happened to be talking to her, one of the girls would butt in to reclaim the attention for themselves. The first few times it looked like a coincidence. However, it soon became clear they saw you as an obstacle. You were Rowena's girlfriend. You lived with her. You shared a bed with her. It was you she kissed on the mouth, and who had her undivided attention.

They'd engaged in a war that didn't exist and they were intent on winning.

Seeing you in distress too many times for her liking, Rowena had decided that enough was enough. She'd started declining invitations to lunch and dinner. When she taught, she kept her distance. After-hours lessons were officially stopped. That didn't stop those five girls from showing up at her door every night to ask for them, so, after the third time, Rowena stopped answering and pretended she wasn't home.

It did nothing to deter them, so, after a lengthy conversation, the two of you had decided to move. Rowena was sick of being disrespected, of her privacy being invaded. She cared about the coven, about those girls who genuinely wanted to learn, but she couldn't do it anymore. Her announcement that she was leaving the coven was met with tears and disappointment. Something had come up, she'd said, and she needed to go away. Indefinitely. She wished them the best of luck, but she couldn't be their mentor anymore.

The two of you traveled half across the country and settled in a fabulous hotel, breathing in relief at finally regaining your freedom.

Then, a week after you'd arrived, a knock sounded on the door, and when Rowena opened it, she was met with five smiley, very familiar faces.

The same thing happened five more times, each in a different city, different hotel. Wherever she went, they'd managed to find her. And each time, they acted as if it were a coincidence. As if they just happened to be there and came across her door by pure luck.

Rowena wasn't born yesterday.

Sam and Dean stared at her in shock as she told her story. "When Y/N and I settled down, we put wardings around the house to block tracking spells," she said. "All was fine until today."

She supposed it was bound to happen sooner or later. The peace had lasted three years, almost four — considering those girls' track record, it was good. She should have dealt with it at the start. Should have cut it off at the root before it managed to grow and blossom. Annoying her was one thing. Taking you was crossing the line.

They would pay. Rowena swore it on her life.

"How do you know it's them?" Dean asked.

Rowena held up a glittery hex bag. "They left this." Right there by the road, where they'd taken you, alongside your wallet. A loud and clear message.

He nodded. "How dangerous are they?"

"They are more of a nuisance. But it's been three years. Who knows what they're capable of."

For all she knew, they could have found another witch to tutor them, to help them perfect their craft. They were far from good witches, but even the worst behaved dog could learn a trick or two.

"Great," Dean said with a sigh. "Crazy stalker witches who may or may not be dangerous."

"Welcome to my life," Rowena said dryly.

"Do you know where we can find them?" Sam asked.

She smirked. "Och, aye." They weren't trying to hide from her (not that they could; she was more powerful than all of them combined). They wanted her to come to them, to bless them with her presence. All Rowena needed were reinforcements, just in case, and she was good to go.

This is the one attention demand they would come to regret.

*****

As far as villain hideous went, the Extra Coven's was standard. An abandoned cottage in the middle of nowhere. Sort of cliche, though Rowena supposed that was the point. They wanted her to find them. They were counting on it.

What kind of an idol would she be if she didn't deliver?

She elected to go in first. Sam and Dean advised against it, but she was adamant. The Coven wanted her. Adored her so much they'd kidnapped her girlfriend to get her attention. They wouldn't hurt her. The Winchesters were there as backup, in case they turned out to be more powerful than she predicted.

Your face greeted her upon opening the door. You were seated on a sofa, bound in iron chains. Powerless. Helpless. Your lips were tight in anger, features arranged in a matching expression. Pissed to high heavens.

Rowena was relieved to see no marks on your body, no bruises or welts. You were unharmed. A point for the Coven, not that it mattered much. Being so obsessed with her, they surely knew she wasn't big on forgiveness. If they'd hurt her, she might have considered giving them a second chance. But they went after you. There was no forgiving that. No letting them get away with it.

A long time ago, Rowena had made a promise to never let anything happen to you. She intended to make good on it.

"Rowena!" one of the Coven girls, a perky brunette with curls, exclaimed just as you were about to call for her.

"You came!" another, a blonde, said in awe.

There were five of them in total, all bright eyed, excited, as if this were the highlight of their lives. As if they hadn't kidnapped a girl — an innocent girl — in order to get Rowena's attention. It made Rowena sick. Anger burned in her veins, and with it her magic; it roiled and coiled, boiling hot, ready to burst at her command.

If they loved her so much, surely they knew you were off limits. They'd seen her curse people over insulting you — hell, over looking at you the wrong way. You were her number one priority.

They had made a horrible mistake.

"Girls," she said in a tone that made it clear she wasn't happy to be here. Not by a long shot.

They either didn't notice or didn't care for as soon as she addressed them their faces lit up.

"I can't believe you came!"one of them — a horribly dyed ginger — said. "I thought we'd never see you again."

That was why they'd kidnapped you. Because they totally didn't believe she would come to your rescue. Rowena scoffed. Right. "You've certainly been… persuasive."

"It was Greta's idea," the ginger — Sandra? Rowena was pretty sure her name was Sandra — said happily, pointing to a pudgy brunette.

Of course it was. "I expected nothing less."

Greta had always been the most enthusiastic one of the group. The one who butted in everywhere, and sought her attention the most. At times Rowena thought she was living on it. Her praise was like a drug to the girl.

She turned to you. Looked you over one more time just to be sure. "Are you alright, dear?"

"I guess," you said with a shrug. You rattled your binds. "These chains are uncomfortable."

"Have they hurt you?"

"No."

Rowena breathed out in relief. At least there was that. One point for the Extra Coven, she supposed. Not that it mattered much. They still took you, and they would pay for that. Rules were rules.

"They kinda suck, to be honest," you said after a few moments. "I mean, they knocked me out with chloroform. Who does that?"

Rowena raised an eyebrow. Really, who did that? What self-respecting witch resorted to chloroform to incapacitate her target?

"Shut up!" the other redhead, Victoria, screamed.

"Lass," Rowena said in a barely raised voice, tone more strict than threatening, but it was enough to shut the girl up. You snorted, and Rowena barely resisted a smirk of her own. It felt good to have so much power over people. To have them obey her every command. She just wished it was under better circumstances.

"Rowena, are you—" Sam suddenly rushed in, followed by Dean, both with guns raised, witch-killing bullets ready to fire.

"What the hell?" Dean stared at the girls, looked them over one by one. "These are grown-ass women!"

"Never underestimate the power of crazy. "Like she had, and look where it had gotten her. Where it had gotten you. Even when they were stalking her, she thought them nothing but a nuisance.

You were right about them all along.

Rowena dreaded that conversation at home.

The girls gasped in surprise.

"You brought hunters?" the blonde said, outraged. As if she'd been punched in the gut.

Once Rowena was done with her, she would wish she was. "What in hell did you expect?" She was done with their antics. Done with the fake smiles and pleasantries. "You kidnapped my girlfriend!" The words were bitter on her tongue. Poison. "Was I supposed fall to my knees and beg to get her back?"

"We didn't hurt her!" Sandra said, as if that made everything better.

"We just wanted to see you," Greta said.

"I didn't want to see you," Rowena retorted. "Can't you take a bloody hint?"

"But—"

"I've had a wonderful coven, and the five of you ruined it!" The other girls were there to learn, to hone their magic, to find a place where they belonged. They were lovely proteges, on a surefire way to greatness. They could have accomplished a lot had Rowena not been forced to leave them behind. All because of five rotten, selfish girls. "I left because of you!"

All five paled. Teared up like children being chastised by a teacher.

"Don't say that," the curly brunette said. Begged. Pleaded.

"It's true."

"We love you," Victoria said.

"You're bloody sick!" Rowena snapped. "You've ruined the Coven, and you've tried to ruin my life!"

Tears fell. Sobs and sniffles sounded. Good, Rowena thought. It was time they learned the truth.

"We just—"

She put up a hand. "I don't want to hear it! I don't want anything to do with you!"

"You don't mean that," Sandra whimpered.

Och, she did. She meant it more than anything in the world. "Release Y/N," she said — ordered, really, for her voice was nothing but stone, cold and cruel. No mercy. No sympathy.

"Are you gonna leave if we do?" Greta asked.

Oh, Rowena thought, she was going to do more than that. Much more. "What do you think?"

"Please, don't," Victoria begged, red-faced and puffy-eyed.

Rowena wasn't in the mood for theatrics. "Release her. Now."

"No." It was Sandra who said it, brave face on in its full glory. As fake as the colour of her hair. Rowena raised an eyebrow. "Why should she get to have you and not us?"

Because you were her girlfriend. Because she loved you more than she'd ever loved anyone. Because you understood her like no one else ever had. Because you'd never judged her, never tried to change her. Because you loved her as the petty, flawed, formerly evil creature she was.

She couldn't expect these girls to understand that. They didn't even know what love was, their obsession twisting their hearts, turning them dark. Consuming them from the inside. They were addicts, really. Chasing a high that would never come. Desperate. As angry as she was, Rowena pitied them. It must have been a horrible life, to be so lonely amongst so many people. To crave something they could never have.

"She doesn't deserve you," Greta agreed.

"Wow," Dean said, flabbergasted.

And really, wow. Who were they to say you didn't deserve her? Who were they to even think it? They knew nothing about you. They barely knew anything about Rowena.

She blinked, two times, three. Baffled. Outraged. Blood burning white hot in her veins. "Beg pardon?"

"Greta's right," Victoria said. "Y/N doesn't deserve you. She doesn't love you like we do."

"Is that so?"

"Yes!" the blonde said. "We looked everywhere for you. We knew we'd find you." She threw a filthy look at you. "She'd never do that."

Well, they were right about that. You gave her space when she needed it. You respected her wishes.

You wouldn't stalk her.

"She doesn't love you," the curly-haired girl said.

"If she did," Sandra said, "she wouldn't have left you alone."

Rowena swallowed an array of swears that itched at her throat and uttered, "Huh."

So it was like that. They didn't just feel entitled to her. They felt entitled to act as if they knew you. Who gave them the right? They didn't know her, and they knew you even less. They had no right to take you from her. They had even less of a right to judge you. And based on what? Envy? Entitlement?

It was time to end this charade. Rowena thought she could do it the diplomatic way, but it was clear the Coven wasn't here for negotiations. They wanted war, and they would bloody have it.

"You should have listened to me, girls," she said, finally calm, at peace. Relieved to have given herself permission to do what was necessary. "I'd planned for this to be painless, but you left me no other choice."

Sandra frowned. "What do you mean?"

"As you rot in Hell, remember that you chose this," Rowena said. As their faces paled, and fear settled into their eyes, she spat, "Impetus Bestiarum!"

The girls stilled. Their eyes, so bright a mere moment ago, filled up with ripe, rich red. Blood slid down their cheeks like tears. Humanity gone, they were beasts; wild, feral. Ravenous.

Rowena allowed herself to smile at her accomplishment, allowed a relieved sigh to leave her mouth. They got their wish, she supposed. They were hers. Her pets. Her puppets, and she was the one holding the strings.

She looked them in the eyes — in those wild red eyes that were no longer human, that flashed with hunger and rage, and craved orders to attack, to finally set the beast free. Rowena was all too happy to oblige. "End it."

For a moment they just stared at her, still as statues. Then, as more blood fell down their cheeks and veins dark as bruises bloomed all over their faces, they lunged at each other with the ferocity of werewolves at the height of the full moon. They ripped and slashed and tore and roared. Blood seeped free. Screams let loose. Teeth dug into necks, and nails bit into arms and backs.

The chaos lasted no more than a minute, and by the time it was over, all that remained were pools of blood and torn strands of hair strewn around. The girls' bodies laid in a messy heap. Every inch of exposed skin was torn, bloody. Faces so ripped apart they were unrecognizable.

The room fell silent for a moment. Then Dean said, "You've gotta stop doing that."

Rowena smiled, smug, proud of her feat. "Effective, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "Maybe a bit… too effective."

She took it as a compliment.

"It was awesome!" you said, grinning like the proud girlfriend you were.

