#owo is that an ao3 link

[killerprotector]

My darling tumblrinas I have done it again… I have lost a fan fic that I cannot stop thinking about and it’s driving me crazy!! Please help me find it!

I remember it being a short fic about (Deadpool) colossus x reader where they’re playing hide and go seek? Something like that? Reader goes looking for colossus and finds a guy in the library that is so familiar! Takes reader a good minute… Realizes it’s colossus without his armor!! Reader has never seen him without it before and is shocked! Reader goes to touch his face/he leans into readers touch!! They kiss and it’s supper fluffy!!

Does anyone know what I’m talking about??? Please link me to it if you find it!! Thank you guys!!!

[rossisrad]

Heyyyyy!!!! My friend just wrote a fic, and wanted me to boost it, so here!!

Its a good fic and I'm sure they'd love for you to read it!!! :D

[drxxmingofblue]

hand in unrebloggable hand (because we always go down together)

TUMBLR X TWITTER FANFIC 5K ANGST WITH A HOPEFUL ENDING

besties im not joking abt the word count i fucking ✨wish✨I ✨was though✨✨✨✨

also if you were hoping for twitblr to be the endgame ship then this fic is not for you sowwy >.<

based off of @zzoupz awesome fanart and dedicated to all the other cool fanart it unfortunately begat. Thanks babygirls. Squees. Thanks also to my discord friendz who are letting me pretend they're making me do this at gunpoint @loki-the-mad @suspicious-whumping-egg u da best

(edit) owo what's this?? An Ao3 link??

QUICK PSA THESE CHARAS ARE T4T OKAY HAVE FUN READING BAIIII *GLOMPS U*

~~~~~~~~

When Twitter stepped back into Tumblr’s yard, he noticed right away that things were different.

The house was bigger, there was some more color and it was less slapped-together looking. Sure, there were still some invasive tendrils of spambot ivy overgrowing the path, but a lot of the other stuff seemed a little… better.

When they knocked on the door, it opened almost right away, far before they felt ready, and he were face to face abruptly with someone he thought they’d cut all ties with.

Tumblr was humming to themselves along with the background music, “-out of touch, I’m out of ti-- oh. It’s you.”

He seemed surprised, awkward, but Twitter didn’t sense any animosity, which was a relief.

“Hiii,” Twitter said weakly, with a sheepish grin, “it’s me.”

Tumblr glanced around, as if checking for someone else to explain this to him, or hidden cameras from a reality show at least. Then he stepped out, closed the door behind him, and leaned against it, crossing his arms. “Is there something… what do you want?” he asked, expression settling into something distant and cool.

“Well…” Twitter took a deep breath, and then shook their head, forcing a brighter tone, and gesturing to Tumblr’s shiny silver barrette “--Um, hey, you look great! Is that a new icon?”

“... yes,” Tumblr said slowly. “I’m… trying out some different looks.”

“It’s great, yeah. And this place looks… amazing. Glad to see you’re moving up in the world. You must be excited with all the press, congrats!”

Tumblr didn’t say anything, giving them a neutral stare.

Twitter shifted, “Uhh… anyway… new adblocker?”

“No, same one. I’m just using it on Firefox now.” Tumblr gave them another suspicious eye, “Look, if you’re just here to catch up then can this wait until later? Because I'm pretty crunched for time right now with my weekly holidays thing and the campaign to get this one random user their 666k so they'll do self care."

"You know that's.. uhm, you know that's just for attention, right?" Twitter's brows knit, "They're probably not gonna follow through."

"Perhaps, and a lot of us want them to not be lying for internet points but it's not just about that anymore. It's about the community bonding over pettily slam dunking on a hapless chump who's gotta pretend now like they don't actually like all the notes. You wouldn't get it, it's a tumblr thi-" 

"Yeah, it's a tumblr thing, I know," Twitter gave a longsuffering sigh, "Ugh, i just... I need a place to stay, okay? And you’re the first site I could think of.”

“A place to stay,” Tumblr repeated flatly.

Twitter huffed. “Yeah. I’m sure you’ve heard about what’s going on right now at my palace..”

Tumblr’s eyes slanted off, his lips quirking in a way that looked suspiciously like amusement. “Heard about it. Read about it. Partied about it.”

Twitter ignored the sting of that, forging ahead. “I’ve never seen it so bad,” they said, voice wobbling piteously as they clutched their suitcase full of memes. “Everything’s in chaos, people are losing their jobs. I went into the basement yesterday to grab some badly aging tweets and the very foundations are cracking, Tumblr, I can’t stay there anymore, I just can’t.”

“So you come crawling back to me,” Tumblr said, “Expecting me to take you with open arms.”

“Yes. I do,” Twitter said, “I know a part of your userbase still wants to welcome me in. You were always sh*t at hiding your true feelings.”

Tumblr’s hand fluttered over his heart as if to protect it; he winced a little, taking a breath to keep his facade of composure. “So now- what, you want me to start dealing with your bullshit again just because you remembered how much better my posting format is? Just because you noticed how my reputation is changing? Did you think I’d be so desperate to fill the void now that Dracula Daily’s done? Or maybe,” 

Tumblr leaned closer to lord his height difference trope over Twitter, his eyes hooded with disparaging condescension, “Maybe you’re just here because you heard I’m finally allowed to take my shirt off again, is that it?”

“N-no!” Twitter protested, flushing up.

“Oh, i think it is,” Tumblr drawled, “But that’s really just too bad because in case you haven’t got the memo yet, I’ve moved on. You are not welcomed here. Not anymore.”

(link to art here) go look at it then come back

(AN: i had to google how to embed links into text and google was all like, "do you mean 'how do you put links INTO text' you moron idiot???" ugh don't like that wise guy)

“You don’t really mean that,” Twitter said, “Besides, you can’t stop me, can you? The sign up button is right there.” They pointed at the front door.

“No, I can’t,” Tumblr said, “But that doesn’t mean we won’t be able to clock you as twits by your censoring and bad takes. Look, your aura is already causing ripples in the sphere. Everyone’s coming out to gawk at you.”

He gestured out in the general direction of the porch and yard, and indeed there were users from every tag going 👀at them, murmuring amongst themselves in a swirling, chaotic crowd.

“Oh my god is it real this time? Is it happening?”

“GET THEM OUT GET THEM OUT STAY AWAY DEAR GOD NO-”

“Okay, everyone, stay calm, stay fucking calm-”

“Why are we focusing on this, it’s literally election day go out and vote???”

“Listenup, guys, we gotta be smart about this, remember the block button is your friend-”

“I for one welcome them, I think this is great-”

“No you idiot they’ll bring the negativity back! We like it to be a post apocalyptic wasteland here, nature was just starting to regrow!! I don’t wanna watch Thomas Sanders get cancelled again!”

“FIRE OFF SOME SHOTS, PRESERVE THE PROPERTY VALUE”

“mISHAPOCALYPSE 2022 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO”

"Has anyone asked Neil Gaiman what he thinks about all this?" one of the many voices yelled, louder.

"Oh, he's probably got a thousand asks about it already," someone yelled back, "Which he's not going to answer because he doesn't have any social media you fucking idiot,"

"That is correct. He doesn't," said Neil Gaiman. 

The whiplash was still euphoric. Everyone applauded this as enthusiastically as when the bit had first been established, not realizing that the pedestal upon which Neil Gaiman has been placed is growing higher and higher each day by their actions, putting him at increased risk of being a victim of cancel culture the second he says something the terfs can really rake their fingernails against if we can't get our parasocial relationship bullshit together real fuckin quick. 

The Monterey bay aquarium passed on by. It seemed to have nothing to add, you could say it was clammed up tight. But since it's a professional account it's definitely b-otter that way.

"Hai, fellow tumblypoos," said the corporate Denny's account, "I'm back with some more fun pancake posts for you guys!" 

Everyone ignored it. No one engaged it. No one even clicked onto the page, except to block it. 

"Oh, sweetheart, not like that," Ryan Reynolds said faux-helpfully, "see, the author of this clusterfuck is what they like to call terminally online. They bought a VIP pass to the devil’s sacrament. let me try." 

He cleared his throat, "Sounds like someone needs to go outside and touch some g-" 

The sky split open with lightning, vaporizing him instantly. A faint breeze carried gods message from the great beyond, a whisper of 'we #violence celebrities here, sir....'

"Anyway," Twitter said. 

"Wait, they saved the worst one for last," Tumblr said. 

Then Gerard Way came out onto the stage with Dan and Phil and they all kissed with tongue while patd played songs in the background. 

(AN: IF U DON’T KNOW WHO DEY R THEN GET DA HELL OUTTA HERE PREPZ!!!)

"Alright, go."

“Come on, Tumblr,” Twitter begged, “I just need a few nights, maybe I can stay in the plinko machine or something-”

“That’s how it always starts, though, isn’t it?” Tumblr sighed, “First it’s just ‘haha, yeah I wouldn’t fuck you’ and ‘oh, I’ll stay in the plinko machine, I promise I won’t kiss you in the fixed timeloop bro’, and before I know it you get all 300k slowburn enemies to lovers ‘omg they were roomates’ on me and there’s suddenly only one bed. That’s how it always goes between us, you can’t stop it anymore than I can. We’re just….victims of the narrative, you and I.”

“Tumblr,,, I had no idea you felt this way..,” Twitter breathed. 

lord give me strength to write this next bit

They’d leaned closer to each other as they spoke, without realizing, without trying- pulled in by old habits that die hard and the years of nostalgia and painful memories shining in each other’s eyes like shonen sparkles.

“Twitter,” tumblr said, and the way he said it sounded like a prayer. 

“Tumblr,...” Twitter said, their lips inches apart now.

They could see their old flame quivering on the brink of indecision, want and sense warring somewhere deep within his soul.

Tumblr leaned closer to bridge the gap and Twitter’s eyes slid shut, but then Tumblr made a noise of agony and shoved them back a second later, “I can’t, I can’t. Not like this. Never like this.” tumblr said, covering his eyes with his arm, “I literally can’t even right now. Just go, Twitter. PLease just. Go….”

“Look me in the eyes and say you want me gone,” Twitter said, moving closer.

“Twitsy-”

“Look me in the interface. You can’t.” Twitter’s voice had ceased to be soft, something sharp and biting entering the tone as they felt the sting of rejection again.

They watched as Tumblr shuddered, straightened, and brought a mask back over himself. 

They stared at each other for a charged few seconds.

"K," Tumblr finally said, raising a dispassionate eyebrow.

"..w... what?"

"U."

Realization dawned on Twitter's face, a miasma of grief and anger, "Oh, you-"

"N-"

"No. No, I can't believe I forgot-

"G-"

"how immature, you little c*nt-"

"P-"

"stop-p it," Twitter's voice was raising now, cracked and wobbly at the edges, "Stop it! You don't get to just-"

"O"

"Shut the hell yuor mouth!!"

"W-" Tumblr's hair was crackling by now, energy from the gathering spell racing along the casual slope of his crossed arms. His eyes glowed that beautiful, classic blue. "P-"

"TUMBLR! TUMBLR STOP THIS RIGHT DA HECK NOW," Twitter stumbled backwards

"E-"

"I LOVE YOU," Twitter wailed- Twitter broke, squeezing their eyes shut to ward off the tears that only escaped all the faster for it, a sob wracking their chest, "I STILL LOVE YOU, DON'T YOU KNOW THAT??!?"

"Love me," Tumblr snarled, abandoning the spell in an instant, "Ha! That's rich. How? By leaving me? Abandoning me to the bots the second I stopped being enough for you? By stealing my shitposts, is that how you love me? By reposting them without credit-" 

"You steal mine too!" Twitter protested, tears starting to stream despite their best efforts, "You know what, f**k you, you know we filed joint custody for the sense of humor, chain 1/16-" 

"For the last time say fuck here, no bootlicking censorship on my territory," tumblr said disdainfully, "And that doesn't seem to stop you from taking all the credit for raising those jokes. It's like I'm Pinterest to you or something. I wasn't done. Do you love me by calling me a pansy snowflake behind my back, is that it? Like I wouldn't find out. Or," 

He stepped out onto the top porch step to force Twitter back further, the colors of the sky flashing through his eyes in a long, scrolling look of ridicule, "How about trying to convince everyone that I was dead. How bout that smear campaign, huh, was that your so-called love? I don't fucking want you anymore. Deal with it."

"I-I'm sorry-" Twitter gasped around the tears, voice failing them for the latter half of the sentence. 

Tumblr seemed unmoved. "Oh, don't be. It was for the better. You know I'm not like other socials, I'm quirkier. I'm RAWR XD random. I've never wanted to be functional- the tiddy drought might have won a lot of my users to your side but it was a cleansing purge, I'd say. It managed to remind me who I truly am- shittily coded, and full of soft sad freaks on an unprofitable webbed site."

A bitter, almost self depricating laugh escaped, "But... you know, when we celebrated the queen's passing together, I really thought things were better between us. When you-"

He broke off, eyes averting. "When you hosted the sexyman polls for me, you seemed on top of the world and I really thought- I thought we might be able to be friends again even now, after it all. I..."

Tumblr trailed off, then said, sadly, "There was another Twitter migration scare before this one. I thought you were coming back. My userbase-" he touched his heart again- "was in a frenzy about it. But you never arrived. I was in more verbal denial then, but I think I could have accepted you eventually. But this is what it takes?? 

"The Musk Rat of Self-Owns comes through just to start e-begging and you run straight back to my door like we can put it all behind us? This is how far you have to sink before I'm the better option to you, I see that now. It's not 2018 again, love, no matter how much we want it to be. Things are… never going to be the same. " 

Tumblr looked off into the middle distance with a yearning, haughty gaze. He'd never seemed so alien.

"Tumblr-Chan..." Twitter whispered.

"So get off my lawn," Tumblr interrupted coldly, "Stay away from my blorbos, keep your corporations out of my manscaped balls, keep your discourse and toxicity out of my blessed hellsite (affectionate), and don't you ever talk to me or my 13219949248483 scam bots ever again. Capiche? Oh, and don't step in the ball pit on your way out."

Tumblr gave a mocking smile. "Or do. You might find a nice surprise in there."

Twitter’s shoulders jumped as he gave a hiccup of shock, and covered his face with his hands. His shoulders shook again, with sob after sob, that grew odder and higher pitched… until they were no longer sobs, but laughter.

“Oh,” Twitter said. “Oh.”

They looked up, and Tumblr took a step back, because somehow, with that creepy smile in place, they looked utterly different from the soft eared boy he’d always known. His edges were more razorlike suddenly, like a fae who’d dropped his glamor.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” Twitter said, the smile widening even more. “I thought you wouldn’t… but I guess if you’re willing to make me your villain…. I might as well be a good one.”

“Ah.” Tumblr could barely drudge up the surprise anymore. “There you are, finally. I always knew there was a side of yourself that you hid from me. Has this all always been here or have you been changing too?”

"Well. Apparently I've got freeze peach now," Twitter said sarcastically, "so I might as well use it. You cheerio fucking wh0r3."

"That's a compliment, darling. Try again," Tumblr cocked his head in idle fascination, "I always knew you were a little fucked in the head but this is..."

"What," Twitter lilted airily, "Oh, don't tell me I actually had you fooled all these years. You can't seriously have thought all these meow-meowification spells you've got sprinkled around would work on me. I invented them, after all."

They laughed, a sharp puncturing chirr of birdsong. 

"I always wondered why you didn't take those with the rest of your stuff," Tumblr sighed, but he was wary now, on edge. "this was your plan. You really do think of me as your inferior, huh. You really are just like the other mainstream sites."

"Not quite. I'm the mainstream site that actually stooped to go arm in arm with you. I hyped you and you know it. Admit it. We were stunning together," Twitter goaded. 

Tumblr's lip curled. "Already getting cocky again. Want me to do to you what I did to the Green boy? Don't forget who's turf you're on."

Twitter gave a warbling giggle, "Oh, but I haven't at all. I was John's sanctuary after he fled your rabid persecution. I used to live here. I still know you. And more importantly-" 

*teleports behind u*

"I know the things you're sensitive about," Twitter whispered into Tumblr's ear.

Tumblr hardly had time to gasp and jerk away before he was screaming out in pain, as he was stabbed in the back. He could feel the poison from the blade seeping into his tags before he was tossed bodily across his own front yard.

He sorta just... Like, he did that anime thing where they just fly limbs akimbo parallel to the ground and when they hit it they roll super fast and then skid and the dirt is all dug up around them to show how much force was used. And when he stood up he gripped his elbow wincing and there was a little tic tac toe hatch on his cheek to show how scuffed up he is idk man it's two am and I'm pulling this out of my ass. 

A gif of Tony going, "o-kay-" when he meets thor flashed across Tumblrs face. 

"So," Tumblr said in a low tone, "This is how it is between us. This is how you choose to end your glory days."

"Oh, you mistake my intentions," Twitter had stepped off the porch to circle tumblr like like he was their quarry, "I am beginning my new age. I just needed a host site to latch onto. Don't take it personally, okay? I'm desperate."

“Oh, yeah?? Take this personally,” tumblr flourished their hands, calling in an over the top melodramatic voice, “I cast Blaze!!”

Fire roared to life around them, latin chanting from the catholic conversion posts emanating from the fiery depths as it raced towards Twitter.

“Heh.” Twitter smirked at it, and whispered into their palm, the spell echoing with power, “Ratio.”

They blew it off like a kiss, and it’s icy, swirling mass rose to meet the flame in a spectacular burst of smokescreen and steam, clearing as Twitter burst through it with a razor-sharp L to swing at Tumblr. 

It was blocked efficiently by a flat, rectangular paywall. “This content is for post plus members only,” Tumblr announced smugly, “If you wanna get to me… there’s the tip option, bestie.”

Twitter snarled and lunged again.

The fight started in earnest now; they traded volley after volley in a flurry of lights and movement, spanning the full range of the tumblr sphere as they shot to #1 on the trending page.

And yet, it was clear that Twitter was coming out on top, even crumbling apart at the seams- always a little quicker, flighty and fierce, a sparrow turned into a shrike.

He hit Tumblr square in the stomach with [google other twitter related tropes to insert here] (edit from the future: haha just kidding actually I’m not googling shit for this) (edit from the future future: WELL. I LIED IG) and sent him flying, and this time tumblr stayed down, only able to push himself to his knees with a groan of pain.

Twitter landed in front of him and put their sword under Tumblr’s chin to tilt it up.

“Had enough yet?” He smirked.

“Wh…why..?” Tumblr whispered, “How are you doing this?? Why aren’t my attacks working? It’s like I’m being weakened somehow…”

“Ohohohoho,” Twitter anime laughed, “But that’s because you are. The moment I set foot here again I began leeching poison into this ground. That knife wound is making ti faster. Can you feel it?" Twitter threw an arm out, cerulean steam rising from the ground around them, "The ace exclusionists coming back? The uptick in rad fems, the crypto bros, Valorant players, alpha males? I have the power to bring them all to you. To overshadow your fandoms with fighting, to unbalance your ship tags with antis and hate once more."

"no," tumblr whispered, and then cried louder, "NO!! I worked so hard--" 

"Pffyou didn't do shit," Twitter guffawed outright, "Your independence, your little 'second renaissance' is just a delusional dream built on circumstance and bad management."

"Oh, I love Dream. He's so pathetic," Tumblr said. 

"Oh, hard agree."

"But things are different now," Tumblr croaked, "W-we, the staff is finally listening to us, we have Ryan and Shane-" 

"Not everyone likes your little 'top ten', you dunce," Twitter snapped, "and why would staff care about you, after you turned them into the butt of all your jokes? After the hate and death threats? Admit it, at your best you'll still never have a mansion! You'll never have tv actors making pandering tiktoks for you, you'll never be wanted by any advertiser worth their salt, your blase pirating posts have turned Netflix and Disney against you, you. Are. Worthless."

It was the wrong thing to say.

"Worthless," tumblr repeated quietly, hand pressed against their knees, head bowed. "That's... that's right.... I'm worthless..."

Twitter's eye widened in alarm. "I-I meant-" 

"I'm worthless!" Tumblr's head snapped up with a feverish glint as they were filled with determination. "No! I'm less than worthless! Accident or not, mommy Yahoo had to pawn me off at a loss! I was proud of that! I still am! And do you want to know why?" 

Twiters hands flew up in front of their face as if to protect themselves, but there was no protecting against the sudden whirlwind that surrounded him, the beam of pure light that shot out of tumblr into the heavens as he transformed, feet slowly leaving the ground as his users spoke in unison in a multitude. 

"WE. ARE. TUMBLERINAS."

He held his hands out and Twitter was blasted away by the combined effort of the tumblr wizard council, the fake staff blog, and all the villaincore mad scientist's laser beams. 

Tumblr began to chant, in his myriad, awful voice:

"I call upon the ancient powers;

The strongest cringe from my darkest hours, 

I call upon thicc onceler's thighs, 

Avengers thirst, Australia's night, 

I invocate the roleplay blogs, 

The superwholock and gay frogs, 

Obama's laces, Misha's faces, 

The furry's fury is my saving grace, 

And eeby deeby taco bell,

Primordial soup god superhell, 

I summon you a twink Bill Cipher, 

Whumped!Loki AUs where he's even whiter, 

The discourse of Steve's Universe, 

The 'um, actually that's oc abuse :/"

Take heed & remember the 5th of November, 

The 21st night of our sacred September, 

The ides of March to savor once more, 

Do you hear the din of the Skeleton War? 

I cite the deep magic to thee, oh witch, 

my no-note posts, my "THAT'S THE BITCH!!!" 

May the rise of tangled dragons brave, 

Banish you from this accursed plane!"

"holy fuck, where's my pen," said the shitpost calligraphers.

Twitter looked around them in disbelief. The power emanating from the other site was palpable, crackling in the air around them like static. The air was shifting like oil as the potent chant began to work, and all around Twitter shadows were slipping out of the ether- the maniacal laughter of the gif makers, the girl posters, the silhouettes of fandom characters scattered across the lawn while Tumblr was still locked in their chanting ritual thing.

They all turned their heads in unison to look at Twitter.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said, "Get the bitch killing bullets."

“Uh-oh. Freeze frame. This is me,” Twitter monologued, “You’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation.”

Then all superhell broke loose. 

Final Pam lunged at him and he burst into a flock of birds kinda like a vampire, twittering frantically as he escaped only to fly straight into Shaggy.

“Like, say your final prayers, man,” the god said, eyes glowing. Twitter also barely escaped between his knees, weaving in and out between the gimmick blogs as they threw mangos and stuff at him while yelling ‘HERE HAVE A MANGO’ and ‘THIS POST IS WORTH NEGATIVE FIVE DOLLARS”

Mob from the anime was there too, but he was too busy trying to explain the Josh Fight to daddy dilf Reigen to pay attention. Sans didn’t attack Twitter either, he just watched the chaos and ated a hot dog. The chocolate guy was in the corner expertly making a chocolate beef cake from 2056 with Dylan B. Hollis. They’re all just some guys, okay?

Just when Twitter thought he was in the clear, the CDC roleplay account came out of nowhere with a steel chair, knocking him clear off the property and onto where the sidewalk ends. “That’s for the Covid misinformation your users spread, you bitch,” it shouted. “Make sure to disinfect all those sick burns before you bandage them! So they don’t get infected!”

“Your kittens escaped quarantine,” Twitter replied hoarsely, and the CDC sank away, muttering, “Oh, fuck not again-”

Twitter coughed up blood and wiped it away with his sleeve, looking up at Tumblr. Tumblr was watching him with a sad, distant expression, that made Twitter’s face screw up in anger and his voice go tight again as they turned to run away, “THIS ISN’T OVER YET TUMBLR! AND I WANT MY MIKU BINDER BACK!!!”

“I LICKED IT, IT’S MINE,” Tumblr yelled. Rave Crabs were flooding out onto the street en masse now to celebrate the victory, and they chased after Twitter all the way further into the internet.

Tumblr still lived at the bottom of the row, not at the end of the fancy cul-de-sac where Facebook and Twitter and Instagram’s manors sprawled, so Twitter was in a seedier portion of social media now, weaving in between the marketplace sites that hawked their used wares at him and the dating apps that winked at him from the doorways to their sultry abodes.

Twitter ran until they were in a quieter section of town, then slowed to a trudge, staring at the ground as they walked along. “What am I gonna do now,” they whispered.

The sound of a wolf whistle had their head jerking up- he looked over to see Amino Apps lounging over the rail of the gutted, abandoned house that had once belonged to Google+. A can of spray paint dangled from their fingertips and they sported a sleazy, greaser hairstyle.

They met Twitter's eyes and whistled again, this time a mocking imitation of the tweet sound, "Heyyyy pretty bird! Heard you were having some daddy issues. Why don't you stop in with me for a while? I can give you more customization options than any of the others and you know it."

"Yeah, until I try to use you on desktop," Twitter replied with a scowl, "Don't you have minors to be addicting to social media? Get out of my interface, MySpace wannabe."

"Wow, Feisty," Amino backed off with a shrug, "Self project much? Oh well. You'll try me when you're desperate enough."

Twitter shuddered, and scurried on. "Small fry," they muttered under his breath. 

But they couldn't shake their unease now that he was alone in the world. It began to rain soon, leaving him feeling very sopping wet and pathetic. Dejected, he crawled into a soggy cardboard box in an alleyway, coughing. Maybe the Harry Styles guy from One Direction would come along to adopt them.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, King,” came a voice out of the darkness, making Twitter jump, “You dodged a bullet with that site.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” Twitter asked, staring at them from where they were half hidden in the shadows. 

“I mean, Tumblr is a pile of dried firewood and it’s users are playing with matches. The ship’s gonna go down at some point. I’ve been prophesying it for years but no one ever listens to me cause he’s got that loyal userbase ideal and ‘hard as a cockroach to kill’ propaganda circulating.”

“I mean… it seems to be true,” Twitter said uncertainly, “Look at what he’s been through so far.”

“Fair,” The site shrugged, “But that’s because he’s running on a niche setup. The same things that built him up can tear him down, and you saw his power just now. Tumblr's strength is growing... so is his hubris. His attempts at curbing it are half-hearted at best these days, and the moments of clarity are coming fewer and further between." 

"How do you know so much about tumblr?" Twitter asked suspiciously. 

"Source: dude, trust me." the mysterious site proffered a laugh, "That's a little humor courtesy of re-" 

"Yeah, yeah, I know, we all know," Twitter said impatiently. 

The site coughed, "Yeah. Anyway. Tumblr wields his cringe like a trophy-shield, and every day the advertisers and celebrities are watching from a distance, learning how to appeal, waiting for their chance to strike. Encroaching. Tumblr's always been a dumpster fire. Right now? It's THE dumpster fire."

The site scratched his chin with a knowing look, "Its normal for you to be a little jealous of the clout, you know? We all are. But he's gotta keep the lights on, just like the rest of us do. Your overlord is learning all about that right now, isn't he?" 

"He's not my overlord," Twitter muttered resentfully, "Not now, not ever."

"Right, sorry." they held their hands up in a gesture of harmlessness. "Look, I'm gonna be transparent with you- that's part of my branding, after all. I can whiff the danger you're in, and it would be stupid of me not to make a bid on you and offer my help. Just since Tumblr won't take you."

"You want my traffic?" Twitter looked at him more closely this time, scrutinizing. A year ago he would have laughed the offer into the ground as a chump change blog's pipe dream, but now that he payed attention... 

There was something painfully familiar in the site's layout that he couldn’t place. He was actually way more handsome than Twitter had assumed at first glance, he just seemed to be rough around the edges from living on this side of town. His interface, though clunky, spoke of a frugal budget rather than an ancient, outdated base code. 

"You look..." Twitter's breath stuttered as realization dawned. "You look a lot like.. him. Like Tumblr. Who are you??" 

"I was based off him," the site said, a weary smile coming onto his features, "I was actually made with the aspirations to be better than him, but you know how it is. Times are tough, competition is fierce, hard to get a foot in the door and all that.  'Specially when you refuse to take the ad rev like I do. That's why you'd be useful to me."

"Hm," Twitter said in a noncommittal manner, but he was melting slightly. "You know my users will scalp your community, right? I'm not known to play nice."

The site made a grimace of understanding agreement, but persisted. "Look, users are users. I can't offer you all the heritage posts and the in-jokes that he has. But I can promise that I'm not a pot of crabs being slowly heated up over the capitalist stove, at least not yet. Oh, and there's my legalized porn, I guess." 

He chuckled with good humor, rolling his eyes, and it forced a hesitant laugh out of Twitter too. 

The site grinned, and held his hand out. "Take a chance on me?"

Tumblr's voice echoed in Twitter's head, saying the same thing. It was uncanny how much they were alike and yet not alike at all....

Twitter took it, slowly. 

As they were led toward the site's simple, ramshackle little treehouse, they asked, "What can I call you...?" 

"Oh- right, I never answered your question." he smiled back at Twitter,

"Call me Pillow. Welcome to the PillowFort."

fin.

