#/ and her part in it absolutely haunts her uwu

[missallanea-archive]

@ofluckandmagic: “I hope to repay your kindness someday.” (Eydis to Freya)

Dark eyes seem in no rush to lift and observe the young dwarf, her hands focused on the bundle of herbs she was binding together. After a longer than truly comfortable silence had passed between the pair, the goddess heaves a sigh, "You owe me no kindness, nor do I seek it... Offer it to those who you meet in your travels. That would honor me far more than repayment of any perceived kindness."

As far as Freya was concerned, she owed the child far more than just simple kindness. A debt that would not be so easily repayed. The knot is tighted tightly around the bundle, and she stands from where the pair had been sitting to tie the herbs up beside the window, allowing them space to dry. 

200 random dialogue prompts

[writing-for-life]

Let's go choose violence:

3, 8, 9, 25 for The Sandman :3c

Rubs hands gleefully…

3. screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr 

Of course not screenshotting as everyone’s entitled to their opinion, so this is just a thing *I* find hard to understand/get my head around:

“Neil Gaiman ran out of ideas, and that’s why he killed off Morpheus.”

I mean, you could say he wanted to conclude his arc, and with that I agree. And thank fuck he did, because if Murphy were still alive, we would need to suffer the horrible takes that DC has foisted upon us ever since. But it is so completely incomprehensible to me when I read that there was no sign that Morpheus would off himself before World’s End or TKO. That it came out of nowhere, that it made the whole thing completely depressing and insufferable and sends a "bad" message. 

It all was right there, from the start. You can’t read "The Sound of her Wings" and not see that he’s absolutely haunted by the narrative, and how much comfort he finds in her. And you don’t need to read the whole thing and then just see it in hindsight (it's something I hear/read quite often). It’s clear as day if you are willing to go down the line of thinking that the Endless aren’t people but concepts. I personally think that’s where people can trip up. And I even get it--of course we want to humanise them because we are human. But they are not. They are mirrors and foils that are supposed to make us think about our own humanity (and we recognise it in them, but that still doesn’t make them human--they just show us human traits and what this mortal coil is about. Carry it and abandon it in equal measures).

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about 

Everyone apart from me of course 😂

"Hob Gadling is any shape or form the personification of hope, and his sole purpose is to (squee! UwU) save Murphy from his bleak existence".

No he ain’t. Hope is Hope, and she is a little girl (blows a raspberry right in your face). If Hob''s anything, he is humanity in a nutshell: ugly, self-serving, opportunist, but also feeling, caring and redeemable. But especially the first part is harder to woobify.

Did I also mention I have this take that making Dream's relationship to Hob all about romance and sex forgets about the importance of friendship, and why it's actually so important for the plot? Plus, that we have a tendency to erase male friendship and hence lean into toxic masculinity if we make every glance and every touch and every close emotional bond about: "Oh, they want to fuck?", and that's decidedly *not* progressive? Yeah, about that... (ship them, it's fine, no problem whatsoever, just be aware it's not the *only* take, and I will stick my neck out now and say: it won't be canon).

9. worst part of canon

That’s a tricky one because I can make sense of pretty much everything to be fair, but if I had to choose, it’s that Morpheus’ failed relationship to Nada created ripples that basically doomed every black woman connected to his arc (not *all* black women, I think that’s actually a misinterpretation, as is that Morpheus is racist, which he conceptually can't be). And as soon as he’s dead, we get token Gwen who isn’t doomed by the narrative anymore. And said Gwen *really* is a token black woman with no true agency of her own—her entire purpose is to serve the redemption of the slave trader. And that Neil actually confirmed this was *intentional* in The Sandman Companion. I get why he made that narrative choice, but to me, it still looks bad. I have hopes though he moved on from that take and we don’t get to see it in the show (the signs are there, so fingers crossed).

25. common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

Ties in with 3: That The Sandman should have a different, “more hopeful” ending. 

But quite a few others: 

You *should* write fanfics about XYZ because there’s not enough of it. 

You *should* elevate supporting characters to main characters because they are ABC.

You *shouldn’t* focus so much on the main character because he’s a guy/male-presenting (I mean, he’s the protagonist, so there’s that).

You *should* ship m/m because it makes problematic dynamics less problematic. 

You *shouldn’t* ship m/f because it’s heteronormative. My favourite: Johanna Constantine is bi, you *shouldn’t* ship her with a guy, because again: Heteronormative. Erm, I hate to break it to people (and speaking from experience): That’s how being bi works, and we like m, f and nb equally? And we happen to want sex with m, f and nb? And we pretty much have blinkers on when it comes to falling in love with a *person*, or what we find hot/sexually arousing? And I swear if I read shit like that once more, I’ll get heteronormative out of sheer spite and will smite people.

You *should* or *shouldn't* ship. Both fine. And/but there's certainly more to The Sandman than blorbofication and allosexualisation of everything.

So yeah, pretty much anything that involves a *should*. You can do whatever the fuck you like as long as you don’t lose your ability to critically engage with it. Plus, the space has to be welcoming for everyone, and that’s sometimes hard for creators and people who don’s serve/like the main flavour. And therein lies the problem, because critical engagement doesn’t always happen, and a lot of good stuff disappears in amongst the noise…

[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! |

[wingedzombiealpaca]

Some stuff about my "Haunted Michael AU" Part 2: The Aftons and Emilys

More about the AU uwu

William Marcus Afton (1948 - 1994)

Born in London to a neglectful family

Has a younger sister

His mother died two years after his little sister was born

Moved to Utah when he was 17 years old with his father and sister

Met Henry in university

Met his first wife at age 19

Had Michael at age 21

His first wife died three years after Michael's birth

His sister married Henry

Married his second wife at age 25

He didn't care for Michael, because he had him at a young age and "a child would put a threat to his plans for life"

Same with Elizabeth, but he actually cared a little about her

He adored Evan, he was his pride and joy (he was still a little neglectful to him tho...)

Opened Fredbears in 1980

He was a neglectful dad as well, that's why he didn't say anything to Michael about bullying Evan. He tought that Evan would eventually "man up" and stand for himself...he didn't.

When the bite of '83 happened he was livid

He was pissed at Michael, that was the first of many many times he would raise his hands against Mike.

When he killed Charlie, his target was actually Sammy (if William couldn't have his little boy then Henry couldn't either), it just so happened that Charlie was outside the restaurant and he took that chance.

When he noticed the puppet acting weird he realized Charlie´s spirit must have being doing something to it (that's how he discovered remnant)

Thought that if he could get more remnant, he could bring Evan back, so he built Baby and the funtimes.

When Elizabeth got yoinked by Baby he finally snapped, he couldn't bear to look at the funtimes, especially Baby.

The day of the MCI he was angry at all those kids enjoying the party, when he spotted Susie. He wasn't taking remnant for Evan or Elizabeth anymore, he wanted to be immortal.

When he sent Michael to Circus Baby's he knew damn well that he was sending him to his certain death.

He went to the abandoned Freddy's to see if he could get more remnant infused parts to become immortal.

Got springlocked at age 46 (hahah, get springballed peepaw)

Little detail, he didn't put on the suit out of fear of ghosts (since all ghosts were with Michael), he saw the spring bonnie suit, put it on just to rejoice in the "memories" and since the building was leaking and the suit had been rotting there for ages without any maintenance at all, the suit failed and killed William

The rest of the story is the same

Isabella Marie Afton Emily (1950 - 2030)

William was overprotective of her

Met Henry at a university party and fell in love with him instantly

She was 27 when Sammy and Charlie were born

Loved her children a lot

Also loved her nephews and niece a lot

Supported William after Evan passed away

Was completely devastated when Charlie was killed

Divorced Henry and left the country, taking Sammy with her

Raised Sammy on her own after moving back to London

Died of old age 5 years before security breach happens, she was 80 years old

Henry Emily (1950- 2024) 74

Was born and raised in Utah

Fredbears used to be his dad's old pizzeria that he inherited and then rebranded to be Fredbears

Was a doting father and loved Charlie and Sammy to the moon and back

Was absolutely devastated by Charlie's death, blamed himself for not being there to save her.

His wife divorcing him and taking Sammy with her only made his depression worse

He was framed for the MCI and ended up going to prison for 30 years.

When he saw Michael for the first time after getting out of prison he felt bad for how life had treated him

His plan to burn FFPP was not only because he wanted to end William's reign of terror and free Elizabeth and Charlie but also because he didn't want to live anymore. (He didn't care if Michael didn't want to die, he wanted to end it ALL)

Lucía Torres Afton (1948 - 1972)

Michael's mom

She was born in México, but had started living in Utah two years before meeting William

Met William at age 19 on a park and fell for him instantly

Had Michael at age 21

Loved his baby boy so much

Taught Mike a little bit of spanish

Would sing him lullabies in spanish

Was in a car accident at age 24 and died, leaving William to raise Michael alone

Margareth Scmidth Afton (Born 1952)

Born in California

Met William (and Michael) on a dance festival Isabella forced her brother to attend

Started dating him soon after and married just one year after meeting him

Really tried to be a good mom to Mike

Had Elizabeth at age 23

Had Evan at age 25

Discovered Michael's love for art when she found a bunch of doodles he made and tried to strike friendly conversations about them with him

Chided Michael a lot about bullying Evan, but never raised a hand against him

When Evan died she was devastated, but never blamed Michael

Couldn't even bear to look at Evan's room after his death

Elizabeth's "disappearance" (William told her she disappeared, didn't tell her she actually died) completely destroyed her.

After the MCI happened she started suspecting William had some involvement in it

She started getting really scared of him and filed for divorce

Tried to gain custody over Michael but lost the case.

Left Utah, never to be seen again

Charlotte Emily (1977 - 1984)

Sweet baby girl

Michael, Elizabeth and Evan's cousin

Sammy's twin sister

William killed her on the day of her 7th birthday

The kids that left her outside of Freddy's were the same kids that bullied Evan and caused the bite of '83

She defended Evan when Michael bullied him

Felt a grudge towards Henry for not saving her from William

Joins Michael after the bite of '87, worried that he would do something harsh after what happened to Jeremy

She is the one who convinces Evan to join Michael

Recoiled in horror when she saw Springtrap

In the end she forgives Henry for not saving her when he burns FFPP

Charlie IS in the pizzaplex, just not posessing any animatronic, she is IN THE WHOLE BUILDING

Samuel Emily (Born 1977)

Charlie's twin brother

He was William's original target, but was in his father's office when Charlie got locked out of Freddy's

Didn't really get an explanation from anyone about what had happened to his sister

Didn't want to leave his father but had no choice

After FFPP burned he was the only succesor to the original owners of Freddy's and became the CEO of Fazbear

Evan Christopher Afton (1977 - 1983)

Inocent baby

Was really spoiled by William and Margareth (making Michael angry with him)

Liked to hang out with Elizabeth and the Emily twins

The Fredbear plush was a gift from William (William installed a camera and a walkie-talkie inside and told Evan that this Fredbear was "special" and that "he can talk")

Evan, being a small child, believed it all

Evan's Foxy plush (the one with the ripped head) was Michael's

Evan actually looked up to Michael, despite the bullying, he thought that his big brother was "cool" and "tough"

The bite of Fredbear happened during his 6th birthday

He was scared of the endoskeletons, not the suits

Also because of his nightmares (fueled mainly by Michael and his friends scaring him with the masks)

Held a grudge towards Mike for a while (for the bite)

He didn't want to join Mike, but Charlie insisted

When Evan saw that Michael was actually trying to fix William's deeds and save everyone, he forgave him

Felt horrible when he saw just how many lives William ruined (he even felt guilty about it)

When he saw Springtrap he thought he was going to faint (even if ghosts can't actually faint...)

When FFPP burned he was waiting for Mike to go through the light together

Also I do not believe in the "Gregory is CC theory. I actually headcanon that Evan returns to the pizzaplex in the form of the Daycare attendant...well, mainly Sun

Elizabeth Giselle Afton (1975 - 1984)

Extremely spoiled by her mother

Loved to dance, the best dancer in the whole family (after Margareth ofc)

Would punch Michael if she saw him being mean to Evan

Hated Michael with a passion after Evan's death

She would call him murderer and horrible brother

She was 9 years old when she got yoinked by Baby

Felt guilty about what happened with Mike and the scooper

Screamed of pure horror after seeing Springtrap

Michael James Afton (1969- 1986?)

Born in Utah

William and his mom had to marry when he was born

He didn't hate Evan, he was just frustrated that he was forced to babysit him and Liz whenever his parents were busy (Which was really often)

He actually loved them both a lot but was waay too prideful to show it

He didn't mean to hurt Evan in any way with his prank

He almost fainted after hearing the *CRUNCH* and seeing Evan go limp

Stayed by Evan's side the whole time at the hospital after the bite, apologized countless times and begged Evan to just wake up

Was in the hospital room when he flatlined

Started having nightmares about animatronics after that

Took Evan's little Fredbear plushie as a memento

Ran away from home at age 16

Stayed at Henry's for some time

He didn't want to go to Circus Baby's but got coerced by William, who used Evan's death as leverage against him

The first time he heard Baby's voice he almost had a stroke

He really believed he could free his baby sister and the other kids easily

The last thing he remembers before dying is the scooper ramming through his stomach and seeing his organs and pieces of broken ribs escape his body

Doesn't remember most of the time Ennard used him as a skinsuit, his conscience was coming and going

After Ennard left his body and he woke up, all he could think of was "Revenge Against Father" and "Save those poor kids"

At 1987 he got a job at Fnaf2's location, thats when Charlie's spirit recognized him and joined him.

He was...extremely unsettled about his cousin's ghost just floating around him and talking to him so calmly

The "Odor" thing IS for being literally a corpse, also for nervous sweating

Felt so defeated after finding out William was behind yet another dead children incident (There's the MCI in 1985 and the DCI in 1987)

Also was devastated about Jeremy getting bitten

Got the security job at Fnaf1's location in 1993

That's when the MCI + Evan joined him

Shortly after getting fired, Elizabeth's spirit joined him, after she had a fight against the other spirits inside Ennard

Poor guy is literally being followed by 8 dead kids...at least Evan doesn't resent him anymore...?

At Fazbears Fright he was disgusted at just how his father ended

Released the MCI minus Cassidy when he burned Fnaf 3's location

Opened FFPP with Henry knowing damn well he would burn as well

Held hands with Evan and Liz as they walked towards the light

But then he wakes up and he's in the pizzaplex like, what the hell...?

When he sees Gregory his dad instincts kick in, he goes into "Dad Mode", he knows Gregory is not Evan, but he looks just like him and hes a big softie (He also knows that, if he's back, something went clearly wrong)

Annnnnd that's about it, I might make more parts for other minor characters (like mah boi Jeremy)

[raybidtickles]

Would you be willing to tell us more about your ghost characters? I keep going back to your art about them lately, they seem so fun! ^_^

Oh heck yeah!! Perfect month for it actually lolol

So all of my (current) ghost ocs haunt a manor called the Fultz house. I donr have some of these details super solidifed, but for some reason, anyone who dies on the grounds of the Fultz House ends up stuck there. And over the time of the property changing hands, it finally lands in the hands of a buisness man that wants to captilize on the haunted nature and past of the house. He opens up a haunted tour, where people can come in and look around. The history has been a bit exaggerated and outright untrue to make it more interesting. The ghosts are relatively welcoming to the tourists, but won't hesitate to mess with them occasionally. Making things move and float ect. Orrrr...yknow :3c

pls excuse old art ajdjajaj

This is Cassandra Fultz, she was a part of the original family who made the manor. Shes been in the house for....probably a few centuries at this point. Since shes been there so long she has a lot of control of the house. You know the movie monster house? She can basically do that. Morphing the house around and distoring it if she wants. Which majority of the time shes a really sweet lady and super welcoming to vistors. Just behave yourself and mind your manners. Don't give her a reason to get mean and you'll be fine lol

This is Marie, she used to be a maid to one of the past owners. She hasn't...really gotten over the whole being dead thing. She's a very sad lady and keeps to herself for the most part. Except for Cassandra, they're ghost wives and love each other very much ;w; Cassandra helps her a lot through her worse episodes. There are moments where she's more social with the other ghosts and even cracks a smile. She even has a bit of a mischievous side during these times.