"Why thank you! At least someone appreciates my talent."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

"You okay?" Sam asked as he and his brother started working on the chains.

"Yeah," you said. "Just uncomfortable."

As soon as you were free, you threw your arms around Rowena and squeezed as if your life depended on it. Reluctantly, she returned the embrace; she wasn't one for public displays of affection, especially in front of the Winchesters, but she couldn't push you away. It felt good to have you so close again. To feel your heartbeat on her skin. To hold you and love you and hope with everything she had that this would never happen again, that no one would ever get their hands on you again. Not in this lifetime.

"I knew you'd come for me," you said.

She always had, and always would. "You were right about The Extra Coven." It hurt to say it, to admit it out loud, but it was only fair, after everything that had happened. You deserved that much. "I should have killed them a long time ago."

You pulled back. Looked her in the eyes. "It's nice to know I was right, for once," you teased.

"Don't get used to it," Rowena said with a chuckle.

"I'll enjoy it while it lasts." Your eyes wandered to the blood-caked bodies. "What about the rest of the Coven?"

"I don't think they will be a problem. They're lovely girls." Were it not for the five stalkers, Rowena would have most likely still been in the Coven. "These five were the ones causing trouble. Without them, I think they will prosper."

"You thinking about contacting them?"

"Maybe." If only to check up on them. To see how they would function without the extremists. You frowned. "Don't worry, darling. I've no plans to lead them again."

"Good," you said, grabbing hold of her hand. "I don't think I wanna share you."

Rowena smiled. "I'm all yours."

And you were hers.

And so it would remain for as long as you both lived.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie​ @oswinthestrange​ @songofthecagedmoose​ @apurdyfulmind​ @getthesalt-sam​ @metallihca​ @salembitchtrials @jay-eris​ @hellsmother​ @elizabeth-effie​ @shadowgirl-vsb​ @rowenaswife​ @wonderifshelikesroses​ @xfireandsin​ @liddell-alien​ @hotdiggitydammit​ @lae-lae​ @darkhumorsblog​ @angel7376​ @cherrypierowena​ @evil-regal-vampiress​ @hellbentredhead​ @angel-e-v-a​ @a-queen-and-her-throne​ @carryon-doctor-lock​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @theeasterbilby​ @midnight-lestrange​ @oster-hagen​ @impala-1979​

[tarithenurse]

Nightingale - 25

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Hatake Kakashi &/x Fem!OC Contents: Various tempers but mostly TEH FLUFF!! OMG the fluuuuuff!. A/N: Weekend! Yay! As usual, ASK or REBLOG for tag!

Ch. 25

It was supposed to be an escort-mission. A simple D-level with no obstacles and plenty of time for training along the way which in turn would be good for the kids. Instead, it had turned into a hassle with several violent confrontations better suited for a team of jōnins.

Zabuza. At least no one has to worry about the Demon from Kirigakure. And to top it off: they boys are still fiercely competitive (well, one of them is), but their communication has visibly improved and they are slowly but surely figuring out ways to support – rather than hinder – each other.

"I expect to see you all fully rested tomorrow morning," the jōnin dismisses them.

"Haï! Ready to kick -"

"Naruto!" Already, Sakura is ready to lecture the straw-haired kid.

Following a different route, the sensei makes sure to report a job well done before ambling past the Academy on his way home.

School's in session, and he can see the students bend over their desks or staring, slightly absentmindedly now and then, ahead of them. There. He spots Iruka through the windows. The teacher is pacing back and forth, sometimes pointing to the white scribbles on the blackboard before adding something as he interacts with the kids.

Unplanned, Kakashi's gaze roves the seats, but the person he's looking for is nowhere to be found. Maybe she's self-studying? It would not be surprising. According to the Iruka, Uguisu is familiar with most of the theory pertaining shinobi skill sets, and so she is often granted time to focus on training or on the common subjects like history or mathematics.

It doesn't sit right with him, admittedly, not to know where Uguisu is even if someone else is bound to be watching her. If Kakashi would be honest with himself, he'd have to admit he prefers the idea of the watcher being none other than him...but he pushes the nagging feeling aside before getting that far.

...

Well past suppertime, the jōnin is running out of things to do to distract the busy mind of his. He is also running out of places where he could "accidentally" bump into a certain blue-haired woman. Leaving the roof of the water tower, he considers the option of summoning Pakkun to help. Maybe that's overkill? It probably is.

So he simply wanders aimlessly, his thoughts lost between the past and the future without paying attention to the shift in the surroundings where the buildings of Konoha retreat in the favour of trees.

The road continues one direction but Kakashi's body guides him down a narrower path that winds between the undergrowth and sometimes fights with gnarly roots until the tall oaks and maples give up, revealing a clearing with soft grass and moss with starry flowers.

And a lone figure.

The last warmth from the sun changes the blue hues and lends a shimmer like that of the distant ocean as Kakashi walks over. Her shoulders tense for a second but she must have come to the conclusion that it's no one dangerous because she stays seated with the chin on the knees.

"Should've guessed you'd come here," the jōnin breaks the silence, memories of stolen midnight rendezvous surfacing.

"Hmm."

Something's wrong. "Came here to be alone?"

"Hrmph!" She doesn't even look up at him.

Although Uguisu has been welcomed to Konoha by the Hokage and is doing her best to become a ninja of The Leaf, most shinobi are still reluctant to accept her. Rather than shun the outsider, they keep an eye on her and whisper about her every move. She's never really alone. Turning to the forest, Kakashi announces for whoever is spying on them that he'll take over. A soft rustling in the leaves is the only answer he gets.

"If you want -" shoving his hands deep into the pockets, Kakashi prepares to get any hopes bashed -"I'll leave you alone...but it's generally better to talk about the problems."

Finally, she looks at him. "You're my problem." The man isn’t sure how to respond but is saved the worry as she continues angrily, “I’m stuck here while you run off on who knows what sort of silly quest. Back in a week? Ha! D-rank my ass! And no one tells me anything! Not that you barely travelled two days before you were attacked! Or that the entire mission involved a gang of criminal and missing-nins! NoooOOo!”

“Wait! If no one told you,” Kakashi interrupts the tirade, “how do you know? Did you break int-”

“Don’t! I’m pissed because...because...what’d I be supposed to do if you got yourself killed? Huh?”

Oh. “You’re worried about me.”

Her gaze is trained on anything else but him as a blush spreads. “Don’t change the s-”

Uguisu doesn’t get any further because the jōnin shuts her up with a kiss. Slow and soft, it sends hearts galloping, and he restraints himself and lets her lead the pace even as the woman’s mouth grows more demanding. Hungry.

They’re both breathing hard when he finally breaks the contact with a few millimetres. “I missed you too.”

“This isn’t gonna make me miss you less,” she whispers back.

He smiles through another (shorter) kiss before admitting that it’s the plan. “But I’ll make sure you’re informed if something really does go wrong, okay? I can even ask Pakkun or one of the others to go to you.”

”Pakkun?”

Perhaps it’s irrational. It is. If the worst should happen, then they’d be too far apart for her to be of any assistance and the Hokage would find out eventually, ensuring the right actions be taken and a handful of people be informed. The old leader would know Uguisu is among them now. But she doesn’t trust that yet and how could she?

That’s why Kakashi spills a bit of his blood to summon the entire pack of ninken.

“Uguisu, meet Pakkun, Buru, Urushi, Shiba, Bisuke, Akino, Ūhei, and Guruko. Pack, meet Uguisu.” Noses wriggle to take in the cottony scent of the woman and a few tails even wag though that might be pure instinct. “If I die, go straight to her.”

“Hi,” she waves while ignoring a muted howl supposed to tease the man but her attention is fixed on Shiba.

Yapping curiously, the hounds get the basic information they want from the humans and accept the request. Thank you, guys. Meant to comfort the woman, Kakashi can’t deny the peace it grants him too to know she won’t be forgotten. Maybe, one day they will allow her to summon them.

“Excuse me,” Uguisu is addressing Shiba, bending down to whisper something into his ear that the jōnin can’t hear over the hounds’ panting and scuffling.

The answer is clear, though. “I’m not some pet.”

“My apologies!”

“But I’ll allow it this once...” the mohawked hound concedes and sits down before the woman.

Attempting to still be respectful, she runs her fingers through the coarse hairs gently at first before really digging in, and soon the creature is barely sitting, his tongue lolling out and the tail wagging happily. He doesn’t even attempt to shut the rest of the pack up as they laugh at him and soon their mocking is replaced with ill-disguised pleas for similar treatments. Uguisu happily obliges.

Hrmph. Oh, Kakashi’s thrilled that they’re all getting along, it’s just...

“Okay okay! That’s enough, you can finish the grooming session some other time!” he grumbles, earning little less than jeering howls of laughter from the hounds who seem to have made up their minds.

Soon, though, it’s just the man and woman left.

“Say, ‘Kashi...” she smiles crookedly, “are you...jealous?”

Yes...I might be. “Don’t be silly. They’re -”

His defence crumbles the moment her fingertips dig into the wiry hair and connect with his scalp. It’s like he’s turned to kin-gyoku! Spinelessly, he’s toppled onto his back, barely even able to show any surprise at his head coming to rest on her belly, because it feels amazing when Uguisu is carting her fingers through the white strands, aimlessly attempting to subdue it into anything but unruly spikes.

[diddlesanddoodles]

DUMPLING ch 51

Whatever Bertol had done to her, Nenani continued to feel the exhaustion deep inside her body and limbs. Her arms felt very much as though weights had been strapped to her wrists, and she found the simple endeavor of keeping herself sitting upright to be alarmingly difficult. At last, the fatigue won out and she collapsed back against the bubble in a tired heap. It was a terribly distressful feeling, and she may have been inclined to worry more if not for the reassuring sight of both Farris and Keral only a dozen yards away.

While Keral’s gaze was firmly fixed on their captor, Farris was studying the condition of the humans as best he could from his vantage point. His green eyes met Nenani’s own and she placed a hand against the wall of her prison in a silent plea for release. Shifting his focus to Bertol, his expression darkened and his mouth pulled back into a bitter snarl.

“I’ll warn yer now,” he growled. “If ye’v harmed a single hair on their heads, I’ll draw and quarter ye myself.”

“They’re perfectly fine,” Bertol replied in irritation as he waved a dismissive hand. “Ye should be more concerned with how well Ellis is fairing, seeing as she’s the one been stuck in a damn jar for weeks.”

“She says she’s just fine,” Keral assured him and then jerked his head forward towards the bubble. “Now let ‘em go and I’ll let sparkles here out.”

Bertol did not move and merely regarded the brothers with reserved contempt. “You must think I’m an imbecile.”

Keral did not deny the accusation nor did his stare waver. Bertol’s own glare remained firm and unyielding and several moments passed where nothing was said. Abruptly, the tense silence was shattered when a small voice cut through with an irritated, “Oh for fuck’s sake, Bertie! Just let them go already.”

The severity of Bertol’s glare lessened and he addressed the occupant of the lantern. “You first. Then the children.”

“You must think so little of me that I could not escape this thing,” the fairy replied, rapping her knuckles against the glass. “Unlike the jar, this hasn’t been sealed. So let them go so we can all get on with our lives. I am desperate to spread my wings.”

Though not appearing the least bit placated by Ellis’s words, Bertol nodded mutely and waved a hand in a downward motion. All three bubbles floated towards the ground before bursting, and all three of the humans fell unceremoniously onto the grass. Nenani struggled to push herself up, her arms shaking badly. Jae was suddenly at her side, pulling her up with him and leaning her against his side for support.

“Watch it,” Keral growled, reaching up to the lantern and pulling the door open. With a sidelong glance at the fairy, he said, “I appreciate yer cooperation, Ellis. And yer help.”

“I suppose it’s my own fault,” said the fairy as she leaped into the air. Her iridescent wings unfurled from behind her and she stretched her arms and legs out, relishing her new freedom, as she hovered around Keral’s head as a golden ball of light. “I could have explained everything at the start, but magicians are so thick-headed about their worldview of magic, I didn’t see the point of even trying it. I’m just sorry Haiyer got mixed up in all this stupidity. And the others too, of course.”