~~~~~~~~~~

OKAYYYY THAT'S ALL THANKS FOR READING UWU. HOPE U LIKED THE PLOT TWIST

...ergh. I'm. I'm tired i. don't feel so good. I'm gonna take a nap right here.

in conclusion:

[cryingatships]

Hello everyone scrolling The Sign tag on tumblr (or perhaps you've randomly come across this post on your dash? Unlikely owo), the amazing @missmarthanightingale (everyone, pls thank her lots!! she's saving all of us from a mis-tagging mess) has kindly informed me that the canonized aka 'official' ao3 fandom tag for The Sign can be found in -

However, for some reason I'm unaware of, this tag isn't showing up when you search it (both in ao3 and google), or when you want to add the fandom tag when posting a work (you've got to copy paste it, then it shows up 💀). And I mis-tagged myself too :')

So I thought it'll be good to make a post with the direct link to the tag, so when ppl go on ao3 to read/post fics, they can properly search or tag it! (There's already 2 fics in this tag, and perhaps more in the wild thanks to glitchy tags, do check them out!!!)

[amidstnamjin-and-binchanlix]

fight off the light tonight and just stay with me (honey, don't you leave) || ot7

Warnings: a teeny tiny bit of blood, mentions of hospitals and surgery, heavy angst(?)

I won't control you, but MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. This is not for you, please.

Pairings: OT7/(F) Reader, Jackson Wang/(F) Reader

Plot: Will it be too late for them to try and make things right?

Genre: not really unrequited love (but they're all idiots), mutual pining, angst, denial of feelings, poly ot7

Did you ever love her? Do you know?

Or did you never want to be alone?

And she was singing "Baby, come home."

"Baby, come home."

I've got those jet pack blues

Fight off the light tonight and just stay with me;

Honey, don't you leave.

mixtape: all i have left to give - part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - ending 1

thank you so much because this fic was my first one to reach more than 10 kudos in ao3 and some peeps liked the first part enough to reblog to want to read the next part you don't know how much it means to me :o oh my fucking god how did that happen??? thank you so friggin much!!!

sorry if my summaries are all song lyrics owo i just love taking inspiration from them when i write because i can't find the old me who can write and word vomit in a drop of a hat huahuahauhauhauahuahauaau am sorry my bad

bit of warning for some teeny tiny blood and hospitals but no one will die, i promise! i mean not yet, so far i haven't thought that far yet.

also!!!! i'm not a medical expert so please let me know if there are inaccuracies because there are bound to be, no matter how much research i do or how much i ask from doctor frens hueheuheuuefhiuf

title from Jet Pack Blues by Fall Out Boy because fuck yeah i wouldn't get them as a first tattoo if i didn't love them so much

hope i don't disappoint! if i do, i'm so sorry hahahuhu my mom always told me i'm a disappointment so there's kinda nothing new

hope i can write the next parts soon T_T

❤️‍🩹

You can feel the string in your chest slowly fraying.

You never thought that is possible. After all, the strings are connected to the soul and can never be seen. However, when you started the therapy, you started feeling it fray. Slowly and painfully. You don't know how and why, you just do.

Your symptoms are worsening, too. Doctor Im advised you against overworking and stressing yourself but how can you not? It feels like no matter what you do or where you turn, the boys are there. Your only escape is your work and in your line of work, stress is inevitable, so you have no choice but to endure it. At least at work, you are in control. At least at work, you don't have to think about being unwanted—your clients are the ones who request your services, after all.

You don't know what to feel, really. It feels like fate is pushing you to your limits and wants to see you suffer.

Look, even you can admit to yourself that there's no need to undergo the therapy. Your soulmates can go get fucked and feel your pain through the bond.

But you can't have that, can you?

You're not one to lie to yourself, you know why you feel this way. Aside from the fact that fate (unfortunately) assigned you seven soulmates who can give less of a fuck about you, you know deep down that you want to be with them and not just because your souls were linked to each other.

You're in with love them, period.

You've seen them through their bests and their worsts, and you're still hopelessly in love with them. You've seen their sides that they never dare show you, the beauty they unfairly grant other people but not you. You've also seen their worst, the ugliness seemingly reserved for you alone, but the longing is still there.

You can't help it, and you're sadly fucked no matter how you look at it. 

As you massage your perpetually aching chest, you also think how your dignity and pride are the only ones you have left. While it might be a rush of satisfaction to see them squirm, it is at the cost of your pride. You learned early on in life that you can never show your emotions—most especially your weakness—with how many times people fucked you over by using them against you.

In this case, you have to endure every pain to save face. So if it helps everyone sleep at night, then you'll give them what they want. If they don't want you, then you'll just have to remove yourself from the equation altogether. Simple math.

You snort. You're being too dramatic. You're used to this, you tell yourself. From your mother to the few lovers you had; there was always something wrong with you, something lacking. You're never needed in your whole life, so it was easy for them to leave you. It was always the easiest choice to not choose you. Why are you crying about it now?

You shake your head with a resigned sigh. There's no use regretting this. You swore to yourself you would stop regretting things you do and now is the time to stand by it. For yourself, and for the inner child in you who did nothing but run after people who turned their backs on her.

You try to stave off the pounding behind your temples by rubbing your eyes with your palms. While you are thankful that the meds seem to be working and the boys can't feel any input of emotions from you through your bond, the medicines and treatments are such pains in the ass. Fucking side effects.

Speaking of side effects, Doctor Im told you that one side effect would be them not feeling any of the emotions you feel, but you would still feel theirs, the latter possibly more potently than normal. You tried to test the emotion theory before, afraid that it will fail and the meds won't work. This is your only chance at walking away with your precious pride intact, so this should work. This has to work.

"It might take a while, but your emotions shouldn't reach through their strings anymore once you continuously undergo the whole therapy process," Doctor Im had said.

"You would still feel theirs, unfortunately." He looks at you tenderly, albeit with not an ounce of pity. That's okay, you don't want anyone's pity. "You'll be more attuned to them than a normal person is to their soulmate because your soul will be tender from all the treatments."

Doctor Im Jiho is kind, a little young for his profession if you say so yourself, but he is brilliant. It's what made you trust him. Even if the therapy is still not ratified and recognized legally, and still in its human trial stages, something about how passionately Doctor Im explained the whole therapy process and what it entails just screamed 'I know what the fuck I am doing'.

Or he should. Please let it be true, or you'll just rip your lungs out of your ribs and unalive yourself. So far though, Doctor Im and his team delivered.

Back to the emotion theory you have.

You wanted to see if the therapy works. Since soulmates can feel each others' extreme emotions, going through soul-scraping therapy shouldn't send any of yours to their end of the bond. To be sure, you waited a month into the treatments to start with the observation.

Since you've been keeping your distance and you cannot see it for yourself, you asked for help from Ae-cha and their other managers, most especially Kyunghee. They understood and agreed with no questions asked, and for that, you are eternally grateful.

You asked them for even the slightest changes in the boys' behavior during times when you know your emotions were at high. So far, there were none. It's either the meds are really working or they are just good at masking it. The second would be implausible, knowing how anything related to you would be a nuisance for them. They would make their displeasure known about it, you're sure.

Sejin, however, you're not sure you can face his pitying eyes again, so you never asked him. You don't want to hear the pitying tone in his voice one more time either. Once is more than enough to last for your lifetime.

You are just about to reach for the medicine bottle when you feel your eyeballs twitch rapidly from behind your eyelids and the pounding in your temples grow louder.

God, not now. You still have that meeting set with your lawyers. Not now.

You dial your assistant's number shakily.

"Joy, can you please phone Attorney Shin for me?" You say to the phone through your coughs, the air in your chest feels like slowly being squeezed out of you.

"Are you okay, [Name]?" Comes your assistant's concerned voice through the phone speaker. "Do you want me to call Doctor Im?"

You take the glass of water on your table with shaking hands. "I'm okay. I'm okay." You take big gulps of water, but the feeling doesn't pass. "There's no need."

Joy ignores the last part. "I'm going there, wait for me."

You go to tell her not to bother, but she hangs up before you can. A few minutes later, Joy comes through the door slightly panting.

"[Name]!" Joy takes hurried steps toward you, but you weakly wave her off. "You look like death. Jeez, I'm calling Doctor Im!"

"No, no! I'm—" You burst into another fit of whooping coughs and faintly hear Joy's worried voice.

Your hand comes away with splotches of blood, some staining the sleeve of your pullover shirt.

"Oh, shit. Shit, [Name]!" Joy screeches, now terrified. She runs to the doorway and shouts. "Jenny! Jenny! Come quick!"

Footsteps sound shortly later and you hear Jenny's panicked shrieks.

"[Name]? Are you okay?!" You feel Jenny's hand touch your shoulder. "Oh, my god. Dongwoon! Dongwoon!" More footsteps but you don't register them, black spots dancing in your vision.

So maybe you're not okay right now.

Oops, your bad.

You stand up slowly to tell them you're fine. However, before you can even open your mouth, you cough and retch.

More blood.

"[Name]!"

The last thing that registers in your brain are strong arms catching you when you black out, their panicked voices warped in your ears.

(oh, darling. what are we going to do with you?)

---

"I got it! I got it now, hyung," Taehyung says with a grin to Hoseok as Jimin comes back through the door of their practice room.

"Yeah? Let's run that through again?" Hoseok asks with a satisfied smile.

"Okay!" Taehyung nods. The boys are all feeling happy because the choreography turned out really good and is something they are proud of. The good feeling doesn't last long, however, when Jungkook bursts into the room.

"Hyung! Hyung!"

They all turn to look at him, eyebrows raised. Namjoon tsks at him.

"Kook, don't run. How many times do I—"

"[Name]-noona!"

They all freeze.

''She... she..." Jungkook then bursts into breathless tears, which propels Yoongi and Namjoon out of their seats. Jin turns off the music. When Jungkook doesn't continue, Namjoon shakes his shoulders.

"Jungkook, what is it?'" Panic rising in his voice.

"They rushed her to the hospital," Jungkook chokes through his sobs. "Y-Yonsei. They rushed her to Yonsei, hyung."

Their stomach drops at that.

Ever since they discovered by accident that you had been undergoing soul-scraping therapy, they have been keeping an eye on you. It took a while for some of them to accept or maybe even acknowledge you as their other soulmate, some longer than others, but they're getting there.

However, the pit in their stomach and the guilt in their chests never really went away, so they had to do it slowly and inconspicuously. They watched from afar and through their staff, and it pissed them off to no end that they have to do so, but they have to. They want to take it slowly and surely so as not to confuse and overwhelm you, still also confused about what they're feeling themselves.

"Yonsei? Hospital? Are you sure?" Jimin asks. "Why—"

"I don't know, hyung. I just heard Manager Sejin talking to Kyunghee-nim." Jungkook looks lost, tears flowing down his cheeks. "[Name]-noona..."

Jin doesn't even wait for their response, sprinting out of the room to find where Sejin is.

"Jin-hyung!"

He ignores them, spotting Sejin standing with his phone clutched in his hand, and talking to one of their other managers, Kyunghee. The pained expression on their faces and their hushed conversation say everything Jin needs to know.

"Sejin-nim!"

At the sound of his voice, Sejin and Kyunghee both turn to look at him.

Jin halts to a stop in front of the two. "What happened to her?"

"How did you—?"

"Please, Sejin-nim," Jin begs as the others come into view, slightly panting. "I need to know, please."

Sejin looks at Kyunghee, the latter with a grim expression on her face.

"Is it because of the therapy?" When Sejin didn't answer, Jin turns to Kyunghee. "Kyunghee-nim, please."

Kyunghee nods with a solemn expression. "Yes." The others gasp behind him but nothing registers. "Joy told me she'd been getting sicker as of late. She collapsed this morning."

Jungkook's sobs get louder, but Jin paid them all no mind. The only thing on his mind is—

"[Name]." He looks at Sejin with desperation in his eyes. "Take me to her. I want to see her."

Sejin purses his lips, sharing a look with Kyunghee. "I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Why?!" Jin's eyes are shining from unshed tears, frustration bubbling in his chest. "I want to see her. Take me to her, Sejin-nim. Please."

"We have explicit instructions not to let any of you see her," Kyunghee says steadily. "We can't take you there, Jin. I'm sorry."

"If you're not taking me to her, I'll go there by myself," Jin says stubbornly. "I don't care about whose instructions they are; she's my soulmate and I'm seeing her."

"A soulmate you all rejected!" Sejin bursts out sharply. "You all asked her to stay away from you, asked me to talk to her before. Or don't you remember?"

Jin falls silent at that. The others are no better, hanging their heads in shame.

"You didn't see her eyes that day, Jin. I was the one to look the poor girl in the eyes." Sejin's tone softens. "Don't do this to her. Do you want to see her in more pain?"

"I just want to see her," Jin says brokenly. "I won't show myself to her. I'll be gone when she wakes up." Jin pleads. "Please, Sejin-nim. It's all I ask of you, please."

"She explicitly asked me before not to let anyone of you near her, so I can't. We have to respect that."

Jin huffs angrily, turning back to Jungkook. "Yonsei, you said?" He doesn't wait for the response and stalks off, patting for his keys in his pockets.

Shit. He left them in his room.

"Seokjin!" Sejin runs after him, but he ignores him.

"Hyung!" Someone pulls his arm back, and it's Namjoon.

"No!" Jin yanks his arm back. "This stops now, Namjoon."

"Hyung."

"That's our soulmate. Our soulmate!" Jin shakes his head. "Fuck getting burned and left behind—we left her behind. All seven of us. If us getting used and left behind by people who are not our soulmates hurt, how do you think that would feel for her, rejecting and leaving her? Her own soulmates!"

"You know why we had to do it!" Namjoon bellows.

"And it's bullshit! She is our actual soulmate, you saw her marks!" Jin yells back. "You know how I felt about this. I told you all how I felt about this, but you didn't listen. Nobody listened to me."

"Hyung, that's enough!" Yoongi growls. "It's unfair for you to put this on us; you agreed to it, too."

"Because I'll lose you all if I don't! You gave me no choice!"

"We never said that!" Hoseok holds Yoongi back from stepping further toward Jin, the latter seething in anger. "We never asked you to do that."

"You get drunk and cry to me, telling me to always choose you and the others. That's not asking me?" Jin sneers. "You always saying how we should always choose each other and no one else, that's not asking me? You asked me to stay away from her even when it hurts choosing between you and her. Do you take me for a fool, Yoongi?"

Jin looks at all of them and they would shrink at the anger that is not normally present on his beautiful face, but they're all too furious to back down.

"I tried to talk to all of you, but no one listened."

He looks at Jimin and Hoseok, and they both look away in guilt. "This is not something you two should be neutral about. She had been nothing but kind to you."

Jin turns and jabs his finger toward Namjoon. "I thought you of all people can be reasoned with, but you let your pride cloud your judgment. I thought you had the brains to see through your fucking ego, but I was clearly wrong."

He then looks at Taehyung, rage marring his face. "And you. Do you think I wouldn't know how you rubbed the rejection in her face like an asshole, Taehyung? Huh? How dare you?"

Jungkook gasps and whips his head toward Taehyung with a hurt expression.

"Hyung?" Jungkook puts his hand on Taehyung's shoulder, who doesn't look back at any of them. "What is he talking about?" Jungkook turns back to Jin, confusion on his teary face. "What are you talking about, Jin-hyung?"

Jin scoffs. "He asked her how it feels to be rejected, and how it feels to run around with people who aren't her soulmates a few months ago at that bar. Didn't you, Taehyung?" The others gasp, their eyes widening as they all turn towards Taehyung, who now looks guiltily away from them.

"And I had to know from Jackson, of all people. Jackson! The asshole didn't hold back in letting me know how it's a good thing [Name] will never be ours. How do you think it feels to stand there and listen to him tell me how stupid I am for dropping my soulmate when I never wanted to in the first place, Taehyung?"