Glenn also used to work with another family as a gardner. Hes a bit of a himbo. Hes not very scholarly but he knows practically everything about plants. He has such a big heart and is an absolute softie. He loves helping people and often got roped into other duties around the manor. He was good friends with practically everyone on staff. Even as a ghost he still tends to the garden. It still looks as nice as it did when he was alive. He can also control some of the plants and make them move around. Perfect for spooks and tickles uwu

And lastly my personal fave of the bunch Shade!! They died around the late 1980's - early 1990's. So its a bit of a culture shock between them and all of the other ghosts. They're the most recent spirit in the house since not long after their death, it was sold for the haunted tours. They're definitely the most mischevious of the bunch. They love messing with tourists and paranormal investigators. The personification of >:3c is the best way to describe them lolol

[the-badger-mole]

I posted 568 times in 2021

439 posts created (77%)

129 posts reblogged (23%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.3 posts.

I added 1,156 tags in 2021

#atla - 425 posts

#zutara - 278 posts

#anti aang - 89 posts

#ask the badger mole - 78 posts

#anti kataang - 72 posts

#anti-aang - 61 posts

#anti-kataang - 42 posts

#asks answered - 41 posts

#down the road and back again - 40 posts

#ask game - 30 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#he was really ready to forbid intercultural marriages because he didn't want to do the big project of dismantling colonial power structures

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

You know I remembered a funny thing. We all know how Toph can feel someone's emotions or if they're telling the truth, right? 🤔

She even teases Katara at couple of occasions. One time with Jet and second one being about Haru. Always accusing Katara liking the guys - and she was dam right about Jet, Katara DID use to have a crush on him.

And Zutarians use this concept a lot, too. "Haha, Toph KNOWS" is a really funny and wholesome shipping fuel which I personally enjoy sometimes. Overall, Toph's role in Zutara shipping territory is pretty strong with Katara (and Zuko sometimes) being in denial and Toph being a sly fox she is.

But you know what? I haven't seen this concept used in the terms of Kataang. Not even in the show. ESPECIALLY not in the show. Random people were telling Aang Katara will "come around", but it was never Toph who could've just FEEL it, you know. Maybe give the viewer a little retrospective of Katara's feelings towards the protagonist. A little ship hint from maybe Katara's side and not Aang's for once. No. Nothing.

And yet they tend to get surprised how not everyone's seen K@taang coming. Even the freaking show and Brykes with their favourite "ship tease uwu do you like him/her? is that your bf/gf?? uwu" kind of writing didn't do that correctly. The only one who's been accusing Katara in liking Aang was Sokka. And Katara. Wasn't. Even. Emberassed. But simply brushed it off, NOT being in denial.

She just never liked Aang this way. Nothing for Toph to tease about. Nothing for Katara to deny. Mic drop.

I have nothing to add. You are absolutely right 😂😂😂😂😂

210 notes • Posted 2021-06-09 12:13:46 GMT

#4

I'm about to make someone mad with this...

Sometimes someone will tell me that they don't like Kataang, but they would be sad if the air kids didn't exist.

I can't relate. If Katara's kids with Aang didn't exist, I would be just fine with it, quite honestly. Especially if it means no Meelo.

What little (very little) development Kya and Bumi get suggests that they didn't have the happiest home life growing up, and that the unhappiness of their childhoods haunts them well into their 50s and 60s. Which sucks, and I'd be fine with that plot line not being a thing...Also, so little time gets spent with Kya and Bumi that I didn't really form an attachment to them, so I can imagine a world without them just fine. No sad kids? No boring plots? Sign me up!

Tenzin is...fine. I like him for what he is- a wise mentor figure who learns as much from his student as she did from him. That's cool. That's also a role that could be filled by anyone. Him being Katara's son has nothing to do with their bond, though, even though it should have. Tenzin could have related to Korra on how hard it is to reconcile Southern Water Tribe traditions with Air Nomad philosophy and how it affects learning air bending. Korra could have been comforted by Tenzin's Water Tribe artifacts when she goes to live with him. Tenzin could have told Korra stories about Katara's younger years (you know, in a universe where Katara is allowed to actually do something with her life after the war...but I die Greg).

We don't get any of that, though. There is nothing in Tenzin or his family that marks them as part Water Tribe. Not in looks, not in traditions, not even in their relationship with Katara. Anyone could be Tenzin's mother, and nothing substantial would change at all.

Now, if you want to talk about Kya, Bumi and Tenzin being Zuko's step kids and how that would change their lives forever, I'm absolutely down for that. But I don't need.

TL;DR Brkye wrote the Kataang kids and grandkids as a bunch of basic characters that don't really need to exist to move the story along, and I'm fine with obliterating them from my own personal head canons.

217 notes • Posted 2021-05-28 15:54:09 GMT

#3

Aching head. Sore limbs. It was far, far too hot, but she couldn't stop shivering. Katara was ill. Miserably so.

"Katara?" Aang shouted through the closed door. "Are you still sleeping?" He knocked at the door, but to Katara it felt as if he were hitting her directly in the head with a block of wood and shouting in her ear.

"Ooooh!" Katara groaned miserably. Aang must have heard her because he paused.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"No," Katara replied. Her throat was scratchy and sore. "I'm sick."

"Oh..." Aang paused another moment. "Do you need more frogs? I don't think they live in the Fire Nation, but...I could ask Zuko."

"Fine," Katara huffed. It went quiet. Katara assumed Aang had left and she was beginning to drift off again, when there was another knock at the door, softer this time.

"Hey, Katara?" Aang called softly through the door. "What about breakfast?"

"Ask someone else!" Katara snapped. "Or you do it!" Another long pause.

"Okay, it's just that everyone else is busy, and I don’t know how to cook-" Whatever else he was saying was lost in an aggravated growl as Katara pulled herself out of bed and stormed across the room. She yanked the door open and pushed past Aang irritably, ignoring his gasp as she made her way to the kitchen.

One meal. They couldn't handle one meal without her. Katara paused outside of the kitchen and took a deep breath. After all, sick or not, meals needed to be made. Her mother and grandmother didn't take days off, and neither, it seemed, would she. With that philosophizing done, Katara squared shoulders and pushed the door open.

"Are you ok?" Zuko’s voice startled Katara. She whirled around too fast and felt the floor shift under her feet.

"...woah..." Katara stumbled and grasped for the door frame. Zuko took her elbows and steadied her. His brows drew down in concern when he got a good look at her. Her nose was red, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her hair had escaped her braid in wisps that clung to her sweaty, clammy skin. Zuko pressed the back of his hand to her forehead and frowned.

"You're sick," he pronounced. Katara rolled her eyes and scoffed.

"You're a genius," she said. Her stuffy nose gave her voice a nasally tone that undercut her sarcasm, but only a little. Zuko shook his head and guided her away from the kitchen.

"Let's get you back to bed," he said.

"I have to make breakfast!" Katara protested. Zuko paused and looked at her in surprise.

"That's crazy! You can barely stand," he said.

"It doesn't matter." Katara tried to shake him off, but there was no strength in it. "You all need to eat."

"So ask someone else!" Zuko stared at her as if she'd started speaking a foreign language. Katara shook her head.

"There's no one else to ask. I asked Aang, and he said everyone was busy, and he can't cook."

"That's ridiculous," Zuko rolled his eyes skywards. "Everyone except maybe Toph is perfectly capable of getting something on the table."

"Sokka's cooking tastes awful," Katara said. "I don't know if Suki can cook."

"What does Sokka usually make when it's his turn to cook?" Zuko asked.

"Ha!" Katara scoffed. "His turn to cook. You've been with us for three weeks. It's always my turn to cook." Zuko hadn't noticed. Before his excursion with Katara a few days earlier, he hadn't paid much attention to the division of labor in the camp. Now that he was thinking of it, though, he never saw anyone except Katara cooking, or washing clothes, or mending. And she did all of that on top of training Aang and keeping up with her own practice. When, Zuko wondered, did she find the time to sleep?

"Zuko?" Katara's voice cut through the young prince's thoughts. She was staring up at him in confusion, her arm still in his grip.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Listen, don't worry about breakfast- don't worry about cooking at all for a few days. I've got it covered."

"But I-"

"You need to rest," Zuko said firmly. "And I can keep everyone fed."

"Aang doesn't eat meat," Katara reminded him, finally allowing herself to be guided back to her room.

"I know." Zuko waited for Katara to lay down and pulled the blankets up around her chin. She was shivering from a chill only she could feel. "I'll bring you some tea and soup in a bit." Katara smiled weakly, but she was already drifting off to sleep. By the time Zuko stepped out into the hall and shut the door gently behind him, she was already snoring lightly. Zuko turned away from room and huffed out a plume of flame. He was glad for the heavy wooden doors of his family's summer home. Things were about to get very loud in a few moments.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Katara woke to the light clatter of a glass being set on her bedside table. She blinked to clear her vision and saw Toph trying to creep out of the room.

"Wha're you doing?" she asked groggily. Toph turned and scowled down at her.

"I can't possibly have been loud enough to wake you," she said. Katara shrugged and pulled herself into a sitting position.

"What's that?" she asked peering at the cup Toph had left for her.

"Fussy Lord Zuko demanded I bring you tea," Toph grumbled. "He's been a real pain all morning. He said that since you're sick, we have to cover all the chores. Never mind that no one asked you to do them in the first place." "He did what?" Katara blinked in confusion.

"He's making us do chores," Toph reiterated. "He's guilting everyone into cleaning. He's even got Sokka washing his own socks for once."

"Really?" Katara reached over and grabbed the teacup from the table and took a sip. It was a bit bitter, but she had had worse. Zuko was getting better at making tea.

"He's making a chore wheel!" Toph complained. "I don't know what makes him think it's going to last. He's in the kitchen teaching Aang how to chop vegetables. No way that ends badly." Katara grunted noncommittally. She could feel fatigue settling on her again.

"Are you alright?" Toph asked. There was real concern in her voice now.

"Just need to rest,"Katara assured her.

"Okay, then," Toph said backing towards the door. "I guess I'll go see if Dadko has any more orders for me to ignore."

"Be nice," Katara admonished as sleep rose to claim her again. "Zuko's being helpful." Toph snorted and headed out of the room. She paused at the door and turned back to Katara.

"Feel better soon," she said.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

The next time Katara woke, it was to a hand shaking her gently awake. She blinked up and found Zuko frowning worriedly.

"Hey," she croaked.

"Hey." Zuko's mouth quirked up into a half smile. "I brought you something to eat." Katara lifted her aching head and saw a tray of soup and crusty bread on her nightstand.

"I'm not hungry," she told him.

"You have to eat something," Zuko pressed. "It's past lunch and you didn't have breakfast." For the first time Katara noticed that the sun had changed position. It was well into the afternoon, and probably closing in on dinner time. Katara didn't feel hungry, but she knew Zuko was right about her needing to eat. She accepted the tray and saw that Zuko had made a light broth with a bit of meat and vegetables. There was no real taste to it, but Katara wasn't sure if it was for a lack of spices or because her stuffed nose had robbed her of her sense of taste. Still, she was grateful he'd brought it for her, and the broth warmed her stomach pleasantly. Once he was satisfied that she was eating, Zuko turned to leave.

"Wait," Katara called after him.

"You need something else?" Zuko asked.

"Will you sit with me?"

That caught Zuko off guard. He sat stiffly at the foot of her bed and waited. Katara hid a smile behind a spoonful of soup.

"Toph said you're teaching a cooking class," she said. The tip of Zuko's ear went a little pink and he shrugged.

"Aang is old enough to at least know how to make one or two things," he said. "Everyone here is." He turned to Katara fully, his inborn shyness giving way to mild outrage. "Have you seriously been doing all of the cooking? The entire time?"

"It was either I cook or we starved." Katara shrugged and swallowed another mouthful of broth. She was beginning to taste something of the flavors that went into it. There was garlic in it, she thought. Maybe a bit of ginger, too. She wished she could smell and taste better, but maybe Zuko would make this soup again when she was well.

"That's not fair," Zuko said. "If you were doing all of the cooking and cleaning and washing and mending, what were the others doing?"

"Sokka hunted," Katara said. "Aang took care of Appa. Toph...well, she stayed out of the way mostly."

"So, Sokka goofed off in the woods, Aang goofed off with Appa and Toph did nothing?" Zuko's face twisted into a scowl.

"It's fine," Katara insisted.

"No, it's not!" Zuko huffed and ran a hand through his hair. "And I didn't even notice until today that you did all those things for everyone. I didn't realize I was adding to the load."

"Zuko, it's-" "It's not fine, Katara!" Zuko cut her off. "You're one person looking after six. No wonder you got sick. You're spreading yourself way too thin! That's over. You shouldn't have to do all of this work yourself."

"Good luck getting anyone to pitch in," Katara scoffed. Zuko glared towards the door.

"We'll see about that," he said darkly.

"Zuko?" Katara cast him a worried look, but he just shrugged.

"If I can't get the others to pitch in, I'm here," he promised. "I'll split the work with you.

"You don't have to," Katara sighed, leaning back against her pillows.

"Yes, I do!" Zuko gestured wildly around toward the door and then the windows. "Everything you do is necessary! You keep this group functioning, and we all owe you so much. Helping out is the absolute least we could do. I made a chore rotation. I don't know how long it'll last, but even if no one else helps, you'll have me."

The soup caught in Katara's throat somehow, and there was a sudden burn behind her eyes.

"I..." she tried once she swallowed her food. "I mean, no one's ever...Thank you, Zuko."

"I'm the one who should be thanking you." The corner of Zuko's mouth turned up into another half-smile. Then he frowned when he saw Katara's cheeks flush, and reached out to feel her forehead again. "Are you feeling ok?"

"I'm alright," Katara said breathlessly. Her pulse fluttered and the room felt warmer, but somehow, the fever didn't feel as bad as it had that morning. Still, Zuko studied her with a clinical eye she hadn't been on the receiving end of since leaving her Gran Gran.

"I sent Sokka and Suki to town for medicine," he told her. "I'll bring it to you later." He stood up and headed for the door.

"Are you going?" Katara asked.

"I left Aang chopping vegetables for dinner," Zuko told her. "I have to go inspect his work...and make sure he still has all of his fingers." Katara laughed at that.

"Hey, Zuko?"

"Yeah?" he stopped with his hand on the doorknob.

"Thanks," Katara said. "For everything."

"Anytime."

Part 2

336 notes • Posted 2021-11-04 03:22:31 GMT

#2

ATLA Shipping and the Male and Female Gaze

I just hit me while I was reading about another piece of fiction. Zutara is the Female Gaze in action. Kataang is the Male Gaze. I think the biggest difference in the ship (well...one of many big differences) is how Katara is viewed in each pair.

With Zutara, there's more of a focus on both Katara and Zuko's inner life and development as characters, both in the main series canon and in the fanworks that followed. With Kataang, it's more about what she does for Aang in canon (I can't speak on the fanworks, because I don't read endgame Kataang fics). Her feelings and development as a character through her relationship with Aang don't really enter the discussion in any meaningful way. All we're left with is how Katara not choosing Aang would affect Aang and how sad that would be for him.

And that, I think, really kind of encapsulates the difference I see between the Male and Female Gazes. The Male Gaze, especially in romance, centers the feelings of men- both in the story and in the audience (and the writers room). The woman isn't really a character in those stories. She's more often a plot device. A goal. A prize for the Hero at the end of the story. Even when the woman starts out as her own character, by the end, she's an accessory to whatever end the Hero wants.

The Female Gaze in romance tends to be more egalitarian in it's focus, I believe. Even when the focus is the woman character, the development of her love interest is still important. Her partner grows and learns and matches her development on some level. In the end, they are usually on equal footing, each supporting and being supported by the other. Katara and Zuko's relationship stays overtly platonic in the show, but even there, you see that egalitarian relationship. Katara's story doesn't really work without Zuko and vise versa. Their arcs complement each other in a way that lends itself really well to eventual romance.

484 notes • Posted 2021-03-30 16:02:28 GMT

#1

Don't you think Katara would have an easier, happier life as Aang's wife than as Zuko's? I just think it would be hard for her to be married into fire nation royalty

In canon, Katara's life with Aang consists of babysitting his tantrums, watching him favor one of her three children, and sitting on her feelings when she has a different opinion from him or when he's flirting with other girls. I think Katara would have absolutely been happier with Zuko than with Aang.