Keral level a deadpan look at the fairy. “Uh-huh.”

The fairy flew over the brothers’ heads before zooming across the field. Bertol stepped forward to meet her, his hands reaching out eagerly, and the golden ball of light dropped gently into his hands. “I missed you, dearheart.”

“You sentimental old fool,” Ellis replied, though there was a smile in her voice. She rose up to nuzzle his nose and wrapped her thin arms around his face. “I missed you too.”

“Let’s go home,” Bertol said as he turned and began making his way back towards his tent.

“Not so fast there,” Keral said as he put down the lantern and slipped his pack off his back. He stepped forward, pushing his coat back to pull a pair of iron shackles from his belt. “Ye didn’t think ye could just up and trespass on the King’s property, abduct his son plus the heirs to Silvaara, and then just bugger off back into obscurity did ye? Ye’v got a lot to answer fer, Bertol.”

Bertol sneered at the ranger, pulling Ellis to his chest. “You have your waifs and I have my companion. Our business ends here.”

“I don’t think so,” replied the ranger, and then sprinted forward, his hands reaching out for the hermit. Bertol’s right hand pulsed with yellow light and he swung it in a circle above his head. A great wind cut through the copse of trees that shoved Keral back as it struck him. The ranger fell to the ground hard with a cry of alarm and pain. Farris scrambled towards the children and fell to his knees. His arms swept around to coax them all together and he used his body as a shield against the unnaturally turbulent wind.

Only when it died away did Farris raise his head, though he kept his arms curled around the humans. Nenani looked up to find that Bertol, Ellis, and the tent were all gone. She was still staring at the empty spot they left behind when, all at once, a deep chill settled over them. It was as though Bertol had been keeping the worst of the cold at bay and, now that he was gone, it was seeping back. Nenani’s whole body shivered with the sudden drop in temperature. The frozen grass under her was melting and soaking through the thin material of her nightdress, further exacerbating the problem.

Farris pushed himself up to study the humans below him. “Everyone alright, then?”

“I didn’t get to say hi to Ellis,” Haiyer murmured with disappointment from his place beside Jae.

“Damn raggedy old mage,” Keral grumbled bitterly as he picked himself up, favoring his right hip. He brushed away grass from his sleeves and backside as he surveyed the now empty lot where the tent had been. But it was not completely empty. Within the impression left behind, Keral’s eyes spotted the humans’ blankets laying in sad little heaps. The bright-colored fabric stood out starkly against the greenery. Bending down to gather them up, he brushed off the clinging debris while still muttering under his breath. “Fuckin’ moldy old goat.”

“Dammit, why is it so cold?” Jae demanded loudly while fervently rubbing his arms.

“Because its winter and yer damn near naked,” Farris snapped as he shrugged off the pack he was carrying. It plopped onto the ground and he began to fish around inside. “Luck fer ye three, I thought of that.”

He pulled out a wool coat for Jae who took it eagerly and slipped into it. It was a thick dark brown material that fell around his knees with a simple string belt to tighten around his waist. For Haiyer, he pulled out a tawny-colored padded tunic. It looked more appropriate for someone three times Haiyer’s size. “Wasn’t able to actually nab anythin’ of yer own, but this’ll keep ye toasty just fine.”

The tunic’s sleeves were far too long on Haiyer, but the little boy seemed content enough to let the extra length fall over his hands and drag on the ground. The thicker material would do well enough to shield against the cold.

Keral walked up on them while holding out the retrieved blankets. “These should help a bit too.”

For Nenani, Farris had brought one of the wool dresses that Lolly had made her when she first came to Vhasshal. She had difficulty slipping into it and Farris’s eyes narrowed as he watched her struggle. He brought his hand to her side, fingers curling around her back, and leaned down to peer into her face.

“What’s wrong, lass?” he asked. The creases of his forehead were more concerned than irritated.

“Tired,” she answered, leaning against his hand. “Bertol did something to me.”

The mild worry in Farris’s face was replaced with fury. “What did he do to ye?” he demanded.

Jae answered for her before she could form any response.

“She went all fire mage on him. He really didn’t like that.” He held his hands up and wiggled his fingers. “Then his hands got all glowy and he just sort of sucked all her magic out of her until her flames died out. He seems to have a thing against fire mages.”

Farris’s nostrils flared, but he held back his words and focused instead on helping Nenani into the dress. She had managed to get it mostly over her head by herself, but Farris had to pull the rest of the garment down over her. Once she was dressed, he took one of the blankets from Keral, wrapped her up, and then tucked her into the crook of his arm.

“If I ever see that bastard again,” Farris sneered, “I’ll skin ‘im.”

He growled and grumbled inaudibly for several more moments and then turned his attention to the boys. “Yer just gonna have to manage without shoes til we get back. But we’ll be carryin’ ye, so ye should be just fine.”

“And speakin’ ‘a that,” Keral interjected. He stood over Jae and Haiyer and dropped the two other blankets over their heads before standing back up. Ignoring their muffled protests, he planted his hands on his hips to gaze out at the scenery around them. “Yer not gonna like how long that’s gonna take.”

Farris frowned. “Just how far out are we?”

“Don’t have a fuckin’ clue,” was Keral’s frank reply.

Farris’s frown deepened. “What do ye mean ye don’t know? Yer a damn ranger.”

Keral returned his brother’s glare. “That was my first time taking a fairy portal, too. I’m used to knowin’ how I got to a place instead of being dropped down into it. What I can tell ye is we’re way fuckin’ north.”

“Well I could ‘a figure that much out myself,” Farris grunted, jerking his head towards the looming mountains.

“Fairy portal?” Jae asked after freeing himself from the blanket, and he looked back and forth between the brothers for explanation. “What do you mean fairy portal?”

“Just as I said,” Keral answered. “When the guards found ye all missin’, the whole castle lost their fuckin’ minds. Turned the whole place upside down. And we weren’t gonna just sit there and pretend like we were gonna find ye somewhere under the floorboards, so we decided to find ye ourselves. Grabbed some supplies and went to see if Maevis could give us an idea of which direction to go.” He scratched his chin and shrugged. “And then wouldn’t ye know it? A lil’ voice starts berattin’ us from an empty jar. Said we were irresponsible fer losin’ ye and some other insults I don’t remember. Then all a sudden that empty jar wasn’t so empty anymore. Maevis damn nearly fainted findin’ out not only are fairies real, but he’d been keepin’ one in his office. She offered to lead us to the fucker that nabbed ye three in exchange fer lettin’ her out and we took her up on that. She makes this big ol’ ring of light, we stepped through, and poof! Here we are.”

“And now that the fairy has left…” Jae prompted.

Keral turned his head to regard him with one eye. “We ain’t got as easy a way back as we did gettin’ here. So that means we’re walkin’.”

Jae wilted, pulling the edges of the blanket up around his face. “Wonderful.”

“Well, don’t be surrenderin’ to gloom just yet, lad. Might not be as bad as all that,” Keral replied. He pointed off to the left at the tallest of the mountain peaks. “That big one there is Mt. Vehnmir. So that must mean we’re somewhere in Dovencliffe or close enough to it. If we start headin’s south, we’ll start hittin’ civilization within a day or so. The Lords Harvington and Adler have hunting lodges up this way. If we can find one, we’d be able to garner some help from them and get a message back to Warren at the very least. Lord Brennan’s estate’s up here too somewhere.” Keral grinned down at Jae, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “And of course yourdear friend Lord Colem.”

Jae glared at the ranger. “I would rather walk all the way back barefooted.”

“Lucky fer ye, then,” Keral laughed, “I’ll be carryin’ yer sorry arse.”

“Great,” Jae grumbled. “First I’m taken hostage by bumbling fucking Bertol and then I get to be hauled across the country like a sack of potatoes.”

“A royal sack of potatoes,” Keral corrected smugly.

“You’re far too happy about this,” Jae told him. “Shouldn’t you be more pissed that Bertol got away?”

Keral crouched back down in front of Jae and ruffled his hair. The puckish tilt to his grin grew warmer and soft. “Just relieved to have found ye safe and in one piece, lad.”

Wrapped up snugly in his blanket, Haiyer ambled over to Keral and tugged on his coat. When the ranger looked, all he could see of the boy were his eyes and nose peeking out.

“Hm? What’s wrong, pup? Yer feet froze?” Keral asked, reaching down and gently nudging the boy with a knuckle.

Haiyer wiggled back and forth. “I have to pee…”

Keral raised an eyebrow and jerked his head in the direction of the trees. “Plenty ‘a trees over that way.”

“I don’t wanna go by myself,” whined the little boy.

Keral smirked and eyed him accusingly. “Don’t tell me yer afraid now.”

Even with the majority of the boy’s face covered, his expression of indignation was clear enough, and to further accentuate it he stomped his foot. “I am not afraid.”

Keral hummed in consideration. “I think ye might be.”

With nothing more than a glare, Haiyer turned on his heels and began to march towards the trees. The excess blanket trailed behind him like an overly long cape. Jae moved as though to follow, but Keral stopped him by placing his hand in his path. At Jae’s questioning stare, Keral whispered, “Let’s see how far he gets.”

He was nearly two thirds of the way to the nearest tree before his determined pace began to slow and then stopped. Haiyer turned just enough to see if Keral was watching. Seeing that he had the ranger’s attention, Haiyer gave his best pleading pout and made a high-pitched mewling sound.

With a shake of his head, Keral stood. Chuckling, he told the little boy, “Son, one ‘a these days yer gonna have to learn to take a piss all on yer own.”

“I know how!” Haiyer asserted vehemently as Keral approached. In a smaller, less assured, voice he admitted, “But I don’t want to.”

Keral gathered up the boy and blanket before making his way to the shelter of the trees. Farris watched them go with a sigh and shake of his head before turning his attention back to his ward.

“How ye feelin’, Dumplin’?” he asked in a quiet voice.

She wiggled within her blanket, thankful for the warmth. “A little better I think. Just tired.”

“Hm.” Farris did not seem convinced.

Glancing up to meet his eye, she said, “Thank you for coming to get us.”

He snorted a laugh, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “Aye, well I got a wee bit tired of waitin’ fer someone else to go and rescue ye from all the shit ye manage to get yerself into. Gotta tell ye though, lil’un. Startin’ to get old.”

She broke out into a smile, but it quickly faded as guilt welled up. “Sorry you’re stuck out here.”

“A lil’ walking never hurt no one,” Farris assured her. “Could ‘a timed it better though. After that smokey bastard crashin’ the party last night, everyone was convinced he’d been the one to grabbed ye. The King and yer Mum were just about ready to send out the army.”

Nenani’s eyed widened in alarm and she tried to sit up. “What?”

He coaxed her back down with his hand. “Don’t get too excited now. I’m sure Maevis’ll have told him all that happened. So the sooner we can get a message back to ‘em the better.”

“Warren wouldn’t really send the army out,” Jae remarked, but as he said it, he looked unsure. “Would he?”

“Can’t rightly say. He was livid when they found all ye missin’,” Farris told him frankly.  “Chewed out the guards, chewed out Rheil, and Lolly said he was even throwin’ stuff.”

Jae looked very nervous and uncomfortable. “How long do you think it’ll take to get back?”

“Wrong one to ask, lad,” Farris replied. “My work’s in the kitchen. All this out here is Keral’s territory. But if we do find one ‘a these lord’s estates or lodges or whatever the fuck they have out here, it won’t be longer to get a message to His Majesty. If only to let ‘im know yer alright.”

“Was Mama mad too?” Nenani asked.

Farris shrugged. “Couldn’t say. Wouldn’t be surprised to find a few bits a furniture were turned into charcoal, though.”

………………………………..

Within the hour, they were moving. Jae was settled away inside Keral’s pack while Haiyer hitched a ride inside his large breast pocket. Farris made room inside his own pack for Nenani to lay down and rest. The sway of his gait easily lulled her into a dreamless sleep. When she opened her eyes, feeling more like herself, it did not seem as though she had been asleep for very long. Her side was sore from where she laid against her dagger, but the pulling weight of fatigue was gone and replaced by a dull ache in her belly. She had only nibbled on the apples Bertol had doled out to them and now she was properly hungry.