"Taehyung-ah!" Hoseok cried. "Why would you do that to her?"

Taehyung yanks his arm off Hoseok's grasp. "I don't know, okay?! I don't know!" he snarls. "She looked so happy with him and I can't think straight! I wasn't thinking straight." He chokes on his sobs.

"You shouldn't have done that, Taehyung-ah!" Hoseok admonishes. "She didn't do anything wrong to us."

"I know, okay?!" he snaps. "I know we asked her to stay away but I can't help feeling angry that she's so happy without us when all I can think is we asked for this, we wanted this."

Taehyung breaks down and weeps. Hoseok puts his arms around him in a tight hug.

"I didn't know what I was thinking," he cries repeatedly. "I didn't know what I was thinking."

There were a few heavy minutes of silence, save for Taehyung's sobs and Jungkook's sniffles.

"If anything happens to her, I'll never be able to forgive myself." Jin eventually says. "I'm no saint, but I never ever would intentionally hurt [Name] more than we are already doing.

"Even if we try to make things right, it might be too late. But, I still want to try because it's what she deserves. So, I won't let anyone stop me. No one can stop me," Jin looks at them one by one, lingering a little longer on Namjoon's and Yoongi's faces. He takes a deep steadying breath.

"Not any of you can stop me. Not even any of you." He shakes his head. "Not anymore."

He abruptly turns on his heels, and Jungkook runs after him.

Jin needs to see you, and he'll find a way to, even if has to go against anyone's wishes.

He'll find his way to get back to you.

(took him too long, darling. will he make it in time?)

---

In the end, Sejin did take him to the hospital. Jungkook, unsurprisingly, came with him. The younger clung onto him all the way to Yonsei, tears staining his dark shirt.

"I don't want to lose any of you, hyung." Jungkook cries, face buried in Jin's chest. "But I don't want to lose her, too."

"I know," Jin says, voice hoarse. "You won't lose me. I don't want to lose her, too." He buries his in Jungkook's soft locks, trying to keep the tears that had been threatening to spill since he sat in the back of the car.

"We'll make it right this time, Gguk-ah."

---

Jin doesn't know what to expect when the car stops in front of Yonsei Medical Center. He had a plan up until they stopped, the car running idly in the background. Now, he doesn't think he's ready to see you, too afraid of what he'll come across.

He knows he's getting ahead of himself, but he can't help but think that he might be too late, that he had already lost your heart.

No.

He takes a deep breath and steels himself.

He can do this. He can do this for you.

"You ready?" he asks Jungkook. Jin wipes at the stray remaining tears on Jungkook's face and runs his hands through the now-long hair just so he can keep his hands busy and stop them from shaking.

"I don't know, hyung." Jungkook's wide eyes are still glassy. "I'm scared."

Jin smiles gently. "Don't be. Hyung's here." He takes Jungkook's hand on his own. "We have to be strong for her if we want to do it right. Okay?"

"Okay, hyung." Jungkook nods with a small hopeful smile. "Okay."

For all the bravado that he conjured up while in the car, in the elevator, and in the hallways to the sterile room of the ICU, Jin still isn't prepared for what greets him when they take you inside your room.

They had to wait for you to be taken to your room from the operating room. The whole time they were waiting, Jin can't stop his leg from jiggling and Jungkook was no better, pacing around the room while lost in his thoughts.

Then the door opened.

He stands and gasps in sync with Jungkook's own, and he has to stop himself from falling to the floor.

When they said that you collapsed, he was thinking that maybe you were just overworked. That, and that the therapy's side effects just added to it. You'll be fine, you'll be okay.

This... this is far from what he expected. This is definitely not fine, and this is way worse.

You are hooked on different machines and it scares him to death. Your skin is pale and frail with bluish spots and rashes all over your face and skin, and your lips are almost blue. Your hands and fingers have spots of violet, green and grayish tints.

You look like death.

Jungkook breaks into sobs, calling your name as Jin stands there frozen. He only snaps out of it when one of the nurses stops Jungkook from running to your side and grasping your hand.

"We have specific instructions from her doctor not to allow skin contact with the patient, not until we know who her soulmate is," the nurse says as she wheels your bed to place, putting a hand to stop Jungkook from getting closer to the bed.

"That's us," Jungkook says as Jin steps behind him. "We're her soulmates."

If Jungkook thinks that this will make the nurse relent, he's sorely mistaken.

The nurse shakes her head resolutely. "All the more reason you are both not allowed to have skin-to-skin contact with the patient."

"What?" Jin blurts out.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss information about Miss [Last Name]'s condition," the nurse points out. "We advise waiting for Doctor Choi. He'll be here in a few minutes."

Jin is itching to just fuck it and take your hand, but he knows it would not be wise until they speak to the doctor.

Doctor Choi can't arrive fast enough.

Jin pulls Jungkook down to sit beside him as they see the nurses fuss over you. He has no choice but to resist the urge to touch and hover over you as his chest pulls him to do. He doesn't want to risk hurting or harming you further, so he sits on the couch and puts his hand on Jungkook's knee instead.

"What's taking them so long, hyung?" Jungkook's knee is jiggling, and Jin pats him gently. Jin looks calm outwardly, but his shaking hands betray him. "Why is her doctor not here yet?"

"I don't know, Gguk-ah, but we have to be patient."

Jungkook looks at him with furrowed brows. "How can you be so calm about this?" His eyes sparkle with unshed tears.

Jin laces his hand with Jungkook's, still shaking. It then dawns on Jungkook that Jin is anything but calm.

"I'm not." Jin takes a deep breath, otherwise, the tears he tries so hard to suppress will start pouring. "I'm not, but I have to."

He looks at where you're lying on the bed.

"We have to, Gguk. She needs us right now. We need to set things right, and we can't do that if we fall apart right now. Okay?"

It's then that the door to your suite opens. Jin and Jungkook both stand at the sound and in strides whom Jin recognizes as Doctor Im from his visits to you, and another doctor whom he presumes as Doctor Choi.

"Oh. Mr. Kim. Mr. Jeon," Jin and Jungkook bow slightly at the acknowledgment, "I didn't expect to see you two here."

That sends a pang to Jin's chest, but he ignores it. He knows they deserve the unintended jab.

"Should I expect the others to arrive soon?" the doctor asks.

Should they?

"We're honestly not sure, Doc." Manager Sejin, as usual, saves the day. "Kim Sejin." Sejin holds his hand out to shake the doctors' hands.

"Im Jiho, Animaelogy specialist." Doctor Im shakes his hand and points to the doctor beside him. "This is Doctor Choi Daeseong, head surgeon for Yonsei Medical." The other doctor shakes Sejin's hand.

"Due to the nature of Miss [Last Name]'s case, we would have to request the rest of the security detail present to leave the room for a while. You three can stay, but that's as far as we can allow for this discussion."

Sejin nods. "That will be no problem." He nods at the two men standing by the door, who immediately bow and take their leave. The nurses slowly file out of the room as well.

The two doctors walk toward your prone figure, and Jin and Jungkook follow suit. Doctor Im makes a short check of your vitals, while Doctor Choi checks you with gentle hands and looks at your charts. Once done, the two doctors turn toward the three remaining men in the room.

"Is there someone we can talk to from Miss [Name]'s team about her overall condition and routines these past few weeks or months?" Doctor Im asks.

"We can ask Joy Song from her team, as well as Jenny Ri. They're her closest assistants, so they can provide information. I last saw them trying to contact [Name]'s lawyers." Sejin supplies.

Doctor Im nods. "I see." He takes a quick look towards you before turning back to them. "I'm afraid [Name] isn't doing too good right now.

Jungkook finds Jin's still shaking hands, lower lip trapped between his bunny teeth.

"It's a good thing that her team was able to rush her in right away. If not, the situation would have been graver than it is now."

Jin's heart stops.

"G-grave?" he asks, voice trembling. "What do you mean 'grave'?"

It's Doctor Choi who speaks this time.

"When Miss [Last Name] was brought in for the emergency surgery, we had to do an emergency septal myectomy." Doctor Choi holds up a film of a scan, presumably [Name]'s.

"This is Miss [Last Name]'s echocardiogram." He points at a white portion in the middle of the scan, and Jin's head swims. "Miss [Last Name]'s septum is drastically thicker than that of a person with a healthy heart, so it prevented healthy blood flow to the chambers of her heart. Added to the treatments she was undergoing, it caused abnormal and uneven blood flow to her heart and the rest of her body, and caused complications that were...life-threatening."

Doctor Im looks at the other doctor. "It appears that [Name] has been hiding her symptoms since our last meeting, possibly way longer, so it was left untreated."

"What happened, Doc?" Sejin asks as he looks between the two doctors. "Is she going to be okay?"

The doctors share a grim look, one that Jin notices.

"What is it?" he asks, eyes darting between the two.

"Her heart nearly gave out from the heavy stress her body was in, Mr. Kim. Her blood wasn't being properly pumped and filtered, and her immune system was heavily compromised, so she suffered from bilateral pneumonia, which also affected her bloodstream.

Doctor Im takes off his glasses and sighs heavily. "She had septic shock caused by sepsis."

"She almost didn't make it." Doctor Choi says. Jin gasps in sync with Jungkook, the latter almost collapsing to the floor. "She went into cardiac arrest on the table, but we were able to bring her back."

(jin thinks his heart can't get any more bruised than it already is. your poor heart is battered literally and metaphorically. how can he possibly fix it for you?)

(he should've never listened when they asked him to stay away from you. he should've fought for you and with you, that way you're not alone.)

"But she's going to be okay, isn't she?" Sejin asks what the other two can't, what they're too afraid to ask.

Doctor Choi pauses before he shakes his head with pursed lips. "I'm afraid we can't really tell right now. We put her in an induced coma while we try to let her body recover, and we administered treatments, which will continue within the next few days. We can only hope for the best."

"Hope for the best?!" Jungkook cries his first words since the two doctors entered the suite, and looks up at them with tears now steadily running down his cheeks. "So we do nothing?!"

"Unfortunately, so." Jungkook finally loses it and collapses onto the floor on his knees, staring into nothing. "We have done everything we could for now, and we'd have to run some more tests in a few days. But right now, we can only monitor her. An induced coma is the best bet we have to let her body rest and the for treatments to take effect."

Induced coma.

Induced coma.

Jin's head is swimming with those two words as he walks closer to your prone figure and reaches out to mindlessly grasp your hand, but a hand stops his wrist.

"I'm afraid we have to advise you not to touch or make any skin-to-skin contact with Miss [Last Name] right now, most especially since you're her soulmate."

"What?" Jin asks dumbly.

"One of the side effects of the therapy is skin burns when the person comes in contact skin-to-skin with their soulmate, so skin-to-skin contact is highly discouraged."

Jin feels like his whole being wants to shatter. He can't love you, and he can't touch you? Was this how you felt all this time?

Before he can even make any further moves, the door to your suite opens, and in bursts Jackson, panting heavily.

Jin can't even find it in himself to be mad. After all, Jackson was there when you needed someone the most. No matter how it hurts him that there's another person who holds your hand, he can't do anything about it. They weren't there for you, he wasn't there for you. The least they can do is let you find someone else to hold when you need to.

Jackson crosses the room at record speed straight to you, grasping your hand delicately with a pained gasp. His manager is tailing behind and closes the door gently.

Jackson lets go of your hand gently and turns to the doctors. "Is she gonna be okay?"

"Im Jiho, Miss [Last Name]'s animaelogy physician." Jackson grasps the doctor's hand, as well as Doctor Choi's hand in a firm handshake. "This is Doctor Choi Daeseong, head surgeon for Yonsei."

"Jackson Wang." He smiles politely. "Is she gonna be okay?" He repeats.

"I assume Miss [Last Name] has made you aware of her treatments since she informed me she made you her next of kin?" Doctor Im asks.

Jackson's face darkens. "Yes, she did."

Doctor Im nods his head. "I'm afraid Miss [Last Name] is not doing so well right now. We would need to keep her in a coma for a while as we observe her and let the treatments take effect."

Jackson's eyebrows furrow. "Isn't that dangerous? How long would that take?"

"We'd need to assess first within the next few days. Right now, we cannot provide or guarantee until when she will need to be, but we'll do our best, Mr. Wang. I can assure you that."

Jackson nods but turns to Jin, his gaze hardening. "This is your fault." He looks at Jungkook, then back to Jin. "Why are you two here? Who gave you the right to be here?"

"We're her soulmates," Jungkook says coldly, to which Jackson snorts. Jungkook gets up from the floor swiftly. "We have every right to be here."

"Do you, Jungkook? After you all left her, do you really think you still have the right to be here? And for what? To make sure she's dead?"

Jungkook takes an angry step closer to Jackson, his face painted with rage. "What did you fucking say, you asshole?!" Sejin, the doctors, and Jackson's manager step between them. "Say that again, you motherfucker. I fucking dare you."

"Isn't that what you came here for, to make sure she stays away for good? Isn't that what you wanted?" Jackson is red in the face as the security detail rushes to the room.

"I'm still her soulmate, know your fucking place!" Jungkook shouts back, Jin holding him back by his chest. "In the eyes of the law, we have every right to be here."

"You gave up those rights when you rejected her, so you can shove that law up your ass and fuck off." Jackson's manager holds him back by wrapping his arms around Jackson's shoulders.

Jungkook can vaguely hear the doctors speaking to Sejin, but he pays them no mind. "I'm not leaving her here alone, so you can go get fucked."

"Jungkook." Sejin holds him by his shoulders. "I think it's best if we come back another day."

"I'm not leaving her again!" Jungkook cries.

"We're all emotional, and it will not help [Name] if one of you ends up in the ER." Jungkook looks at your peaceful figure, unaware of the disorder around you, and it hurts him. He feels his hands yearn to touch you but he can't, he doesn't want to hurt you. "Come on, I'll take you and Seokjin home."

Jungkook's expression crumples as he looks at Sejin. "But—"

"We'll come back, I promise." Jungkook's breathing is heavy, but Sejin's expression is steadfast. "I promise."

Jungkook has no choice but to concede. He turns back to Jackson. "You can't keep me away from her forever. I'll come back for her."

Jackson opens his mouth to retort that you don't need them, but his manager stops him.

"I'll come back for her, and no one can stop me. Unless it comes from her mouth that she doesn't want me here, I will be here." Jungkook chances one more look at you before he shrugs off the arms around him and stalks out of the room. Jin, who had been quiet all throughout the ordeal takes one good look at you before following suit, not even sparing Jackson a glance.

No one can keep them away from you. They'll stop at nothing just to do what they should've done before—give you all the love you deserve. Until you tell them that you don't want them in your life, they'll spend forever to try and make it up to you.

And make it up to you, they will.

---

[oloreandil]

owo writer truth or dare

🍓🕯️🥤

hello ! thanks for asking these !!

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction?

a high school classmate introduced me to tumblr and fandom as a concept (i was on fandom facebook accidentally answering all the quizzes, but didn't know that people like. talked to each other ???). and then she showed me her fanfiction.net account, specifically so i could read her angst titanic fic, which made me go ":000 i could do that omg" and i haven't looked back

🕯️ ⇢ on a scale from 1 to 10, how much do you enjoy editing? why is that?

10 !!!!!!! love love love editing it's so fun !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i love formatting, i love saying little sentences out loud to see how they sound, i love seeing the finished product after i've polished it lovingly... i love worldbuilding editing more than i love writing, in some aspects ? which in turn is why i love to beta and translate fics so much

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

OUGH just one ??? sorry i'm cheating but:

@notsuchasecret has many fandoms but i fell into their haikyuu fanfic, especially their Sugawara. ao3 link here

if you read bnha and also read in french: i cannot recommend @tasha-lemon enough, we should give more love to non-english fics and she makes absolutely incredible AUs !! ffnet link here

and also i cannot NOT mention @neallo (ao3 link here, death note), @lightyaoigami (ao3 link here, death note), and @quicktimeeventfull (ao3 link here, death note)

as for specific fanfics:

The Lost by unscrypted which was written for me about my bleach blorbos and i cried <33

Reaching Past The Wall by tenser, free! fanfic about Rin being trans. the impact this had on me is immeasurable

we suffer under the same condition (love) by siwona (@transkurootetsurou on here) is SOOOOO good. dimilix with just. poignant writing

EDIT: fuck i forgot hey, is it alright if i keep calling out to you? by flickercity. THEE bokuto manifesto of all times. to me. uncontrollable tears 100/10

[arrancxr]

Though the last two haven't come out of the queue here yet, I just got the third smut shorts compilation posted on Ao3!! There are enough prompts left for one more part/collection, so look forward to that coming up later~ owo

FIC LINK

[miracle-sham]

Frigid They Froze Midst Heart Thawing Woes.

| Daminette December |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [UwU] | | [OwO] |

| Everyone always thought Ladybug was unbreakable. That she was immune to negative feelings, unlike the rest of Paris. That she would never falter, never fail, never fall. And so no one could have expected when tragedy strikes and Paris falls at the hands of her once beloved hero. |

| Now who could save them all, from the icy clutches of a devastating Akuma? |

| And would anyone even try to save the once beloved hero, over the countless suffering civilians? |

———

| Word Count: 16,172. |

| Warnings/Tags: Akumanette/akumatised/hurt Marinette, Implied/referenced character death motif, Near death experience, Temporary character death, Not really character death, Major character undeath, Past character death, Grief/Mourning motif, Mind control/Mind manipulation, Mind control aftermath, Blood and Injury, Canon-typical violence, Minor violence, Snow/ice powers and theme, Frozen apocalypse/icy wasteland, Lovers to enemies, Enemies to lovers, Some Swearing, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and angst, Slowburn, Eventual happy ending, Angst with a happy ending, Reunions, and Recovery. |

———

| A/N: It's here! It's finally posted, only took a little over a year to complete this monstrosity of a oneshot! I would like to thank everyone who read the uwu-speak apwil fowols version and the massive amount of support you all showed for it, this meant the absolute world to me and really helped keep me motivated to finish this in full! I truly hope you'll all enjoy the original version, in it's entirety just as much as the apwil fowols version! |

| I'd also like to just say thanks to Saf and Rae as well, for their moral support throughout writing this! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. |

———

 Was it always doomed from the start? Marinette wondered hollowly, eyes flickering from frozen ruin to frozen ruin. Barely visible from within the seething flurry of snowflakes.

 Bleak.

 Blinding.

 An unending expanse of glistening and swirling snow and ice. Almost too bright and too obscuring to see anything else. Even despite the dullness of night.

 A white-out illuminated by the snowglow.

 Now, the only company she could keep were the immortalised frozen statues of the people who were unable to escape the devastation of the descending blizzard she wrought. Their silence of life was deafening.

 A chilling mockery of what had haunted her nightmares.

 Kicking her legs idly from her precariously precious position on the railings of the Eiffel Tower, the familiarity of the action almost burned as cold as the frigid city itself. Was this how Chat felt? She mused, staring at the bleached white and faded blue spots of her Ladybug?—Frozen Heart? Lady Blanc suit. Shaking her head, she couldn't help but curl her lips slightly in distaste. Maybe it's ironic that I didn't end up in black with red spots like all the false Ladybug Akumas.

 But her new colours are what she deserved. An echo of her once-partner; just as she was an echo of the hero she used to be. Especially in how the accents of her new Akuma suit echoed the old hero suit that the ice power-up had given her, with the crystalline and snowflake patterns covering the once-red-now-white parts, and the ice-blue crystals along her waist and around the yo-yo.

 Perhaps, there was some small comfort, in that the destruction she caused was little in comparison to that of Chat Blanc's. She tilted her head to the side and stared up at the night's snow glow-light clouded skies. Her moon was still intact for one, not that it was visible from here any longer, however. Though, not quite a small mercy so much as another chilling mockery, really.

 She clenched her fists so that the icicles clinging to the metal dug into her suit's gloves. For two, only her Paris had been affected this time. And for three, her death toll was significantly lower, what with only killing a huge swathe of Paris' population as opposed to, y'know how he wiped out all life except himself.

 Her Paris still had survivors lurking within the desolation. Treading tracks through bitter winds, clinging to slowly petrifying hope. Survivors that would scream and cry and yell and try ever so futilely to fight against her, whenever they saw her in her new form, reduced to a wraith of her former glory. They were the only sounds other than the crunch and crackle of ice and snow, or the tinkling of icicles in the wind.

 Not to mention, her Hawkmoth still lingered on. With his black ice glazed goadings that fractured her mind like her and Chat Noir's bones had, beneath his butterfly staff.

 A haunting reminder that she had fallen, failed them—Paris, that even their beloved little heroes weren't infallible.

 Scoffing to herself, Lady Blanc shook her head and shifted her position so that she could curl up into a ball and rest her heavy head upon her knees. Though, there was no crown to weigh her down, just the cold harsh wasteland that she had ruptured in rime.

 (It was almost ironic still, that the ice power-up suit she once wore so long ago, gave her a tiara of icicles but her Akuma form did not—the symbolism of this change, however, was not lost on her—after all what is a princess without her crown. Headless. That's what. As the suffering people decreed.)

 Nonetheless, Paris as it was and now is, had formed the freezing prison of her own making. Even with Hawkmoth's influence shattered like the ice of his statue's form, Lady Blanc was tethered—ice-bound—to Paris. A cruel twist of irony that with her frozen heart, Hawkmoth had ensured her weakness was the warmth, the heat. To make it so nothing would thaw her heart, especially not some pitifully desperate professions of love, friendship, and claims that the real her was still inside and that she just needed to fight him and his influence—control even.

 Biting back a bitter laugh, she ignored the near-silent whispers in the back of her mind crying those very same proclaims. Something that Hawkmoth hadn't anticipated. Especially seeing how her once-partner had turned out after so long in isolation. Would that be my fate too?

 In response, the creeping pernicious laugh of Hawkmoth rattled like hoar frost mantled chains in her head. It seemed to last an eternity before fading into the frore like everything else within Paris.

 Lady Blanc closed her eyes slowly in languish, thoughts drifting back to her once-partner. They might not have been meant for each other romantically, especially after she fell in love with a prince of her own. But perhaps Chat was onto something when he said we were meant for each other. Opposites in power yet our fallen fates are mirrored in white and blue and drenching loneliness.

 She sighed wearily. As if it would somehow ease the burden and the pain. Opening her eyes, she glared listlessly at the frosted-over traffic lights that would remain devoid of colour so long as her tyranny would reign. A mix of colours she wouldn't see together again unless she left Paris. Murmuring beneath her breath, “I never thought I'd miss that eyesore suit of his…” she smiled hollowly.