As to whether her life would be easier with Aang, well...maybe? I guess it depends on what you consider easier. Would there be less political intrigue? Yes, but only because she doesn't get to do anything remotely political with Aang. Zuko would have put her in a position with real power, so yes, she'd have to deal with more political drama directly, but...I don't know, I don't think she'd hate it, tbh. This is the same girl who literally punched the patriarchy in the face and started a prison riot. She can handle uppity Fire Nation nobles.

Also, it's fiction. What story would you rather read? The one about a revolutionary woman turned world leader who married the love of her life and together they guide (or sometimes drag kicking and screaming) a former imperial power into a peaceful future? Or the story of how that same revolutionary woman married a man who didn't understand her power and value and left her to languish alone and forgotten with two kids he didn't want while he got all the fame and glory by building on the foundation she laid? I mean, that second scenario would make a great story if you're in to tragedy.

558 notes • Posted 2021-07-08 15:49:27 GMT

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[uwuowotf2waslife]

Chubby Spy and the New recruit part 2

ΟωΟ

( for reasons the recruit is shorter because im also short, uwu)

Lets say the recruit is around 5'5… so shes around Spys chest i guess, or shoulders? Somewhere there

So we have this absolute fluff of a scene were the recruit has her face on spys chest and he awkwardly holds her for a minute, while he has a mild stroke.

She gives him a pat on the back and pulls away and Spy is just starstruck. The recruit for some reason is looking not in his eyes but his face...and then it hits him, he forgot to wear his mask. In an instast he puts his hands to cover his face and yells at the recruit to fuck off while he lists all the horrible ways he can and will torture them. The recruit just backs off and slams the door shut and walks through the hallway muttering swears.

Spy has ruined again...his last chance to find happiness in this world has been shattered again because hes a damn idiot. ( I reallt love @tf2-x-reader-trash spy face headcanon, but i added some burns and some missing hair and eyebrow). He is repulsive...of course he would ruined it. He feels all shorts of negative emotions rushing through him but he stops. He is a gentleman and what he did was just being a huge asshole to someone who showed him kidness...He hasnt apologized in years, but he feels guilty...

So he pulls up a simple jacket and a new mask and nervously walks down the hall to find the recruit. She isnt in the common rooms so he guesses shes in her room. The jeerz of Scout about him and his girlfriend make him angry but he lets it rest for now.

He approaches the door and coughs politely and knocks. He hears a muffled " ill be in a minute" and waits. He is vibrating from anxiety but he can pull it off.

She opens up

- And look who came here...

-I...May i come inside?

- so soon mr romance? Well come but its a mess.

He doesnt make any comment just walks inside and closes the door while flipping a scout whos dying of laughter from overhearing their conversation.

- I...I am sorry for acting this way, but i...

- you didnt have your mask on yes, i saw that..

- Its not as simple as you think! My mask is...how do i know you wont use it to track me down when im retired? This company is a madhouse and sooner or later you'll get a real chance to work, how do i know you wont try to find something better without telling everyone that tosses you a chance that you have seen me?

- Do you seriously think Id do that? You are my mentor. How can i do that to you?

- and how do i know you wont do that? He huffs and justs, look lets forget all that happened, you never saw me and i am s

-how can you be sorry for something that never happened then?

-I...hes lost, shes outwited him by far.

- Look...i know its hard to trust in our profession but I promise I will never tell anyone that I saw you

- Merci....

He turns to leave

- But in all honesty, how can someone so handsome hise all day behind a mask?

And dammit she did it again. He simply turs around

-me? Handsome? Mon ami you have spent way too much time with these brutes to find me handsome.

-Well...I can't say i didnt enjoy what I saw.

She approaches him and merde his frosen again. A relief comes from within his core, that yes, even after all those years he is still handsome, even with all the scars and the bruises and...

- Do you really believe that? Its not a simple question, its a question that has haunted Spy all his life. He never believed he was pretty, he just dressee nicely and tried to charm by his words and his fancy french than his face.

- What do you believe? She brings her hand up to his cheek and caresses it. He looks at her with a softness he has never had in his eyes again.

-May i? He opens his arms and she hugs him one more time, and his heart signs in relief.

She stands in her tippy toes and gives him a small smouch...He holds her by her waist and almosts lifts her up...hes in heaven.

To be continued owo

[americangirlstar]

american girl contemporary dolls’ animal crossing islands

bc apparently covid is now canon to the agverse you know they all got new horizons

lindsey bergman: the first contemporary doll also has THE most chaotic island. she does what she wants and nobody can stop her. she only accepts the villagers with the wildest designs, made everyone’s catchphrase either uwu speak or smth like “gay rights,” only wears the most hideous outfit combinations, and buys everything from redd no matter how fake it is. one room of her house is filled with haunted artwork, another has nothing but snapping turtles. she’s figured out how to make memes into clothing patterns and now every pathway on her island is the pogchamp face. best friends with flick. honestly she’s an icon 

kailey hopkins: spends 90% of her time swimming or fishing. only 90% because she actually takes her role as island rep seriously and she has worked very hard to get it to five-star. she does abuse her power to make a million rivers and turn her island into basically a waterpark, but that just makes it cooler. died of joy when swimming was enabled and now has two of everything you can collect in the ocean decorating her house, every room of which resembles a beach house. also collects seashells and has very pretty shell arches decorating doorways

marisol luna: she went into the game with a list of who she will and will not allow on her island and is ruthless in kicking out villagers in order to get who she wants to move in. absolute QUEEN at catching tarantulas/scorpions, goes hunting for them on islands with the insane amount of nook miles she collects by doing random quests. loves collecting emotions for her character to do and then making funny videos out it. filled out the fossils in her museum FAST and now just digs up fossils to decorate the lawn with. each room of her house is a different dance studio. 

jess mcconnell: QUEEN of fishing and bug-catching but can’t dive for SHIT. she has about three of every fossil because she can’t stand the idea of selling them. is obsessed with gathering every possible DIY recipe even if she doesn’t plan on making anything with them, she just thinks they’re neat. has a shrine on her island for redd and celeste in attempts to get them to come more often. she’s been on her island religiously every day since she got the game, it’s a little scary. thinks murder should be legal on her island 

nicki fleming: cannot chose a mean dialogue option to save her life. she can barely stand to kick out villagers she dislikes either, only does it if they ask to leave and then prays to the nintendo gods that bunnie will come visit the island. the main room of her house is reflective of her actual room, the rest of it is absolutely gorgeously decorated, stuff made to look like meadows or snowy mountains. winter is her favorite, she makes a snowboy every day no matter how many times she crashes the snowballs. LIVES for cj and flick because she always hated the idea of her fish/bugs dying for a competition. saves all her new stuff for the museum for nighttime because she feels bad waking up blathers 

mia st clair: wants to hack the game so that it’s winter all the time. soon as the winter DIYs dropped she redecorated her entire island and house to be as icy as possible. she’s basically queen elsa at this point. she’s horrible at catching items so her museum is mostly fossils, but even then sometimes she sells fossils before identifying them if she’s short on bells. she visits sable every day in hopes of making her feel happy. she has pretty much every possible clothing wand so that she can carry around one to match each outfit. one time her brothers went on to try and fuck with her island and we don’t speak of what happened following that. fear her 

chrissa maxwell: shares an island with gwen and sonali. she’s the one in charge so she’s working very hard to make it a 5-star island so isabelle will stop bugging her about it. also very into DIY and likes to decorate the island with things she’s built. favorite seasonal event was the wedding anniversary one, she can’t get enough of redesigning and taking photos of those funky lil alpacas. plus, she got a lot of neat stuff out of it. goes to the able sisters every day to see what kinds of new outfits they have, and yet somehow cannot make a good fashion decision to save her life. obsessed with swimming and now leaves all other museum donations to her girlfriends so she can spend all her free time looking for crabs 

gwen thompson: somehow absolutely brutal. will send clashing-colored toilets in the mail to villagers she doesn’t like to fuck with their home design and hit them with butterfly nets. she’s tried to hit them with axes as well. shakes trees constantly in an effort to catch wasps and has not gotten stung once because she’s that quick with a net. her favorite character is celeste and chrissa and sonali have barely any star stuff because whenever celeste is on gwen is hogging the switch. changes her characters’ hairstyle, like, every five minutes. when she sends her friends gifts the letters will say something like “fuck u, love u <3″ it’s so wildly different than how she normally acts in public that it’s a little scary 

sonali matthews: even worse than gwen. has tried to murder villagers she dislikes before. sometimes fucks with parts of the island just to see how people react. would sell her soul to redd just to piss off tom nook. the only thing she takes seriously is gardening, she has a fenced-off area where she breeds flowers and woe befall anyone who messes it up. her house is a hoarder’s nightmare and chrissa and gwen have been begging her to let them redesign it but she refuses. screenshots the worst parts of their island and posts them on twitter with the dreamcode so people can see the graveyard she made to intimidate rodney 

lanie holland: still lives in a tent because she thinks it’s cool, refuses to pay up to nook so she doesn’t have to get a house. somehow has the cutest outfits of everyone. her island design is to die for, half the island is full of flowers arranged in rainbow-order and the other half looks like a faerie forest. has filled out her museum’s bug collection and has half the fossils but keeps forgetting to go fishing. her little sister emily joined her island and keeps trying to get lanie to upgrade to a house or expand other stores but lanie refuses, it’ll mess with the aesthetic. emily basically has a huge mansion in the corner of the island while everything else is practically a glorified campsite. leif is lanie’s favorite and she only collects bells in order to buy things from him 

kanani akina: the most beautiful island design you’ve ever seen. she also takes the best screencaps and posts them just so her friends know what she’s up to but becomes internet famous for how gorgeous everything is. the best designs, very diverse plants, all the houses are arranged in an aesthetically pleasing way. kanani’s house is on the beach so she can easily swim, fish and collect shells, but the inside is the best part. five of the six rooms are just as beautiful as you’d expect, with soft pastel aesthetics and quiet music playing. then her basement is referred to as the “special room” which holds nothing but several candles in a summoning circle and a single tarantula figure in the center. there’s a skeleton in the corner. whenever anyone asks about it she pretends she doesn’t know what they’re talking about. it’s the funniest thing 

mckenna brooks: disastrous. horrible at paying nook back and keeps getting angry letters from the happy home academy. her goal is to find any loopholes in the game and exploit them, no matter that the game is super simple and thus “cheats” aren’t very useful. she found out about island star ratings and now is trying in vain to get a five-star but she can’t get above a three. has been stung by wasps about a million times while shaking trees to try and find loose bells. one time she shook a tree and a toilet fell out and it now has a dedicated podium on her island, and whenever anyone asks she simply tells them that the toilet is the god of the island. hasn’t been able to keep a villager for longer than a few weeks, and also somehow got raymond on accident. still having the time of her life

saige copeland: spends far too much time designing customs and far too little removing weeds. wants to have flowers in rainbow order like lanie but keeps accidentally picking them. has absolutely no rush to do anything, lived in a tent for like three months because she forgot she could pay off loans. only accepts peppy or normal villagers so her island is pretty much all-girl and she refers to it as the amazon island; this is, however, because somehow no horses have shown up on her island yet even though she very much wants them to. likes to dream and go to random islands to get inspiration. she has a room in her house full of rainbow eels because she thinks they’re pretty 

isabelle palmer: will not stop buying things from the able sisters. she visits every day, pretty much buys one of everything, and then mixes and matches costumes instead of fixing her island. lives for the days when label visits because she takes her requests very seriously and comes back in outfits that slay™. almost exclusively gives clothing gifts to her villagers so that they have a better fashion sense. has a lot of flowers but can’t figure out how to get them to mix. the bug section of her museum has butterflies and nothing else simply because she only thinks to try and catch butterflies. hits rocks every day to try and find the daily Money Rock™. keeps trying to get raymond but her sister won’t let her pay anyone actual money for him 

grace thomas: when she visits the nook store she will solely speak to tommy. constantly checking the wiki to find out which DIYs sell well, and thus only collects shells in order to make shell arches to turn around and sell back. insanely good with bells and with figuring out how to make her island palatable, got a five-star fast. the main room of her house is decorated like a restaurant, with two different kitchen rooms and the upstairs decorated to look very french. she made everyone’s catchphrases french, too. is the only person in the world upset you can no longer eat the fish. goes swimming every day just so she can find a scallop and talk to pascal, she thinks he’s cool 

lea clark: there are a lot of plants here. just. far too many plants. of every color too! she’s very proud of it. she has a short attention span though so there’s like fifty different unfinished projects. she is best friends with like three villagers and forgets the names of the rest, but one time she accidentally hit a villager with a butterfly net and cried for an hour. only ever dresses in summer clothes and is awful at saving money so she only has like eight bells at a time. seasonal events are her absolute jam though, she can’t get enough of them. would die for leif. almost got blocked by the animal crossing twitter for constantly begging them to give her the froggy chair (thanks @lesbianleaclark!) 

gabriela mcbride: her island is more important than her social life. she is very serious about making it a functioning island, and is obsessed mainly with filling out her museum. every time she catches a sea bass instead of something new she lets out a series of swears not appropriate for a child audience. she is best friends with all of her villagers and cries whenever one of them thinks about leaving. her favorite kk slider song changes by day and she’ll switch the music around everywhere whenever she feels like it. visits other islands in order to gather materials to sell in order to make her house bigger; she’s got a dance room, a poetry corner, a student council room, and the main room looks like the liberty arts center. whenever anyone (who’s not redd) visits her island she cries and tries to figure out how to give them things for free because she loves them so much. whenever redd comes by without genuine art she tries to hack into the game in order to skin him alive

tenney grant: obsessed with getting every kk slider song. every time he shows up to the island she pulls up the list of available songs and picks one she doesn’t have yet to request. she wants to get a different song playing in every area of the island and every room of every house. shares an island with logan, jaya and holliday but she’s in charge, which sucks because holliday is way better at doing island management. she’ll text holliday with what isabelle wants her to do and then go DIY a guitar. she set up a stage area near the beach so they can give concerts for the villagers and honestly it looks gorgeous. she named her island “nashville” but makes no attempt to actually make it look like tennessee. she released her dream code on her twitter and because she’s technically a celebrity people keep coming by and asking her why everything on the island looks good except logan’s house and she’s like “ask logan idk” 

logan everett: speaking of which, yeah, logan’s house is a disaster. he cares naught for decorating his place and fills it with random things he thinks are “cool.” likes to run through flowers until they explode. the best diver on the island, though, and is responsible for that area of the museum, while tenney gets fishing, jaya gets bugs, and holliday gets fossils. they all work together to buy everything from redd whether it’s real or not because they think the art is pretty, they find out whether or not it’s real after taking it to blathers. he will place random toilets in the middle of the island and wait for someone else to find it, they have no idea he’s the one doing it and it’s driving them crazy. it’s also the funniest thing he’s ever done and he’s very proud of it. whenever kk shows up he requests a song tenney doesn’t have yet and leaves it outside her door. she didn’t ask him to do this he’s just like that 

z yang: the god of all things video games. she’s a streamer now and while she mostly streams mario, zelda or sonic games, on holidays she’ll stream her island and take suggestions for what she should do to it. due to this, her island can be a mess at times, but she somehow keeps getting good ratings. every time there’s an update she loads up a report of what’s new so she can be one of the first to try it out. she named her island something like “zworld” and refuses to change it. every room of her house is a different movie set, and she put cameras everywhere on the island “so the villagers don’t get any ideas.” somehow keeps getting rare villagers on the first try and won’t let them leave 

luciana vega: would die for celeste. her island is incredibly space-themed and well cared-for, because this game soothes her anxiety so she’s on it 24/7. her town flag is an incredibly accurate constellation. she fills out her museum specifically cause it’s run by celeste’s brother and she’d do anything for that owl; her parents got her a celeste plush for her birthday and now she won’t let go of it. she schedules her life around animal crossing updates. her favorite thing to do is go swimming at night and just look at the animation on the waves under the stars. also wisp’s best friend. won’t accept a villager unless they look like they could potentially be an alien, which means she has the coolest villager collection of everyone 

blaire wilson: due to her family’s experience running an inn she knows exactly how to run a village. her island’s almost boring in how well it’s designed and run, but she always has something extra to keep interest, like an island in the middle that’s filled with exotic flowers. went to the wedding picture event every day in order to get every piece of furniture she could and now has a “wedding area” of her island that nobody uses but is great for photos. isabelle is her favorite character and she will do anything for her. somehow able to make the funniest animal crossing memes in the world. once caught a coelacanth without expecting it and screamed and dropped her switch 

joss kendrick: the BEST fisher. has never lost a fish once, nobody knows how she does it. best friends with cj and takes his seasports challenges way too seriously. wishes they were able to surf but swimming is good, too, though sometimes she’ll spend upwards of ten minutes chasing a particularly stubborn crab. she is incredibly patient at terraforming and uses this skill for evil, as every time her cheer squad comes to visit her island she has completely changed it around and then has them all play hide-and-seek. nobody knows how to find anything. the only consistent thing is that the beach will be the coolest-looking beach in the whole game. she named her island “lesbos” and accepts villagers that “pass the gay vibe check.” nobody is sure what the gay vibe check is 

kira bailey: is horrible at saving bells or getting a good rating on her island but she doesn’t care because her main focus is DIYing her own decor to make her island look like her aunts’ conservatory. as such, will only accept animals that could potentially live there, such as koalas or kangaroos. she’s bad at figuring out where to put houses and buildings so her island’s a mess to navigate, however she knows the routes like the back of her hand and gets confused when people ask her how the hell she finds anything. for some reason absolutely terrified of wisp and refuses to wander her island at night in case they show up 

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, KIERSTEN! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF EPHEMERA.