Farris had left the top flap unbuckled and slivers of day light shone through the gaps. The swaying of the pack made getting to her feet tricky, but once she got a good hold of the top ridge she managed to hold herself up. Pushing aside the top flap, Nenani poked her head out into the crisp mid-morning air. The sun was further up in the sky, but not quite directly above them yet.

“I promise you Keral on my life,” Jae was saying with real vehemence. He too was standing inside the pack with the flap pushed aside. “The lyric goes ‘and I’ll be gone by morning,’ not ‘I’ll be fine by morning.’”

“Hm,” Keral hummed in consideration. “Might be. Still like the other version better.”

Jae sighed dramatically and flopped over the ranger’s shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

Farris laughed. “No use tryin’, lad. That one’ll never admit to bein’ wrong.”

Keral turned to glower at his brother. “Me? Yer one to talk. I’ve met tax collectors more reasonable then yer moody arse.”

“Like to see how much ‘a yer manners ye manage to hold onto with my work load,” Farris shot back and then added, “And they’re paid more.”

“Ah, I’m sure yer justly compensated,” Keral told his brother and then under his breath, muttered, “ye kitchen gremlin.”

“Heard that,” Farris growled.

“Well, good to know yer hearin’ is still good.”

“If that was yer attempt at callin’ me old,” Farris replied with an unamused stare, “maybe ye need remidin’ that I’m only three hours older then ye.”

“And what a world of difference those three hours make,” Keral quipped with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Come off it,” scoffed Farris, but the edges of his mouth quirked in a suppressed grin.

“Just let me know if ye need a rest, old man,” Keral laughed.

Wordlessly, Farris leaned over and punched Keral’s shoulder. The ranger winced and pulled a pained hiss through his teeth. He rolled the offended shoulder. “I’m tellin’ Ma.”

“Go right ahead,” Farris laughed. “I’ve got three more in reserve from the last few times she begged me to knock some sense into ye.”

“Yer just lucky the lil’uns are here,” Keral warned, but his expression was one of mock anger. “Or I might ‘a said somethin’ unkind.”

Farris chuckled and shook his head. The motion caused him to catch sight of Nenani and he turned to better look at her. “Did our bickerin’ wake ye up?”

“No,” she answered, smiling. Leaning forward to rest her arms over his shoulder, she watched the grass below his feet pass by. “I’m all better now.”

He rumbled approvingly, the sound sending light vibrations through her arms.

Another hour passed easily as they moved through the low rolling hills, and the sparse cloisters of trees began to converge more and more until they faced the treeline of a thick forest.

“This can’t be the north tip of the Blackwoods, can it?” Farris asked, looking to his brother.

“Hm,” Keral hummed as he studied the trees before them and then looked up to mark the sun’s position in the sky. “Don’t think so. That would put us close to the Hoek boarder and Mt. Vehnmir is too far west. No, my best guess is we’re coming up on one of those hunting lodges I mentioned. At least, that’s my hope.”

“It’d be nice to get a message to the castle by end of day,” Farris remarked.

As the brothers spoke, Nenani took time to study the trees for herself. They were enormous things with their canopies reaching hundreds of feet above their heads. Though the season had robbed them of their leaves, the remaining branches jutted out every which way, with the smaller twigs spider-webbing out and mingling with those of the trees around them. The early morning fog that had dissipated with the climbing sun still clung to the inner pathways by virtue of the spindly canopy above, resulting in an eerie and ominous sight.

“Are we going through?” Nenani asked.

“Well, that’s the question,” Keral replied. “Do we go through or walk around? There’s no real way of knowing from where we are. There’s dangers to traveling through open land. No cover, for one. But that also means ye tend to see anyone trying to come up on ye. Most of the time, at least. In a forest, ye have more cover. But less of a chance at seein’ someone tailin’ ye.”

“What about walking around?” Nenani suggested, though even as she said it, she felt it was a silly question.

“Walking around might cost us a day, going through may only save us an hour. No way of knowin’ right now.”

“What would you do?” Jae asked the ranger. “If it was just you on patrol?”

“Me? Forest,” Keral asked, briefly glancing at Jae before turning his gaze back to the trees. “More resources, more cover.”

“Seems like we have our answer then,” Jae said simply.

Keral looked to Farris. “Ye agree?”

“If this is a lord’s land,” Farris began, his expression serious. “We could end up walkin’ right into a hunting party and risk earnin’ an arrow in our hides.”

“Ye ever been on a hunt with a noble, Farris?” Keral asked.

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure,” Farris replied wryly.

“They ain’t quiet affairs,” he explained. “Loud horns, squires whackin’ at bushes, and hollerin’ tryin’ to scare any game out into the open. We’ll hear any hunting party long before we come upon ‘em. And the season’s over fer that sort of sport. The lord’s still likely to be at the castle or on his way to his home estate. We’d be dealin’ with his resident staff.”

Farris considered this for a few moments and then nodded. “If there’s a chance goin’ through saves us a few miles, I agree. We should take it. Sooner we get these three back home, the better.”

Keral nodded. “I agree.”

Nenani kept quiet as they approached the tree line, all the while eyeing the skeletal branches above with growing unease. She could not explain exactly the reason for it, but she felt as though they were being watched.

And that they were distinctly unwelcomed. 

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BONUS ART: 

[yourcoffindoor]

Bulletproof Heart Pt. 1

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Prompt: Request from Anon- “ could you write one where the reader is a rock singer and they and mcr are on warped tour together, and they both lowkey like each other but think they’re both out of each other’s league, and find out that they’re both secretly into nerdy stuff + maybe getting together? thank you so much xxx”

AN: This is a multi-part series--I couldn’t help myself! Also, I based this fic around something Gerard said in a Rolling Stone interview:

Hope its ok Anon! enjoy!

You had dreamed of this moment since you first picked up a guitar. Back then it felt like an impossible fantasy, being on stage with your band, playing in front of a crowd of screaming fans; which is why it felt so surreal when your manager Tim told you that your band, The Violent Delights, had booked Warped Tour.

"June 18th," he told you with a satisfied grin, "you're in for the long haul, kids."

Your band-mates let out a collective shriek of joy, while you planted a grateful kiss on Tim's cheek.

"You're an OK manager, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, dramatically wiping his cheek where your lips had been. "Now you guys better get practicing. This is a good opportunity to really get your name out there. Plus you got some real popular acts to compete with."

Your interest was peaked. "Oh yeah? Like who?"

"Off the top of my head? Fall Out Boy, Dropkick Murphys, and I think a band called My Chemical Romance."

"Oh shit, My Chem?" your bassist, Gavin, piped up excitedly. "That's the band I'm always trying to get Y/N to listen to."

"I'll have to finally borrow their last album," you replied, "gotta scope out the competition after all." Gavin rolled his eyes while you laughed.

Your manager got serious. "It's three months on the road, and its gonna take a lot of energy and hard work. Quite frankly, it ain't glamorous."

"Tim, when have we ever been glamorous? I wouldn't care if it were a 12 month tour," you declared, "I wouldn't miss this opportunity for the world." Liz, your drummer, nodded in agreement beside you.

"You might be singing a different tune when you haven't had a shower in three days."

"As long as I'm singing it in front of an audience, we'll be fine."

* * *

Back at your apartment you marked June 18th on your calendar with a star, feeling invigorated with excitement all over again. This was it, you thought, the next level for our band. You were determined to give it your very best, outperforming every other band there.

After all, you had worked so hard to get to this point. Starting in friend's basements and tiny cafes, the band had slowly built up a sizable following of loyal fans. You were no longer the opening act, drawing sell out crowds more often than not. You made a promise to yourself that the band wasn't going to lose this momentum. There would be no distractions for you on this tour, just hard work and the thrill of performing. That meant no parties, and absolutely no boys. You weren't ready for another relationship, you told yourself, especially since the last one ended in disaster.

Yes, this was the moment the band had been waiting for. You let the warm excitement that this knowledge brought envelope you, and you lay your head down on your pillow, falling asleep to fantasies of what lay ahead.

* * *

Its a long road from Maryland to Ohio. Columbus was the first stop of the tour, which meant your band had 6 and a half hours to go over the set-list, make adjustments  discuss their hopes and fears for the three month experience. Gavin gave you a few CDs to listen too, including My Chemical Romance's Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge.  You had heard their first album ages ago and enjoyed it, but there was something incandescent to the music you were hearing now. It stirred a whirlwind of heavy emotion, and you were enthralled from beginning to end. You made a mental note to see them perform at Warped as soon as possible.

When your bus arrived at its destination, you felt the unwelcome buzz of nerves building in your stomach. This was real, you thought, this was happening. You were used to performing at this point, but it was the amount of people you'd be performing for that was nerve-wracking. Not to mention the fellow artists who may be watching and judging your sound. You breathed deep and tried to push past the nervous thoughts that hummed incessantly around your head like insects.

Your band-mates were buzzing about with excitement, but you needed to distract yourself. Fresh air always helped settle you, so you grabbed your shoes and decided to go for a walk around the venue.

It looked almost like a circus with all the trailers and tents that had quickly populated the surrounding area. Merch stands and catering tents were being organizes as dozens upon dozens of vans and trailers pulled in. There were already a few fans camped outside of the chain-link fence that surrounded the area, eagerly awaiting a glimpse of their favorite artists.

You kept wandering, and you saw that a band was being interviewed in the media tent. There were five of them, each holding a microphone; but one member, a dark haired boy, was doing most of the talking. He was cute, you thought, and your stomach did little flips watching him respond to the questions that were being asked.

You watched a little bit longer from a distance, until you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned to see Gavin and Liz, who had been doing a bit of exploring as well.

"Hey, there you are! I was talking to a few people by the catering tent. They said some bands are having a party on their buses later tonight, we should check it out." Gavin informed you excitedly.

You hesitated. No parties. "I dunno, I want us to be in good condition to perform tomorrow."

Liz chimed in. "All work and no play, Y/N. C'mon, it'll be a great chance to make some connections with other bands."

"If you don't come with us," Gavin pronounced dramatically, "we'll be far too devastated to perform tomorrow." His hand went to his forehead, as though he was about to faint.

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Pretty please?" Liz stuck her lower lip out pathetically.

"With sugar on top?" Gavin added.

You glanced at the black haired boy in the distance. Maybe he'd be there, a small voice in your head piped up.

"Ugh Fine! But I'll only stay for a little bit."

Satisfied, the pair stopped harassing you, and left you to continue wandering, promising to meet up with them later.

* * *

People spilled out from open trailers as music blared from an unknown source in the background. Some were already far gone, stumbling from place to place, or lying on the ground blacked out.

You followed Gavin inside one of the trailers. You watched as he interacted with the strangers inside with ease, a trait you envied. He managed to find you both drinks, and you grabbed the mystery beverage, sculling it in hopes that it would numb your nervousness. You may have been a great performer onstage, but offstage it was easy for your social anxiety to take the wheel.

Gavin began to walk away, ignoring your whispered pleas not to leave you. Fuck. It always felt awkward to not know anyone at a party. You clutched your red cup like a life jacket keeping you afloat in a sea of drunken strangers.

A man approached you out of nowhere, the smell of alcohol emanating from every pore on his body.

"You look lonely." He leered at you expectantly.

"Then it seems like you need glasses. I'm just fine on my own."

He laughed. "Ooo! I like you. You've got spunk. Name's Brent, guitarist from Midnite Heist."

"Can't say I've heard of you guys."

Brent was either oblivious to your indifference, or just chose to ignore it. "So how'd you end up at this party?"

"I'm in a band on the tour too. Lead singer actually."

"No way! That's awesome, we need more talented eye candy on this tour."

You screamed internally while he droned on, tuning him out as you continued to sip from your fast emptying cup.

You scanned the room, watching people laugh and dance. Your stomach suddenly flipped again as you noticed the black haired boy from this afternoon, solemn faced and quiet, silently nursing a diet coke in his hands. He was clearly not having a good time. The guitarist who had been talking you up soon saw you looking at the sullen figure and turned his attention towards him, his eyes lighting up with recognition.