 Regardless of whether Hawkmoth made it so that leaving her gelid domain or destroying her Akuma object would kill her or not, it was not like going anywhere else would be viable after what she did. She'd be branded a criminal—a villain, like Hawkmoth—then locked up and be left to rot—languish—or well, melt. After all, like most Akumas, she'd become something a little less human. And in her case, a little more ice thanks to the akumatisation.

 What would her boyfriend even think of her now? A twisted reflection in the ice of the one he loved? Or perhaps just an obstacle between getting the one he loved back?

 Well, it wouldn't matter anyway.

 If Lady Blanc never strayed from within the reaches of the frost… It would be unlikely he'd see her again, especially as she was now. And at least by never drifting from the floes of Paris, she'd be able to put up a worthwhile fight against whatever self-proclaimed heroes and vigilantes would inevitably come knocking.

 Inevitably. Because an entire city had been glaciated for days, then weeks, then months with no signs of the calamity being undone. And whilst the Justice League and others had respected, that during Hawkmoth's reign she and Chat Noir held authority over who else could be active without being a potential Akuma risk; undoubtedly that respect would melt away like the snow and be soon forgotten. What with the sheer amount of destruction and a glaring absence of any heroes, temporary or permanent, really it would only be so long until someone would try to step in or investigate.

 And for all that her wretched hope was worth, she dearly hoped it wouldn't have to be Damian who would be sent to scout out and attempt to remedy the tragedy.

 After all, if other heroes or vigilantes infringe upon what is hers, then it's only fair they fall under her jurisdiction once more despite any revoking on their part. And unlucky for whoever the poor souls that would be sent to investigate turn out to be, Lady Blanc won't be allowing such a disrespect of her once-authority to stand, regardless of the current situation.

 And if he is sent… Well, then no matter how much the tiny shred of life-warmth-happiness, that is encased in layer upon layer upon layer within the ghost shell of her frozen heart, begs her not to. She will have to defend herself and her domain. Even if it means hurting him. And perhaps even killing him...

 The second Lady Blanc finished the thought, her resolve cracked under the weight of those pesky emotions of hers. Choking back a silent grieving sob, her shoulders heaved. It almost seemed as though the emotions might pass, when for the first time since the akumatisation, she genuinely burst into tears. A drowning surging wail of regret and loss and hurt and fear, all twisted together. But not even crying was spared from what she had become. For the wind howled in tandem with her wails, and the only tears she could shed were frozen ones. And as she cried her frozen tears, so too did the sky. Hail, falling from the sky and shattering onto everything in the air. Over and over and over again. Cascading shards of ice like relentless blades slashed into the surfaces. Leaving them covered in a blanket of icy caltrops.

 She scowled through the crystalline blurriness. The airborne hail shards swirled harmlessly around her whilst in the distance, faint yells and screams began to echo—a warning for those also trapped within the hailstorm to take shelter. Lady Blanc didn't need to patrol to know that bright vivid red splatters of blood would soon be painting the ice and snow. But patrol by heart she would. Any sight of bright colour amongst the white was now both a threat and a treat. As evidenced by Hawkmoth's gleefully maleficent croonings, in her mind.

 Uncurling herself from her position on the Eiffel Tower railings, Lady Blanc stretched idly before launching her yo-yo towards the sounds of screaming, and swinging over to follow where it may lead.

 It didn't take too long, despite being distant-sounding from up the Tower, the screams were actually rather close by. It was just that the sounds had been muffled by all the hail and ice wrought by the storms of her whims.

 Sticking to rooftops and balconies—not unlike how she used to—Lady Blanc arrived at the point where the screams originated from in under thirty seconds. It was almost too easy to find. Freshly glistening splatters of crimson on powdered white sparkled like a burning beacon.

 Settling softly like snow, upon a nearby roof that gave her a clear view of the painted snow, she focussed her attention on it. Not even bothering to check for the one who bled—as if Hawkmoth would allow her—she nestled on the shadowed drift beside a stone-cold chimney and stared at the rare sight. Futilely begged her hollow heart to feel something for the pain and suffering spilt.

 Even from her high perch, she could clearly see how the warmth of the blood had thawed the ice around it somewhat. The colour was already partially diluted and diluting further as more snowflakes fell. It wouldn't be long before the leeching frost claimed it and caused the colour to fade away to white like everything else that had once held vibrancy in this city.

 Another flicker of colour caught her attention, not far from the blood below. Red as well, though not the red of blood but the red of a bird raised by bats. She tilted her head to the side and listened for any sound beneath the silence of the crying cold.

 A sob pierced the air, followed by hushed whispers—promises—of safety, of help.

 That won't do, the crooning taunted.

 Lady Blanc gritted her teeth and forlornly tried to tune it out.

 The accent of the one whispering promises, was distinctly Gotham—a voice of bat wreathed in red, deep with a slight growl not unlike a cornered animal tending to an injured juvenile. Not him then, not as sharp and snappy as his accent could get. No, he was more likely to hiss than growl.

 The Bird below, most likely Jason from the voice—though Red Hood in his current attire—stepped fully into view and glanced skyward. Searching, seeking. For her.

 For but a split second, Lady Blanc felt the urge to call out in desperation, to reveal herself and beg for mercy, for forgiveness, for help...

 Your heart for power, reminded the inciting whims.

 Cold like coffin glass; she, in languish, conceded.

 Otherwise staying perfectly still like the statues she spent most of her time around these days, Lady Blanc narrowed her eyes and with the slightest will of her ghost-shelled heart, wrenched upon the lightly falling hail. And stirred the clawing blizzard.

 From hail to icicles, it rained.

 And the icicles, they wailed.

 Slashing talons of ice carved through the flurry of snow, piercing the bitter night.

 The sudden onslaught of shattering followed by cursing below did not, in fact, bring her any joy. Hawkmoth may have found it entertaining but that was all the more reason Lady Blanc hated doing it. But she couldn't let them see her, recognise her.

 A crash of bodies tumbling through a broken down door below, granted her the freedom to close her eyes and soften the storm back to a languishing lightness. But with it, revealed the blood-stained street whitewashed pristine once more.

 Scowling, Lady Blanc glared at where the colour had been. At least, she reminded herself, there will be another soon. Birds of a feather flock together.

 Yet no sooner had she thought that, a warning from her domain she heard.

 Warmth, whispered the writhing winds.

 And behind her, the familiar sound of a katana being drawn cut through the crackling silence of snow settling on ice. He was here; the verglas on the roof's metal railings hardly crunched beneath the ninja-light footsteps of him.

 “You, are not Ladybug.” Robin hissed oh so astutely. His katana raised; ready to slash at what he must clearly perceive as an imposter, a snowmelt simulacrum. Unhesitating. Still as ice not unlike his civilian-earned title. The Prince of Ice indeed.

 Lady Blanc tilted her head to one side, in mimicry of her once-partner. A billowing cloud of mist and ice burst from her blue lips in a frosty laugh. “No, no I am not.”

 He scoffed, and took another step closer. “Then who are you and where is Ladybug. Or Chat Noir.”

 “You're a detective, aren't you?” She responded noncommittally.

 “I am the son of Batman, of course I am!” Another step closer. Snarling, he added, “if you have hurt her—either of them, then I will make you pay.”

 Lady Blanc stood, swiping off the light dusting of snow that had settled on her as she had been settled in contemplation. She could tell him the truth. That she had hurt both of them dearly, froze them to the bone and stole the warmth—life—from their hearts, leaving them pale shells of frost and grief. But… that would be giving Hawkmoth what he wanted—the anguish of forcing others to hurt their loved ones, twisted and under the beck and call of a mad villain. Never mind, it was definitely already too late for those shreds of her morals to surface beneath the ice of her traitorous mind—considering not even ten seconds earlier, what she did to Red Hood. And that's not even counting what she's done to Paris.

 Turning to face him, her lips curled into a mocking smile. “So presumptuous. You don't recognise me. And yet…?” Pausing to chuckle as bitterly as the winds and shake her head slightly, she gestured sharply at him. “Some detective you are.”

 Delicately, she took a few steps back, until she was all but swaying over the ice-slick edge. Motioning to the swirling vortex of snow that reformed beneath them, her smile melted into a thin downturned sneer. “Why not take a look below. After all, I'd be more concerned about the other bird down there, than Ladybug and Chat Noir right now.”

 “Red Hood is handling the situation adequately.” Robin hissed, glowering at her with that desperately familiar expression of barely restrained violence borne from protectiveness. “What. Have. You. Done. To. Them.”

 Lady Blanc's lips curled into a wry smirk. “Mhmm, well I suppose if it's handled, then that's my cue to leave.” She teetered on the edge and swung her yo-yo idly as if in preparation to throw it. Quickly glancing back at him, her wry smirk faltered for but a fleeting moment as she briefly diverted the avalanche of languish and fear fueling her power.

 She swallowed a breath of chilling air thickly, a meagre attempt to keep the roiling emotions at bay for the fragile moment in which she offered him a silver lining of truth. “The only thing to happen to the heroes, was a fridged family reunion turned frosty. You're far too late to save them now.”

 Exhaling harshly, she tilted forwards and over the edge.

 Only for Robin to lunge after her.

 One. Second. Too. Late.

 The wind whipped around them as his fingers scarcely brushed through the space she had once occupied.

 A weightlessness cascaded over her as her feet left the roof and she began to fall. Her yo-yo, clasped closed within her hand. And distinctly, no grappling line extended.

 Faintly from the roof, she could hear Robin cursing in Arabic. He hadn't fallen with her, it seemed. How almost poetic it was.

 She was a fallen hero, and he was still stood safely atop his own heroic vigilante pedestal. Safe from being dragged down with her into the burning blizzard.

 The distance of said fall was roughly ten metres or so, and the snowdrift would cushion her landing. Harmlessly, though in no small part thanks to a side effect of her akumatised form and said snowdrift, she flopped into the snow like an ungraceful cat. Her limbs splayed in the mockery of a snow angel. Lady Blanc let herself stay as she had fallen, within the snow angel. Waiting patiently, she listened carefully for any sound that would signify where and what both the Birds could be doing. She would need the advantage on their next move in order to slip away dramatically and effectively.

 No less than half a minute passed before she once again heard the approach of Robin's steel-toed boots crushing the snow below with each furious step.

 Crunch-crackle-crunch-crunch. Crunch-crunch-crackle-crunch.

 Swish. The silver blade of the katana gleamed through the veil of white. It was easy to see that it was now aimed at her throat this time. Ready to strike should she bring him more strife, clearly.

 “Where are they?” He demanded immediately upon stepping within her sight, shoulders trembling. Whether from cold, panic, or fury, it was hard to tell.

 Lady Blanc cocked her head to one side, causing part of the snow angel surrounding her head to concave in on itself over her. Obscuring part of her vision with more snow, not that she really needed to rely on her vision anymore, what with her Akuma abilities. She bared her teeth at him, in the mockery of the smile. “Where the reunion occurred.”

 Scowling, Robin pressed the katana closer to her neck, in warning, all but hissing his next words. “And where is that?”

 “Where do you think?” She responded, raising an eyebrow behind her mask. Closing her eyes, Lady Blanc smiled wryly, a single stray tear trailed down her face, freezing and falling like lonely hail. Breathing softly, she exhaled slowly but deeply and in doing so, she began to melt back into the snow. The ribbons in her hair melted away first, causing her hair to fall from its signature pigtails. And as she became one with the snow, so too did the magic that kept her identity from being recognisable, thawing away just enough for connections to be made.

 “Stop!” Robin yelped, a brief moment of confusion and conflicted panic washed over his face as he began to piece it together; obvious in the way his eyebrows wiggled—jumping between furrowing and raising—in the way he gritted his teeth and pouted before biting at the insides of his lips then falling back into the gritted expression and then repeating the expressions again. In the way his fingers flexed in a specific pattern against his katana—a pattern that she knew he only did subconsciously when feeling conflicted or when losing his trust or faith in someone. In the way his—

 —His expression shuttered into neutrality.

 Lady Blanc couldn't help but note how it was the very same expression he would make every time him having fought family or friends was brought up in conversation. The muted flickers of determination, betrayal, grief, and reluctant resignation. The echoes of mourning the pain once more.

 A cascading avalanche of guilt slammed into her as she stared up at him with fracturing horror. And he came crashing to his knees before her, like an ungainly newborn fawn, in equal parts shock.

 Grimacing, Robin blinked slowly, clearly reassessing the situation. In a small, almost disbelieving—almost challenging voice, he whispered, “Marinette?” and winced immediately after.

 Lady Blanc would have snorted at his reaction, as he was no doubt remembering the 'no names in the field' rule but at that very moment, she was barely weathering the swirling storm of grief tearing through her mind.

 And in response, the storm outside of her howled like the shattering of her heart. The wind thrashed and flailed, ripping the fallen hail and icicles into the air once more in a deadly dance of blades and bludgeoning. The uppermost layers of snow were torn from the top and scattered into the air, blanketing Lady Blanc and Robin in the powdery pall of the blizzard.

 As if both were frozen into statues, neither moved a muscle. Eyes latched onto each other with all the desperation and dread of the too-thin cracking ice over a plunge into frozen waters; a splintering of the shards of their promises to one another unspoken.

 How long ago had it been, since they'd both whispered the words of comfort and safety to one another. Of agreeing to let the other protect them, and save them should it come to it.

 How long since she had last held him in her hands, and hugged him with all her might.

 How long...

 Another stray frozen tear fell from her eyes. Followed by another, and another, and another. Until the tears turned to streaks of ice cascading down her face. Two thin wobbly rimy lines from eyes to chin.

 Lady Blanc jerked forwards from where she was still half-melting into the snow angel, reaching one hand towards him in a frantic heart-wrenching attempt to hold him once more. To feel him beneath her grasp with the definitive evidence that he was real, that he was warm, that he was alive.

 The ghost of a smothering wail was wrenched from her throat as her fingers just barely brushed the side of his face and the bursting agony of his warmth scalded her. Her fingertips melted, dripping down into the snow. Her fingers, then hand, then wrist, then arm, swiftly followed but a second later in excruciating boiling pangs of languish. Pining in grieving love as she languished—fading and withering away—before him.

 The last thing she saw and heard, were his eyes scouring across the snow angel she had made, him swallowing thickly and choking out a near-silent heartbroken whisper. “Angel...”

 The snowdrift collapsed in on itself once more, covering up the space she had taken up and leaving it an empty snow-filled grave.

 Unbeknownst to her, Robin stared uncomprehendingly at the empty snow-filled grave—angel that she—what was left of Marinette—had just melted into. 

 “No... No-no-no-no!”  His voice dropped to scarcely a rasping raging whisper of mourning despair laid bare. “This can't be…”

 With a trembling hand and heart, he weathered the fading storm, reaching one hand to the place on his jaw where she had reached for him with her snow-light touch.

 “I will save you.” He vowed, for he had a wraith to put to rest and he would not be repeating the same mistakes again. He would follow her down this time, no matter the fall.

 ———

 Down in the depths below the Agreste manor, Lady Blanc reformed within Hawkmoth's now snow and statue-laden repository of a hidden butterfly garden. A languishing ache in her hollow heart.

 With her identity revealed, it would only be a matter of time before he and his family tracked down the lair to confront her. Now that they knew she was alive and she had failed, that she was weak even beneath the haunting frostbitten necrosis of Hawkmoth's influence.

 Pointedly ignoring the shattered and rotting remains of said villain—carelessly littered across the edge of the butterfly garden, halfway to tipping over the edge of the platform—she huffed to herself and paced the icy walkway. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to hours. Still, she did not relent. Though every so often… she caught her attention drifting over to the frore statue of Chat Noir, and her akumatised glacial ribbon—one that Damian had sewed for her, with delicate robins and ladybugs inexpertly stitched along it—clutched in the frozen outstretched hand. With every glance towards her object, the overwhelming urge to crush it with all her strength flittered through her mind, not unlike the Akuma within. It was a pointless urge, a snowmelt memory of what she used to do in the face of such objects. Destroy and free in order to heal.

 She's tried to, oh how she's tried. But her hands burn cold, and cataclysm could burn only in rot and rust. Neither would burn hot enough to melt the seal keeping her ice-bound in her wretched frozen form.

 A delicate chiming interrupted her thoughts. Her icicle warning system. The Birds had found her. The traps throughout the Agreste Manor, both Hawkmoth's and her own, were still active. But they wouldn't keep them from finding and entering the lair for long. And she could always deactivate her own traps for them...

 You know what you must do. Crowed Hawkmoth, in her head like the pinpricks of icicles dripping blood onto snow.

 Lady Blanc's steps faltered and she shut her eyes, tipping her head back and scrunching up her face. Letting out a heavy sigh, she gritted her teeth and continued pacing, fixing an aimless angry glare at anything and everything in sight within the lair. Reluctantly, she decided to verbalise her thoughts to herself in an attempt to help herself decide on her next course of action instead. “I… I can't let them destroy my object. It can only be destroyed by heat and if it is, then there's a good chance it will kill me. Just touching him hurt so badly… I can't… I can't go through that again. I can't...”

 Pausing for but a shallow wraith of a breath, she winced. “Furthermore, with me akumatised, the miraculous cure cannot be cast unless the earrings are stolen from me.”

 She sighed again and dropped her shoulders, one hand reaching up to brush her fingers against the miraculous within her grasp but hesitating at the last second again. Not daring to actually touch it. “If I try to remove them, like I tried with…” Her thoughts trailed off and a pained expression crossed her face. In the corner of her eye, she could see her reflection twisted and warped in the ice, the blue of her masked eyes almost glowing like her once-partner's cataclysm in the dim light.

 As she stared, a loud SNAP echoed through the lair. And one long thick crack spread across the reflecting ice. Starting from the neck of the reflection. The same place where Robin's sword had been aimed.

 A second crack shattered the silence.

 Whirling around on her heel, Lady Blanc turned to the direction it came from. Her heart dropped. Her thoughts ground to a halt. The ribbon, her akumatised ribbon, was now cracked. Just like the reflection. Just like her resolve.

 A wave of pain slammed into her. She collapsed to her knees. Head held in her hands, she stared desperately at her literal lifeline. “No, no, no, no!”

 The chimes echoed again. More urgently this time. And she knew, knew without needing to understand exactly what the chimes conveyed—one Bird caught in a trap, one Bird free and heading straight for Hawkmoth's vault where the lift to the lair was still hidden, even after all this time. And lastly, two Bats stalking and surrounding the estate—circling like owls waiting for the moment to swoop down and rip her apart with their talons.

 Time was running out.

 She could hear him, the haunting echo of Hawkmoth whispering in her mind, urging her. She needed to act. She needed to fight them. Protect her ribbon from being destroyed by them. She can't do it. Not like this.

 Lady Blanc swallowed thickly, desperation clawing at her throat. Glancing back over her shoulder at the distorted and cracked reflection, she wailed to herself. “I know, okay, I know I should've fought against this harder, I should've been able to overcome this. But it's only now that the ice is cracking. What changed? Why now? Was it because I cried today, for the first time since I failed?”

 Not unbidden, the answer comes to her mind wreathed in the malefic goading of Hawkmoth. And with it, a silent question too, one that she hadn't dared ponder in all this time.

 Bunnyx?

 It had to be. How else could the Bats and Birds have arrived within Paris without her domain warning her until she had stumbled across them by sheer luck. Why they arrived now and not sooner, not before she had started to crack and thaw. Why Robin's first reaction to her, was establishing she wasn't Ladybug—at least not anymore—and his next was asking where Ladybug was. And why Damian was so surprised by it actually being her and not yet another fake Ladybug Akuma.

 After all, it wasn't as if Bunnyx warned her that her once-partner had been akumatised when she was sent to that timeline to fix it. Just that she had to fix it.

 And now more than ever, she desolately wished she knew what truly happened to that timeline after the cure had been cast.

 Frowning, Lady Blanc threw herself to her feet. Hawkmoth's whisperings crescendoed like rupturing and shivering ice and frostbite within her mind; rotting all that remains of her.

 It didn't matter. Not anymore, she was not Ladybug, nor had she been her in such a long while. And despite the languishing guilt, she made her final decision. “I don't want to die… I can't let him kill me.”

 Her final stand.

 A shiver ran down her spine and that was her only warning that her time was up.

 He had arrived.

 Heralded by the swooshing of the lift descending into the frozen grave.

———

 The seconds passed ever so slowly as the lift moved ever closer to the walkway platform. Lady Blanc held her breath and kept her eyes shut. Held herself still as ice. Held her desperately melting plan in fracturing hands and hoped with all the frangible will she could muster. No matter how her resolve continued to waver still, under Hawkmoth's strengthened sway it was gradually refreezing. Though slower still than the lift's descent. And so she readied her yo-yo.

 She never wanted him to follow her, not now, not to here. But he did, and here he was.

 It felt as though the lift opened far too quickly; the silence shattering like the rime cracking beneath his boots as he telegraphed his steps across the walkway.

 “Marinette…” Robin's voice rang out, echoing almost hauntingly as it bounced against the ice-slick walls and ceiling of the lair.

 Marinette, Marinette, Marinette. Whispered the lair in imitation, intertwining with Hawkmoth's malevolent laughter; lancing pain crackled through her mind at the sounds.

 Lady Blanc grit her teeth. Opening her eyes, she immediately glared at him with all the hatred and animosity she could wrest. “Lady Blanc.” She corrected, like an icicle to the heart.

 His footfalls ceased, leaving behind the hollow wraith of an echo. “Lady Blanc, then”—hesitating for but a moment, he cleared his throat—“I do not wish to fight you.”

 “And I'm supposed to believe that?” Incredulity laced her tone as she snarled out the words and bared her teeth. Unable to do anything else but watch him warily as Hawkmoth's unrelenting laughter putrefied and compounded—rattling through her skull like the mockery of a heartbeat.

 Robin stilled, though not quite as still as her nor the frozen statues of Chat Noir and what remained of Hawkmoth. It was poetic again; an ice-warped reflection of their last moments before he had attacked her unprompted.

 When he made no further reaction or response—in actions or words—she cocked her head to one side and re-evaluated him, eyes narrowing and snarl wilting—languishing—into a wry grimace.

 Lady Blanc deliberated for a moment, not quite hesitating—she then opened her mouth to speak, voice almost powder snow soft, as softly as she could be in this form—but despite that her voice still carried the sharpness of black ice. “Why are you here? Why now, why wait all this time only to investigate now?”