Admin Rosey: There is something incredibly arresting about Ephemera that I thought would be difficult for someone to capture. There’s something powerful and pivotal that surrounds her - it’s why so many had fallen to their feet in order to worship her. Kiersten, you captured that perfectly. Absolutely perfectly. There line that stuck with me, throughout the application, was this:  Ephemera is, quite simply, a terrible beauty. That is what I always saw Ephemera as - terrible and beautiful. The kind that defines the divinity of angels. I am so incredibly excited to welcome Ephemera to the dash, and you to the group! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Kiersten

Age | 22

Preferred Pronouns | she/her/hers

Activity Level | I’m entering my final year of university with the lightest credit load I’ve had since sophomore year, but I’m also in the process of applying to post-grad programs ( :/ ) and co-editing an anthology for one of the departments here on campus. With that being said, I hope to get a reply out every other day, or once every two days. However, I’m chaotic and oftentimes mean to hold and/or queue replies, but end up flooding the dash. If I could give you a number, it’d be 6/10, realistically, but I’m pretty much always around on Discord to plot and/or chat!

Timezone | EST

Triggers | REMOVED.

How did you find the group?  | #thctalk :*

Current/Past RP Accounts | LINK, LINK, LINK

IN CHARACTER

Character | Ephemera - The Virtue of Prudence (with a FC change to Levy Tran, if you please? uwu)

What drew you to this character? | Ephemera is, quite simply, a terrible beauty. I’ve always been enthralled by angels and their place in different aspects of existence--as messengers, saviors, harbingers of punishment, and more--but I never quite thought of there being an angel like Ephemera and I love her all the more for it. She is a true free spirit, she is the best and worst of God; she is the first mortal to be granted wings and instead of crumbling under the weight of the honor, she rose to the occasion and exceeded expectations. She’s a glorious being deserving of adulation… How could I not be drawn to her? 

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? | 

i. Just as it was God’s folly to give His beguiling creation wings, it was His folly to dictate that she be named Ephemera. There is power in a name, and Ephemera’s literally translates to “something that is enjoyed for only a short amount of time.” How, then, is it her fault that longstanding peace knows no home in her celestial frame? Because of this, I can easily see the Virtue as a near vulture of sorts, just waiting to capitalize upon the misfortune of those beneath her. I don’t think it would be out of character for the conqueror of an angel to pick at the fraying tendrils of peace throughout the lands while Michael and his advisors are none the wiser, instigating discord whenever she deemed it politically smart—for herself, that is. 

ii. It is not often that a deity such as herself sees what could be considered an equal in someone else, but such is the fate of Ephemera and DMITRI. He is the Horseman of Conquest and she is conquest’s keeper—she, who’s known nothing but adulation for her victories as both a mortal and an angel; she, who bested her own Creator at the end… And wouldn’t be opposed to besting the Horsemen, either. I would love to explore the dynamic between these two on a micro-level (with Ephemera trying to strategically mold Dmitri into the harbinger of Death that she believes they are to be, for example), but also the dynamic between them on a macro-level that is inclusive as the HORSEMEN as a unit, as well. One of the oldest tactics of war is to divide and conquer, and the idea crosses the strategist’s mind every time she sees the Pale Horseman. What would it take to force one entity into four, all just ripe for her taking? What would Ephemera give to have such power at her fingertips? Further still, what would she do with that sort of power? 

iii. She could have sworn she was careful enough--she disposed of plucked feathers by fire, she made sure to appear wounded when necessary, and more--and still, she was brought to stand trial for her sins against her Creator. Ephemera certainly did not out herself to God, so who did? With this plot, I would love for Ephemera to search for whoever told her Creator (a CHERUBIM, perhaps?) about her stints as a god in her own right. She is haunted by the mistake even though things have turned out well for her because she doesn’t know what she did wrong--and how could she refrain from repeating her mistake if she knows nothing about it? 

iv. Ephemera is all-too aware of BASTIEN’s obsession with her--her battle stories, her military presence, her sharp mind--and is often annoyed by his incessant behavior, as she finds it difficult to believe that the mortal hasn’t yet realized her disinterest in him stems from the fact that she’s deemed him unworthy of her undivided attention. The angel knows that the Avalos man greedily laps at whatever scraps she deigns to toss his way, and, sometimes, the information she tosses his way is rotten; sometimes, she gives half-truths and embellished accounts of her encyclopedic war accounts, or gives withering comments about his militaristic plans even if she agrees with them for two reasons. The first is that she hopes it negatively impacts the whelp of a mortal enough to leave her alone, and the second is that she hopes it also negatively impacts the mortals’ military forces--especially as times become more and more strenuous between demons, angels, and mortals.  

v. Eternity is a long time to exist without amusement and she is so grateful for CADE BEKKER and his utter disdain for everything, for he is her favorite plaything. She knows he sees her as a beast waiting to be befelled, but does he not know that the Virtue evaded and had a hand in the death of God and has no qualms about doing the same to him? She is content to watch him seethe, but she wants more. I love the idea of Ephemera taunting Cade so much that it eventually does end in a fight--but one that he started, one that she can justify to herself and the others. A Virtue versus a Gifted… What a bellicose event that would be!

vi. The GIFTED are the mortals that catch Ephemera’s attention with begrudging ease (even more so than the REINCARNATED), and of the Gifted, she takes most caution around REVNA VOLK. The Virtue’s mind is her prized possession, and Revna’s very existence serves as a threat to it; as such, Ephemera is keen on keeping an eye on the mortal to ensure that she’s not blindsided by anything she does; when she looks at Revna, she feels feelings of bitterness--not because she thinks she’ll ever fall victim to the Daughter of Lies’ tricks, but because God’s divinity makes a mockery out of her as it settles in Revna’s bones. (Even in death, it seems that God intends to taunt her and keep her chained to Him in some way). This one is really open-ended and it can go a couple of ways: with the angel trying to take Revna under her wing in order to keep herself safe (similar to the way in which God brought her closer to Him despite her transgressions against Him), or she could work to make Revna’s life difficult in the Holy Land by advocating for things that would negatively impact her or keep her from gaining any more traction in the political realm. 

vii. They say that like calls to like and that both angels and demons are but two halves of the same coin—and, perhaps, in the rawest of terms, they are correct. Like the demon that she is, SALOME pulls a viciousness from Ephemera that reminds the angel of the Old Testament God—of a God that was divinely terrible and possessed a haughtiness that so often informed the deliverance of punishments to those who couldn’t help but fall short of the expectations placed on their incapable shoulders. God found it easy to lose Himself in His throes of battle and glory and passion, and there’s a part of Ephemera that clings to His likeness despite her repeated successes at besting Him; she, too, finds herself susceptible to His same weakness. 

Most mistakes made by the Virtue of Prudence are never capitalized on, as they’re so few and far between and tend not to be egregious enough to exploit; however, time is as merciless as she, and it exposes what few chinks do exist in Ephemera’s armor while also giving Salome time to start to understand. I’m really excited to play out the relationship between these two beings, especially as Ephemera simultaneously believes she’s better than Salome, but knows Salome can capitalize on her mistakes--and oh, how she detests the way the demon smiles when she knows the angel has made an error! 

viii. Ephemera feels as though she chose MICHAEL as much as he chose her, which is why she feels comfortable enough to lord her part in Caelum’s creation over his head, should he begin to forget that it was her military brainchild that led to God being tossed from Heaven and her battalions that stifled the even the strongest of Heretic strikes. For now, she is content to remain by his side because he affords her freedoms that God was too cowardly to, but ephemera are not meant to be enjoyed for eternity. What would it take to turn the mind against the body, the Virtue against the one who bequeathed her such an honor? How would the King of Caelum react to being extorted, in a sense, by his own military advisor?

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yea! It be like that sometimes but so long as it makes sense, serves the plot, and befits the glorious conqueror that is Ephemera I am down to clown uwu

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation | 

(Ephemera has always been divine, but she’s not always been an angel; as such, her driving motivation has changed with her!)

  As a MORTAL, Ephemera was driven by SUCCESS. Her life was hard-won and something she snatched without so much of a second thought; she wanted to be brilliant, and so she was. She was the first woman to rally her people to prestige and glory and led them to prosperity with her wisdom and iron-clad fist; she made a lover out of Death time and time again, but always evaded both it and God because she is bigger than them both and her successes attest to this. 

As an ANGEL, however, she quickly realized that successes (even awe-inspiring ones like her own) were dimes a dozen and was left wanting more, wanting something of substance in an eternal life rather than worshipping God without end. She found solace in her own FREE WILL and never looked back—but who can blame her, as she is only adhering to God’s wish for His beloved creations? Ephemera values herself and her freedom above all else, but even she knows that the strongest of generals need legions behind them; she stays aligned with Michael and his kingdom because she wants to, not because she must. 

In-Character Para Sample | 

“What do you have to say for yourself, my child?”

She expects nothing less from God, who loves her so that He wishes to give her a chance to explain herself. Fool, she defiantly thinks as she stands at the throne of her Creator, head unbowed and expression unfazed. The angel waits to respond, forcing an uncomfortable silence upon them both--and God, enraptured with His own work, allows her to do so and again bring attention to His folly. He is steadfast in His love and grace with her especially, as she is closer to his truest loves--his mortals--than any of the other celestial beings that gather to watch the sentencing of the woman whom they believed never truly deserved her place among beings as divine as themselves. 

Ephemera knows what is expected of her: utter repentance, a grand show of regret and sorrow, and a promise to never again commit such an offense against her wondrous Maker again. She has seen it before and it only further stoked her ire against the selfish God that holds her here in a farce of a trial in an attempt to break her will and reinstate His place as both the Alpha and Omega. She will now bow nor will she beg for forgiveness; if anything, He should be prostrate at her throne, begging for her forgiveness as it is His wretched desire to keep his favorite mortal in his dominion like she is a pet. She is unapologetic as she responds, voice unwavering: “I have done no different than You have done Yourself.” 

The silence of the throne room shatters. Cherubim cry out in disgust at such blasphemy; Seraphim gasp and whisper, eyes wide with disgust that someone they called a comrade would do something so heinous. God raises a hand and the outcries stop; He looks to his masterpiece expectantly, and Ephemera continues, “In the presence of Your own omniscience, I spent centuries disguising myself as a mortal to once again feel more than loathing.” 

The pain that flashes across His face is genuine and full of agony; it’s an expression Ephemera knows because she’s seen it flit across the visages of others she’s conquered throughout her lifetimes as Athena and Nike, Minerva and Freya. And still, she does not bend at her knees and profess her love; she remains upright and earnest--and how could she not, when she’s done nothing wrong? 

“My creation,” God says, “you know the cost of such transgressions.” 

She does. She’s heard tales of Moloch and Chemosh and Dagon; she knows the penalty of disobedience is the stripping of wings from bodies. She’s been told of the excruciating pain, of the near demonic screams that spilled from the angels’ lips as God punished them enough to traumatize them with pain, but not enough to offer the sweet outlet of ceasing to exist--and yet, she is more bothered by His language. Ephemera can’t help but bristle as He, even when threatening her with a wingless existence, lays claim to her as though she did not mold herself into the wonder that she is.

“Rip my wings off.” It’s a bold challenge that once again riles the watching masses. They call her a heretic, a foolhardy mortal who deserves to return from the same dust from which she came--and God does nothing but drink in the sight of the beguiling creature at His throne that refuses to pledge her loyalty to Him and not herself. 

How can He condemn her to such a painful existence? She is one of his finest creations.

He lifts a mighty hand and she braces herself for pain, but does not balk or cower. His fingertips run down her ivory plumage, paying careful attention to the places she plucked to masquerade as a mortal. Ephemera clenches her jaw and it remains locked even as His touch leaves her wings. 

“How could I, my Ephemera?” And so, He decides to draw her closer to Him still in spite of her blatant sins against him. She is a Seraphim--His Seraphim--and He all but chains her to Him by revoking her privilege to traverse alongside mortals and ordering that she stay close to His side via pretentious titles such as general, His strategist, His masterpiece, and more.

Ephemera loathes Him all the more for it.  

Extras | 

headcanons.

The Virtue’s wings seem to mimic her sword, in the sense that they, too, glisten as though they were cut from unforgiving ice. Ephemera’s lush, ivory plumage is, upon close inspection, flecked with gold; however, the silver tips of her feathers are far more noticeable, allowing for a more ice-like appearance. When she used to parade as a mortal, she would pluck her own feathers to make her wings less full and easier to conceal. It must be God’s favor, then, that still shines on her, as there is no evidence--save for the phantom sensations prickling against her skin--of her past actions. 

Ephemera’s companions throughout her eternal existence have varied, and they are often depicted at her side by the devoted mortals that dubbed her their goddesses--Nike, Athena, Freya, and Minerva--and etched her glorious likeliness into word, gold, and marble. Her companions, too, came from those devoted mortals, and Ephemera strategically chose which animals to accept as gifts and keep at her side. These animals, kept by the angel throughout her stints as different mortal deities, include: a barn owl, a white King Cobra, a wild boar, and a silver dapple Arabian horse. 

No longer needing an animal to symbolize herself to the mortals of the Old World, Ephemera made the decision to stop keeping companions and instead chose to focus on plans to overthrow God. Since then, however, the angel has acquired a red fox companion--but if you ask her, she would assert that the fox chose her, as the animal followed her home from the forest one night. Ephemera ignored the vixen at first, but soon found herself amused by her wit and overall penchant for chaos. Ephemera named the fox Gloria--a nod to the Latin word ‘gloriae’ that is synonymous with immortal glory, fame, renown, praise, and honor.  

The Virtue of Prudence keeps no written records of her strategies, aside from the plans she gave Michael in response to and as a show of her allegiance to the dissatisfaction that led to the usurping of God. 

Ephemera is, in some capacity, always prepared for battle. Conquest and the desire for victory run rampantly through her veins, and growing comfortable in her surroundings is tantamount to accepting defeat and complacency--both of which, of course, are absolutely unacceptable for this divine conqueror. Because of this, the angel is incredibly observant and never leaves without her sword, even though she has rarely used it since the quelling of the God and, subsequently, Heretics. 

personality inventory.

Nine Moral Alignments: Chaotic Neutral - The Free Spirit

+ | opportunistic, adaptable, innovative -  | self-serving, bellicose, disharmonious

MBTI: INTJ - The Architect + | independent, jane-of-all-trades, driven -  | judgemental, blunt, secretive

Four Temperaments: Choleric 

+ | practical, passionate, ambitious -  | cruel, proud, offensive

additional extras. 