"Gerard fucking Way!" he bellowed, carelessly sloshing his drink as he waved him over, causing a stream of alcohol to fall to the floor below.

Gerard seemed to hesitate before walking over. "It's been awhile man," he said softly. His eyes, a warm hazel, flicked to you repeatedly as he spoke. "you here for the whole tour this time?"

Brent laughed, his sobriety dangling by a thread.  "Yeah, but still not up on the main stage, unlike you big-shots." he said, punching Gerard in the arm. Gerard offered a crooked smirk in return, his patience already wearing thin. Brent nudged you in the arm. "This is Y/N, her band is new to Warped. I told her I'd show her the ropes." He grinned at you. Ugh.

Gerard seemed to sense your discomfort. "Welcome, nice to see a new face around."

Brent interrupted before you could respond. "How come you're wasting time with a coke? I would've expected you to be the first one wasted here."

Gerard's jaw clenched, and you cringed internally at the sheer awkwardness of the encounter. "I'm sober now," he informed Brent, "I don't touch that shit anymore."

Brent laughed dismissively. "Dude, you?  Do you even remember the last Warped tour? I'll give it 2 days before you're lying face down in the bushes again." he laughed as if he had just said something hilarious.

You were livid, and Gerard was on edge. You decided to step in when you noticed his knuckles turn white from clenching his coke can.

You moved slightly, ready to get between them. "Hey you know what? I'd really love a coke right now too. Mind showing me where they are?" you looked pleadingly at Gerard. He took the hint.

"Follow me."

You gave a curt wave to Brent, who looked on in confusion before continuing his drinking binge.

You stepped outside, and the sounds from the party behind you became a faint, thumping buzz in the background. You were both silent for a moment before you decided to break the ice.

"So that guy was a dick."

Gerard's scowl turned into a thin, lopsided smirk. Your heart melted a bit. "Yeah. I just realized some of these people are only tolerable when I'm drunk."

Stop. Move away. You don't need a distraction like this. You tried to scold yourself but words kept escaping from your lips, prolonging the encounter.

"This is my first time doing Warped Tour, but I'm assuming these parties are pretty much never-ending?"

Gerard pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Oh yeah, its every night for some of these bands. You're in for an interesting experience." You looked at him for a moment, perhaps for a bit too long. You had never seen anyone look so beautiful while surrounded by clouds of smoke.

"Yoohoooo! Y/N!" you heard the hollering of a clearly tipsy Gavin call from the doorway of the next trailer. "Where'd you go? The night is young! Get back here!"

You sighed. "That's my cue. Well actually that's my bassist, but he'll never let me live it down if I don't go back in there."

Gerard turned his head to the side and exhaled. "Catch you around. Next time you need rescuing from a douche-bag just light the bat signal."

You gave him a soft smile, forcing yourself to turn away and walk back to the trailer. As you did, you whispered aloud to yourself as a reminder:

"No distractions. No boys."

[basementdwellercreaturefeature]

Current  DA2 Thoughts

Per usual, I have thoughts. 

TL;DR Anders fucked up but that doesn’t make him irredeemable. 

Jennifer Brandes Hepler said, “Personally, my view of it is that Anders wants to blow up the Chantry AND wants to die for it -- that way he gets the revolution he/Justice believes is necessary, but still gives justice to those who died in the Chantry.”

First, yes. People died in the Chantry explosion. Not like, 5 people. A lot of people. Not up for debate. Second, it didn’t start the revolution or the mage rebellion, it was a tragic loss of life. Also not up for debate. The following events of Inquisition confirm this, even if you don’t read any external Dragon Age content. Anders’ actions did not start a mage rebellion.

What Jennifer Brandes Hepler said here touched me though. Anders, like Solas and Loghain, and other controversial characters in the canon, walks his own Din'Anshiral and believes his death is the only atonement he can offer to the victims. With the prompting of Justice, he moves toward violence as a catalyst for his revolution. It’s an illogical move rather than a strategic move toward mages’ freedom. It really is not even discussed in DAI as a significant plot element regarding the Mage Rebellion. Frankly, Anders... it was dumb. Love you the most, but it was dumb.

So I am never going to argue that Anders was right in his final solution because I think the political climate of DAI objectively shows us that he wasn’t. Was he right regarding mages rights? Different topic, one too dense for one post. To me, his final decision doesn’t really matter when it comes him being redeemable/empathetic or not. You want to talk about the merits or issues of the Circle? The potential crimes of Kirkwall’s Chantry specifically? Fine, then whether or not he was “right” matters in the context of those discussions. However, in regards to character study and the merits of his redemption, I feel that him being right or wrong is irrelevant. Here is why.

Kirkwall is a dumpsterfire. Weakened Veil, wealth disparity, alienages, blood mages and Abominations running rampant, poor control of both the Circle AND the Templars, abuse of both, overwhelming refugee influx from the Blight, both Orsino and Meredith and their own brand of crazy, etc. What we have here is a chaotic clash of both magic and material. Basic, real world problems and fantasy RPG elements. Let’s throw fucking Anders in the mix, see what happens.

How would a mage joined with the spirit of Justice not go a little batshit being there?

And that’s just Justice standing alone. With the kinds of injustice present in Kirkwall? I mean, think about it. We aren’t even factoring in a traumatized ex-Warden whose blood may have tainted Justice (or his anger, we don’t know for sure) into Vengeance. Just Justice in itself would have been difficult. Frankly, I am amazed that he was even sane for as long as he was and able to do as much good as he did in his clinic.

Elements of Justice improved Anders, ironically. In DAA, we see a something of a fuckboy who loves his cat and runs away from responsibility and who probably likes Nickelback. In DA2, our first introduction to Anders is in his free healing clinic in an impoverished area where he is offering aide to refugees and Kirkwall’s maligned and he has definitely moved on to Nirvana. Big difference there. Would he have remained a non-violent advocate for mage freedom outside of Kirkwall’s magic influence and internal chaos? Unclear, but I find it interesting to think about. Sometimes in my personal head canon AU Hawke got him out of there and they moved to a farm with cats before it all went to shit. 

JFK said, “Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable.” BLM taught me that when a group is oppressed long enough, when screaming from the rooftops and offering peaceful solution for decades doesn’t work, when years go by with no change, people get mad because they’re fucking human beings. So, when some protests engaged in looting and rioting and violence (even though it was minor and the news harped on it like a bunch of assholes) it didn’t invalidate the movement. What else do we expect when we ignore their cries for justice for so long? 

You shit on people for years and get surprised when it bothers them?

The question to me is not whether or not Anders was right... but is it fair to not expect this from him? In so many ways, that boy was setup to be a disaster. Childhood trauma, Circle trauma, becoming an Abomination after the taint, then the horrors of Kirkwall... Look at all these red flags we all ignored! But still, he works to improve the lives of refugees and mages in Kirkwall. Did our other companions do the same? No, they laugh off his pleas for mage freedom and dismiss him as a fanatic. What does that say about them? 

It’s strange to me that there is such a cry for empathy for Solas and not for Anders. People dismiss Solas’ actions because “he hasn’t done it yet” but he is advocating for the eradication of entire races knowingly and has already been partially responsible for hundreds of deaths in Haven and at the Conclave. Solas does this without being possessed by anything. Less of the argument with Solas I have noticed is whether or not he is “right” but more so if he is worthy of redemption because of player affinity, empathy, love in some cases. There’s a desire to save the Dread Wolf from himself, despite his past and future mistakes. Because his "intentions” are good and he wants to restore Arlathan. But with Anders, him being “right” often is the most discussed... as if redemption and grace has anything to do with that. Less popular is discussing the value of intentions. It appears to be a minority that want to reach out to the fucked up apostate idiot cat man and offer atonement despite all these external factors, which I think make mercy more... amiable? At least it did to me. The dissonance here is confusing and sometimes I wonder if it comes down to player preference. Solas is pretty damn smooth. Anders? Not so much. Complete dumpsterfire.

When romanced, Anders might be given the chance to live and atone, to come to terms with himself as an Abomination. Hawke can provide a more stable atmosphere and offer grace and mercy in the moments when he curses himself for joining with Justice and the chaos that decision wrought. Whether or not that is healthy or justified is up to the player to decide. But, I have to wonder what it would do to him seeing the mage rebellion prompted entirely by something else years later and the lack of revolution his actions caused. Mages reject him and his own self-hatred may be all-consuming at this point. While I love the idea of my favorite sewer-dwelling apostate and my kick-ass Hawke growing old together, it very likely would be an agonizing journey, ripe with toxicity and painful dynamics for both of them. Frankly, I have yet to decide what my canon decision is there. Thank the Maker its a video game and I can change my mind as often as I want to.

I see a lot of myself in Anders in a way I have yet to experience with other Dragon Age characters, so I can recognize that this factors into my level of empathy. But all the same, I wanted to share my thoughts. Even as someone who loves the guy, I can see that he is a complete fuck up who may be better off dead... then he is at least free. Unsure. What are your thoughts regarding fandom empathy and objectivity towards more controversial characters?  Now excuse me as I return to my Sewer Apostate Spotify playlist and cry for a good two hours looking and Handers fan art like an idiot I just feel for the guy.

[soranihimawari]

sketchbook & coffees

this is a part of a time stamp draft i had in my drafts for a while. after several revisions, i opted to continue using asahi as an inspiration behind this piece. 

summary: yn is an artist. her club project for the annual ‘local artist fall soiree’ is sketches of the young and old in miyagi. when the model the club had lined up for the month cancels, she asks her classmate, azumane to “borrow” his hands for the project.

warnings: anxiety/anxiety attacks, how to cope when having one in public/public setting (let me know if my tw tag is operating please)

genre: fluff with healing/romantic comedy at the end (classmates to lovers?)

rating: pg-15+ (for the anxiety scenes)// A.A.F [azumane asahi fluff]

[20:45]

the pencil scratches against the rough page delicately tracing the outline of the shadows of your lover’s hand. somewhere in the distance, you hear the faint sounds of the city coming to life for the first time since the sun has set. the neon lights of the corner shops in front of the local bogedas in roppengi reflect the golden flecks on your eyes. you enjoy the company of the man sitting across from you, his silent stare causes you to empathize with him and as a show of gratitude you pause your drawing of his hands for a moment and smile. he asks if he can move his hands now, to which you nod. his cherrywood dyed hair is brushed to one side, only tied by a thin pink elastic you leant him earlier that day in class. you had slipped him a note in his locker right as classes were ending, knowing he had practice for the volleyball club later. you, whose handwriting he could never forget for peer review essays, asked if he would mind getting coffee with you one day when he was free. you mentioned you had an art project for your club due that month and the model they were going to try to invite for said project had backed out (due to personal reasons); although you weren’t sure why he seemed more flustered, you dismissed it as being nervous since most thought the art club drew semi-nudes, but that wasn’t the case. you explained your senior project was sketching different body parts (clothed or not was at the level of the model’s comfort) of both the old and the young. you had a sketch for every part you needed except for the hands. hence why you suggested the coffeeshop down the street from your mother’s job. with the date and time set, you are now sitting across the table with the ace of your school’s volleyball club.

he offered to pay for the coffees when you had arrived to the cafe, but you insisted on paying him back with tickets for the exhibition as well as a pack of hair ties for his time. what you chose to ignore was the way his friends (and teammates) would tease the tall lad about the way you made his heart soar whenever you were within a three foot radius. he always wanted to play his best for himself, yet he couldn’t help to recall all the times you tried to encourage him after he was completely shut out from date tech the season prior. you knelt down in front of his desk and rested your chin on his desk before spewing some words of advice: “a scientist never repeats the same experiment twice if the results are the same, azumane.” you knew of his anxieties about rejoining the club after the spunky first years showed up outside to corner him and ask if he still wanted to rejoin. you gave him an encouraging thumbs up when he saw you walking down the hall with a broad grin, how could he say no to them? 

as you were putting the finishing notes on the gesture drawing of his hands, you heard him inhale sharply. you glance up quickly, not sure if he was exhibiting any other signs of a panic attack, but you wrapped your hand around his palm for stability. even seated down as you were, you realize how erratic his hand had begun to shake from staying in one position for so long. he began to slowly hyperventilate as the espresso machine went off and the night crowd began trickling into the small shop. attacks, especially for him, were far and inbetween, and you recall the first time you helped him through one: 

you were in the science lab stock room and the door closed on you both. he began to get this panicked look in his eyes; it was not an easy expression to forget. unaware of how to handle the situation properly back then, you tell your classmate to close his eyes as you lifted one of his hands by his wrist and placed it near your neck pulse point. you were a lot more calmer then, thus instructing him to breath in and out with every thump his fingers felt. 