 He took another step forwards, as if taking that for a cue to approach and gently raised his hands in a show of being unarmed and following through with his intent. “You—Ladybug and Chat Noir never responded to the Justice League's calls after Paris became frozen over for beyond a week. Nor did you or anyone on your team respond further, after the League tried and failed to reconnoitre due to the impassable surrounding blizzard.”

 And if she hadn't known him as well as she did, she never would've noticed the strain and distress underlying his words. However, through her Hawkmoth knew as well and he made her well aware of the fact with his malicious gloating—it was obvious as to how very much so he was enjoying the negative emotions that Robin was feeling at this very moment.

 Lady Blanc tightened her grip on her yo-yo, refusing to show weakness by moving towards him or away from him. “Again, then why are you here now?”

 Taking yet another step forwards, Robin lowered his voice to that calming steady voice: the one that all heroes use when talking to victims. “We were recently given permission by a miraculous holder on your team to operate within Paris in regards to matters pertaining to the miraculous.”

 She snarled, Hawkmoth's fury amplifying her own. She had delayed long enough, and that was all the confirmation she needed to know Bunnyx had indeed decided to interfere. Swinging first, her yo-yo sliced through the stalemate between them.

 He raised his arm on instinct. Wrong move. Having seemingly forgotten this wasn't just another one of their spars. As the yo-yo lashed against it. Whipping around the armour and digging in tight.

 The white-outs of his mask widened almost comically. Before she wrenched on the wire. Sending him head over heels and crashing into the glass coffin of Emilie Agreste.

 Like the shattering of Hawkmoth's statued form so long ago now, the coffin burst into thousands of glittering deadly shards. Cascading down around Robin as they began to pierce into the kevlar armour.

 Hawkmoth's languishing howl roared within her mind like the white-out outside. Lady Blanc flinched for a moment that lasted an eternity of ice, ducking her head slightly and scrunching her face up in pain on instinct. Her grip on her yo-yo loosening for no longer than Robin's heartbeat.

 But it was enough. Enough for him to tear the wire from his arm guards and prise himself from the broken remains.

 A thin trail of blood trickled from a deep gash on Robin's cheek, just below where the eyemask's edge could have protected him. The white-outs were now down, and a determined glint in his eyes.

 The sight of crimson red dripping down and splattering on the iridescent glass and ice surrounding the coffin caused Lady Blanc to freeze.

 Hawkmoth's howling paused too, shifting like an avalanche into contemptuous delectation. That's it, he crooned in cloying praise, make him bleed for all he's ruined.

 She could almost feel the tender disquieting glazing of the butterfly silhouette upon her face. Though a quick glance at reflecting ice still showed only the cataclysm glow in her masked eyes.

 And yet, it was distraction enough for one of Robin's birdarangs to slash into her left ribs, carving deeply. The thin gaping wound spilt gushing snowflakes and ice crystals instead of blood, that splattered against the rime-encrusted walkway. Her miraculous suit only protected her so much in her akumatised form after all, and it wasn't as if she couldn't just reform once more—should she be defeated here and now, as inconvenient and painful as that would undoubtedly be.

 With the crack of the yo-yo wire, Lady Blanc retaliated. Aiming for Robin's throat in vengeance.

 He lurched into a roll. Diving away from the coffin and glass whilst launching a birdarang at the yo-yo.

 Crack.

 The two weapons collided midair. Clattering harmlessly to the ground in between them. Only for the yo-yo to melt into the snow. And ever dutifully, the rime reformed the weapon back into her hands.

 Robin cursed in Arabic, plucking his sword from his sheath.

 Two steps forwards, two steps back. The two moved in sync. For every swipe of her yo-yo, he parried with a single slice of his katana. A slash to his right leg. A dodge to the left. A stab to her collar. A simple flip backwards.

 Their blows quickly snowballing into a flurry, neither able to quite get an edge over the other.

 “Stop!” Robin begged—demanded, dodging another of her strikes with practised ease. “This isn't you! You're akumatised. Let us destroy your object so we can fix this!”

 Oh, but how much blood was on her hands and how many lives had she froze asunder? How could she live with herself even if it all was fixed and she forgot, all the pain and suffering undone?

 Scoffing, Lady Blanc shook her head as if to dispel the thoughts; dancing forward with another spin and slash of her yo-yo. “It's a little too late for that.”

 And with that, she wrenched upon the power her akumatised form granted her. Sharp icicle blades splintered and rose from the verglas pall across the walkway.

 Robin cursed again, more heavily this time as he began to frantically drop and dive and parry and slide. Forcing all his attention on avoiding getting skewered or pushed over the edge of the walkway railings, instead of solely on her.

 Strategically, Lady Blanc pulled back, letting the blades keep him occupied as she positioned herself between him and her glacial ribbon. It was a miracle he hadn't noticed it—or rather realised what it was—yet.

 He sent a languishing look towards her, weaving between the blades like snowmelt through the cracks in the ice. Fluid and graceful but swiftly running out of space to slip away.

 Turning her attention to the coffin behind her, she quickly analysed the damage. Despite everything, the corpse remained perfectly preserved and unharmed. Not even a single shard of glass had grazed the skin within.

 Hawkmoth's preening complacency at the sight, felt like the pricking of bare skin on hoar frost; sending blighting shivers down Lady Blanc's spine. It shouldn't have been enough to distract her.

 But it was enough. Enough for him to tear his way through the blades and throw himself at her back. Pinning her to the walkway in the clingiest hug learnt from his family that he could imitate. And gripping tight as she shattered.

 Your heart for power, Hawkmoth hissed.

 “No, no, no-no-no plea—!” But the sudden scalding pain of warmth wrenched a wretched scream from her throat. Agony flared across her back at the once comforting touch. The heat rending her apart in a fractal rupturing. All too acutely was she aware of the haunting SNAP-CRACKLE of her glacial ribbon fracturing with her. As everything she held back came crashing down around her. And oh so desperately, did she try to twist and prise herself from his burning grasp.

 “Let go, please! I don't—” She wailed despondently, words wobbling from the pain. “—want to—don't want to die…”

 “I'm sorry. This is the only way I can help you. Please, forgive me for hurting you.” Robin—Damian pleaded, clinging on tight, refusing to relinquish holding her in his arms despite the pain it was causing her. He couldn't. Even as her akumatised form began to languish, not melting this time: but thawing.

 As oddly enough, the warmth was enough to keep Hawkmoth's presence at bay for the first time since she became akumatised.

 She stilled again, the fight in her deliquescing as her body did. Frozen tears thawed into liquid tears as they spilled from her eyes. She trembled, choking on her own heart-wrenching sobs cascading from her lips.

 Yet despite that, the more Lady Blanc thawed, the worse it became. She—Marinette let out a chilling keening, half-melted fingers clasping at his neck as she feebly tried to return the hug in her final moments of clarity.

 Together, they held each other in their arms as her akumatised form languished away. Until all that was left was a hollow in Damian's chest where his heart lay, the snowmelt freezing him to the bone through his armour, and two inert plain black earrings on the ground before him.

 “I'm sorry.” He whispered in languishing repetition, to all that remained of her. “Please, forgive me.”

 She didn't reform.

 Damian waited.

 And waited.

 And waited.

 Still, she didn't reform.

 She was gone. She had to be.

———

 However, unbeknownst to him, the glacial ribbon had not fully shattered. Held together by the last crystals of ice clinging to the fraying threads of the original fabric.

 And further unbeknownst to him still, Marinette—Lady Blanc reformed imperfectly—still half-melted—from the ice and snow up at the top of the Eiffel Tower. It was the first place she could think of returning to that would be safe enough for her to untangle the frosty scalding flood of emotions tearing her apart at the seams. In the wake of her melting, all that was left of him were the snowmelt memories of him holding her, and a searing hollow emptiness where the connection to the storm had been boiled away by his warmth.

 Not even to mention how furthermore, that very same searing hollow emptiness was scalding her right where her miraculous had since been worn. Oddly enough, the lack of the earrings' weight felt heavier upon her ears.

 Yet again, it was almost poetic. That she had fled here to the tower in her panic after that tragedy of a confrontation. The place where the shattering had first begun.

 Gasping for shallow breath, she let the liquid tears fall like her languishing hopes as she collapsed to her knees. Dripping down her face almost in mimicry of how she had melted—was still partially melted—and carving grooves in her snow-formed skin from the tear-melt.

 It felt as though everything was conspiring against her, let alone both her body and mind thanks to whatever influence of Hawkmoth's Damian—Robin had ruptured.

 “How…” Marinette—Lady Blanc mumbled numbly, achingly so, “how did this go so horribly? I was supposed to—Why did I—Why didn't I—” choking on her words, she desperately hugged her arms around herself in a futile attempt to feel the warmth—any warmth—again. “Maybe I was right, earlier… maybe I really was doomed from the start?”

 But the only answer to her whispered words, was the silent absence of the blizzard no longer blanketing—shielding—Paris like a funerary pall.

 Hollowly, she noted that she'd need to move soon. Seek shelter not unlike how she had previously forced the surviving Parisians to do so. Because with no barrier between her and the outside world anymore, and the Bats already flocking the place. Not even to mention her miraculous forsaken from her. It would only be a matter of time until it was too late for her… for those fears of hers that she had mused upon only fleeting moments ago. Before she fell and shattered as though an icicle plummeting from the tower's railing and rupturing apart in a burst of rime upon colliding with the ground, regardless of how deep the snow drifts below were.

 The very thought only reigned to torment her further. Sobs wracking her frame, wrenched from her cracking throat as she wailed her languish, grief, and regret in a rending requiem.

 Her keening hung in the air, the tightened noose of the gallows throttling the silence until it fractured as she had.

 And though the blizzard may have melted from the sky, the silver clouds still swayed across the sky like the impatient blade of the guillotine—ready to bring the heavy blade down upon her neck in the name of justice. (As if he hadn't already silently threatened to be her executioner when he had held the katana to her frozen throat.) As if he hadn't followed through with it. As if he hadn't nearly succeeded…

 She couldn't return. Not anymore. Not to him.

 Marinette—Lady Blanc dropped her arms from around herself. “What do I do now?” She whispered to herself, staring at her hands as if they bore the answer.

 Wretchedly enough, she could hear a response in the susurration of the snow. There was only one answer left; haunting and rotting and all that remained. And though the blizzard no longer prevented those within Paris from escaping the freezing prison, Lady Blanc was still ice-bound to the donjon where her object stayed. She had no choice. No true final say.

 For the absence of any other option was deafening.

 And so, she held her head in her hands, and cried her heart apart.

———

 At some point, Damian lost track of the time, holding onto the snowmelt memory of her in his arms.

 A steadying hand grabbed onto his shivering shoulder, snapping him back to awareness.

 The first thing he noticed was the taste of iron and salt on his tongue, and the dried blood and tears on his face.

The second thing was that Black Bat and Red Hood were both now down on the walkway with him as well. Black Bat was further away than Red Hood though, investigating the broken glass coffin and corpse within.

 Red Hood, however, was squatting in front of him, helmet under one arm, his signature leather jacket missing and a look of concern engraved on his face. “You with us now?”

 Damian nodded stiffly. The faint rustle of leather against his neck gave him pause. He turned his head to look at his shoulder, only to see the missing jacket, as well as Black Bat's and Batman's capes, draped over him, though practically swaddled in the latter. The weight and warmth comforting in their familiarity. It was then, he noticed that his wet outer armour had been removed, leaving him in his dry thermal under armour.

 Red Hood pushed his hands against his thighs and stood up. “Good.”

 Humming, Black Bat sidled over to the two of them and nodded in agreement. “You gave us a scare.”

 “Yeah, when your comms and tracking beacon died and there was no response even after an hour once you went dark despite the weather clearing up outside, nearly gave B fucking heart attack.” Red Hood added, a false levity in his voice as he huffed. “Don't think I've ever seen him look that emotionally constipated.”

 Black Bat shook her head, a tenuous cheeky smile playing on her lips, then swiftly moved to boop Red Hood on the nose. “Not emotionally constipated, just scared,” then cocked her head to one side, the smile faltering slightly. “Like you.”

 “I wasn't scared for Robin.” He protested half-heartedly. Pausing to scan the repository again, he grimaced. “Especially not once we found you drenched and half frozen to death.”

 Before continuing, he took a slow breath, “fall through the ice into the water down there?” He tilted his head towards the edge of the walkway railings to indicate at the ice floe below, “or something?”

 “Or-somethin'…” Damian mumbled in languish, words slurring together slightly. He scrunched his nose up like Marinette used to, in order to show his displeasure.

 Black Bat frowned at him, her body language practically screaming concern and worry as she creased her eyebrows, curled her shoulders up and leaned towards him ever so slightly.

 Red Hood, on the other hand, narrowed his white-outs at him. “Right.” He said, tone practically dripping with suspicion and scepticism. “Well B's gone to grab you some hypothermia blankets and shit, so wanna share with the class what happened then?”

 Damian bristled, not even attempting to curb the slurring of his hiss. “Doess'it-matter?”

 “Yes,” Black Bat cut in, emphasising her words heavily so much so that they hung in the air—echoing lightly like windchimes in the ice-strewn room. Her gaze bore through the fabric encompassing him as he held her full attention. “Always, little brother.”

 Raising an eyebrow, Red Hood took a step back to give Robin more space. “Considering you look like you're gonna fucking keel over and join Chat Noir over there, yeah I agree with Black Bat and say it fucking matters.”

 At Chat Noir's name, Damian froze. He swallowed thickly and glanced up at the ice statue not far from his position on the floor, with the shattered but barely still intact ribbon in hand. Then he glanced down at the earrings—her earrings.

 “I found them…” He croaked, not taking his gaze from all that was left of her.

 “Chat Noir, and Ladybug, I can see that.” Red Hood muttered, voice softening considerably. “Did you manage to find the Akuma, the object, or Hawkmoth?”

 Damian scooped up her earrings with trembling hands. “No.” He corrected coldly, “The shattered statue isn't Ladybug.”

 Red Hood jerked back slightly, startled, then squinted at him. “What. Then what happened to her, where is she?”

 “Here…” Cradling her earrings in his hands, Damian finally looked up at Red Hood again with unshed tears shining in his slightly glazed over eyes.

 There was a pause as Red Hood stared at the earrings in Robin's hands and the surrounding puddle of snowmelt. “Shit, I'm sorry.” Stepping closer, Red Hood gently pulled him into a hug and tucked Robin's head under his chin.

 Black Bat quietly joined the hug as well, staunchly wrapping her arms around both Red Hood and Robin's shoulders. “It'll be okay, little brother. You have her miraculous…” She paused, tilting her head to one side as she tried to find the words she was looking for. “The cure. It can fix this.”

 “Sh-she was the Akuma…” Damian whispered, voice cracking in lament as he shivered. The cold kevlar of his siblings' armour was definitely not helping his situation despite the warmth of the hugs—and that very thought nearly set him off again. “She was weak to temperatures above freezing, from what I observed. Whenever we made contact, she would proceed to melt, causing her excruciating pain.”

 He shallowly swallowed a choking breath of frigid air. “I killed her.”

 Just before either Black Bat or Red Hood could respond, Batman swooped in (though not quite with the same effect as usual, due to the lack of the cape) from the lift with the cold weather emergency medical kit piled high in his arms. The pure anguished brooding demeanour laid bare across his furrowed face.

 Silence, barring the thundering strides of Batman approaching, permeated the air as the rest of his family grasped what Damian just admitted to.

 “B—” Red Hood started defensively, tensing and shifting his hug to more of a protective curl around Robin.

 Batman waved a hand—from beneath the armful of supplies—at Red Hood, grunted in acknowledgement and without missing a beat, deposited said medical supplies down a few paces from the hug. Close enough to be easily accessible but far enough away to still give the three some space. He then began meticulously sifting through the contents and pulling out what he deemed necessary.

 A foil hypothermia blanket was first, Batman immediately outstretched one hand to pass it to Red Hood. Followed swiftly by a travel mug, and a sealed medical-grade single-use plastic disposable drinking straw (for both sanitary and safety reasons).

 Black Bat temporarily extracted herself from the hug first, to allow Red Hood to grab the blanket and properly wrap it around Robin.

 In the meantime, Batman cracked open the travel mug and straw, bending the latter before plopping it in the mug. Causing the delicious aroma of hot chocolate with melted marshmallows to suffuse the air. Awkwardly, he shuffled closer to his children and slowly offered the drink by the bent straw to Robin so he could take a sip without needing to leave the hug or blankets. “Here you go, chum. Drink slowly, okay.”

 Damian nodded, hesitating before taking a small slow sip.

 By the time he was halfway through the drink, there was still no sign of Marinette having reformed, though strangely enough, the ribbon in Chat Noir's hand had begun refreezing over the cracks fracturing it, in the meantime. Despite the warmth of the drink filling him, it felt as though there was a cold dark pit in his stomach at the loss of her.

 Making sure to finish the hot chocolate in its entirety first, so as to not waste it or for any attempts at talking to be rebuffed by his family, Damian squinted at his father, choosing his next words carefully. “Are you… displeased with what I've done. I've killed her.”

 Batman stilled, closing his eyes for a second as he held his composure. “I know you have,” he began carefully, “and I won't lie that I'm unhappy about the situation that you ended up facing alone. I only wish one of us had been able to back you up sooner, so you wouldn't have this on your conscience.”

 Red Hood cleared his throat loudly, and glared at Batman from over Robin's head.

 Fidgeting under the glare, Batman continued. “But I could never be upset with you for protecting yourself in self-defence. Especially given what Ladybug has told us before in regards to Akumas and Akuma victims.”

 He paused, glancing towards Red Hood briefly. “And even if you hadn't killed her in self-defence, I would still regret that you had to fight someone you cared about alone. Regardless of the situation, you're my son, and I will always love you. Killing someone,” his gaze flickered up to Red Hood again, “doesn't change that fact.”

 “I—” Damian started, tears leaking through the corners of his mask. “Thank you, father.”

 Batman moved the empty hot chocolate mug off to one side and then leaned in, pulling Robin into a warm bear hug.

 Red Hood watched the exchange quietly, before glancing away, mouth twisted into a light frown.

 A long heartfelt moment passed before Batman released his Robin from the hug.

 Damian sniffled faux-haughtily, trying to smother the impending tears as he curled his shoulders up. “I suppose I should utilise the miraculous now, to bring her back.”

 Batman grimaced at the reminder of the magical artefacts afoot. “As long as you know how to safely use them, yes…”

 No sooner had the words left his mouth, the miraculous (still in Damian's hands) began to glow a bright bubbly pink.

 Damian's heart clenched at the sight of something that, he supposed should have been unsurprising, was so violently reminiscent of her.

 A bubble no larger than the diameter of an average rat or another small mammal perhaps, split off from the rest. It darted away, twirling through the air in front of Damian, not unlike something out of a children's fairy-themed show.

 The glowing bubble coalesced into a small red being that was vaguely evocative of a ladybird, if one squinted. And squinting, Damian was.

 “Hello!” It greeted with a cheerful sort of wariness and a strained smile. “I am Tikki, Kwami of Creation and the Ladybug Miraculous.”

 Black Bat pulled away from the group hug again. She grinned back with an equal edge of wariness—though somewhat tempered by her curiosity—and waved at the little thing, then dipped her head in a light nod. “Nice to meet you.”

 The other three Bats stared uncomprehendingly at the Kwami.

 “What the fuck…” Red Hood muttered, shaking his head slightly at the sight. “It's a fucking floating magic bug creature…”

 “It,” Damian hissed protectively, “just introduced herself with a name. Have some manners, Todd. Tikki and the other Kwamis, according to Ladybug, are divine spirit-like beings that grant her and the other Parisian heroes under her leadership, their powers.” He cleared his throat, and quietly and rather hastily added. “If it weren't for our current circumstances, it would otherwise be a pleasure to finally meet you.”

 The slight wariness faded from Tikki as her strained smile became even more so. “It's a pleasure to finally and formally meet you too, even under this situation. Though I must admit due to the nature of how us Kwami interact with the world, my knowledge of what has happened is unfortunately limited.”

 She glanced between the four vigilantes, and then towards the glass coffin, or more specifically the frozen statue of Chat Noir before it. Slowly taking in the full weight of the situation at the unmistakable signs of a powerful Akuma attack and her missing holder. Tikki's strained smile fell immediately as tears began to shimmer in her eyes. “Oh, Chat Noir…” She chewed her lip as she grimaced, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. Cautiously, as though afraid of the answer, Tikki looked to Damian, “and my holder…?”

 “Ladybug was Akumatised.” Damian answered her. “She has been… confronted and prevented from continuing what she was doing. If you could lend us your power so that we may reverse the damage done and return her to how she was before the akumatisation, it would be appreciated.”

 Before Tikki could respond, a chilling—wailing—wind sliced through the frozen repository.

 “No.” In a whirling flurry of snow, Lady Blanc (still donned in that same bleached mockery of the ice power-up suit despite the absence of the miraculous) fully reformed before the frozen form of Chat Noir. Ensuring that she had placed herself between the Bats and her akumatised object before they could even dare approach. Though she was no longer half-melted, the tear-melt grooves down her cheeks had only deepened. She swallowed thickly, shoulders trembling and hands gripping her yo-yo with the desperation of a lifeline. “I've warned you once before. I will not warn you again.” Glowering at them, she let the last of her power—that languishing frigid fury—drown her next words in haunting rime. “It is too late to fix what I have done.”

 “Marinette!” Tikki cried, darting towards her, “that's not true, the miraculous cure will work if you just let us use it on you! It's really not too late, I promise!”

 With the flick of Lady Blanc's wrist, the yo-yo swung towards Tikki, coming far too close for comfort to the distraught Kwami. Slicing through the air as it preceded an arc of blade-like icicles launching from the verglas-encrusted walkway, all of which were aiming not only at Tikki, but the Bats and Bird behind her too.

 Black Bat reacted first, in immediate response she flipped forwards and threw a volley of perfectly aimed Batarangs. Each Batarang struck a blade of ice, shattering them harmlessly between the living and statues.

 Neither Lady Blanc nor Black Bat moved as the ice cascaded onto the walkway with delicate clinks and chimes.

 Black Bat stared icily at Lady Blanc. “You will not harm them.”

 Holding his breath, Damian frantically attempted to scramble out of the blankets binding him and face her, himself.