PINTEREST: here

MOCK BLOG: here

[magica-witch-project]

Uhm, Hello. I would like a wish please. Personality: kinda shy and very kind. I love animals and I'm very empathetic. My wish would probably be to be able to understand and help all the animals in need or not in need. Uhm I also saw something about what would make me fall into despair, it would probably be animal abusers or those horrible people who train their dogs to fight other dogs. Thank you very much for the wish UwU

(I suppose I’ll go ahead and clarify here just in case anyone is confused- the whole “How do you fall into despair?” Thing is totally optional! I know some people come here with a specific idea in mind, especially if their submission is for an OC, so I want people to know that they can send that if they want. You definitely don’t have to though- I actually enjoy coming up with falls as well so please don’t feel pressured to supply me with one. Thank you!)

Your magical girl form is olive green and brown. Your outfit is a bit rugged- green cloth shirt and pants with a leather breastplate, gauntlets, and greaves. Set into the breastplate is your soul gem- teardrop-shaped and deep green. You also have a pair of soft brown dog ears on your head, making your somewhat intimidating look feel quite cute. Your weapon is a wooden spear with vines carved around the handle, the top of which is made from green crystal that glows faintly in the darkness. In addition to your weapon, you have the new ability to walk without audible footsteps, which makes sneaking around undetected much easier. Amongst your magical peers, you are fairly well liked for your high empathy and kind demeanor, so you get invited to team up fairly often. Your life outside of this new responsibility is now filled with animal companionship- every day you seem to stumble upon a stray or injured animal and take them into your care. The people around you find this a bit strange, but you couldn’t be happier caring for all of these sweet creatures.

The unfortunate part of being able to understand animals is that sometimes, you know there is noting you can do to help. The pleadings of creatures too far gone haunts you, but it doesn’t stop you from trying. There is one thing that finally breaks you- as you wander the streets one evening, you hear the crying of dozens of voiced, pleading for you to save them. What you stumble upon is an illicit dogfighting ring. The chorus of voices is angry and sad all at once, but when you attempt to break in to free them, the people running the ring chase you out, armed with weapons that you know you couldn’t counter. Surrounded by the now fainter cries for help, you succumb to your own helplessness and begin your transformation. You are now Alessandra, the sheepdog witch. Her nature is guarding. Alessandra’s barrier appears to be a wide open field filled with her strange, animal-like minions. None of them are particularly recognizable as any one animal, but that doesn’t matter for the witch. They simply exist for her to watch over. Alessandra herself takes the form of a massive and very hairy dog. On the onset, she appears to be cute and harmless, but her eyes are too keen, and her teeth are far too sharp. She views any intruder as a threat to her uncanny flock, and she will not allow any harm to come to them. Her bite is powerful and devastating, so be sure to stay away from her jaws when battling her. When defeated, she will whine softly and her “flock” will scatter.

Thank you for the wish! If you want anything changed please let me know. I really enjoyed writing this one, though I thin it came off a bit darker than I had anticipated. I actually have 3 sheepdogs myself, and Alessandra is based very loosely on my big boy, Ender. That dog absolutely lives to herd, which is funny given he lives in a suburban neighborhood. In place of sheep, he enjoys herding my family members and barking “ferociously” at anyone who comes to the door. I thought his protective nature would go well with yours towards animals. Best wishes to you!

-Mod Mami 🐕

Bonus: The fluffy boy in question!

[obutsuwrites]

vermilion | ch. 1 | (overhaul x f!reader)

summary:  The scent of burnt skin would bring her back to reality. She would feel His soft, divine touch. Heavy Fire looked forward to this most. She admired him. Despite her butchered hands, flesh clinging to maroon slivers; Chisaki was diligent. Heavy Fire's mind would wander into scenes of him finding her, healing her. Truly healing heart shaped bruises. Ugly business.

xxx

word count: 588

my masterlist

my tip jar~!

ask box is open 4 thirsts n suggestions uwu

prologue | chapter 2

“Your quirk is amazing!” Heavy Fire mused, watching her cells become whole again; her harsh skin reforming. “It hardly even hurts too, gotta admit having sleepy nerves is a win.” She giggled, her features tugging into a timid smile. No jokes or smiles seemed to change Chisaki’s demeanor. From their first meeting, Heavy Fire had discovered the deadpan, professional atmosphere He embodied. His features shrouded by a porcelain mask.

A stoic god, she had decided. These moments felt therapeutic. Chisaki would unglove, pure hands freed. Rarely, his hand would hover over her charred flesh. His eyes would burrow into her, lighting her chest ablaze. Does he like looking at me like this?

The scent of burnt skin would bring her back to reality. She would feel His soft, divine touch. Heavy Fire looked forward to this most. She admired him. Despite her butchered hands, flesh clinging to maroon slivers; Chisaki was diligent. Heavy Fire's mind would wander into scenes of him finding her, healing her. Truly healing heart shaped bruises. Ugly business.

Rooted in the deepest vessel of Heavy Fire’s heart, she was devoted to him. The idea of him Fixing her. Chisaki’s presence would soak in her abundance of laughter.

“You’re staring at me, again,” he said, his tone flat and agitated. It was a personal insult, he’d dryly inform here.

Heavy Fire turned her head, short hair following. “It’s impolite, I’m sorry.”

Chisaki’s divinity was almost blinding to her. He had a pull. She felt her heart ache watching him. His face was an ocean of apathy. Half lidded gilded eyes witnessing miracles. Miracles performed on her.

Chisaki sighed, his breath muffled against his mask. He felt insecure being leered at. Her gawking was piercing. It was insulting enough to be torn apart and ‘rebuilt’. Chisaki had abandoned any shred of hope the day his hands were maimed. The pain he could endure, but the absolute brutality of it… Becoming quirkless so effortlessly. Everything. Everything he had strived to achieve was at his feet, and he fucked up. He fucked up, letting heroes, titans compared to the shadow of this woman. Heavy Fire.

The thought of touching her had been revolting at first. A foreign body to interact with? The outside was filth. Dirtier than before. The public displays of admiration for heroes continued to lift. Higher and higher men ascended to god-hood. This hero was merely another glory hound riding the surge of Kamino Ward.

•·················•·················•

“Agreeing to participate might allow you to visit with him. Perhaps more than once.”

•·················•·················•

He had never heard of her. A literal stranger that was so gleeful to have his hands against her flesh. His hands reflected her damage; splashes of scarlet decorating wispy hands. Nothing in Tartarus felt clean enough, even the food. In captivity, Chisaki’s frame had become willowy.

A voice boomed from the ceiling, “Well, Chisaki’s quirk seems to be performing as expected.” The Director had insisted Heavy Fire and Chisaki operate alone; a three-part two-way mirror opposite to them. The illusion of privacy. Heavy Fire preferred this. Time with him was sacred.

“Chisaki-sama, what’s your favorite color?” Heavy Fire asked.

The former Yakuza captain winced. A dead name resurrected to haunt him.

A simple exercise, she was told. Beyond re-mastery of his quirk, Heavy Fire’s objective was to humanize Him. She had advocated for months about it.

Gilded eyes scanned her for a moment, his head turning curiously. He appeared to be almost pensive over the question. He’s cute like this.

“White, I suppose.”

[eye-cri]

aaaa I just couldn’t resist wanting to do this! Alphabet hcs (Fluff/Sfw style~) 

I’m gonna do this for both Najlynn and Aidma!!! 

A is for Adventure: something they haven’t done but have always wanted to

Both: Travel around the world and experience different cultures and have pure wild adventures to get to see beautiful sights. And they’d also want to help those they see that are in need of help and put them in a good place.

B is for Butterflies: How they act when they’re nervous

Aidma: Fidgets a lot. Usually she’ll fidget with her hands and kind of shift in place. It seems to get on other people’s nerves though.... 

Najlynn: Her feet tap a lot on the floor and she’ll fidget her tongue in her mouth. Her eyes can’t seem to stay focused either. 

C is for Crush: what is it like when they have a crush? How do they know/act?

Aidma: She’ll be blushing more around them. When she gets even just a simple complement she’ll go shy mode. But she can still interact with them casually of course. She’d most likely find out about the crush when she’s taking one of her nature walks. Shy complement giver but she wants to show that she notices the little things about her crush. 

Najlynn: Smiley smiley :). She’ll be your little comedian. She makes people fall for her through her jokes for the most part. She’d give you complements confidently a good amount too~

D is for Date: describe an ideal date for them

Both: They don’t really have date ideals just as long as both sides enjoy the time spent together that’s enough for them ❤ 

E is for Essential: what is one thing they could NEVER go without

Aidma: Well,,, support. trauma still haunts her to this day and she appreciates every bit of support she gets. I don’t think she’d still be here if she hadn’t had support.... 

Najlynn: Her close friends that understand her thick and through. They are her shields from the hate she gets for just being her (because she’s  pan-sexual and poly-amorous).

F is for Favorite: a favorite anything- food, place, smell, book, etc.

Aidma: Spicy chips are one of her favorite snacks. Any lake/pond is a favorite place of her’s. wood, flowing water and however Zeus smells are her favorite scents. :> Her favorite books are academia books. 

Najlynn: Macaroons with whipped cream and coffee is her favorite snack. Cafes, parks and board walks are her favorite places. Flowers, books, freshly gritted coffee beans and grass are her favorite scents. Her favorite books are also academia books (but she leans towards light and romantic academia books). 

G is for Giggle: how they laugh/what makes them laugh

Aidma: Usually it starts out soft and she’ll be covering her mouth but it goes further it’d get a a bit louder and she’ll be clutching her stomach. Sometimes she just bursts out in loud laughter but tbh its rare. 

Najlynn: She always purses her lips before laughing. always. And she never holds back, she can sometimes be the loudest laugher which can sometimes cause people to look at her weirdly but she never notices it.

Both: They both snort a bit in their laughs and i find that really cute uwu

H is for Holding Hands: Do they like holding hands? Are their hands warm or cold? Pinky promises?

Aidma: Y E S PLZ. her hands are warm uwu. also a big yes for pinky promises. Pinky promises are extremely important to her and if you break it then you break a lil piece of her :( 

Najlynn: handholding is such a cute thing to do in her eyes so yes. her hands are actually cold! Pinky promises she sees as cute childish things to do. she usually doesn’t take them seriously but if the other person takes them seriously then she will too. 

I is for Inside Joke: something they do that everyone thinks is funny but they don’t understand

Aidma: When she’s mad at Zeus she’ll call him pin-chan or pinny just because he hates it. He said “those are to much of childish names” for him lol. He especially hates it when its in front of people. 

Najlynn: She likes adding the word girl in the most serious of sentences. ex “I am sorry for the death of your father girl”. Some kind of dark humor that is..... 

J is for Jinx: Are they Superstitious?

Both: No, they usually make fun of superstitious people together. 

K is for Kiss: how do they kiss?

Aidma: usually soft, and full of emotions. They leave you with a nice fluttery feeling. But when she’s horni she’ll be very passionate and you’ll be left to have to catch your breath. 

Najlynn: itty bitty kisses and even though they were little, because there were so much you have to catch your breath. 

L is for Love Languge: what is their love language? How do they give and how would they like to receive love?

Aidma: whether subtle or not, she gives constant reminders that she loves them. gifts, hand holding, cuddles, hugs and ect are her ways of expressing love. But she prefers to be shown love physically. You don’t even have to say the words to her, but affectionate touches are her favorite way of getting love.She also likes looking into the eyes of her lover lovingly and seeing the same look on their face looking at her (even tho she’s really shy about this).

Najlynn: She likes whispering sweet nothings to her lover and seeing their reaction. That’s her favorite way of showing love. She also likes getting shown physical affection.

M is for Meant to be: how/when they know someone is “the one”

Aidma: That when she spends time with them, it seems to go by so fast. That’s honestly what she really wants with someone. 

Najlynn: That they’re okay with how she wants the relationship to be and it actually ends up working out. it never seems to work out with any body like this and she just wants someone who is cool with being in a polyamorous relationship. 

N is for Nickname: a nickname they would have or their favorite thing to be called

Aidma: her nicknames are: Adi, Didi/Di, Dia and, Mani

Najlynn: her nicknames are: Naji, Naj, Nana, JeJe (its pronounced zhe zhe) DISCLAIMER: NEVER CALL NAJLYNN, LYNN. just don’t. She hates it and will end up breaking your arm if you do. 

O is for Organization: are they clean or messy?

Aidma: clean for the most part, sometimes she is a little messy but later she’d end up cleaning it up. But she can get really messy on stressful days.

Najlynn: I mean, she’s kinda messy but her sister always ends up nagging her to clean up after herself so she ends up cleaning it up. 

P is for Pet Peeve: What’s something they absolutely CAN’T stand?

Aidma: Strangers and non close friends who don’t get personal space. and constant small noises(like the ticking of a clock).

Najlynn: Being asked personal questions from non close people. like yeah she’s an open person but not that open. 

Q is for Quiet: What do they do for peace of mind

Aidma: Nature walks, eat sugary foods, cuddle with her lover or get her emotions out by drawing

Najlynn: Scents really have a calming affect on her so she’d try to go somewhere that has one of her favorite scents. cuddling with someone also calms her pretty well.

S is for Soft: Describe their softest feature

Aidma: smile, laughter, basically her whole body. :3

Najlynn: her voice is loud but somehow soft?? idk how to explain it. her lips look so soft when she smiles i wouldn’t be mad if u wanted to kiss her right there when she smiles. 

T is for Telephone: are they a talker or a texter? How often do they use their phone? (modern au ofc)

Aidma: she switches btw liking to talk over the phone/facetime/txting. Usually, she doesn’t use her phone much, like around 1h some days or 5h other days. depends 

Najlynn: She likes txting better. sometimes she likes to facetime but its rare tbh. she uses her phone a lot, like around 7h. 

U is for Unique: a random quirk they have

Aidma: not really a quirk but she mocks ppl’s voices a lot. 

Najlynn: She can tell someone’s relationship with their family by first glance. lol idk how i thought of that.

V is for Valentine: Are they the type to celebrate or not?

Aidma: Even when she didn’t have Zeus by her side she loved valentines day. Although she did get a bit jealous of the happy couples she was happy for them.

Najlynn: Surprisingly, no. She doesn’t have any ill feelings towards it, she just doesn’t care for it.

W is for Wholesome: something extremely pure about them that makes you just *uwu*

Aidma: I know I already said this but she loves physical affection and imagining some Fluffy Adius scenarios really warms my heart 🥰

Najlynn: She’s just soo understanding!! I adore her for her supportive side. 

X is for Xenia: How they would entertain a guest/show hospitality

Both: Cook some bomb food and sweets, (modern au prt) and offer to turn on the tv. lol but they’d probably talk over the tv.

Y is for Youth: A fond childhood memory they have

Aidma: uh............................................... okay well.......... when she first met her older sister (Amalie) They were in hiding but here’s the thing, they had Iasona who was still a baby at the time with them cuz Iaso’s mother had been killed right after she had birthed Iaso and then Iaso had been thrown out left to die. But Amalie found her and took care of her. After a a year and a few months when Amalie found Adi they decided to go into hiding and Adi thinks that time in hiding, taking care of Iasona was “a calm in the cruel storm”.   

Najlynn: meeting her little siblings for the first time. She immediately adored them all.

Z is for Zzz: Sleep habits. Do they cuddle in their sleep? Talk? What do they dream about?

Aidma: She’s the biggest sleep cuddler. She doesn’t talk in her sleep (she’s quite happy for it). Nightmares unfortunately happen at least every week for her but her dreams are usually either totally chaos or, its of what she wanted her childhood to be. 

Najlynn: Sometimes she’ll cuddle but it’s not often. Yeah she does talk in her sleep (when she and Adi have to camp out on a mission her sleep talking annoys Adi to no end(cuz she’s do damn loudd))  Sometimes she has visions in her sleep but she never remembers them. When she does have nightmares, they’re creepy asf. Her dreams usually have clouds in them for some reason idk y. 

[rumtumtuggerisabicon]

(Long-ish post warning)

This is gonna be bad cause I’m tired but.

Beautiful Ghosts. Oh boy.

So firstly, the song is so repetitive there’s not much to analyze because once I read something it was repeated like thirty times, and half of the lyrics were... just trying to be ‘cool’ and ‘creative’, but in that ‘we’re not going to try so just throw some darts and write what they hit’ way and there’s absolutely no way to analyze them without me going insane so I’ll basically go over the really bad parts.