“how do you know this will work yn?” azumane said. his voice was rattled with fear and his eyes looked every which way but down at you. the closeness of it all was what got to him.

“i know it’s a lot to handle right now, but do your best and trust me,” you said. you were stern in your disposition and once he took you up on your advice, you both rode through his attack together. your lips grazed his wrist before asking him if he knew anyone who could help him through an attack. to be quite frank, after you two exited the room, you asked to speak with the teacher after class. when you explain your thoughts about how worried you were for him, the teacher suggested in the next staff meeting to have at least one member (including yourself) in all of azumane’s classes the following year considering what had transpired in her lab supply room. you were lucky the school staff cared about their students’ well being and had implemented a ‘buddy’ system for those who experienced similar issues. you don’t let asahi know about this set up and you both were elated to know you were in the same class again for senior year.

more often than he would like to admit, he thought about that day, because it was the day he changed your contact info in his phone to ‘my wisest yn-chan’. although, one practice early on in the season, noya noticed his friend’s phone going off right as practice was wrapping up and that was the day when the rest of the crows got their ace to admit how he truly felt about the “wise yn-chan”.

you gave his hand a firm squeeze as if to say, ‘i’m here for you. calm yourself, just for me, please.’ 

“asahi, it’s all right,” your voice is like finely spun sugar to him. “focus on my voice and breathe with me this time, ok?”

you don’t know the power you hold over his heart just yet, but you had an idea once he began to breathe in rhythm with you. his knuckles which had turned white when you held his free hand, began to relax more once you helped him through the worse of it.

“i-i’m sorry,” his voice was small. he was as gentle as they come, but he was still the frightened boy from your second year science class. truthfully, he didn’t want to have an attack when he was having such a lovely afternoon with you; all he really wanted to do was enjoy some time with you ever since you explained why you wanted to meet at the cafe. now that he was a bit embarrassed by his handling of his own attack because it had been so long between his last anxiety attack, yet he thanked whatever gods were nearby for having you there with him.

“don’t worry about it,” you said. then a coy smile carved its way across your features. you realized he was becoming more flustered, so you release his hand from yours. you ask several follow up questions to him after the last remaining bits of the attack subsided and as you talk through him, you noticed how much more calmer your voice makes him. if you thought he didn’t have a crush you prior to today, you were proven wrong the moment he used both of his hands to reach for yours before you packed away your things. he muttered a “p-please don’t go just yet,” but when you studied the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, his eyes telegraphed his plea of ‘i might have another one when you’re gone and i’m still not used to handling one by myself yet.’ 

the action alone startled you at first, granted you have known asahi since second year (through walking the same route with him home from school prior to the science lab incident), but this was the fifth time you helped him through an assortment of anxiety ridden attacks (and you didn’t mind it at all since he was the only one of the third years who didn’t share a class with either the captain or vice-captain that year). you tell him to close his eyes as his breathing returned to normal again and when a familiar tune came on the playlist for the cafe, you started to hum the opening bars. you weren’t a hero perse, but you were pretty damn close especially for the classmate sitting across from you. when you feel his grip relax, you don’t dare to let either of his hands return to his side of the table. 

roughly twenty minutes later, you and asahi roam the streets of roppengi heading back to the train platform headed for the miyagi stops. you still hold his hand, wondering how long would it take for him to realize you had felt the same about him since the start of the semester. asahi walks you to your father’s house a few blocks away from his when you return back to the safety of your hometown.

“azumane,” your voice is resilient in it’s unwavering support. the gentle giant had begun to turn around mentioning he’d see you the day of the art festival (you had planned on going together originally, but that changed as soon as you teased him for labeling himself as your date. you mentioned you liked the color of strawberry ice cream since his blush reminded you of it in the fluorescent light inside the train).

“hmm?” he asks, taking his hands out of his jacket pocket. you dropped your school bag on the porch before you pulled him into a hug.

“ack!” he exclaims right as he felt your arms wrap around him with your face turning to one side against his torso. he chuckled nervously before hugging you back; he bent down slightly and rested one of his cheeks atop your head. your shoulder length hair danced in the nightly breeze against the nape of your neck.

“i’ll always be here for you; i believe in you doing your best,” you say suddenly thus causing your soon-to-be-boyfriend(?)/crush to nod. “now come on, get yourself home and i’ll see you next friday at six.” 

you release him from your embrace, backing away slowly to create some space between you two, and with what found courage he had stored in him, azumane extends his hand to grip your shoulder lightly. it was a slight warning before you shut your eyes quickly blinking as you felt his breath tickle the side of your face. whatever he whispered to you made you more flustered than you already were. he left soon thereafter with the widest grin.

***

“woah woah woah,” noya said. the libero casually glanced up and down at his best friend who was dressed in business casual clothes after the team caught wind of their ace having a date on a friday night. azumane decided to wear navy slacks and a dress shirt with a belt and his hair was left down (noya’s idea). the ace knew his friends from the club would help him give some encouraging words of wisdom about fashion sense and style, but since he wanted to impress you a little, he wanted to stop by the gym where you had agreed to meet up prior to you arriving on campus.

“noya,” azumane began. he breathed a sigh of exasperation. “do you think this is too much?”

“you’re going to an exhibit by the art club, right?” sugawara inquires, walking around his friend before said friend gave him an approving nod. “you look fine.”

low whistles were heard from tanaka as well all the while the first years along with the single-second year bachelors just laughed and made a few kissing noises up until both sawamura and ennoshita told them to quit it.

on the other hand, none of the boys, with the exception of their managers noticed you in the doorway of their gym. you chose to wear a form-fitting azure cocktail dress with peep toe heels. your dress had pockets, so you had a pair of flats tucked away there. you opted to wear your hair in a messy side braid and all talking ceased as soon as your shoes made contact with the gym floor. 

“holy crap,” kazuhita whispered before he elbowed ennoshita who then turned red in the face. you walked a little taller that day and the quieter the team got, the more the nerves came back to asahi’s mind. the first years as a whole were frozen for a second suddenly blushing like mad.

“literal goddess!” tanaka said nearly crying as you winked at him and noya. to be fair, they almost passed out. sugawara and daichi suddenly froze up finding various details around the gym suddenly very interesting so they weren’t caught staring at you. honestly, what else would you expect from the crows of karasuno?

“stop making fun of me, guys. i just want tonight to go smoothly,” asahi’s voice said. there was a hush over the gym and judging by hiw quiet his usually talkative teammates were being, he got more nervous about the date he had with you.

 “wait, why is no one talking?” he asked, after re-fixing the feather shaped cuff link on his shirt. you were standing a few paces behind him, pondering if the ace knew just how effortlessly handsome he was.

“probably because they saw me walk by,” your voice had a lilt of laughter in it. what asahi imagined you would wear versus what you were wearing in real time, clearly outweighed his imagination tenfold. the dress hugged you in all the right places causing you to spin around, slowly, just for him. who knew you had that figure tucked away underneath the girls uniform was beyond the members of the team. as you complete your semi-spin, you walk up toward asahi with an amused expression meeting his flirtatious stare (the rest of his face telegraphed a slight case of nervousness, but he had his brain keep his eyes trained solely on your movements. probably didn’t help he was restraining himself from asking you to skip the soiree because he’s be far too invested in leaving you breathless).

“you clean up well,” you tease, poking his chest. you laugh at how his feigns surprise before leaning down and whispering his reply.

“so do you,” asahi’s voice is dangerously low. far lower than what you’re used to hearing in class.then again, it was mostly due to you showing up in that dress. she’s really pretty. is this really y/n-san? hold on, is that a new lipstick color? 

“ready to get out of here with me?” you ask, extending your hand out for him, which he gladly takes. 

he leads you out of the gym, but before you cross over the threshold of the gym, you say over your shoulder: “don’t worry guys! i promise i’ll have him home in time for morning practice!” 

“you better!” sugawara yelled before he noticed you laughing at how quickly asahi’s hand held yours a little tighter. 

before the evening’s event draws to a close, you ask one of the wait staff to take a photo of you and your ‘friend.’ you stand side by side and before the shutter closes, you give him a peck on the side of his face leaving an imprint of your strawberry pink painted lips. it was the best image you have of you two together from the local artist fall soiree mostly because of how wide the ace actually smiled.

--end--

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Hello again, I'm so sorry if I'm spamming you with too many Jaskier requests. But I was wondering if I could request a hurt comfort fic for Jaskier x poet! Reader, where she is angry crying because someone stole her poetry and turned it into a Ballad right under her nose, despite the fact she spent months writing it. And so it's up to Jaskier to find the bard responsible, and get her poem back to her. And maybe his plans go askew, and the two of them have to create a poem about their love

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Jaskier x Reader Word Count: 1,344 Rating: G Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak​ @whatevermonkey​ @mynamesoundslikesherlock​ @kemmastan​ @magic-multicolored-miracle​ @writingstudent​ @mlleecrivaine​ @coffee-and-stories​ @amirahiddleston​ @ultracolorfulnerdcollection​ @astouract​ @your-not-invisible-to-me​ @mycat-is-mylove  a/n: I hope you like it! And you don’t need to apologize! xo

You knew it was silly to cry, these things weren’t unheard of in the art world, but it stung and angered you that your words had been stolen so boldly. The troubadour didn’t even try and alter the words or mask their plagiarism, they just took it and set music to it and now they were earning coin that was rightfully yours but worse they were singing the words you’d written to confess your love to Jaskier. Your tears burned hot with anger as they dripped down your face and you could hear the voice of your university rivals in your ear, telling you that you’re too soft to be a poet, that it took a courage and a persistence and even a coldblooded nature you didn’t possess. You didn’t need to be cruel to succeed but your unwillingness to stoop to their level made you a target and you hated the injustice.

“Y/N?”

You swore softly and tried to wipe away the tears and hide all traces of your crying though you knew your face was puffy and red and Jaskier was no fool. Before long the bard was close enough to see you and he sat next to you, pale blue eyes filled with worry as he brushed a tear from your cheek.

“Y/N what’s happened?” he asked. You weren’t going to tell him, you were going to just fix it on your own as you’d been told a true artist did, but the concern in his eyes moved you and you found a fresh wave of tears falling down your face as you bit out the story. How you’d been working on a poem and finally completed it after a month of hard work and editing and going nearly mad. How you’d had it with you in the library and how sometime between when you packed up and went home it had been taken from your bag. You’d looked for it everywhere, heartsick that you’d been so careless, and then you’d heard of the new love song being performed and the lines quoted sounded familiar. You told him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders in a half hug how you had shown up to the performance and confronted the troubadour who simply charged you to prove that he had stolen it before leaving, his mocking laughter ringing in your ears.

By the time you were finished Jaskier looked as angry as you felt, if not angrier.

“I know these things happen,” you said, but he cut you off.

“No,” he protested, “This goes against everything artists are supposed to stand for. This isn’t collaboration, this is thievery, and he will be brought to justice.”

“Jaskier this is my fight,” you insisted. He shook his head and gently moved your chin so you faced him and your eyes met his.

“I am going to fix this,” he promised, “You don’t have to handle this alone.”

You could tell it was useless to fight him and you were reminded yet again why you loved him, and why you needed to get that poem back. You’d finally gotten the words right and you feared you’d never be able to do it again and if you couldn’t tell him just the way he deserved, what was the point?