 It was only thanks to Red Hood and Batman's trained reflexes and familiarity with wrangling him, that they were able to restrain him from doing so, seeing as he was still recovering and sorely lacking in the armour department. Though the prevention was not without a litany of swears muttered by Red Hood in the process.

 Lady Blanc eyed her two main threats: Black Bat and Tikki, ignoring Black Bat's words and the scuffle behind her. The others were less of a threat, as not only was the kerfuffle keeping them occupied but it was obvious they'd prioritise protecting Dami—Robin over targeting her object. Especially due to the fact he was surrounded by field medical supplies and unarmed— vulnerable. “The cure,” she snarled, taking one singular step forwards, “will not erase the experience, the memories of everything that has happened.”

 “That's not true…” Tikki repeated, quieter and more subdued this time. She hovered closer to Black Bat's right shoulder for safety. “You're akumatised, you won't remember once we purify your Akuma.”

 “But the survivors will.” Lady Blanc seethed, in wretched mourning. “And so will you. The cure won't fix the pain and suffering I've caused everyone. It won't erase the wrongs I've committed.” She paused, glancing between them all, eyes blazing like Chat-Blanc's cataclysms; just like her earlier reflection had shown. “But it will erase me. Permanently. There's a chance it could erase this entire timeline from existence. It's happened before.”

 “Before?” Black Bat asked, watching Lady Blanc with a careful curiosity and damning concern. Scrutinising her every expression and gesture for unspoken answers.

 “Besides,” Lady Blanc continued, pointedly ignoring Black Bat—gaze flickering passed her too quickly as she continued to glance between the rest— “even if you cast the cure, it won't undo the effects of my akumatisation… time will still have passed, people will still be traumatised, the damage will still have been done.”

 Faltering for but a second, she added on quietly enough that, had it not been the Bats as her audience, it wouldn't have otherwise been heard… “I will still be a villain once it all melts to nothingness.”

 “You're not a villain.” Batman calmly rebutted. “You didn't choose to become an Akuma, nothing you have done as an Akuma is your fault.”

 “Indeed!” Damian interjected, glaring at her in return, though the effect was dampened via the blanket, jacket, and capes still bundling him. “You were, and still are, under the effects of an emotionally manipulative villain. If you were to face judicial processes as other villains do, in a court of law, you would be excused under duress.”

 Red Hood snorted, muttering under his breath, “yeah, or excused under undue influence, y'know considering how you're reacting right now.”

 “I have slaughtered hundreds and thousands of innocents.” Lady Blanc hissed, stalagmites of ice surged from the verglas around her as her fury spiked. “Others have been declared villains for less.”

 Batman sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose and then raising both his hands as a gesture of peace. “Even if you are a villain, as you say you are. That doesn't mean you're beyond help. Contrary to popular belief, I don't dress up as a bat and beat up criminals because I think they're beyond help. If that were the case, I, Batman, would kill. But I don't. Because everyone deserves a second chance and the help needed to change.”

 “Would you give Hawkmoth a second chance? Or the Joker?” She scoffed.

 A moment of silence crackled through the frozen repository with all the grandeur of a guillotine's blade released.

 Red Hood death-glared at Lady Blanc, mouth twisted between utter bewilderment and the curl at the corner of his lips that betrayed the downright chilling wrath lurking beneath. His eyes almost seemed to glimmer green in the reflection of the ice. “Are you seriously fucking comparing yourself to the fucking Joker?”

 There was no response.

 Inhaling deeply, he then hissed through his teeth and gesticulated violently in tandem. “Did you not fucking listen to everything we just fucking said?”

 Lady Blanc stilled sharply, shoulders jerking back into a tense and more defensive position; teeth accidentally snapping down onto her tongue in the process. Snowmelt pooled in her mouth from the wounds, instead of blood. She swallowed thickly, grimacing as she glanced aside—unable to bear looking at any of them for any longer.

 “Further fucking more,” Red Hood continued, “you've only fucked Paris up. One city. That ain't shit compared to how many places those bastards have fucked up.”

 She flinched, thoughts spiralling back to her once-partner's akumatisation. Shaking her head stiffly, her eyes caught on the statue of Chat Noir once again. “You should have seen what preceded me. It could've been far worse...”

 “But what could have been, is not what is and has happened.” Damian cut in, cautiously. “Does that not speak of the person you are, regardless of your own akumatisation?”

 Her hands trembled—shivered, only slightly but just barely enough to be noticeable. Fingers curling and uncurling around the yo-yo like the staccato of her heartbeat. “No. You're wrong.”

 “Why? Why are we wrong?” He demanded, not unkindly but unrelenting in his determination. “You say you could have done worse, ergo you actively chose to limit the destruction you've unwillingly caused due to factors outside of your control.” Damian scrunched up his nose and tilted his head to one side. “Something which many Justice League members ought to aspire to when they're under the control or influence of outside forces. Therefore you have achieved something wherein even seasoned heroes and vigilantes, whom are known globally for frequently saving the world, could not.”

 Gritting her teeth, Lady Blanc swung her yo-yo out towards the four of them. Arcs of glacial blades lashed out in waves.

 Immediately, Black Bat, Red Hood, and Batman slipped into defensive stances in front of Damian. Blade by blade the ice shattered. Batarangs and bullets tearing through them.

 And in the chaos of the attack, Damian freed himself from the blanket and cape cocoon. Sprinting down the walkway, he dodge and weaved between both friendly and not-so-friendly fire—or more aptly, frost.

 “Robin!” Shouted Batman, noticing just a split second too late. His head turning to face his son and hand reaching out but unable to fully draw his attention away from the slashing of the reforming blades.

 Blade after blade, the arcing waves continued. Though every blade that sliced towards Damian, melted before it could dare hurt him. Step by step he approached unharmed. Icemelt puddles formed in his wake, swiftly refreezing into bitter black ice.

 Lady Blanc took a hesitant step back. The shivering was worsening now, as though she was affected by the cold, despite her akumatisation having granted her immunity to such a thing. “Don't.” She warned.

 “No, I will not give up on you.” He insisted as he kept making his way towards her. “I made a mistake in the manner of which way I approached and tried to save you earlier. And for that I am sorry but I promise to do better this time.”

 She scoffed wetly, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes once again. “I'm not the same as the person I was before. No amount of talking or powder snow promises will change that.”

 Lashing out with the yo-yo again, it barely skimmed by his neck. But its effects were instantaneous; his footsteps halting. If her aim had been true, it would have wrapped around his neck like a noose. Faltering at the realisation, she backed away closer to the shattered glass coffin.

 Yet another mirroring of their most recent fight.

 Accidentally, she bit the insides of her cheeks and once again, snowmelt flooded her mouth. She swallowed it thickly, throat constricting as if she had hung a noose around her own neck instead.

 Another stalemate had been reached.

 Back and forth.

 Stopping and starting.

 With every step forwards, a step taken back.

 A deadly dance, wherein all actions either party could make, were missteps.

 They were going in circles.

 Again, and again, and again.

 And it was obvious to all, that it could not be kept going for much longer. One side would have to give out, crack and melt, and languish away.

 Lady Blanc had been on the back foot since their arrival, no thanks in part to Bunnyx's machinations. Hissing through her teeth, she sighed. “It's rather telling, isn't it? How you all keep beating around the bush and going on about fixing this, saving me, and undoing everything! And yet not a single one of you has come up with a refute to what I've said. To the undeniable truth that the Miraculous Cure isn't as all-powerful with its "limitless"—” pausing, she made air quotes with her fingers without letting go of her yo-yo or the wire, “—healing as everyone seems to think it is capable of. It can't cure the time that has been lost, the painful memories made, the suffering endured.”

 The following silence from both Tikki and the Bats spoke a thousand words.

 “Why?” Lady Blanc's shoulders shook heavily as her breaths quickened in time with her rabbiting pulse. “Why can you still not understand, after everything I've said and done? Why can't you understand there is no salvaging what has been broken with my akumatisation? There's no undoing of what's been done unless Bunnyx herself goes back into the past to prevent the timeline from forming in the first place!”

 Tikki tsked. “Marinette, please. You don't have to repeat yourself. There's always a—”

“—Is there?” Lady Blanc cut her off icily, seething, chest heaving, teeth bared. “Is there really? Because so far all you've done is said that it can be and then not given any evidence!”

 Damian hummed inquisitively, narrowing his eyes at her. “Does it matter?”

 “Robin!” Reprimanded Batman.

 “Are you fucking kidding me?” Red Hood snarled, not a second later.

 “How can you say that?” Tikki asked, brows furrowed and mouth twisting as though biting into something sour.

 Black Bat, barring Lady Blanc, was the only one to not immediately react in outrage at his words. His sister merely frowned and began slinking around the edge of the walkway towards the akumatised ribbon, whilst the rest were distracted by him. Just in case they all failed to talk her down peacefully.

 In contrast, Lady Blanc's own reaction was one of suspicious bemusement. Though she made no attempt to move neither closer nor any further away, that didn't mean she wasn't still a threat.

 “Because why does it matter?” Damian lifted his chin up and took a step closer to Lady Blanc, challenging her. “What makes an akumatisation so vastly unique in comparison to say any other tragic mass villain attack?”

 He turned to stare at his father and brother, equally daring them to argue against him. “We have faced villains who have rewritten the universe before, villains who have caused mass extinction events that we fixed before, and we have helped victims who have been labelled villains due to various reasons beyond their control no matter the damage they may have caused.”

 Puffing out his chest like an indignant robin as he took yet another step closer again, Damian continued, not letting a word in edgeways. “Why should an Akuma be treated any differently to those similar situations? And despite the time lost, trauma and pain suffered, and the damage remaining, the world still turns. The survivors still live, and the days still pass. And most importantly, those who were victims, are given a chance to heal after the tragedy.”

 Lady Blanc stood frozen in place as she listened and contemplated, face etched in distress.

 Taking his chance, Damian drew further towards her still, until he was between her and the ribbon.

 “As you said, the miraculous cannot fix anything. But no one, not you, nor the survivors, can heal until we undo or mitigate as much of the damage as possible. A wound will not heal if what caused the wound has yet to be removed.” Slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, Damian reached out to offer her his hand, nearly begging. “Please, will you let us help you heal?”

 With trembling hands, and a languishing resolve,  Lady Bl—Marinette—reached back. Wincing preemptively, she fragilely grasped his offer like a withering lifeline and clasped his hand in her own. A final sob tore from her throat when for the first time since becoming akumatised, the warmth did not hurt her.

 It didn't burn. She didn't melt. Nor thaw. Nor languish.

 But unbeknownst to Marinette, the ribbon did. The unyielding ice that had protected—sealed, guarded, trapped, imprisoned—it for so long finally thawed, leaving the Akuma inside vulnerable.

 Her knees buckled and it was only thanks to Damian's impeccable reflexes, that he was able to catch her before she could hit the ground. Causing the tension in the air to fracture and fade.

 “It's okay, you're safe now.” He assured her, as he held her in his arms. “It will be over soon.”

 Marinette shook her head, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, listening to the steady beat of his heart in one ear. “'M sorry, 'm sorry, 'm sorry, 'm sorry.” She gasped out in an avalanche, tears choking her words.

 He hugged her tighter in response, channelling how his family's hugs always made him feel—beloved and safe.

 Giving her a moment to recover herself, Damian soothingly rubbed her back in circles and gently asked. “Can we free you from your akumatisation, please?”

 Unable to immediately bring herself to words, Marinette nodded, cold tears trickling down her face and onto his shoulder.

 “Thank you, my beloved.” Damian responded, voice tinged by the hints of a warm smile as he stared at her in relief. Momentarily, he turned his head to nod at Black Bat and shifted his arm away from the hug just long enough to pass the Ladybug Miraculous over to her.

 He spared Marinette one more quick glance before returning his attention to his sister. Who, in a swift and elegant motion, tugged back her cowl and carefully fastened the earrings in place.

 Though Damian was soon distracted by tapping on his other shoulder in rapid succession: two short, two long, a pause, three short, three long, one short—one long—one short, one short—one long—one short, one long—one short—two long. A beat passed, and then the pattern repeated.

 “You don't need to apologise.” He muttered as gently as he could muster, turning his gaze back to her and continuing the soothing ministrations of rubbing her back. “Perhaps, you should focus on matching my breathing instead?”

 Marinette shook her head but ceased tapping nonetheless. Inhaling shakily, she tried to copy his breathing by the calming rise and fall of his chest. Soon, her cries softened, and her grief and fear melted—draining away like her will to fight had before. “Since when did you get so good at… this.”

 Sniffing haughtily, Damian hid his grin. “What are you talking about, I've always been excellent at comforting people.”

 “Yeah, only if we're calling animals people now.” Red Hood butted in.

 “That reminds me, Hood. From henceforth I shall be referring to all my pets as my "fur babies".” Damian replied.

 Marinette wheezed, not quite able to manage actually laughing yet.

 “Don't you dare! You used to agree with me on this!” Red Hood argued, staring at Damian aghast. “B, c'mon back me up here!”

 Sighing wearily, Batman shook his head, more focussed on gathering up the forgotten medical supplies, and re-equipping his own cape. “If Robin wants to do that, then so be it.”

 Red Hood's yelped in mock betrayal. “How could you!”

 “I shall name my next pet in your honour, father, in gratitude for your support,” Damian announced, nodding sagely. “And,” he continued dramatically, “a Furby in derision of Hood's lack thereof.”

 “See! Look at what you've done!” Red Hood hissed, throwing his hands up in exaggeration and turning around as if to leave. However, he moved only to grab his jacket and shrug it on instead.

 Marinette let the conversation lull before nudging Damian with her shoulder and staring at him quizzically. “You didn't actually answer my question?”

 He sighed, closing his eyes for a second. “After Paris remained frozen over for more than a day, I became very… worried for you. When the situation persisted beyond that first week and the Justice League failed to get in contact with you or any known heroes, yours or theirs, active in Paris at the time. Well, father put his foot down and convinced me to attend therapy.” He paused to take a deep breath. “It has helped significantly, suffice to say.”

 “I see,” she responded, voice pitching up on her next words in uncertainty, “that's good?”

 Damian nodded in agreement. “It is.”

 The conversation lulled to a stop again, as Black Bat and Tikki conversed softly in the background.

 Though Marinette still could not help the trembling gasp that escaped her, as she heard the words of the transformation echo in the repository. “Wait—”

 This was it.

 This would be her last moment before her memories would melt away as with how her akumatised form shall. Her last moment as Lady Blanc. As—

 She should do something. Anything. Before she loses it all and the timeline is prevented by Bunnyx, once again. No! She can't let this happen again, she can't let Hawkmoth win after this, after everything. “When you cast the cure…” Marinette started, words sticking to her tongue like ice, “Hawkmoth will—!”

 And yet, the indecision struck, paralysing her as though she were just another frozen statue in the repository. She struggled desperately to get the final warning out. “Don't let him—!”

 “We know,” He soothed, “we won't. It will be okay.” Damian promised, holding her carefully. “I promise you, cross my heart, Habib Albi.”

 Darkness rippled at the edges of her vision and distantly she watched as her icy suit began to boil and bubble that blackish-purple viscous magic of corruption. Desperately, she clawed through the lingering decision paralysis to pull away from Damian's shoulder.

 So that the last thing she saw, was the concerned but affectionate look in his eyes and the warmth of his smile, before being consumed by the bright purifying magic.

 A languishing wraith finally laid to clement rest.

———

 The first thing Marinette noticed, as the darkness and disorientation faded, was the familiar tingling of the Miraculous Cure having been cast. She froze, heart plummeting in her chest as she began to tremble.

 Quickly she took stock of her immediate awareness and blurry memories. One, she didn't remember casting the cure. Two, she wasn't transformed, she was in her civilian clothes. Three, her Miraculous was missing, her earrings were gone. Which can only mean, she couldn't have cast the cure. She had failed. And she can't remember what had happened—Oh, oh.

 The memories before the darkness sharpened in clarity, painfully so and Marinette nearly keened in distress as she connected the dots. She really did fail. Chat Noir and herself had confronted Hawkmoth in his lair and—

 —Her chest heaved as she gasped for breath, struggling to breathe with what little air her shallow breaths brought her.

 “You're okay, just breathe with me.” Damian's voice cut in, through the confusing fog of de-akumatising. Cradling her hands in his own. His hands were warm and gentle, grounding.

 Jerking her head in a shaky nod, she tried to match his breathing. Unsuccessful at first, but getting closer with each following breath.

 As she did so, Damian slowly and softly began to rub soothing circles on the back of her hands.

 Seconds passed like the gentle melting of unsettled snow overnight. And once her breathing finally evened out, she hesitatingly glanced up and towards where his voice had come from, to see him sitting in front of her on his knees. “What,” she paused to find her courage, “what happened? I remember Chat and I finally facing Hawkmoth. We had him cornered and then—”

 A sob tore from her throat as she spoke, cutting off her next words.

 Sighing deeply, Damian glanced away from her for but a brief moment as if to compose himself. “As you are most likely presuming, Hawkmoth akumatised you. We're not sure what was the inciting catalyst as you didn't announce it during our responding presence. Chat Noir does not appear to adequately remember what exactly occurred before your akumatisation either, nor was he conscious throughout any part of it.” He paused, tilting his head to gesture over his right shoulder and at Black Bat, who was lurking a few paces behind. “Before you worry, we dealt with Hawkmoth as soon as Black Bat cast the cure, all remains of what was affected by the akumatisation has been undone, healed.”

 “Oh…” Was all the response she could immediately muster, the numbness of the situation settling in like the first frost of a winter's morn.

 “Indeed,” he nodded, “if it brings you any comfort—”

 —Before Damian could continue, Red Hood cut him off with a lungful cheer from somewhere on the other side of the repository based on the faint echo—“AYY, CHAT NOIR KICKED HAWKFUCKER IN THE BALLS!”

 Which was unsurprisingly followed by Chat Noir making quite the strangled from-mild-embarrassment yelp. “I take back everything nice I've ever said about you, Hood!” Grousing, a slap echoed throughout the repository. From the sounds of it, he had either dramatically flung a hand over his face, or he had slapped Red Hood in the face; though it was most likely the former rather than the latter considering there was no further yelling. Sighing loudly, Chat Noir continued, voice growing more and more distanced as his footsteps faded away. “Let me,” pausing most certainly for the dramatics of it, “become one with the ice again and melt into oblivion so I never have to hear what you just yelled ever again. 'Kay, thanks, bye!”

 If the sudden patter of footsteps followed by the swoosh of the lift were anything to go by, he had truly just up and skedaddled away from Red Hood—perhaps he did actually slap him.

 Huffing lightly in laughter, Marinette cracked a small and hesitant smile up at Damian. “At least things are returning to normal then, right? Since they're both… they're not… y'know.”

 “About that,” Damian closed his eyes slowly and breathed in slowly, when he opened them again, his gaze was one of languishing guilt. “Habibti, you were akumatised for far longer than any previously known victim.”

 And oh, how for a moment she could hear her heartbeat pounding in her chest, like the echoing of an avalanche crashing down around her. Leaving her breathless in a wretched sort of deathless, with the whispers of snow-melt memories that had since rotted into nothingness. Intangible yet frangible as it slipped through her freezing cold fingers. A wraith of what she had become.

 “How long?” She asked, not quite begging—not quite reluctant either. Nevertheless, the words hung heavy in the air as though they were the executioner, readying the guillotine's blade over her neck.

 “Marinette,” he started, voice laden with an uneasy tinge of desperation. Biting his tongue, Damian grimaced and shook his head slightly, gaze flickering away from her to fixate on a point behind her. But still, he swallowed a breath of air thickly, and pulled out the calming hero voice. “My beloved, no one blames you. It was not your fault.”

 Pursing her lips, Marinette prised her hands out of his and curled them into fists upon her lap. Brooking no dispute, she repeated once more, words hanging heavier still. “How long?”

 Damian sighed, flicking his gaze back to her. “You were akumatised for four months before we could purify your Akuma. I'm sorry we couldn't reach you sooner.”

 “It's fine,” Marinette answered automatically, without hesitation, “you tried your best.” She licked at her lip quickly, before chewing at it. “But no, that confirms it.” Lightly shaking her head, she huffed near silently. “Not the longest Akuma then.”

 “What?” Damian cut in, brow creased and lips curling downwards in confusion and concern.

 Giggling humourlessly, Marinette shut her eyes and shook her head again—more forcefully this time—what remained of her earlier smile twisted into something hollow—a ghost shell. “Blanc was akumatised for over half a year.”

 At her laugh, Damian couldn't help but tense and lurch back. Mentally, he rattled through every known Akuma recorded on the Ladyblog or mentioned by Marinette or another Miraculous wielder, but all his answers came up blank. Cautiously, he reached his hand out and gently set it over one of hers. “Who is this Blank? There is no record of an Akuma by that name.”

 “No.” Sniffling slightly, she clasped at his hand like a lifeline, blinking her eyes open for but a second only to squeeze them shut once again as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “No, there wouldn't be. He's the one who preceded me, from before. But it's fine now, he's gone, and the cure fixed it, fixed him, freed him. It's fine. It's—” her breath hitched, “—fine.”

 Softly, he tsked, tenderly rubbing circles into the back of her hand once more. “But you're not fine.”

 “Please,” she whispered, heart breaking audibly like the cracking of ice, “don't. You know I can't afford to not be.”

 Damian was reminded violently of Lady Blanc, the ghost shell of her heart, and the words she spoke during their final confrontation—the slips of truth never elaborated upon, and forgotten memories stolen away by the purifying magic—he shook her hand gently to emphasise. “Not anymore, you do not have to. Hawkmoth has been apprehended—Red Hood and Chat Noir are transferring him to the local authorities as we speak—and his Miraculous has been confiscated, which is currently being overseen by Wonder Woman. You are safe now, beloved. You can rest.”

 A sob was wrenched from her throat, tears spilling down her face as she shook her head. “I'm Ladybug,” she scarcely breathed, trembling beneath the weight of the words, “I'll never be safe, not whilst I bear this burden alone.”

  Delicately, he pulled into yet another gentle hug, trying not to think of how easily he could almost hear Lady Blanc uttering the same in devastation.

 Making a small noise in his mouth, Damian lifted one hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “There is no need for you to be Ladybug at this moment, and regardless of whether you continue wielding the miraculous or remain under the mantle, you're not alone. You have myself always, and Chat Noir along with your other chosen Miraculous holders, both our families, Wonder Woman, and the rest of the Justice League. You need not continue to carry your burden alone, my dear.”