“Follow me home if you dare to

I wouldn't know where to lead you...”

Ok so obviously the other cats are supposed to be her ‘home’ now. But she follows that by saying she wouldn’t know where to take her... well, that’s kinda obvious. Victoria’s been with the others for what, three? Four hours? Why is Victoria feeling a little out of place a horrible tragedy? She’s trying to break into tight knit groups. What, is she supposed to be best friends with near strangers immediately? I mean half of them have been focused on her all night but we’ll get to that later.

“Should I take chances when no one took chances on me?

So I watch from the dark, wait for my life to start...”

Oh would you look at the time, it’s later. Victoria, sweetheart, from the moment they tore your bag open Hetero Mistoffelees has been attempting to flirt with you. Munkustrap has included you in a bunch of things including introducing you to Rebelanydots and Bustopher Corden. You’ve danced and sang with them. I may be missing something, but that’s at least taking half a chance in my opinion. Just saying. Also? Yeah no, you’re not hiding in the dark.

“All that I wanted was to be wanted...”

Thank god they built up your backstory and character up so well that this line resonates with the audience and isn’t just a weak attempt at a ‘:’( I was abandoned’ character that in reality is a paper thin character that compensated the missing character traits so much that your abandonment issues became your entire personality. Thank god.

“Born into nothing

At least you have something...”

Ding ding ding! We’ve done it folks! We’ve found a line that unlocks all of my pent up rage! Because HOLY SHIT this line pisses me off so much it hurts. Because yes, writers of Beautiful Ghosts and Cats (2019), Victoria’s thirty seconds of abandonment and loneliness before she was immediately intregrated into another society and got friends and a admirer literally immediately DEFENTLY compairs to Grizzabella’s literal years of banishment and hatred from the tribe. Yep.

“Scared to call them my friends and be broken again

Is this hope just a mystical dream?”

I feel like originally the movie was just about Victoria and her backstory, with beautiful CGI and practical effects, with Beautiful Ghosts coming after she meets the Jellicals at some cat party or some shit and the other person she’s singing to is herself in the past or something. But the one person who actually saw Cats The Musical, the janator, mentioned “y’all think people may not be lookin for this in a Cats movie” and they immediately trashed it and gave us the monstrosity we have today. But, they needed an extra song and they looked at their trash and said ‘fuck it’ and put BG in anyway.

“And so maybe my home isn't what I had known

What I thought it would be

But I feel so alive with these phantoms of night

And I know that this life isn't safe but it's wild and it's free!”

Ok so right off the bat I feel like the first two lines are repetitive, as because if you had a home, that’s the home you would think it would be. You don’t have a home and think, ‘yeah, my home will be this.’ I mean if you’re a human, maybe. But Victoria is a cat. A literal slightly more coherent cat. So -10 points. Also? The two points that might be considered ‘dangerous’ thus far in her story is I think maybe? One Macavity encounter? And it was him just him kidnapping Bustopher Corden, and when Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer abandoned her and that’s because they were war criminals in the movie.

“All that I wanted was to be wanted

I'll never wander London streets alone and haunted

Born into nothing

With them I have something

Something to cling to

I never knew I'd love this world they've let me into”

Hey professional writers, here’s some advice... a), changing some words doesn’t magically make the verse powerful, and b), this is extra true when the song behind it has as much weight as literal air.

So in conclusion, the song is a piece of absolute horrible writing that was clearly trying to do what Memory was to the OG musical, but tried to do this by taking away from Grizz’s character and song and trying to have Victoria be the UWU main character and it sorry you all had to read this with your own two eyes I apologize

[ephemeral-afterlight]

Mourning at Midnight

(UwU so Hey. i’m back with some more trash)

Word Count: 7480

Summary: It’s scary, in a way, how in moments like this one, Logan feels as if his consciousness floats away from him, leaving behind only a wave of white-hot, searing anger that drains out of him just as quickly as it comes. There’s sleet running through his veins, and his brain has frostbite, and his fingertips are numb in the face of the ringing resonance after his outburst. The pain comes next, a simmering heat blistering below his fist until it’s coated and red and the beginnings of a bruise are starting to form. He can’t help but stare helplessly in front of himself, eyes burning and filling and blazing with how much they beg to close.

He doesn’t want to look up, to face the suffocating silence that’s fallen over the room. He doesn’t want to see their faces, their disappointment, their anger, their contempt. He wants to yell. He wants to sleep.

Logan sinks out.

Warnings (could potentially be small spoilers, nothing too big, but if you don’t have any triggers I’d suggest you skip reading this!):

There are no u!sides in this, nor does anyone have malicious intent, but the other main three (Virgil, Patton, Roman) and Thomas, to a lesser extent, treat Logan unkindly (not on purpose) and don’t realize their errors. This will be resolved! Just… not yet OwO

Being ignored/talked over

Mental/emotional breakdown

An unidentified illness with symptoms including: [extreme persistent nausea (lots of mentions), vomiting (once), bile, weakness/weariness, shaking, lightheadedness, double vision (once), headache, body aches/pains, breathing difficulties]

General negativity including: [self-doubt, self-deprecation/depreciation, feeling worthless or unloveable, self-hatred]

Anger management/temperament issues

Unintentional self-harm (not anything like c-tting, Logan gets a bruise as a result of an angry outburst)

Separate small, vague allusion to self-harm, but it’s not outright and not detailed in the slightest. Could be read as not even talking about self-harm

Potentially triggering descriptive imagery (metaphors and similes to describe how a character feels or percieves a situation, not anything that actually happens) including but not limited to: [glass, sharp things, blood, injection, live wires, loud noises, screaming, general mentions of pain, masochism, sound torture, knives/blades, wounds, drowning/suffocating, pressure]

Temporarily unresolved tension between Logan/Deceit/Remus and the other sides/Thomas (there will be a happy ending in the next fic, though, don’t worry!)

A few vulgar threats of violence (somewhat explicit, be careful) to the other sides from Remus (out of protectiveness; Remus means well but he does Not express it in a healthy way) that is not carried out or even humoured

Remus’ morning star and descriptions of its destructive capabilites

Loceit as a romantic pairing (for now…. UwU)

Sympathetic “dark” sides

That should be it for warnings! Let me know if I need to add anything!

A/N: So! This is finally done :D !! I’ve been working on it on and off for the past week or so, and although I know it could be way better, I think this is where I’ll keep it! This is technically a sequel to my other fic Tea at Twilight and it takes place in the same universe, and although you don’t need to read that before this to understand the story, I strongly suggest reading that first to get more of a feel for the dynamic! 

This is inspired by @illogicallyinclined and her absolutely amazing Disaster Trio™ headcanons/au, and was prompted by this post so I just started writing! I meant for it to be a bit shorter, but of course my brain would Not let it go, even despite my ADHD, executive dysfunction, and massive amounts of writer’s block. 

This is also unfinished! It is the second of three main works, all happening chronologically in the same universe. The first one is Tea at Twilight as stated previously, then this one, and there will be a third and final installment added to finish off this short little trilogy! I’ll be adding this to the series on AO3, so when the final fic is up, it’ll all be together for an easy reading experience. It is also possible that there will be other small fics in this universe (UA, as has been recently coined) that operate outside of the timeline of the main story, so be sure to watch out for that! 

Thanks to Jay once again for creating these lovely headcanons that haunt my dreams every night, and for inspiring me to get back into my writing groove despite a writer’s block that’s lasted for over three years! Hope this isn’t too terrible, Jay! ilyy <333</p>

Also, a huge thank you to @illogical-anxieties for being such a good cheerleader/enabler! You really do help to keep me motivated and on track (and keep my ADHD in check), which is probably why this was even able to become a full-fledged story rather than a WIP to be buried where unfinished fics go to die T~T Love you tons <3</p>

(If I’m being honest with myself, this is just an excuse for me to live up to my IRL title of “Living Thesaurus”, coined by a friend many years ago and has since spread around to other friends and family. My title is thriving, and I suppose that means I should actually have proof of it, so there’s that.)

(Cross-posted to AO3)

(Read Part 1 here)

He can feel it building.

There’s far too much left to be desired when it comes to frustration. The natural helplessness that makes way for anger when you try so hard to do something or be something for someone and you’re pushed down by anything and everything between ignorance and antipathy. The fear that nothing you can do or say will ever be good enough. The buzzing, ticking, pinpricks upon pinpricks of heat injected into you until your blood and heart have been replaced with glass, fragile as a crumbling stone wall. It’s not as if he hasn’t had his outbursts before, spurred on by the familiar sharp pulse of rage that courses through him in a split-second whirlwind. It builds inside him, and he can feel the pressure in his limbs expand until it feels like his muscles are being squeezed out of existence and then he snaps like a rubber band that’s been pulled too taut. He’s not in denial of the fact that his impulsive, blinding reaction when met with frustration is not okay, and only detrimental to the demeanour he’s trying to retain. He knows it’s childish. He knows it’s immature, and pathetic, and wholly invigorating, at least until the adrenaline has worn off and he’s in the aftermath of his knee-jerk reaction to the tension coiled in his arms and legs and head.

It doesn’t mean that Logan is particularly in control of it though, despite his self-awareness being far above the level that most people with anger management issues are at. Maybe there’s a certain quality to it that allows for growth; it’s not as if Logan stays angry, or that he wants to hurt people. He loves the others, painfully so (as much as he loathes to admit it), to the point where he’s so desperate for their approval that he tampers down his passion, that spark that used to drive him to learn and speak and be happy just to avoid being cast out and abandoned, alone in the way he never wants to be. He wants to find a way to temper the fall into those dark, consuming waters, a way to mute the buzzing and ticking. He wants to seal those exposed live wires and release the tension to the point where he never lashes out ever again. He wants to, and he doesn’t know how to, and that fact infuriates him in an ironic, endless cycle of self-imposed and self-directed enmity.

Logan still thinks on this often, even now, wracking his brain for solutions to problems that realistically won’t be solved as easily as he wishes they would. Excerpts and quotes and data and statistics from many different studies about anger and temper management and irritability and everything in between seem to figuratively run amok through his brain, a screaming crowd of witnesses to the chaos and failure found in his ability to filter through the nonsense and come to a satisfying conclusion, any conclusion at all. He notices how his fingers tremble as they slip into the handle of his coffee mug, endures the dull ache in his mid-to-lower back from falling asleep at his desk for the majority of the day under the guise of work so important he holed himself up in his room to complete it. He ignores the way his head pounds, how he feels so dizzy that he might fall over and pass out any second from lightheadedness. He suffers through the loud conversations between the other three that are typical to the dinner routine that Logan cannot deal with today, not with this headache poking at him like figurative needles in his head.

When he senses the summons from Thomas stirring up the familiar but nonetheless odd ticklish sensation on the back of his neck, Logan can feel the tension knot up his muscles, and the combination of the two just makes him want to growl in irritation. The others, having also felt the summoning, seem to get impossibly louder, ringing and stinging and singing in his head. He still persists, despite the fact that he knows he shouldn’t be out doing anything today that’s likely to exacerbate his sickness, because Thomas is important, more so than Logan himself. No matter how much he wants to hole himself up in his room and sleep the day away, his host needs him, so Logan simply forces his mask of indifference to melt into steel. He refuses to budge, not for the first or last time, and he rises up in the real world standing straight and rigid and as put together as he’s always expected to be.

When he’s finally settled into his usual spot, as still as he can possibly be to not exacerbate the roiling nausea disquieting his stomach, he’s able to take in the other four arranged in their usual positions in Thomas’ living room, already having begun a conversation that Logan has missed the premise of entirely through his all-eclipsing, obfuscating malady. His vision doubles, like broken fractals of glass reflecting onto themselves, and then it pulls back together, merging back into something visible, something manageable.

“Well, I’m sure Danny likes you, too! You just gotta ask him, kiddo!” Patton exclaims, high voice pushing through the heavy, suffocating cotton in Logan’s ears, and the words snap the bespectacled side to attention. He needs context, needs to know what they’re talking about, needs to be able to help for once. Maybe he has to endure the bad to be able to put out the good, and this is where the climax is, the top of the rollercoaster at such a high altitude that oxygen is thin and dispersed before he shoots down the tracks in a rush of fresh air, relieving and calm and sanguine as he’s finally able to ground himself. A shiver runs through Logan’s body, between his shoulder blades and down his hip and through his leg, and his eyes flutter under the weight of consciousness. It recedes, the flow is ebbed, and his head clears to a more sustainable level.

“Oh, that’s so boring, Padre! Thomas should hire a band to play! And we can rig up streamers and confetti and there can be a cake and dancing and a party to celebrate!” Roman crows, throwing his arms and hands up into his signature pose to match his full, booming tone. Patton squeals, clutching his cardigan in his hands to pull excitedly at the sleeves as he bounces giddily on his feet. At the suggestion, as the polar opposite to Patton’s reaction, Virgil grimaces, hunching over even further in his jacket as he protests with every way he can think of that the situation could go wrong. Unsurprisingly, Roman takes personal offense to it and refutes Virgil’s points with the same intensity and fervour that’s been present in himself and his interactions with the anxious side since day one. Logan sort of understands, can infer that they’re discussing how to ask out Danny, a new friend of Thomas’ who has very quickly turned into a crush. In that case…

“If I may interrupt? While I don’t share all of Virgil’s worries, I do agree with his position in regards to the fact that there isn’t a need for such extravagance. It might embarrass Danny, for one, and for two, there are many ways such an excessive venture could backfire, such as technical difficulties or general human error. The idea is, while exciting, frankly outrageous,” Logan says, his role as the voice of reason renewed once more. It’s his job to sift through the conversations they have and get to the important parts, and he likes his job. He’s good at micromanaging, mediating the chaos, good at storing information to sort and consider and veto and bolster. It’s how he operates, how he copes. “We can think of something else to–”

“Oh, shut it, Pocket Protector. We all know you don’t care about romance, but this is important! Thomas wishes to find love with the second most handsome prince in the world! After me, of course,” Roman exclaims, in that boisterous, self-aggrandizing way of his, the way that hides his real insecurities he buries so deeply in himself he doesn’t know how to find them again. Oddly enough, it’s not Roman’s defense mechanism that throws Logan off, it’s the way that Logan stopped talking almost reflexively to allow the other side to finish his statement, as if the prince’s words were more important than his own, and it speaks as testament to how much Logan’s been conditioned (or maybe he’s conditioned himself all on his own) into putting everyone else before himself, even when it hurts him or Thomas. Logan is ignored in the face of his implicit trust, and he hates that even as it pours salt in the open wound, he finds himself taking a depraved, spiteful comfort in the familiarity of it all.

“That’s not what I–”

“Awe, c'mon, Logan! Thomas deserves to have a happy relationship and someone he can live out the rest of his life with! Doesn’t that sound nice, to grow old together with someone you love? Isn’t that romantic? Oh, it just makes me so warm and fuzzy thinking about it!” Patton interrupts, hands clutching each other over his heart as he swoons. Logan knows Patton doesn’t mean to be rude, but he still can’t help but be a little hurt by it, especially since he’s now been ignored twice consecutively. He’s just trying to help, and if that means reigning in Roman’s exorbitant ideas that border on egregious at times, then Logan knows it must be done. Although he encourages Thomas to seek a relationship to improve his mental health and provide more financial stability, there is a limit to how much he can disregard himself and others in doing so, and that doesn’t mean that Logan is the bad guy for pointing that out. He knows that. He knows that, so why does the dismissal still feel so sharp in his chest?

“Yeah, romance is cool and all, but what if it doesn’t work? What if Danny actually hates us? What if we ask and he laughs at us or says no and then we’ll be standing there like an idiot and then he’ll never wanna talk to us again because he thinks we’re pathetic and stupid and–”

“Hey, now, don’t be such a Debby Downer, kiddo! I’m sure it’ll go just fine! We’ll just ask him. The worst thing that can happen is he’ll say no, right? Shouldn’t we give it a shot?” Patton consoles before Virgil can go into a spiral. Although his well-meaning reassurances are meant to be comforting, his voice just grates on Logan’s ears, tinny and hollow and misdirected.

“That’s what I’m afraid of!”