The next night the pair of you went to the next performance. You were so distracted by how handsome Jaskier looked that you nearly forgot why you were there, until the performer took his place. The performance was being hosted by a local noble family, patrons of this bard, and everyone stood or sat in a circle before the lovely fireplace. It served as a backdrop that would have been cozy and romantic for someone else but as you looked at this man all you saw was hell fit for the devil he was. He performed a few songs first and then for his closer he announced he would be singing a new song. That was when Jaskier leapt into action.

“Those words have been stolen,” he cried, pointing accusatorily at the man who froze, eyes widening and then narrowing in disdain.

“This man is clearly insane,” he tried to scoff. But Jaskier was well-known and respected and he could see that the crowd was not immediately on his side, instead there was a ripple of confusion and a whisper of scandal.

“That poem you have purloined and set to music is the work of Y/N, a new poet who is still establishing herself in the community. Such an act displays cowardice, ignorance, and frankly betrays you for an ass and a poor musician,” Jaskier charged, practically hissing the words as he spoke. The man could see the crowd was being lost.

“You cannot prove this accusation!” he protested.

“Cornflower eyes of my lover brush against my face as tenderly as any petal could,” you began, reciting the lines from memory. You’d spent so long trying to decide how to describe those eyes that held you captive from the first time you’d met their gaze. They looked at you now as the crowd parted for you, waiting breathlessly for you to continue.

“Could any sight be sweeter than my beloved smiling, so beguiling do I find that face,” you continued. The ripples of uncertainty changed to a distinct murmur of censure as those who had heard the song before recognized the words. The troubadour was clearly trapped but he was a spiteful man and even Jaskier’s quick reflexes and your pleas didn’t move in time to stop him from taking the pages and thrusting them into the hearth. Jaskier tried to go after the poem but the pages were already curling and turning to ash and you pulled him away. Jaskier felt torn between the urge to throttle the man and the urge to stay by your side as he saw tears enter your eyes and thankfully for him the choice was made when the troubadour was ushered out and dismissed by the master of the house.

Jaskier escorted you away from the crowd, knowing that you wanted to be somewhere quiet despite how well-meaning and empathetic the people were, and you soon found yourself sitting in a balcony.

“Do you remember it?” he asked hopefully, “Enough to transcribe it?”

“No,” you replied woefully, shaking your head and looking up at him with the saddest eyes he’d ever seen, so sad he felt the pain in them and tears rose to his own, “I only remembered the part I recited.”

He took your hand and held it tight, letting silence fill the space where words would never suffice.

“It will be alright,” you said aloud, more to yourself than him.

“Yes,” he said, “We can always write another.”

“We?”

“Well, I mean, you don’t have to of course… But I thought we may collaborate on one,” he said.

“Jaskier… the poem I wrote was… very specific and special and had a very singular purpose,” you replied, eyes askance and unable to look into his, which were more ocean than cornflower in the moonlight.

“The poem I intended to write, have been working on writing for some time, has a purpose that is similarly singular. I had been thinking of asking for your help in any case but after hearing the excerpt, well, I am more convinced than ever that I need your voice for it to be perfect,” he insisted, his voice a near whisper as he leaned closer to you.

“What would this poem be about?” you asked, a strange twisting sensation in your stomach as he lifted your face up towards his once more.

“It is a love story,” he answered, a soft smile playing about his lips, “About a bard and a poet who, for all of their mastery of words, struggled hard to find a way to confess their love for each other.”

Your heart hammered in your chest and you gripped his hand tightly, the tear that fell down your cheek the first happy one you’d shed in some time.

[artxyra]

Dark-ish Marinette

* So this was originally a one-shot but as I got closer to the end, writer’s block hit and I don’t know...so enjoy. 

She hates that fact that she must pretend to be someone she’s not. The bubbling personality, pending for a single boy, the constant act of kindness knowing some people don’t deserve it. Today was no different and Mlle. Bustier couldn’t dismiss the class fast enough.

Marinette stares at her doodle filled notebook, as the teacher taught the lesson. Honestly, she didn’t want to care, but since she is a registered student, she must. Mlle. Bustier stops her lessons and Marinette barely even notice until a certain liar opened her mouth.

It was then that Marinette looks up from her work and stares blankly at the teen. A few months ago, she would try and spread the truth, but after everything, she was tired and couldn’t care any less. That was until her name was brought up into a conversation.

“So, Marinette, why haven’t you brought anything to class?” It had to Alya to ask the question. Let’s play ignore the reporter.

Marinette takes a deep breath and pulls out her phone, she smiles at the message icon and opens it.

“Marinette!” Alya shouts visibly irritated that her best friend was ignoring her and the other pleas.  

Marinette finally looks up with the brightest smile she could muster, “Sorry Alya, I was in the middle of something. Do you need anything?” Now would be the perfect time for an akuma attack.

“Yeah, girl, two dozen cookies would be nice of you to bring tomorrow. Lila is throwing the class a party as a ‘sorry I won’t be here for the rest of the week’.” Alya was long gone in Marinette’s opinion.

Trying to maintain her smile, Marinette nods, and the moment she agreed Alya went over to Lila and drowned herself in the latter’s infamous lies. What the hell just happened? Yes, it is known that her parents own a bakery, but did her classmates seriously think she was going to make the cookies for free? Her phone dings.

Grumpy Cat: Shouldn’t you be focusing on your class?

You: Can you blame me for wanting to speak to somebody sane.

Grumpy Cat: Perhaps not.

Grumpy Cat: What happened?

You: I’ll tell you over video chat.

She loves that man, his cold demeanor and all.

Shoving her phone into her purse, Marinette gets up and walks out. Mlle. Bustier is baffled by this action from her once star student. She goes to catch Marinette, but the teen is long gone. For a moment, the class wonders what happened to Marinette only for Lila to turn the narrative back to her.

“I guess Marinette wanted to get a head start on those cookies she promised.” If only that was the case.

Marinette would have ditched the rest of the day, but she had one class left, and thankfully it wasn’t with Mlle. Bustier.

“…Can you believe that they want me to bake them two dozen cookies like I don’t already have enough on my plate.” Marinette rants as she ties the apron around her waist and starts grabbing the sugar cookie ingredients. She turns to the tablet to see the pale blonde hair and blue-grey eyes of her lover sipping on coffee.

“What do you have in mind since you are making cookies despite your hatred to the class.” The blonde’s eyebrow perks as he sets the coffee cup down.

“Sugar,” Marinette declares.

“Do explain.” He replies before taking another sip.

“They’re going to assume that I’m making chocolate chip because who doesn’t like them,” She looks at the scream to see the male’s unamused expression. “Well except for you, Fe… So, I’m sugar and not decorate it for Lila’s so-called I’m a sorry party.”

Felix has known Marinette long enough to know that she can be both petty and salty when she wants to be. Today is no exception.

Marinette continues to rant as she makes the cookies and before she knew it the cookies were done and her video chat with Felix was nearing its end.

“I wish we didn’t have to communicate through text or video.” She pouts as she turns her full attention to the tablet. “When do you come back to Paris?”

“The semester is ending soon which will mean that my uncle would use that time to talk my mother into sending to Paris to help out with his business,” Felix replies with little to no emotions, but Marinette knows that he’s secretly happy to be coming back.

“That doesn’t answer my question, Fe.” Marinette pouts.

“Even if that is the case, I’ll be sure to make plans to see you and those other nuisances when I have the chance.” He adds once he realizes Marinette’s reaction.

“You do care…” Marinette sings.

Their conversation didn’t last long after that.  Marinette hates to see him go but having a long-distance friendship is one thing, but a relationship was a whole another level.

The classroom was entertaining the next day. When Marinette sat down the tray of cookies, they hounded her for not bring chocolate chip. She was okay with it at first, but then Alya just had to open her mouth and verbally beat her down.

“Listen, you told me to make two dozen cookies, you didn’t specify what kind.” Marinette defends herself and then counters with “That will be forty-four euros, Alya.”

Alya’s face reddens with fury. “This is madness, Marinette. You never charged us before, so why do it now? Is this because of Lila? News flash, girl, the world doesn’t revolve around you.” She screeches as her words carry out of the classroom. The room goes silent.

“That will be forty-four euros, Alya, and I will hate to get the police to be involved, so you have until the end of the school day.” Marinette is done. Done with the constant belittling from her classmates, and to make matters difficult the petty, salty version of Marinette was coming out and she was coming out hard.

Controlling her breathing, Marinette eagerly walks away to the back of the classroom. Picking up her phone, she immediately saw a reply from Tikki. Ever since Marinette gain financial support from her online store, she was able to get Tikki a phone with limited hours.

Tikki: That was rude of you know, Marinette.

Marinette glances at her purse and looks inside.

Marinette: I know, Tikki, but the way that they were acting just irritated me.

Marinette felt a slight tug on through her purse. Tikki was understanding, but she too was peaceful unless targeted. It warmed the teen’s heart that her kwami was by her side since those she considered friends left her.

Then there was lunch, a period where Marinette could sneak off the school grounds and head home, but before she could do that, Alya, Nino, and Adrien came up to her. Marinette elated smile turns into a forceful one. The mere sight of them made her uneasy, and tension rose quickly.

“Marinette! How could you ruin Lila’s party like that?” Alya was beginning to sound like a broken record player. It was always Lila this, Lila that, or how could you, coming out of her mouth.

“What makes you say that, Alya?” Marinette challenges as she tugs on the straps on her purse.

“Lila said you purposely made those cookies out of spite and wanted to ruin that party knowing that the only sweets were the cookies.” Alya went off, and neither Nino nor Adrien was doing anything. She not wrong, but she would never.

Marinette blinks once, twice, even a third time before pushing past the three and exit the building.

For the rest of the school day, Marinette was either ignoring or being ignored by her classmates. She would only talk to people outside the class that wasn’t under Lila’s hold. Thankfully, Alya grudgingly gave the money for the cookies to Marinette with a sneer like no other.  Another day is done, and more painfully oblivious days to go.

[monkeydra]

Heeereee comes some prompts~! :D For the AU-list: Blind Date AU for Ichigo/Chad; Bodyguard AU for Grimmjow/Urahara/Yoruichi; Dragon AU for Hardison/Parker/Eliot; Roll Reversal AU for Wei Ying/Lan Zhan; Royalty AU for Lan Xichen/Wen Ning; Paranormal Investigator AU for Evie/Rick/Ardeth....aaaand I'll stop there XD Feel free to ignore some or all of these, of course! ;D

Sorry this took approximately forever! Hope you like them XD

I tried the leverage ot3 prompt but I really struggle with zoomorphism it seems, sorry :(

Ichigo/Chad - Blind Date AU

“I’m so sorry you got dragged into this,” Ichigo groaned, hiding his face in his hands, his usual furrow between his brows. Chad allowed himself a small moment of disappointment before reaching for Ichigo’s hands and tugging them down from his face. When Ichigo met his eyes, he smiled at him, fondly as always and Ichigo responded with his own small and precious smile.

“Do you still want to go in?” he asked, tilting his head towards the restaurant.

“You don’t have to,” Ichigo replied, looking sheepish again. “Rukia’s just. She’s trying to help.” Chad nodded, guiding Ichigo away from the entrance with a hand on his lower back. Ichigo didn’t like being inside when he felt agitated. He leaned into the touch and walked with him, his shoulder’s loosening. “It’s good to see you,” he said after they were down the street from the restaurant, beaming at him, eyes warm. Chad nodded in agreement, and Ichigo bumped him with his shoulder.

“How’s your family?”

“Dad’s as annoying as always,” he started with a roll of his eyes, “but Yuzu and Karin are in their last year of high school.” He brightened completely at the mention of his sisters. “They’re third and fourth in their class. Karin has been taking karate lessons from Tatsuki and Yuzu started a cooking channel on youtube.” Chad hummed to show he was still listening, pulling him a little closer when the crowd got denser. Ichigo’s hand came up and curled in the back of his shirt, leaning his head on Chad’s shoulder in an affectionate bump.

“How’s studying to be a teacher?”

“Good. I get to assist in a classroom next semester.”

“What year?” he asked, his smile and eyes soft and warm around the edges now, shifting a little closer himself this time.

“Second.”

“They’re gonna love you,” Ichigo declared.