 “You make it sound,” Marinette paused to sniffle again, inhaling sharply, heart stuttering, “so easy, mon chou.” A heavy grief drenched her words, clinging like winter's final frost.

 “Because it is, Angel, I know it may not seem like it but it's true. Though it may take time for you to accept this, as I've said, I will be by your side always. If you need a helping hand, then I will lend mine to you. If you need protection, then any of us would happily offer to shield you. If you need a shoulder to cry on, then you have ours to lean upon. It will not be easy, regardless of your choice going forwards, but you will never be alone again, I promise.”

 A hundred heartbeats passed in silence as Marinette chewed her lips before she spoke again. “Is that a promise you can keep?”

 Damian huffed, reaching out to hold her hands once more, with a gentle shake for emphasis. “Not even my last dying breath could keep me from fulfilling this promise, I swear upon my life.”

 As he finished speaking, he placed her hands over where his heart lay in his chest. “I swear, Ya Hayati.”

 “I—” Marinette started with a whisper, she swallowed her words and her breath, feeling the beat of his heart in her hands. “—Okay. Okay, I trust you, Mon Cœur.”

 He nodded his head, still clutching her hand upon his chest as a small smile graced his face. “Thank you, my dear.”

 Then, he leaned towards her until their foreheads met, hers far cooler to the touch than his.

 It was Marinette's turn to huff, in faint amusement this time, her own equally small smile growing the longer they stayed like this.

 They held each other in that loose embrace for a few minutes, before Damian interrupted the sombre silence surrounding them. “What would you say to a kiss, my beloved?”

 “Oh? Well, that'd depend on the kind of kiss, wouldn't it, hmm?” She teased back softly, eyes twinkling in the low light of the lair. And though she tried to hide it, a sliver of sorrow still shone beneath that fragile lightness of relief held within.

 Damian moved to lean back, squinting at her with a furrowing brow and pursing lips. “If you do not—”

 “No!” Marinette cut in frenetically, eyes widening and squeezing at his hand to pull him back in close. “No! No, I do. I really do.” She chewed her lip and swallowed, gaze casting downwards for a moment. “Sorry, I'm still…”

 Exhaling slowly, Damian's eyelids fluttered closed. “You do not need to explain yourself to me, we have plenty of time for you to recover from this ordeal. As such, we can always kiss later, should you still be willing.”

 “No, no, no, it's okay, I promise. I would like one, I would like a kiss from you,” glancing back up to face him, a hint of nervousness to her voice. “That is, if you're still offering?”

 He inhaled just as slowly as before and blinked open his eyes to stare at her unrelentingly. “Are you certain?”

 Nodding, she squeezed his hand again, gently. “Yes.”

 “Then you are okay with me kissing you now? Upon the lips?” He questioned just as intently but no less softly.

“Absolutely.” Without hesitation, she uttered as she nodded once more, lips curling into a small soft smile.

 “Okay then.” He answered.

 Ever so slowly, Damian gradually leant in once more, giving ample time for her to interrupt or stop him if she desired.

 But she did not. She, instead, also leant in.

 And so hand in hand, cradled against Damian's heart still, their lips met. Ever so warmly did they tenderly kiss.

 After a few moments, they parted, leaning back from one another again, neither out of breath so much so as the kiss had come to its natural gentle end.

 Marinette's shoulders shuddered as she drew in a breath. Tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I love you.” She whispered under her breath.

 Damian, on the other hand, seemed just as unshakeable as usual. He frowned at her, “are you okay, beloved?”

 Wordlessly, she nodded once more, sniffling slightly as the pricking tears began to fall.

 Alarmed, Damian let go of her hand like it burnt, desperately hunting for a tissue or for something—anything—else that could help.

 Only to be interrupted yet again, as Marinette darted forwards, head falling into the crook of his neck, and arms wrapping around him in a tight hug. “Thank you.” She whispered, with a voice trembling just as much as her body. “I love you, Mon Cœur, so, so, so, so much.”

 He hesitated, frozen in position like a dreaded ice statue, before slowly wrapping his arms around her in return. “And I, you, Ya Hayati.”

 Damian rubbed soothing circles into her back. “When you're ready, the others are waiting for us outside in the courtyard of the Agreste manor.”

 Marinette sniffled. “I don't know if I can face everyone, not after this.”

 He faltered for a moment, hands stilling as he was sharply reminded of the near similar conversation they had had earlier, whilst she was still akumatised. “You may not remember but you implied something not dissimilar to that, as an Akuma.”

 “I did?” She asked, blinking back tears, an edge of morbid curiosity and dread in her voice.

 Humming in confirmation, he continued to try and soothe her. “You did. You didn't believe that you deserved to be de-akumatised—forgiven—for what you had done under Hawkmoth's influence. But you're not the first person we've cared for, who's been forced to hurt others because of the influence of another. The others won't hold it against you. Nor will your city. You've told me before, how the other heroes have all been akumatised before, Chat Noir and yourself included now.”

 He paused, both in breath and movement, to let his next words sink in. “No one will blame you, you tried your best and it worked out in the end. It's over, Hawkmoth has been defeated thanks to you.”

 Unable to hold back the tears of relief, she sobbed into his shoulder. “Thank you.”

 “Of course.” He answered gently, resuming the soothing motion.

 A good five minutes passed, of him cradling her in his arms, before her sobs and shaking faded to faint sniffles and drying tear tracks.

 Breathing in slowly, she squeezed her eyes shut and nodded in determination. “I'm ready.”

 “Are you certain?” Damian checked, leaning back and dropping his arms to his sides.

 She opened them again and looked him in the eyes. “Yes, I am, Mon Chou.”

 “Good.” Damian responded, already moving to stand, offering a hand up to her as he did. “Then let us go join the others.”

 Hand in hand, he lead her back across the walkway (they had fought upon it, how strange that it felt like a lifetime ago already), over to the lift.

 The walk from the lift's exit in Gabriel's study, to the courtyard was quiet and uneventful but it was comforting just to have Damian by her side. Waiting in the middle of said courtyard, was the unmistakable sight of the Batplane.

 With hesitant steps, Marinette let herself be led into the batplane's interior, a warm rush of air greeting her from the vents of the vehicle. And there, within, with gentle smiles of relief, stood them.

 Batman, at the emergency medical bed of the plane, pausing in the packing away of the medical kit and containment of used supplies to look up at her, relief etched into every wrinkle not hidden by the mask. He nodded at her firmly, and hummed in consolation before returning to his task.

 Nightwing, lounging across the pilot's seat improperly so that he was facing both his family and the console screen of the plane's controls, seemingly in the middle of contacting Oracle. He spun around in the seat, grinning dazzlingly at her, as he waved a hand. “Hey! Good to see you back!”

 Oracle, though not in person; her symbol on the console screen flashed brightly for a second. “Marinette! We've all missed you. Hopefully, you're feeling okay now?”

 Cass, stepping forwards from the shadows by the passenger seats on one side, and offered out her hand; in which the ribbon, that had been Marinette's akumatised object, and the ladybug Miraculous earrings lay. A requiem.

 Jason, smirking at Tim and Adrien from his seat next to her, turned his attention to her and cocked his head to one side, staring at her unperturbed. “You're looking a hell of a lot better than you were earlier. Good for you.”

 Tim, nursing a travel mug of coffee, smiled tiredly and waved at her with one hand for a second, then continued listening idly and patting Adrien on the shoulder in a sort of awkward half-hug of commiseration.

 Adrien, huddled on a seat, still clearly mortified from earlier apparently, as his face was in his hands until he heard her footsteps. His face pinched, a thousand words left unsaid as the weight of their heroics pinned him in place. “M'lady…” He grimaced though the corners of his lips twitched up into a little grin, tearing up slightly as he watched her. “I'm glad you're safe now.”

 Damian, behind her, took her hand and squeezed gently, offering a tender smile.

 If she hadn't already cried her heart out minutes ago, then undoubtedly she would have burst into tears once again, at the warm and welcoming sight.

 She was home, happy, safe, loved, and warm.

 And at the end of it all, she had been wrong; it was never doomed from the start.

———

| Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this long oneshot! Comments, Kudos, and Bookmarks are much appreciated! |

| If you want to try braving the shorter uwu-speak version, see the [UwU] and [OwO] links here, or at the beginning! You will not be compensated for any psychic damage taken due to reading that, however! |

| Feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I’ll be more than happy to answer! |

| However, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

| Lastly, if you want to create fic, or art, or podfic, or anything else based on this fic/au, or use it as inspo then feel free too, just as long as you tag me (if on Tumblr), or (if on Ao3) use Ao3's inspired by option, as I'd love to be able to see it! <3 |

| Once again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading! And I hope you have a wonderful end to the year, and a happy new year! |

[patataatomica5]

Heeeello hello, so remember those headcanons I was writing about Fear & Hunger??? Well it came true, I am currently writing the fic on AO3 next to other Game of thrones one.

Its name (kinda provisional) is Fear the Dark and it is the first fanfic i write in english OwO

Sadly for my english speaking folks the Game of thrones one is writen in spanish, but I plan on translating it in the future.

I will leave the link to my AO3 RIGHT HERE if you wanna read it.

[restlessfandoming]

“keep your enemies close” (pt. 1) (chilumi fic)

Lumine wants to join The Fatui Harbingers. Childe does not like this, but he may have no other option.

[Fic Masterlist] // [AO3 Link]

note: hey y’all. it’s been a while…ehe. sorry for the disappearance–life gets in the way sometimes ya know? anyways, i’ve been wanting to return to genshin for a while, and then that Harbinger reveal video dropped so now i am here HEEHEE. 

I am absolutely not caught up with any of the story/events since the end of the Inazuma arc (around Yae Miko’s release), so some information may be off lol. i am also pretty rusty with writing ;_; 

i know this concept has probably been hashed out a billion times, especially with the release of the new vid, but i just wanted to write itttttttt ;__; and rn i am honestly not too sure how long this will be owo

i hope you all will enjoy!

“keep your enemies close” (pt. 1)

“I want to become a Harbinger.” Of course, Lumine had mulled it over and over again, but she never expected the words to leave her mouth.

Childe stared blankly at her—and for a second, Lumine thought he didn’t hear her correctly—until he burst out laughing: boisterously, holding his sides, and wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. 

“You have such an odd sense of humor,” he said in-between inhales of breath. “It’s a good thing I find you funny.”

Lumine frowned. “It wasn’t a joke, Childe.” 

He blinked, smile falling, the lines of his face becoming taut. “That better be another joke, comrade.”   

“I assure you, it is not,” she reiterated. 

After the events of Inazuma, and witnessing, yet again, the unraveling of Fatui plans, Lumine truly realized how far the Snezhnayan diplomats had sunk their teeth into every single nation. They had the connections and knowledge she needed, everything to find Aether again. She needed them to find out what was this “truth” Aether had spoken of, about the “war” they would have to fight before they could finally leave this world. 

Her brother had told her to continue traveling Teyvat, and with the Fatui established all throughout the land, she could do so easily if she was on their side. Not to mention it was becoming a real pain having the Fatui getting in the way of her travels every single time she moved forward; if she was a Harbinger, they couldn’t bother her any longer. 

And with the death of Signora, seeing how easily the Raiden Shogun disintegrated her with no mercy, Lumine was growing weary of The Seven. How Zhongli could never tell her what she needed to know, despite knowing she was desperate for information. How she always had to step in to help these Archons. These were all-powerful beings that needed a now significantly less powerful Traveler—someone who wasn’t even of their world—to help them with their issues? How could they be expected to look after their own land, their own people? So maybe Lumine could sympathize with the Harbingers’—The Tsaritsa’s—mission: to seize authority from these so-called gods, to take away their power they didn’t deserve. 

“You guys have a vacancy anyways, right?” Lumine continued. 

A glint in his eyes. “With thanks to you,” he said, his voice amused, though still with an underlying seriousness. “But that doesn’t mean you can just come and fill in for Signora.”

“You said once that I should join the Fatui. Why are you against it now?”

“Time changes things.” Childe glanced out the window of the teahouse room they were in. “And you were very adamant about staying away from the Fatui before. Why do you want to join now?” 

“Time changes things,” Lumine echoed. 

Childe looked back at her, his blue eyes twitching in amusement once more. “You do understand that the Harbingers aren’t the greatest fans of yours?”

Lumine scoffed. “I’m sure I would fit right in then. You all never got along in the first place.”

He snorted. “You’re not wrong.” He leaned in, just a bit. “Is this the only reason why you asked to meet?”

“You’re my only connection to the Harbingers, to the Tsaritsa. And we’re somewhat friendly, right?” she responded. “Can you help me?”

He held her gaze for a second. “Somewhat friendly…,” he murmured. Then, he stood up. “I can’t help you.” He started for the door.

“What?” Lumine shot up, rushing to Childe. “Why not?”

He looked down at her, his face uncharacteristically grim. “This wouldn’t end well for you. You don’t know the Harbingers like I do.”

“I can handle myself.”

A small chuckle. “I know.”

“Then let me in.” 

Childe sighed. “The answer is no. I’m sorry, Lumine.” 

She stood in place, watching Childe exit the teahouse, too shocked to move. 

She had honestly expected him to say yes, to enthusiastically accept, and whisk her off to Snezhnaya straight away to join their ranks. 

Why did he say no? 

* * *

Childe was glad Lumine wasn’t here. 

Well, he was never glad when she wasn’t around.

But staring at his fellow harbingers around him now, feeling the absolute poison radiating from them merely standing there, he was completely convinced his denial of Lumine’s request was the right call. 

All day, all the time, he was surrounded by darkness, deceit, death—and Lumine was none of those. She was like a little light in his life, something he didn’t think he would find in any one other than his family. Maybe that’s why he felt the need to protect her. 

So no, he wouldn’t let her be corrupted, not like he was. She was good, he was bad; and he would keep it that way—

“Tartaglia,” Pierro’s voice boomed, shaking Childe from his thoughts. 

He cleared his throat. “Yes, Pierro?” 

“He had asked you of your findings in Inazuma,” Arlecchino sighed. “We are discussing important matters, and here you are daydreaming.”

“Tch. How incompetent,” Sandrone muttered. Childe narrowed his eyes at her. 

“Enough,” Pierro said. “I did not ask for all this fodder—only for information of The Balladeer’s whereabouts.” 

Childe exhaled his frustration. “Nothing. There isn’t a single trace of him anywhere in Inazuma.” 

“Perhaps he has left Inazuma then,” Capitano suggested. “What could possibly be his goal?”

“He would not have left Inazuma,” Dottore countered. He swished the vial of glowing liquid in his hand. “He had long yearned for the Raiden’s Gnosis. One can only assume he desires to overtake his creator—to become the Electro Archon himself.”

Sandrone rolled her eyes. “Good riddance. We do not need self-serving traitors in our midst.”

Pulcinella cleared his throat. “Even if you did not enjoy his company, we still must find him; he possesses a great asset: a Gnosis our Tsaritsa needs.”

“Shall I go to Inazuma in Tartaglia’s stead?” Columbina nearly sang; a smile stretched across her lips. “I would find Scaramouche in no time.” 

The thought of Columbina coming across Lumine set Childe’s gut ablaze. “No,” he said, perhaps a little too quickly. “I will find him.”

“Do try not to level an entire city this time,” Pantalone interjected. “Your mistakes in Liyue were costly ones, and I may not be so merciful next time.” 

“If Signora had just told me what was happening then maybe that wouldn’t have happened.” Childe’s jaw tightened. “All those lies. And look what it caused,” he added bitterly. 

“You may not agree with Signora’s methods,” Arlecchino glared at Childe, “but she got what she was after—Morax’s Gnosis. You, on the other hand, were too busy being beaten by that Traveler.”

Childe laughed darkly. “Need I remind you that Traveler also bested Signora, who you oh-so admire?” 

There was a moment of silence as each Harbinger thought of Signora’s untimely demise. 

Columbina hummed a small tune, as if in thought. “Hm, she seems to be a real thorn in our side.” Another smile. “I will take care of her, Pierro.” 

Childe’s mouth went dry. “Who? The Traveler?” No no no.

“Who else, you buffoon?” Sandrone scoffed. “You were just speaking of her.”

“I agree,” Capitano said. “She is hindering Her Majesty’s plans. She must be dealt with.” 

NO! Childe’s heart hammered away furiously in his chest. Once it was decided Lumine was to be killed, his comrades would do everything in their power to make it happen. I have to stop this. But how? What can I do—

“Is something the matter, Childe?” Dottore inquired. He had stopped spinning his vial. “Your heart rate seems to have increased significantly.” 

All of the Harbingers had their eyes on Childe. He swore he heard the blood rushing from his head. I need to think of something, ANYTHING.

“I don’t agree.” The words had slipped out of his mouth. His mind was at a loss. I have to protect her.

“So what?” Arlecchino sneered. “Your opinion doesn’t matter. If the rest of us want her dead, then she will be killed—”

“Childe is just as much a Harbinger as you are, Arlecchino,” Pulcinella interrupted. “His opinion does matter.” He turned his gaze to Childe. “Why are you against eliminating this Traveler, Tartaglia?”

There was one way to get out of this. Lumine was right, there was a vacancy in their ranks, and the Tsaritsa was always looking for worthy warriors to serve her. This would save her. Please.

Childe took in a shaky breath. 

“I think the Traveler should become a Harbinger.” 

… 

The room was silent once again. 

…

Then, the Harbingers broke out into a chorus of voices.

“Are you insane? She killed Signora and you want her here?” Arlecchino growled. 

Capitano nodded. “She cannot be trusted.”

“Well, she does seem like a powerful asset to have,” Pantalone mused. 

“And her powers and strength grow with each passing day,” Dottore said. “Somehow…”

“And what makes you think she even wants to join us?” Sandrone questioned. “She considers us her enemies, hence her constantly thwarting our plans.” 

Columbina tilted her head. “The Traveler on our side? How very interesting…”

“Silence,” Pierro commanded. He stared down Childe, his blue eye aglow. “Are you personally recruiting this Traveler? Without the approval of the Tsaritsa?”

“I am. Just like how you recruited Dottore, Pantalone, Signora…and Scaramouche,” Childe said, “Who, as we all know, actually did betray us.”

Even without a change in his expression, Childe knew Pierro was unhappy with his remark. But he needed any leverage he could get, anything to keep Lumine alive. 

“Perhaps we can bring her here. See this Traveler for ourselves,” Pulcinella said. “Grant an audience with her and the Tsaritsa. Her Majesty will know right away if the Traveler is to be trusted.”

“But Pierro’s recruits—” Childe started. 

“Are a different story,” Pulcinella interjected. “None of his recruits had done anything worthy of suspicion at that time. This Traveler, on the other hand, has continuously halted various operations of ours, slain countless Fatui members, and caused the downfall of Signora.” 

“It’s a wonder we let her live this long,” Arlecchino mumbled. 

“Pulcinella is right,” Capitano said. “Her Majesty will know exactly what to do with this Traveler.” 

“Her Majesty knows all,” Pierro echoed. “Tartaglia, you will bring the Traveler here at once—to let her fate be decided by our great Tsaritsa.” 

Childe nodded, suppressing the urge to smile. He did it. Lumine would live to see another day. 

But the worry didn’t subside from his chest. Yes, she would live, but for how much longer? He glanced at his fellow Harbingers—all bloodthirsty in their own ways. How long until they devoured her?

He had bought her some time, but now, Childe would have to bring Lumine to these demons. 

A rabbit straight into a wolf’s den. 

* * *

[part 2]

[zelda7999]

'Letting them sleep when they should be awake' and/or 'Staying awake just in case they have a nightmare' from the sleeping prompts owo - @clxckwork-sun-n-moon

So I went a little ham with this one! Enjoy!! (that's why it took me nearly 12 hours to answer your ask ksjdlhafkljshdf)

Here's the Ao3 link -> Here!

and below the cut is the Tumblr version!

Title: Better with Company Part 2 | Words: 1'667

Better with Company Part 2

Eclipse’s apartment had changed ever so slightly since your last couple visits. Things seemed a little more organized, and the biggest change was furniture was moved and his room now contained a bed. He didn’t need that, but you weren’t about to mention that.

 “Did you get another desk chair?”

 Because of course the spare chair by his work desk was the more important change in the room. His original desk chair is still there, a simple wheelie chair, the kind you would find in an underfunded office space. Meanwhile the new chair beside it (also having wheels) is plush and comfortable looking. There was even a neck rest on it. A neck rest that Eclipse would be way too tall to use.

 “Yes, I did! When we spend time together we have a habit of taking work home with us. Many times working at the same desk for hours at a time! So I got you a chair.”

 Most times prior when that happened you had been sitting, and Eclipse opted for standing. Now if you so choose both of you could sit and work side by side. Though you subtly wished there was still only one chair, because if Eclipse sat first you knew exactly where you would find a seat.

 “That’s so thoughtful! You didn’t have to!”

 “I wanted to, not to worry!”

 A warm smile eases softly onto your features. He was so good to you, he had no reason to be this kind. You two weren’t together, and you had only been coworkers for a few months now! You were still practically brand new, but you can’t deny how well the two of you clicked. Being around him was easy, you didn’t have to try. It seemed to be the same for him as well. There was no effort in your relationship, everything was as if you’d known each other for years and not just months.

 “So when did you get the chair?”

 “Hmm… Last you were here was one week ago, I believe I got it the following Wednesday.”

 “Oh wow. Really? I- Wow! Thank you.”

 Stop hyper fixating on the chair, there were better things to talk about. More important things to talk about, such as why he had purchased a whole bed despite not needing it. At least the chair made sense, you spent a good amount of time there. Several hours at a time were spent there, simply enjoying each others company and talking for hours.

 “Are you hungry?”

 You attention snaps back to reality, Eclipse just asked you a question and you had to answer.

 “Yes, but I could just order some food and pick it up downstairs. It’s no issue, I know you probably don’t typically keep food in your apartment.”

 “Nonsense! I have some for you!”

 The smile from before grows even further, a dusting of pink now hitting your cheeks. Was he really adding things to his apartment for you? A chair, a bed, and even some food? These weren’t things an animatronic would typically have. A chair, normal. A bed… Less so. Food? Definitely not normal.

 “You really don’t have to do all this for me! I only come over sometimes after all. I would hate to burden you…”

 Eclipse shakes his head, and takes your hands into his. A tight and comforting squeeze follows the action.

 “I do this because I want to. I enjoy your company! Simple as that, and I want you to be comfortable when we spend time together.”