Logan wants to keep listening, he really does, but the noise is rising to levels where it’s too much to handle. He’s already sensitive from his illness, but the discussion that is very quickly turning into an argument falls in pulses through his head, sound torture to the broken, hopeless masochist. He’s barely holding onto himself at this point, consciousness like a dangling thread that swirls and dances and twirls with even the tiniest breeze, a hint of movement sending it shivering and quivering as it spins. It wouldn’t take much for the thread to fray from the weight pulling it down, or to saw through it in a clean slice that leaves it floating feather-light upon air currents, petals spiraling to the ground.

Petals. Flowers. Thomas could bring Danny flowers! It’s perfect! Danny is especially predisposed to gardening, and he frequently talks about different flowers and what they mean based on the type and colour. His interest in botany could make this a sweet gift, to show that Thomas pays attention to what Danny enjoys, and can be the perfect segue into asking him on a romantic outing. Yes, this could work! It would appease Roman’s inclination to classic romanticism while still being practical and not unreasonably expensive, give Patton his ideal relationship fantasy (and a “warm and fuzzy feeling”, apparently), and allow Virgil a little more breathing room, so-to-speak. This is something they all should be agreeable towards, and that confidence is enough to supply Logan with enough energy to push past his lightheadedness and offer a solution. He’s proud of himself for taking the others’ feelings into account, something he knows he’s not always been the most proficient at, and for coming up with a compromise that will likely satisfy everyone’s wants and needs.

“What about bringing him flowers?” Logan asks, pleased and antsy as he feels hope well up in his chest. He doesn’t push it down this time, and he thinks maybe, just maybe they’ll finally listen to him, that they’ll tell him that he did well, that he’s being considerate and maybe even say thank you–

“How would you even know, Roman? It’s not like we just go out and hire mariachi bands every Saturday!” Virgil says with furrowed brows, and Roman huffs in indignation, and Patton sighs as he looks between the two of them, and Logan’s words fall on deaf ears. They didn’t even hear. They didn’t listen. They didn’t care they didn’t care–

“Uh, hey, Virgil, what if–” Logan tries once more to speak, nausea rolling angrily in his gut, head spinning dizzy round and round and round and round and Virgil flinches.

He flinches. Because of Logan.

Virgil hasn’t been afraid of any of them for a long time. Sure, in the beginning, when they fought one another on nearly a day-to-day basis, there would be a moment before he could pull on his figurative mask that a flash of fear would go through Virgil’s eyes, and the sadness kept within wouldn’t subside even when he growled and snapped and blustered whichever side had the misfortune of picking a fight with him during a time where his first instinct was to keep away the pain and longing and loneliness the only way he knew how. Over time, that flash of fear dulled, morphed into something more manageable, more trusting. The sadness never really went away, but it was met with warmth, a soft contentedness that danced in his eyes when he realized he had a family to turn to. He hasn’t been afraid for a long time. And yet, he flinches away from Logan, just from him speaking.

Is he really that bad?

Does even simply the sound of his voice have such a negative association for Virgil that it prompts genuine fear and discomfort? Has he really scared Virgil that much? What did he do? How can he fix this?

Maybe he shouldn’t.

Logan’s felt disconnected from the others for quite a while now. He loves them, of course he does, but he doesn’t feel like he fits. He’s the metaphorical jagged puzzle piece, the one that should snap into the final vacant space but is so broken beyond repair that it doesn’t fit quite right. He wants to belong, to feel at home whenever he’s with them, but he doesn’t. He yearns for the acceptance that Virgil earned, the support that Roman is held up by, the respect and adoration Patton seems to acquire so casually and naturally that it’s like he doesn’t even have to try. Logan wants to be like them. He wants to be loved, but… that isn’t really his place, is it?

Love is not an inherent thing. It’s something that’s earned, by doing good things and being important enough to someone that they give it freely. It’s something Logan doesn’t understand, but despite that, still desperately, painfully yearns for. He wants to be loved, the way he loves the others. He wants to be a part of their famILY, to have that implicit trust in each other that only comes from acute, profound, deep-seated love. He wants that fondness directed towards himself, that devotion borne from hapless, radiating appreciation. The humbled esteem, the maudlin, theatrical longing, the passion and yearning and helpless, acquiescent love that bursts from the seams in a manner that will never diminish or fade. He wants that. Badly. And he’s finally ready to accept that he will never have it. He’s okay. He’s okay. He just needs a moment. He just needs to breathe.

The others must have continued with their arguments long ago, seemingly unaware of anything outside of themselves. Logan supposes he shouldn’t really berate them for that since he often falls victim to getting lost in debate as well, but something is wrong with Thomas, going by his expression and demeanour and the logical side can’t ignore it anymore. It’s highly unlikely that the other three will come away from themselves for long enough to notice, and it doesn’t sound like they’re anywhere close to coming to a conclusion amongst themselves, so Logan is perfectly fine with bearing that responsibility upon himself to check up on his host and make sure he’s okay. He’s the most important one here, after all, and it’s Logan’s job to help him, guide him in his life and decisions.

“Thomas? Is there something wrong?” Although the words come out clear and precise as usual, Logan’s throat burns, and he can barely breathe. He wants to sleep, he wants to sleep, but Thomas needs him, and that doesn’t happen often nowadays, so Logan does nothing but wait impassively. His host bites the inside of his cheek, then sighs as he stares off at the wall, lost in thought. Since he says nothing, the logical side assumes he will continue to say nothing for a few more moments, and decides to give him a once-over to gather more information and any possible context. Thomas’ eyebrows are furrowed, and his posture far from adequate. His expression is troubled, and his arms are crossed loosely, a pointer finger scratching at his elbow unconsciously. There is no obvious cause for his confusion and/or upset in himself or anywhere in the room, apart from the current dilemma, but he was fine before, so something must have changed to distress him now. Logan cannot ascertain what Thomas needs simply from observing him, so he concludes that the best thing for him to do is wait.

So he does. And he does so for a minute, two, five. Every second that ticks by feels like a needle is being shoved into his eyes, his brain, his legs, his everything and it takes more effort to stand than he’s used to. Breathing is difficult, but that isn’t exactly a new development, so at least he knows how to ignore it. Eventually, ten minutes pass with only the sound of the other three arguing in the background, and it doesn’t seem like Thomas is really all there. Although the action makes him want to throw up, Logan shifts forward, moving out of his usual spot and into Thomas’ own. He still doesn’t acknowledge any kind of input outside himself, so Logan lays a hand on his host’s arm gently, which snaps him out of his trance in a slow, unhurried kind of way. Thomas gives him a glance when his logical side sighs, tampering down any audible signs of his nausea in a manner that is unbeknownst to the host, but returns to staring at the wall without a second regard.

“Thomas?” Logan murmurs, bile rising in his throat and shoving his hidden suffering even closer to the forefront of his mind, as though it hasn’t been there all along. It’s hard to think, through all of the white noise and weary irritation and the tiniest sliver of hope that he crushes immediately, but thinking is his job, and he needs to help. “Are you alright? You can talk to me.”

And then Thomas is shrugging him off, turning away as he tells him he should “just stop” with piercing words, that he “can’t do anything to help”, and the rejection feels like a metaphorical knife has been shoved into his gut. Logan can feel the pain and the heartbreak and the insecurity materialize into a cold blade, twisting and twisting just to make him hurt more. Logan is ignored for the fourth time today, by the person it hurts to come from the most, and he can feel the sun whipping and screaming in his chest. His breath is stuck, sucked down into his throat, a sharp pain localizing in his neck, and he can’t help but bring his hand up to rub at the spot with trembling fingertips as he unsteadily lurches back to his regular spot. The others don’t notice, of course, or if they did, they don’t care. Then the nausea he’s been fighting against surges like a violent wave at full force, drowning him and the hurt is forcing its way into his mouth, his throat, his lungs, and he can’t breathe–

His fist flashes down from his neck to the banister, punching the railing so hard it echoes in the reverberation created from his vicious, angry snarl.

It’s scary, in a way, how in moments like this one, Logan feels as if his consciousness floats away from him, leaving behind only a wave of white-hot, searing anger that drains out of him just as quickly as it comes. There’s sleet running through his veins, and his brain has frostbite, and his fingertips are numb in the face of the ringing resonance after his outburst. The pain comes next, a simmering heat blistering below his fist until it’s coated and red and the beginnings of a bruise are starting to form. He can’t help but stare helplessly in front of himself, eyes burning and filling and blazing with how much they beg to close.

He doesn’t want to look up, to face the suffocating silence that’s fallen over the room. He doesn’t want to see their faces, their disappointment, their anger, their contempt. He wants to yell. He wants to sleep.

Logan sinks out.

There’s a very short window of time where the logical side rushes into the en-suite bathroom after rising up in his bedroom, trembling legs aching with exhaustion. Barely a second passes between him falling to the floor and emptying the meager contents of his stomach into the toilet, the bile burning in his tender throat as a reminder of his failure. The floor is cold and hard beneath him, ridges of tiles pressing unrelenting into his knees through his wrinkled jeans. His head spins, unbalanced as it whirls through itself, words and thoughts and ideas that mean nothing and everything simultaneously existing hollowly in a falling echo. There is pain, and aching, and soreness, and exhaustion, and Logan wants to sleep.

It’s hard to rise to his feet, head throbbing and knees shaking as he wipes the spit from his mouth on a folded square of toilet paper. The pain nags at him, persistent and irritating in its attempts to shut Logan out, almost clear in a way that belies the foggy haze blanketing his nearly incoherent thought process. Marking a clear vantage, a faultline to anchor onto is no easy task, and all Logan wants as he stumbles over to his bed is a landmark to pinpoint and find his way back to. He careens toward the mattress once he’s close enough, finally letting his legs give out underneath him when he’s as near as he can bear. It’s so difficult to stay upright in stiff misery, pangs and twinges of sharp pain coursing through his limbs and his back as his muscles are forced together under pressure.

In another familiar, frustrating bout of anger that seizes his breath before it can escape his lungs, Logan shoves his fingers in the knot of his tie, yanking it forcefully even as the motion jerks his own head forward uncomfortably along with it. His fingers run down the length of the fabric, and it falls apart at the end of its cycle, much like Logan has, and he snaps his arm back to chuck the dark blue, silky length to the ground in a motion that does little to relieve the rage built up inside him.

He can feel it building. The buzzing, the pressure, the glass in his veins running on shards. He feels the pinpricks upon pinpricks, the fire burning in his lungs, and the stone crumbles, and tumbles down, and he’s like a rubber band pulled taut.

He cracks, shrill pressure in his knuckles and head and torso, and nothing happens.

Then Logan hears the telltale squeak of his door swiveling on mildly rusty hinges, and a familiar voice echoes right through his bubble, shatters the stone wall like a bulldozer running at full speed, and then the wetness spills over his lashes and over his stony, impassive face.

“Oh, Lo,” Deceit murmurs, sad and tender as the breath rushes out of him and Logan can’t do this. He wants to throw out his fist in a wide arc and pummel the wall next to him until his knuckles are raw and bloodied and bruised beyond repair. He wants to scream until his throat is torn and his voice is gone, lost in the uncaring, empty void that coldly swallowed up his passion. Happiness has never seemed further away, and he knows he deserves it. But then he remembers all of the times where the pressure in his limbs and the buzzing in his brain forced him to lash out, to hurt others, and he thinks that maybe it’s okay for him to hurt right now to even the score. With the last of the metaphorical wall around him in tiny pieces, fragments of a life he never wanted to live but he desperately fought to keep, he lets his guard down for the first time in years.

Logan’s face crumples under the weight he’s burdened his being with, body immediately drooping under the heaviness that he’s forced himself to fight through. He finally submits, and the tears come in an endless stream over his cheekbones, itchy and hot and terribly, mindlessly relieving. It feels so good to finally let the negative emotion he’s pent up inside him out, to fall out of his cage he’s lived in high above a swirling ocean of release and fear and freedom. And he’s so, so lucky because he has someone to save him from the fall.

Deceit’s kneeled down in front of him, wiping away the tears as they fall with uncharacteristically degloved thumbs, and Logan can feel the smoothness of the scales twisting and trailing down his fingers. Every so often, Deceit’s pointed thumbnails catch lightly on the skin of Logan’s cheek, and it just causes him to cry harder. The vulnerability in the room is palpable, a wispy breath of worry and insecurity and trust trailing over their skin, blanketing the room in a warmth that runs even warmer when Logan reaches up to gently lay his hand over Deceit’s own. He shows his appreciation through tactility when the words he so desperately wishes to say are lost in his throat, blocked by the barrier that separates his newfound submission and the part of him that’s still clinging to the feeble grasp at acceptance he craves so dearly.

Logan can barely tell what’s in front of him through the kaleidoscope in his vision, but he doesn’t really need to see to throw himself forward off the bed and bury himself in Deceit’s chest, of whom lets out a surprised noise but doesn’t hesitate a single second in wrapping his arms tightly around the other side. He strokes Logan’s back comfortingly and offers him whispered reassurances through the heart-wrenching sobs and broken, croaky whines that disappear into his cloak, hand coming up to cradle his head in the overwhelming reflexive instinct to keep the logical side safe and happy. It feels like a dagger has gone through Deceit’s chest at the knowledge that Logan has been suffering for so long and hasn’t been able to let it out or just simply be held, the self-preservation that is at the core of his function as a side going off like alarm bells with every sniffle. Logan curls into the first person who’s ever offered him physical affection and emotional safety, and his fists clench the fabric at the snake-like side’s shoulders as tightly as he would if he were to never, ever let go.

Logan is out of breath even as his heart begins to calm, beating and beating in his ribcage and in his lungs. The lump in his throat prevents him from speaking, but he figures it’s okay to not be heard audibly, just this once, and speak with his actions. Although he doesn’t know what he’s saying when he pulls back and wraps his arms around Deceit’s neck, laying his face in the crook of other side’s neck like a small child would, not really, he hopes that his intent still comes across in some sort of intelligible, hopeful way. Deceit seems to take this as a request, a promise, and slides his grip to a point where he can hoist the smaller side up in his hold, carrying him just like a parent carrying their kid to their bed after they fell asleep during a visit to a friend’s house. This situation is much more loaded, stained with impurities and unsure withering, but it’s just as raw, just as real, and Logan finds himself feeling safer than he ever has before.

At some point, they end up on the bed, Logan having been manhandled into a more comfortable position for both of them, which is laying across Deceit’s lap without ever having let go of his neck. The logical side feels small and vulnerable, something that he would normally hate, squash down, bury so deep within himself that he doesn’t even have to acknowledge it. But honestly, right here, right now, he’s so goddamn exhausted, and forcing himself back into the state of repression he’s been in for so much of his life would take too much of a toll, more than he already has on himself. The wetness rolls down his cheeks, bold, blue precipitation falling in droplets onto his skin and the fabric of Deceit’s cape, sinking and spreading and thinning out into airy nothingness. And the nothingness enraptures him, pulls him in even as he breaks and whimpers and spills wisps of forgotten feelings into empty space, at least until his bedroom door opens once more with a loud click, because nothing Remus ever does is truly quiet.

“Hey, are you guys having a sexy party without me? How c–… are you… crying?” Remus asks, suggestive tone split and watered down into something confused, and surprised, and angry. The younger twin kicks the door shut behind him with his foot, more out of muscle memory than conscious forethought, something that stands with nearly every action Remus executes. Logan turns his head wearily, not lifting it from where it rests on Deceit’s collarbone. The latter of the two takes that chance to clear away some of the tears that didn’t get absorbed into his clothing, hoping that since the stream is slowly dispersing, his cheeks will stay dry this time. Remus slowly approaches, body tense and eyes piercing as Logan’s face is wiped off for the nth time, offering no other sounds or words as he crouches down to examine how the bespectacled side’s skin is rubbed red and sensitive.

Logan just whines softly, stare falling to the bedsheets, observing nothing in particular as he tries to figure out why words are failing him. Something that’s such an intricate part of himself, the communication of thoughts and ideas and knowledge that defines so much of who he is and how he exists, it’s dwindled and diminished into nothing. Deceit seems to understand, he always does, and reads him so perfectly it’s a wonder the two didn’t become closer in the beginning, with how much they truly are alike. A scaled hand makes it’s way up to Logan’s head and cards through the soft, disheveled hair there, scratching lightly at his scalp in a motion that seems to draw the aching tension caused by his distress out of his body, leaving his muscles to relax and melt into the chest that holds him upright.