“Thank you,” he murmured, pleased, and looked down at Ichigo again, now tucked under his arm. He was always so tactile, and he was only too happy to oblige. They fell into an easy silence, the crowds thinning again as the dinner rush came into full swing. Ichigo shivered at Chad’s side as the sky darkened, and Chad rubbed his hand over Ichigo’s arm.

“How did Rukia get you here anyway?”

“She told me I would be going on a date with you.”

Ichigo froze, and Chad stopped with him. He hadn’t stepped away, which Chad supposed was a good sign.

“You knew the date was with me?”

“Of course.”

Ichigo whirled out of his arms and kept Chad where he was with his hands on Chad’s shoulders.

“Can we start the date over?”

Chad tilted his head in confusion, but nodded, adding “If that’s what you want.” If Ichigo’s grins were bright before, it was blinding right now as he nodded. Once more, Chad couldn’t help but smile back. Ichigo wrapped his arm around Chad’s waist and nudged Chad with his shoulder in the short amount of time it took Chad to wrap an arm around him again, and they headed back to the restaurant.

Grimmjow/Urahara/Yoruichi - Bodyguard AU

Grimmjow clenched his teeth and nodded at Yoruichi.

“Okay, on three. One,” she started, and then wrenched his shoulder back into place. Grimmjow hissed and glared at her, but she just grinned back. “Good as new,” she said even as she poked at his shoulder.

“What are you doing then?” He kept his tone bored and Yoruichi pretended not to notice the strain in his voice, reminding him why they made such a good team.

“Feeling you up.”

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. She grabbed his arm and moved it up, to the side, back down, up again.

“Everything feel okay?”

“A little stiff, but it should be fine.”

“How do you know he’s not lying?” Urahara asked, voice filled with a forced levity neither of them called him out on. They also ignored his tightly crossed arms.

“He doesn’t lie on a job.”

“He can hear you,” he grumbled, stretching his arm out.

“He also gets grouchy when he doesn’t get to finish a fight.”

“Why start a fight if you’re just gonna run away?” he exclaimed. “And for fuck’s sake get over here,” he snapped. Urahara jumped, covering his shocked expression with the same appeasing, bland smile. Yoruichi leaned back until she was reclining on her arms, amusement radiating from every inch of her. Grimmjow cocked an eyebrow at Urahara, and evidently he was too curious to resist.

“What is it?” he asked once he was standing over them.

“Sit down, I don’t need a sore neck on top of everything else.”

Urahara made to sit and did not yelp when Grimmjow shoved him so he landed next to Yoruichi instead.

“You’re supposed to be protecting me, not injuring me!” he cried, whirling to look at Grimmjow on his other side.

“Try that on someone who actually believes your hopeless nerdy scientist routine,” Yoruichi drawled, sitting up again, her own smile unaffected even as Urahara’s froze on his face.

“That’s not the secret we’re tackling today,” Grimmjow said with a dismissive wave.

“I think you both know I’m too boring to have secrets,” he stammered. They both leveled him with looks so icily unimpressed that he almost hung his head in shame. Knowing them, they were less irritated by the lie and more how shoddy it was.

“Anyway, how much more do we have to flirt before you finally ask us out?” Yoruichi asked. “We’re both running out of excuses to lose our shirts.”

“And shirts,” Grimmjow added, shrugging his bare shoulder where his tank top strap should have been. Urahara’s mouth opened and closed helplessly, for once completely clueless on how to respond.

“Would you like to go on a date?” he asked finally, figuring that was a good place to start. They both grinned and leaned closer, twin yeses wafting warm over his ear and neck. “How did the conversation get here?” he asked.

Yoruichi shrugged and said, “We decided a few days ago to give you one more week to figure it out. If you didn’t then we’d give you a nudge.”

~

Wei Ying/Lan Zhan - Role Reversal AU

He traded the pristine whites and soft blues of his robes for something more functional, staked out a camp in the swirling miasma of resentful energy and mountains of death, and even then Lan Zhan still looked like untouchable jade. Wei Ying was tempted to ask what his secret was, but he suspected it was simply how stunningly beautiful he was.

“Let me carry you back,” he blurted out instead. Lan Zhan’s rosy lips parted, dark eyes widening just slightly before his expression shuttered again.

“No need.” He moved around Wei Ying and continued walking to the burial mounds, carefully stiff to hide the limp and broken ribs. Wei Ying ran so he was in front of him again.

“I can help with Wen Ning, and Wen Qing will have my head if she finds out I let you hike up a mountain like this.”

“Wei Ying isn’t letting me do anything,” he said, but before he could move around him again, Wei Ying laid a gentle hand on his arm.

“Lan Zhan please. Let me help you,” he said, echoing Lan Zhan’s own plea. Lan Zhan stopped, his icy mask faltering just enough for Wei Ying to see the uncertainty, the exhaustion, the pain. Lan Zhan had always been so softly, blessedly human. He nodded, and Wei Ying beamed at him. He turned and crouched down so Lan Zhan could climb onto his back. It was the fastest way to get him back to Wen Qing, and there was less of a risk of Lan Zhan reaching a meridian by accident and feeling his missing golden core. He felt warmth at his back before Lan Zhan’s weight on him, and waited until his arms were around his shoulders, Bichen dangling in front of them both, before standing. Lan Zhan’s arms tightened around him in surprise, but he was otherwise quiet and still.

“Don’t worry, Lan Zhan! We’ll be back at the burial mounds in no time, and between the two of us we can definitely restore Wen Ning’s consciousness.”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying smiled to himself at the instant agreement.

“And Wen Qing will have you fixed up in no time. Does she bully you with her needles too?”

“Wen Qing doesn’t bully me.”

“Ah, you would say that Lan Zhan. You’re so patient with everyone. I used to think you were a stick in the mud until I got to know you better,” he said, ignoring the hitch—likely from pain—in Lan Zhan’s breath. “You’re actually a really good guy.” Lan Zhan’s arms tightened around his shoulders briefly and loosened again. “You can hold on tighter if you want, Lan Zhan. And don’t think I didn’t notice how you spoiled A-Yuan. Is it that you like cute things? I remember you like rabbits.” Lan Zhan’s arms tightened a little around his shoulders, and slowly the last of his weight leaned on him, his silken cheek pressed to Wei Ying’s.

“Wei Ying does not have to carry me all the way up.”

“I’ll do it anyway. You shouldn’t be walking on a broken leg Lan Zhan, and Wen Qing might not bully you but she’d definitely pick on me.” He shifted him carefully to secure his grip on him. “Now hold on tight Lan Zhan. This path is a little steep and I wouldn’t want to drop such precious cargo.”

Lan Zhan’s breath hitched again, and Wei Ying made a note to be even more careful about his grip on his injured leg.

Lan Xichen/Wen Ning - Royalty AU

Wen Ning remembers his first impression of Lan Xichen: gentle smile and impeccable manners. He remembers the overwhelming feeling of relief that his betrothed seems kind—not that his sister would have allowed otherwise. Even if his fiancée didn’t love him, maybe they could still be friends, he hoped.

Wen Ning supposes that impression still holds even now.

A pretty flush started on Lan Xichen’s ears and spread to those high cheekbones, his sweet smile even wider than normal, his crown and ribbon slightly askew on his head.

“Wen-gongzi!!!” he cried, standing quickly in what would have been a scramble if Lan Xichen were any less graceful. Wei Wuxian hid a laugh behind his drink, his own husband staring dazedly at him at his side. “Didi look!!!” Lan Xichen said to Lan Wangji, prompting him to look away from Wei Wuxian and to his older brother. “My fiancée is here!!!”

Wen Ning felt his face flame even as something unfurled in his chest at hearing Lan Xichen sound so happy to see him. Still, he was here for a reason.

“W-Wei-gongzi, why did you c-call me?”

“I do remember giving you permission to call me Wei Ying,” he replied with a playful grin.

Lan Xichen took his hands in his before Wen Ning could muster a reply.

“I asked him to,” he said earnestly, squeezing his hands. “I have a very important question.” Wen Ning found himself standing straighter at the serious look on his face, nodding in response.

“Of c-course, Lan-gongzi.”

“This is important,” he said again, nodding gravely. “May I call you A-Ning?”

“W-what?!”

“May I call you A-Ning?” he repeated patiently, that wide, beautiful smile still on his face.

“Y-You can call m-me whatever you w-want, Lan-gongzi.”

To his confusion, Lan Xichen vehemently shook his head.

“Only if it’s alright with you,” he declared. “And may I hug you?” he added. “I like you so much!!!” Lan Xichen looked so happy, so hopeful. Wen Ning felt the all his blood rush to his head.

“Y-you c-can,” he finally whispered, voice hoarse. “T-to b-both, I w-want you t-to.” He found he truly meant it, too, his stuttering getting worse with just how much he wants it, how much his nervousness was choking him. Lan Xichen’s arms were around him in an instant, sweeping him in so he was completely pressed to his warm, firm body, his face tucked into the crook of his neck. Lan Xichen’s chin rested on the top of his head as he swayed them back and forth, and Wen Ning worked his arms out from between them to hug him back.

“I can’t wait for the courting period, A-Ning,” he said, only a little quieter than before. “I’m going to spoil you! So much!” Wen Ning buried his face deeper. He swallowed and took a deep breath, like his sister taught him, and pulled away enough to look up at him.

“T-Thank you, A-Huan,” he whispered. Lan Xichen gasped and beamed down at him, squeezing him impossibly closer.

“I like you so much, A-Ning!!!”

Then all his weight dropped onto Wen Ning.

He caught him, looking at Wei Wuxian when the man laughed.

“He’s asleep,” he reassured in between giggles, wiping at his eyes. Still, there was something soft and delighted in his expression, enough to reassure Wen Ning this wasn’t a joke of some kind.

“W-what should I d-do?”

“If we wait a little while, he’ll sober up.” He took another sip of his drink, and Wen Ning only now noticed Lan Zhan asleep on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “Sit with me, and bring him with you. I’m sure he’d like waking up with his head in your lap.” Wen Ning hid behind Lan Xichen again, sure his face matched his robes. Still, he half carried, half dragged him to the table, carefully easing them down until they both sat and, after a moment of self-conscious hesitation, pushed Lan Xichen’s legs further out and guided his head to his lap.

Wei Ying met his eyes across the table, undeniably pleased. He pushed a cup to him, already filled with wine, but Wen Ning shook his head.

“N-no thank y-you, Wei-g--” he stopped, deciding to take another risk tonight. “W-Wei Y-Ying.” Wei Ying grinned. They sat in companionable silence until Wei Ying set his cup down with a quiet, definitive clack.

“He meant every word you know.”

Wen Ning nodded.

“He w-wouldn’t lie,” he agreed softly. Wei Ying stared at him for a moment, oddly serious, before the grin was back on his face.

“As long as you know that.” He took another sip of his drink. “Also, you might want to brace yourself for the courting period.” Wen Ning cocked his head to the side, a silent question. Wei Ying’s grin was a little frightening this time around in its blatant amusement, clearly at Wen Ning’s expense this time. “The Lans don’t half ass wooing.”

Wen Ning felt his cheeks warm again.

Evie/Rick/Ardeth - Paranormal Investigator AU

Sorry this one is so short! I couldn’t think of much for it unfortunately

“Evie, darling,” Rick said with a stare that spoke of being completely desensitized to this very situation, “please step out of the pentagram.”

“Oh!” She looked around and realized she was indeed standing in the middle of the pentagram, painted on the floor in a red liquid that Rick refused to contemplate the origins of. “Well, at least we know we’re going in the right direction. This was in my vision.” She still hadn’t stepped out of the pentagram, but before Rick could point that out again Ardeth walked by and took her hand, gently tugging her out of it. Evie swung the flashlight around again, distracted, as Rick and Ardeth shared a fond grin.

“See any ghosts so far?” Rick asked.

“No. I can’t sense any either.”

“So is this place haunted or just creepy?”

“Too soon to tell,” Evie replied, looking closely at the walls for any distinctive features. Ardeth looked to the side and ran his hand along the markings, neither of them noticing the pipe Rick willed away from their heads.