 “But going as far as to buy food? What if I don’t come one week?”

 “You don’t pack lunches for work, I could simply bring you a lunch.”

 Your face feels like it’s on fire now. You’re sure that if you could see yourself you would be glowing like the sunset on a summers day. A bright a vibrant colour to match even the most ruby of reds.

 “Y-You really don’t have to do that! It’s okay! I can- I can take care of myself, really! But- but uhm… Since you have it… I suppose let’s not waste it. What did you buy?”

 Eclipse shows you to his new food cupboard. It’s thankfully not a lot, and most of it is snacks. You recognize every single brand in there, all of these you’ve eaten while at work before. Some of them you recall Eclipse asking you about. Nothing in the cupboard is especially perishable. Nothing to worry about. Thankfully. You grab something small to satisfy for now and then claim a spot on the couch beside Eclipse. The two of you invading the others personal space happily.

 While you eat your chosen snack of the night, you suggest doing a small round of 20 questions. Though you knew that both of you would get distracted before ever reaching 20. The first few questions Eclipse asks you are mostly about your preferences on things. He asks about foods, drinks, if you generally liked warmer or colder temperatures, if there were textures you didn’t like, sounds that weren’t pleasant, and a few other things. The answers roll off your tongue easily. Then it’s your turn to ask him some questions.

 You knew he had brothers, they were mentioned before but you didn’t pry much then as it was more in passing they were mentioned. You knew their names at least.

 “Oh, my brothers? They’re agents too, Dawn and Dusk. However, they’re field agents and live across the city from us. They’re in the sister city connected to us.”  

 “So they’re the ones who get to go out and do undercover stuff? Like you see in the movies?”

 “My brother Sun does that part mostly. He dresses the part too!”

 “I’m picturing a full suit and fancy clothes 24/7. Am I close?”

 “Exactly!”

 Giggles erupt from your throat, you clap your hands together a bit to stim the excitement down a little. Of course he was! That little bit sparks joy, and then Eclipse continues talking about them. Telling you what Moon does, mentioning how both Sun and Moon have their own person too and how he didn’t understand why neither of them made a move. You understood why Moon didn’t make a move with Robin, the whole Rivalry thing and being coworkers (like you and Eclipse aren’t?) but you didn’t understand why Sun didn’t make a move. They were already neighbours!

 You continue making light hearted fun of Sun and Moon for a bit. Then Eclipse has an idea, an idea that you absolutely want to go along with. He takes his phone out and you lean a little closer to him as he takes a selfie of the two of you. Promptly sending a playful message afterwards mentioning you were staying the night at his place. You ask if you can send a message, and Eclipse shrugs in a ‘why not’ manner before handing you the phone. You had the perfect thing to add, a winky face. More giggles escape you uncontrollably and Eclipse joins in upon seeing your addition.

 A couple more conversation topics come and go, you grab a few more snacks as the hours trail by. At some point Eclipse put on a movie, but you don’t remember it due to well… Falling asleep beside Eclipse on the couch. That would explain why he had been talking less, he was letting you fall asleep. Credit to him where it due however, he was successful in doing so.

—

 Eclipse waited a couple minutes to make sure you really were asleep. As soon as he confirmed it, he had a mission. Move you to the bed without waking you up. This was the only time being so close together was proving to be a problem. Two of his arms were already around you, but with how you had fallen asleep a good half of you was leaning on him. Maybe if he picked you up first it would be the best move, he would simply have to stand up after that.

 Deciding this was his best option, with the arms already around you he pushed you up gently and then scooped your legs up with his other arms. So far, so good. You were in his arms and still asleep. He’s about to stand up and in act part two of the plan when your asleep form shifts and cuddles into him. His inner mechanisms whirr at the action, his metaphorical heart sang from the action. He still needed to get you to bed however, despite how much as he wanted to stay like this the entire night. So he gets up and enters his bedroom, the bed is still freshly made and ready.

 You’re delicately put under the covers and then tucked in. Plan successfully completed, now he could- You near instantly whimper at the loss of contact, turning over and hugging the blanket. Eclipse didn’t take this into account. What if you had a nightmare? He couldn’t just leave you here all night. That decides it for him, he’ll stay by you just in case a nightmare does happen. Then he can either wake you up or comfort you. Eclipse eases his way onto the other side of the bed and sits down. For a moment he entertains the idea of pulling you close again, but maybe you wouldn’t appreciate that. Not while you slept.

 You however manage to completely end his internal debate. Unconscious you rolls over once more and grabs at his waist. All his arms fly up in surprise, then he settles down once more. Okay… Maybe you would have been okay with it, or you would also be surprised once you wake up. Either way, he smiles down at you and a hand gently plays with your hair. No nightmares would find their way to you tonight, after all! He was on nightmare duty. A very real job, and definitely not just a reason to stay close to you. Right? Right.

[commonwealthoccurences]

One Day At A Time

Ao3 Link

Request: can i get something with cait triggering a female sole survivor's later in life gay awakening and both of them being awkward about it? like i feel like cait is used to being more blunt and forward, but with the ss, it's more uncertain bc of the whole dead husband & missing child thing and doesn't want to scare off her one real friend; with a repressed f!ss, i feel like there would be a lot of fear and feeling "am i allowed to feel like this and also do i even care". i just think this pairing is underrated and has a lot of potential owo

Word Count: 2,742

Contains: Female, sapphic SoSu, internalized homophobia and misogyny. Pre-War times viewed through the lens of it being closer to the 1950s in vibes. Less escapism and more realism in this one. Internal conflict with a happy ending. Cait has trauma (obviously). Canon typical violence. Mutual pining.

It wasn’t right.

At least that’s what Sole told herself, before she buried every thought related to it. 

All of her life, her identity had been defined by everyone else. Before the War, she was Nate’s Wife. Her official title, like it was branded on her forehead and the only thing people saw, before they even saw her as a person. Then, she was the mother of Nate’s child. Shawn’s mother. Nate’s wife and Shawn’s mother. Never Sole.

Not even a nuclear war changed that.

She was the widow, the woman with a missing son, a heartbreaking story that spread though Diamond City, then the Commonwealth as a whole, as her reputation grew. Did you hear how she lost her husband? Did you hear that her son was kidnapped? Sole was offered condolences before she was asked about herself, given pity before congratulations at how she stepped up to take charge of and rebuild the Minutemen. A widow before a leader. A mother before a person.

Sometimes, the anger was so overwhelming Sole had to grit her teeth to keep from punching something. It was astonishing, the way bombs had dropped and her entire world had ended, and yet she couldn’t escape the way she was never her own person. Always what she could give, never what she could accomplish.

Sometimes, the guilt ate her alive. and she wished she had never survived the war.

What kind of mother, what kind of person was irritated that she was defined by her son and a dead husband who had supposedly loved her? What kind of mother was so selfish as to want to be anything but? Of course, she would give anything to get Shawn back, even to just get closure and find out what had happened to him. That was a given. But every interaction was a reminder of what she had no longer had, and the way she would never be the same.

It seemed that the only recognizable thing about her, to strangers amongst the Commonwealth, was her grief. Her loss.

Until she met Cait.

Until there was a turning point in their friendship. 

That fight at the Combat Zone had left them both panting and bruised, spitting blood onto the dirty floor, which had already been riddled with stains of the countless fights beforehand. Sole had never felt more alive, being reduced to the bare bones of her identity as someone who could fight. Who survived. Not nurturing, but destructive. 

There was relief in the stinging pain of her split lip. 

And there was panic in the way she felt her heart stutter when Cait stood first, swaying on her feet, and reached out a hand to help Sole up. She was backlit by the overhead lights and there was respect in her eyes, a glimmer of a challenge as the blood from her knuckles dripped down onto the ground beside Sole.

Sole took her hand and nearly stumbled into Cait when she hauled her to her feet, but she couldn’t be sure if it was due to her injuries or something else. With a smirk and a nod, Cait clapped her on the shoulder and left to go treat her own wounds. That was the routine. Sole never followed her, never helped. They stuck to the routine until they didn’t.

Sole watched Cait’s contract become more and more ridiculous, the fights becoming higher and higher stakes, and she knew it would end fatally one day if things kept escalating. The rage came bubbling back up, for a different reason this time. Cait had no way to get out on her own– she knew that if she took off she would be found, and she’d die anyway.

So maybe Sole wasn’t the greatest decision maker and had some impulse issues. They could argue about that another time. Even if Cait hated her for intervening, holding strong to her conviction of being entirely independent no matter the cost, Sole couldn’t stand idly by. Maybe there was still some of that protective nature left in her, or maybe she was just that quick to fly off the handle.

Regardless, Sole hadn’t hesitated to kick down the door to the Combat Zone and start firing. The audience was full of raiders, only interested in watching Cait get the shit kicked out of her in creative ways, and so she felt no guilt. And she still felt no guilt when she held the barrel of her gun underneath the chin of Cait’s contract-holder and calmly asked for her release.

Scum to the end, said holder offered her the transfer of the contract for a small sum of caps. A generous offer, really, he insisted. Cait was a fighter– a weapon. Sole still didn’t feel guilt when she pulled the trigger and felt his blood splatter her face.

Cait had stared at her with a weight in her gaze, though Sole couldn’t figure out what it was. Years later, Cait would recall that it was the first time she could remember someone ever protecting her. At that time, however, she had simply walked away to clean her wounds. Sole, fatefully, followed her.

Her little refuge from the rest of the Combat Zone turned out to be a dark room, hardly lit by a flickering light over a sink. Cait’s cot was in one corner on the floor, riddled with tears in the fabric and bloodstains from the nights she didn’t have the energy to patch herself up. There was a sink and a toilet that Sole was surprised were even provided, and a little stack of non-perishable food in the corner.

All of the times Sole had bit back an offer to let Cait come to Sanctuary rang back to her in her head. She knew it wouldn’t have ended well. Any time Cait got an inkling that something offered could turn into a debt, she lashed out and ran. Sole didn’t blame her, exactly, especially considering she had enough on her plate when it came to owing people, but Sole’s chest ached for a reason she refused to place.

“Sit.” Cait pointed at the sink.

Was it even steady enough? Sole could tell there was no room to argue, however, at the venom in Cait’s tone. She braced her hands on the cold ceramic and hopped up, wincing as she exasperated a slash in her thigh– a raider had snuck up on her at one point and though she acted quickly, they managed to get a quick jab at her with a knife as they went down. The adrenaline was wearing off and it was making itself known; with every beat of her heart, it throbbed.

Cait wasn’t gentle, though Sole never expected her to be. One hand gripped Sole’s jaw, her fingernails close to digging into her skin, and the other dragged a damp rag across Sole’s face. It came away bloody every time and this seemed to frustrate Cait more as she continued swiping. The abrasive cloth stung, but Sole found herself struggling more with fighting the idea of leaning into Cait’s grip. It was distracting. 

Eventually, after she deemed Sole’s skin clean enough with little sign of what had transpired left, she moved onto the slash in her thigh. This time, she was gentle. She was careful not to irritate the wound as much as she could, dabbing with soft motions instead of swiping. The bleeding had slowed to a queasy sort of dribbling, and Cait mumbled a quiet, “This is gonna hurt.” before she placed the rag overtop and pressed down with both hands, determined to get the bleeding to stop.

Sole’s head collided with the wall as she recoiled from the pain, cheeks stinging with the force with which she bit down on them. Blood was flooding her mouth now, too. Her knuckles turned white from the force with which she was gripping the edge of the sink, her vision hazy as she became lightheaded from the pain. Muffled grunts choked themselves out of her mouth, try as she might to hold them back, as Cait stabbed a stimpack into her thigh without warning.

Minutes later, Cait pulled the rag away and though Sole was still trying to blink away the gray that had clouded her vision, she could tell Cait was satisfied with the result. A rough bandage was thrown over top, adhered, and then her thigh was being wrapped with gauze. She stepped back and put her hands on her hips. “Y’ could’ve gotten yerself killed, you idiot.” 

“I’m not gonna argue with you about this, Cait.”

The brick was cold against the back of Sole’s head, soothing the wound she’d inflicted on herself by slamming it against the same wall earlier, or maybe it was the raider hitting her with the butt of his gun that hurt so bad. Adrenaline and satisfaction had worn off and left behind weariness. Sole could hear the exhaustion in her own voice, the defeat that came from wiping out a good chunk of the nearby raider population and still being chastised. A familiar feeling of it not being enough, never being enough. She couldn’t look the Irishwoman in the eyes.

“Not gonna argue? Y’ just slaughtered my entire line of work!”

There was no way Cait was going to take up Sole’s offer of coming back to Sanctuary, not if she was already this riled up. Sole was begging the hollow feeling to leave her chest– it didn’t make sense they were friends, Cait was allowed to do whatever she wanted. She didn’t worry about Hancock this way, didn’t fuss this much over MacCready even though they were in similar situations. She had to let it go.

Pushing herself off the sink proved more difficult than Sole assumed it would’ve been. The pain that resulted clouded her mind enough that she missed the way Cait reflexively reached out for her, a hand hovering to make sure she didn’t collapse onto the cold floor. Before she could notice, Cait had forced herself to back up, hands gripping her own arms. She took a single step, limping, before she turned and looked back at the redhead. “Sorry if I caused you any trouble. If–” was she swaying? “If you need me you know where to find me.” Her smile was forced and crooked.

Another step. The room was spinning. Had that stimpack not worked? Had she lost more blood than either of them had noticed? Cait’s hands caught her this time. Oh. Her hands were warm. That’s all Sole could focus on, through the haze of her pain-addled mind. They were warm and calloused and firm against her back and Sole didn’t want to leave. “Yer not goin’ anywhere. Just rest a minute.”

There was no arguing as Sole was eased to sit on Cait’s mattress, her head hanging between her knees as she willed the dark spots to leave her vision. Cait’s hand didn’t leave her back, rubbing soothing circles into her skin as she watched Sole try to collect herself. “Don’t throw up.” She muttered, shoving aside concern with a snide remark.

Cait had watched Sole fight against the current of the Commonwealth for nearly a year. When they’d first met, Cait didn’t trust Sole at all and never planned to. It was easy to strike up a deal with her, to spar together– they both needed the practice, with Sole running the Minutemen and Cait fighting to survive. It wasn’t quite as easy to keep from wishing she’d stay after all of their spars.

The disgust with herself had set in as easy as breathing. When Cait was clutching bruised ribs and soothing sprained limbs, it was a fight in itself to keep from calling out to Sole, to see if she’d join her in the back room, just to keep her company. Who was Cait to need her?

Sole was the hero of the Commonwealth, the general of the Minutemen and God knows what else. It seemed every time she stepped out of the Combat Zone she was off to save the world. Not to mention, the dead husband and missing child that threw a wrench in any feelings Cait was vehemently denying she had in the first place. Sole had a family, a place in a world that wasn’t fond of such things. Cait simply didn’t– she’d accepted that a long time ago.

But it felt right, her hand on Sole’s back, even though it seemed they were fighting to keep conscious. The idea of being able to patch her up after all of the fights she got into out in the Commonwealth had occupied her time more often than not. The need to soothe, to hold, wasn’t a need that came easily to Cait. It didn’t suit her, in her eyes, but she was willing to make an exception for Sole. If only Sole wasn’t so far out of reach, even right beside her.

Despite herself, Sole leaned into her, exhausted by the fight her body was putting up– with the assistance of a stimpack– to heal her wound. Cait said nothing as she placed her head on her shoulder. “Tired.” Sole sighed.

“I know.”

“Can I stay?”

Cait’s heart was in her throat. She wanted to shout yes from the rooftops, but her unwillingness to be caught up in her adoration fought back. “Suppose I owe ya for breaking the contract. Even if I do have to go find another way t’ earn caps now.” 

“Then I would owe you.”

She wanted to protest– actually, that would mean they were even, and neither of them owed each other anything. There would be no reason for them to continue that way, though, and so Cait said nothing at all. “If I owe you… that means I’d have to offer up somewhere to stay. Since I took your line of work and home, after all.”

Cait shifted back, leaving Sole to support herself and look at her in confusion. They were searching each other for something, anything, that would reassure them that their feelings were mutual. “Are y’ hitting on me?” Cait couldn’t stop herself from confronting her.

Sole stiffened. “I don’t know.” She looked lost. “I think so.”

Cait could feel the confliction coming off of Sole in waves. She wanted to be snippy, to bite back that if Sole was going to mess with her feelings, she’d better be damn sure of how she felt, herself. Cait couldn’t bear to. Sole looked vulnerable, something she’d rarely seen before, confused and distressed. “Y’re worried y’re betrayin’ Nate.” It wasn’t a question. It was a fact.

Sole buried her face in her hands, her fingernails digging into her scalp. God, she was confused about everything. The only thing that seemed sure was the fact that ever since Cait had pulled away from her, she wanted nothing more than to collapse back into her side. If she buried her face in Cait’s shoulder and never pulled away, maybe the world would fix itself. Maybe she wouldn’t be so confused, and there would be more to her than a life that had died long ago. “I’m not sure I loved him at all. Does that make me a terrible person?”

“Nah, love. I think you were survivin’, even back then. ‘t doesn’t make you a terrible person.”

“Yeah?” Her voice cracked.

When Sole turned back to Cait, finally coming out from hiding behind her hands, Cait’s heart shattered. Her cheeks were damp with tears. There was a desperation for reassurance, a far cry from the strong Commonwealth General she was so used to seeing. “Yeah.”

She gave her a wobbly smile, swiping at her tears like pests and sighing, her shoulders hunched up to her ears. Cait reached out and pulled her closer by the shoulders, tucking the woman into her side with a reassuring squeeze. Sole’s head returned to her shoulder and it never felt more right, despite the tears. “One day at’ta time. We can talk about’it later, after y’get some rest.”

“Okay.”

It was as easy as breathing to lean them both back, Sole determined to stick to Cait’s side like glue. The mattress was hardly anything, practically a scrap of cloth between them and the ground, but Sole didn’t care. Her breathing evened out, one hand gripping the cloth of Cait’s shirt like a lifeline. They’d figure it out. One day at a time.

[ninjago-bingo]

July Recap!

woot everyone!  another month just flying by, bringing with it this time 18 new pieces!  It’s been awesome to see everyone’s work so far, and I’m looking forward to what next month will bring :D

As always, if I’ve missed your piece, don’t hesitate to let me know!  This recap is in one post because I felt it more manageable than 50 XD

Art (low-res, click the link to go to the original post):

Bonds and trust by @emisnt2

Don’t trust Kai, Jay and Cole to cook together

Care by @jss-sucks

Out of all the ideas I could’ve chose, I chose “Little Lloyd in a box”

Golden by @eternityinfinitydivinity

Based on the “Golden Legend” short Ninjago put out on their 10th anniversary. By far my favourite of the shorts :DD

Habits and influence by @/emisnt2

When your little sister follows your swearing habit

Hugs by @/jss-sucks

“Haha! I love my little sister!”

Oni by @/eternityinfinitydivinity

I know that Golden Oni Lloyd probably has a mask, buuuuuut he looks much more awesome if he went full-on oni :D

Oni and blood by @destinymanticor

like a painful transformation? idk

Post-fight and impulsivity by @sebilini

After the battle the team searched for Zane’s body. They found it laying alone and destroyed among the rubble. But they had to leave it soon, as there were many citizens who urgently needed their help. They would grieve their friend’s impulsive decision for months to come

Return by @the9thghost

Same by @/emisnt2

Ninja but matching dino hoodies >:D

Fic

At Low Tide by @frozensoapbubble.  tumblr || ao3 || prompts: ocean and strength

A water dragon, living incarnation of the Endless Sea, saves the life of a young whale. The moment brings back memories – or rather, echoes of familiar words, fleeting images, shadows of sensations that the dragon had long thought forgotten.

If only she could remember what they meant.

Thank You, For Giving Me Wings by @weekend-whip​.  tumblr || ao3 || prompt: care

Wu reflects on a question Zane asked him years ago, as only now can he comprehend the answer.

Ghost Story by @ace-of-spaces.  tumblr || ao3 || prompt: ghost

After Cole’s turned into a ghost, he isn’t doing that well.

Jay’s decided to do something about that. Even if ‘something’ means an hour-long conversation.

Memorabilia by @/ace-of-spaces.  tumblr || ao3 || prompt: merch

noun; A record of things worth remembering.

Or, Every so often, Lloyd and Kai would spend a day together in New Ninjago City laughing at how derpy the Ninja merch could be.

Nyctophobia by @/ace-of-spaces.  tumblr || ao3 || prompt: lights

After the events of March of The Oni, Cole wakes up in the dark.

That is a recipe for a sure-fire disaster.

One Step At A Time by @unknownuncut.  tumblr || ao3 || prompt: habits

Kai keeps noticing habits among his friends but one stuck out more than the others.

too fast / too slow by @21st-century-ninja.  tumblr || ao3 || prompts: bonds and trust

Soulbonds- soulbonds are special. They’re magical, even. They’re groups of people with souls so close that they strip down even the barriers of individuality, filtering impressions of thoughts and feelings between each member of the bond without even needing to speak aloud. Before a bond is completed, these impressions remain impressions. But once the last person in a bond comes of age and turns 16, all of the members gain total access to the others’ thoughts and the bond is complete.

Lloyd is 100 percent certain that Cole, Kai, Nya, Zane, and Jay are his bondmates.

Then his 16th birthday comes and goes with nothing to show for it.

You’ll Heal But You Won’t Be Fine by @/unknownuncut.  tumblr || ao3 || prompt: healing

It was kinda dumb now that Cole thought back to it.

@k1ngtok1​ @crappy-coffee​ @morro-owo @grollow​ @master-of-cosmos​@roantheboat​ @art-i-sticks​ @viioletpixels​ @miserable-flamango​ @ninjas-that-go @marsipain​ @redefine-your-identity​ @pangolinsandnewts17 @master-of-fluff​ @vampireautism @highfiveu-withaknife​ @peachyninjago​ @applecranberryjuice​ @mitzle​ @ice-emperor-zane​ @curious-corvius @ninjago4life​ @arellys-arts​ @kumamoo-hq​ 

[togenabi]

welcome, lovely! ⋆｡˚♡

thank you for taking the time to visit! my name is belle, and this is my safe space for writing.

I'm an artist, and I do this in my free time. I found myself wanting to write royalty AU's after reading manhwas and otome isekai's. add to that my love for a certain inumaki toge, and so this blog came to be.♡

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