“Something happened before I came in here. I assume it has to do with the others,” Deceit murmurs into thick, heavy air, stale with shame and tired hopelessness. Remus’ eyes flick to Logan’s own, actively searching for some sort of confirmation or denial. There’s a beat of silence, and Logan’s eyes flutter in a fatigued attempt to stay awake, and the nausea creeps its way into his stomach once again like a predator stalking its prey. Deceit repositions himself quietly, pulling the smaller side impossibly closer, as if he knows that he’ll need the added comfort. With his body squished into a protective embrace, and his tie laying flat on the floor below, forgotten and scorned for what it represents, Logan swallows hard around the sharp block in his neck and nods through his nonverbal affliction.

At the minimal admission, something in Remus’ eyes darkens, bathing the bright craze that typically resides there in something hateful, and vicious, and dripping with chemical absolution. He shifts away, rolls onto his haunches in a way that doesn’t read as entirely intentional, as though he’s been physically forced back with the weight of the confession. There’s so much there, in the way his breath comes out shallow and gravelly and low like a beast biting and snapping at the bars that contain it, fighting against the cage it’s locked inside. Nostrils flare, and jaw sets, and fists clench white as bone, and Remus straightens up to his full height, intimidating and looming and dangerous.

“Who?” he spits, venom coursing through the single word in molten streams. It’s a protective fire, serious in a way Remus rarely is, and the storm in his eyes and aura only becomes more turbulent and intense and solid as he reaches behind himself to slowly seize his morning star from where he keeps it at the ready. Pulling it to the front of him is an unexpectedly slow event, yet still ferocious in its quiet, cold fervour. The silver weapon swings in a steady arc around the side of Remus’ body, catching the dim light in a threatening glint, the gleam alluding to its deadliness in a way that’s almost unexplainable. The spiked mace finally comes to its resting point, hovering in the air just beside the fierce side’s leg, unassuming and ready to drive its way into an unlucky antagonist’s skull.

“I’ll cut their fucking throats. I’ll rip off every single limb from their bodies until they’re nothing but a pile of flesh and blood. They’re gonna pay for this,” Remus snarls, each threat bathed in acrimony and malice and choked by fury ripping through the tempest. Logan stares through misty eyes, half-lidded and concerned but too out of it to muster much of a coherent thought. Thankfully, Deceit is still there, soft and warm and well-equipped to deal with Remus and his behaviour. The snake-like side sighs, reaching out to just barely snatch up a frilly black sleeve, tugging him closer and meeting surprisingly little resistance despite the rigidity of the tallest side’s posture. Each breath from Remus comes out like a bullet, brisk and arduous and punctuated by a pang of impermeable guilt.

Even as Deceit motions Remus to lower himself onto the bed in front of them, the latter of the two is still apprehensive, terse movements and restless eyes that flit between anything and everything they can to avoid stagnation. It’s almost fearful, in a way, primal in its aptitude to think, and cultivate, and vindicate a wrongdoing that was never his fault or responsibility in the first place. Logan hates that they need to save him, hates that he doesn’t truly believe they actually care. There’s a level of certainty with himself and with others that the logical side hasn’t reached yet, and it feels too close and yet too far, kept obscure and secluded and almost clandestine in the way it’s ostensibly unreachable.

With the help of Deceit’s hand to guide his way, Remus slowly lets go of his morning star, tossing it to the side with a pensive, trembling swallow. It clatters to the ground, metallic clang resounding in vibrations, tilde-shaped waves that bounce off the façade and yell out to one another. Muted shrieks upon perfect, flat, neutral paint, sepulchral oscillations attacking the drywall.

“You can’t hurt them. I know you’re angry. I am too. But hurting them won’t solve anything, Rem, you know that more than anyone,” Deceit says meaningfully, smiling in a way that’s sad and distant but caring and compelling and relaxing for the tension wrapped so tightly around the three of them. The snake-like side lifts the hand that’s not in Logan’s hair and reaches out to grab Remus’ own, firmly but gently as he squeezes his fingers in a way that reassures, and consoles, and reprimands, not unkindly. He admonishes, and breaks that anger and frustration, and builds up positivity and alleviation and reprieve from everything that allows that buzzing, ticking, those pinpricks upon pinpricks. His care and concern washes over you, paternal in a different way than Patton operates, and it’s why Deceit is so comforting to be around. He manages a respite from vexation, a refuge in sanctuary, discreet freedom for the flawed, defeated dreamer.

“I’m mad. I’m mad that they hurt you, Lo-Lo. I want them to feel the pain you’re feeling,” Remus mutters, frigid and defeated, head bowed and gaze distant in that transparent manner of his that easily broadcasts all of his thoughts and feelings and wishes. Logan feels the pride welling up in his chest without even realizing it, quietly delighted at the progress Remus has made in being clear and forthcoming with his emotions and impulsivity. A weary grin makes its way onto his face, predictably aggravating the soreness in his cheeks, yet he finds himself indifferent to it, unperturbed by the plight that’s ravaged his body for the day, and probably longer without his notice. He wants to reassure the younger twin, to smile and laugh and brush all of it off, but his eyelids droop, and a pathetic mewl is the only thing able to escape his lungs. Of course, since there’s something Logan wants to say, Deceit somehow knows how to communicate it, just as prompt and courteous and perceptive as always.

“We can talk about this later after Logan has slept. Don’t worry too much, Rem, and don’t do anything stupid. If you get angry again, please go to your paints instead of your legs,” Deceit instructs, more of a suggestion than a demand, but he hopes Remus will listen and be mindful anyway. The latter of the two bounces his leg anxiously, grumbling unintelligibly under his breath as he stands up in one swift, fluid motion. As Remus makes his way over to exit the room, Logan nudges Deceit’s hand with his head gently, trying to bring his attention back to the massaging motion that ceased sometime during the conversation. The snake-like side’s eyes flick downward to meet the smaller side’s own half-lidded, teetering gaze, and he huffs a laugh after a moment of searching. Logan doesn’t know what he finds, but he realizes that he doesn’t really care that much about worrying over every little interaction anymore.

Remus finally turns and glances back as he swings the door open, brows still furrowed and shoulders still hunched, but simply shakes his head and leaves. The door closes much softer than before, thankfully, so as not to be too harsh on Logan’s migraine, an unusually conscientious thought from someone that rarely shows consideration to the needs of others that the logical side appreciates that much more. As the sound of Remus’ footsteps slowly fade with his retreat down the hallway, the two of them left are bathed in silence, one that is marginally less heavy and thick than before.

A small while passes afterward, only punctuated by soft breathing and light scratching noises from nails trailing through messy hair. Logan feels like he might pass out any minute, what with the comfortable, quiet understanding the two have come to rest at, but some part of him says to wait, to push through the mind-numbing exhaustion for just a little while longer. That part of him is probably just being considerate toward Deceit, who Logan can’t imagine would be very comfortable with another side falling asleep on him and laying on him for an extended period of time, but he figures that it’s a good of a reason as any. It’s not about him feeling like a burden. It’s not.

Eventually, Deceit must start to get tired as well, or maybe he’s sore from Logan’s weight on his legs, so he sits forward, apologizing quietly for disturbing the peace, and he moves them into a more comfortable position. The new arrangement is far more snug and cozy than the previous one, Logan thinks drowsily, as his head hits the pillow across from Deceit. They lay there on top of the blankets but make no move to pull them up, just content to stare lazily at one another in the dim, ambient light cast by the desk lamp in the opposite corner of the room.

“Why?” Logan finally asks, and although he loathes disrupting the silence, he needs to ask. The words are scratchy in his tender throat, a charcoal whisper on a steel canvas that scratches and sketches away with nothing viable left to keep through the wind that blows the dark dust off the surface. “Why are you helping me? Why do you care?”

Deceit just hums, sending Logan a weak, distracted smile. He mulls over the words, tossing about the meaning and possibilities in his head and on his silver tongue, rushing in an uncertain river through valleys of golden sand.

“I am self-preservation at its core. I exist to keep Thomas safe and healthy and thriving, and that also means you and the other sides by extension. But… it’s not just that. Even though I feel physical pain whenever one of you or Thomas is hurt, I specifically want to help you because… I care about you, Logan. I love you, and want to see you healthy and happy. I haven’t really been doing a good job of that lately,” Deceit mutters, gaze somewhere on their shared pillow, and there’s a quality to his tone that’s bitter beyond the line of frustration. Although Deceit doesn’t expand on it, doesn’t offer up a single clarification despite the heavy air and his resigned demeanour, Logan gets it. He understands, and he wants to prove him wrong.

So he does.

And that comes in the form of surging forward, fighting against the current, the pinpricks in his stomach and shoulders and abdomen, disregarding the exhaustion for just a little while longer so that he can let Deceit’s lips meet his own. Logan’s so close he can feel the shocked rush of air leave Deceit’s nose, feel the vibrations through the air as his body trembles in fear and anticipation and relief. The other side eases in, sinks closer, closer, and finally moves his lips in a careful, emotional dance that leaves Logan dizzy and breathless, for entirely different reasons that have plagued him for the past day.

“Lo,” Deceit breathes, low, wanting, and he pulls back to give Logan a chance to catch up. A scaled hand comes up to caress the logical side’s cheek, a soothing, cool balm for the raw skin beginning to heal there. “I didn’t… I didn’t think…”

“I love you,” Logan breathes, the words he’s refused to say, to acknowledge, to confront welling up through his throat and for the first time, he lets them spill out. The dam has broken, debris left to descend and submerge in the depths of the sentiment crashing through in a roaring, passionate rapid at the narrowest point yet. The words come, and they don’t stop, and Logan almost can’t believe how right they feel on his tongue. “I love you, I love you, I–I love you so much, Dee.”

Logan is like a rubber band, pulled taut and still and trembling under the pressure. And maybe he’ll split, shoot apart, torn in two pieces that will never fit back together again. But maybe he won’t. Maybe instead of snapping in half, he’ll snap back, and that thought alone gives him a quiet comfort that he’s not used to allowing himself. He’s waiting, hoping, and he’s okay enough for now.

[bakusoftie]

I was just listening to creepypasta and got an idea. Could you do hcs for Bakugo and Kirishima’s reactions to seeing a scary fucking demon/ghost or whatever while they’re hanging out with their crush in some creepy place? Or really, just any situation where they’re hanging with their crush and some scary paranormal shit starts happening. I’m in a big mood for some horror. This would make my LIFE thank you 🙌🏻

I’m such a huge horror fan so this made me uwu so hard (also i hope you don’t mind but I made separate scenarios for them but if you wanted poly I could do that 🥺👉👈)

Warnings: Gory Descriptions!!! + Ouija Boards + Kaminari being a dumbass

Kiricutie + Bakubabe experiencing some scary shit with their s/o

🦈 kiricutie 🦈

It was all Denki’s fault

That living enbodiment of a phone charger was the one who dared the entirety of the bakusquad to go to this “haunted” house

Bakugou, of course, said he had better things to do but,,,

Kirishima (being the manliest man he is) just had to be there to protect his s/o from all the bad spirits and creatures of the night

But the thing is- Kirishima is fucking terrified.

You, on the other hand, are so excited maybe a bit nervous and he wants to be one to protect you and be your man

Kaminari, Mina and Sero get too far ahead of themselves and rush off into different parts of the attraction so it's just you and the sharp-toothed cutie,,,all alone,,,in a dark, supposedly haunted house. Oof.

At first,It isn’t as bad as Kirishima thought. Plus, he gets to spend time with you and whenever you’d hear a scream you would unconsciously brush your hand against his and suddenly he doesn’t even realize that he was anxious in the first place. That is until you get to this bloody door that explicitly says ‘Do Not Enter’.

“Oh well, I guess we’ll just have to move on then, s/o”

Being the dumbass you are,,,You grabbed Kirishima’s hand and busted through the door (all that you could think of was ‘I need to see some ghost cheeks 👻’)

The room was dark and had a overwhelming stench to it. So, you ran your hand over the wall to find a light switch

all the while, kiri is begging that you two meet up with everyone else but 👏them👏ghost👏 cheeks👏

when you did find the strangely wet lightswitch, you turned it on to discover the fresh blood dripping down your hands and wondering why kirishima was so silent, you turned around.

He was in some state of shock, his once bright and tanned skin is now a sickly pale. He moves in front of you when you tried to follow his eyesight, desperately trying to protect you from the horrendous sight but you managed to take a look from over his shoulder

The entire room had dark crimson sludge splattered on the walls and the ground they currently stood on.

But that wasn’t even the worst of it.

It was the various amounts of flesh and guts scattered over a steel, rusted autopsy table where a body laid still as a rock. The body was mutilated and had several markings on it

The two of you weren't sure if it was real or just very detailed decorations but you both shared a look that told each other that they needed to leave and get help.

You moved quickly through the house to find your friends, still joining hands with Kirishima.

When you found Kaminari, Mina and Sero roasting a Pennywise cosplayer, you and Eijirou let out a breath of relief and pleaded them to come with you so you could show them the fucking mess y'all witnessed but when you got to the cursed hallway that you swore had a row of doors along it-

The door was fucking gone?!?

Everyone except you and Eijirou, who were both shocked and sick to their stomachs, was laughing and playing it off as a joke but

Whatever the fuck you both experienced together sure as hell bonded you for life.

💥bakubaby💥

Bakugou doesn't scare easy. This bitch used to watch horror movies when he was 3 years old and had hardcore death metal as his lullaby.

He a tough boi

But when it comes to you, he's so fucking soft and full of warmth 🥰

He fucking loves you even tho you can be kinda stupid sometimes all the time

Like right now, You and Bakubae were at a party that Hagakure was throwing and normally Bakugou would be like ‘fuck no I rather stick a cactus up my ass than hang out with a bunch of extras’ but when you looked so sad that he didn’t want to come with you and said ‘oh,,,that’s fine I guess,,,I’ll just ask Todoroki to come with me’

YOU ALREADY KNOW THIS BITCH DID NOT HESITATE TO LET YOU KNOW YOUR ASS IS HIS

and vice versa (“that bakubooty is MINE NOW,THOTS” - S/O declares from the roof of U.A)

The party was lame and the only thing interesting so far was seeing Iida get drunk and dance to Old Time Road.

Until you ask Momo to whip out an Ouija board from her titties.

Now, Bakugou doesn't really believe in ghosts or shit like that but for some reason, he just has this weird feeling about all of this

But he doesn't want to be seen as a weakling because of a stupid board with the alphabet on it.

You call over Deku and Icy-hot to join you in conjuring some motherfucking ghOSTs

You deadass had to pick all the people he absolutely hates, didn’t you?

Anyway, Bakugou couldn’t let these weak extras show him up so he grabs the planchette and asks you how the fuck this shitty toy works.

when you put your hand on his, he uwus so hard omg

but then dEKU and pRinCe zUkO had to ruin everything by putting their hands on the piece of wood too.

bruh shouto better watch tf out because if he sees y’alls pinkies brush against each other one more fucking time he’s going to go FERAL

The shitty wood chip started to pull their hands toward the ‘HELLO’ side of the board and bakugou went *surprised pikachu face*

HE WASNT SCARED HES JUST TAKEN ABACK FUCKING STUPID DEKU I BET HIS WEAK ASS MOVED IT

“Now we’re supposed to ask it questions.”

”U-um are you here to hurt us?”

”SHUT IT ICYHOT AND STUPID DEKU!,,,I got shit to ask this little dead bitch!!”

Bakudumbass, you should never insult a spirit wtf.

After his rude remark, the candles that you had lit around the four of you suddenly went out. I mean it wasn’t a big deal because shouto could easily light them back up but it definitely shook the lot of you to your core.

When the candles were relit, you couldn’t but help to notice that Izuku was missing from the circle

Oh shit

Bakugou thinks that this is all some stupid fucking scheme to get back at him and he swears when he finds Deku, he will break his bones worse than one for all ever could.

But he shuts that thought down the moment that he senses the burning feeling of eyes staring right into his soul. He looks behind him at the dark shadowy figure that seems to be using the freckled, green-haired hero as it's vessel.

Izuku’s once emerald-green eyes are now a shade of glowing crimson and his once warm, friendly smile now a gruesomely wide smirk as his body now dangles from the air.

Ŷ̵̝̌̂o̴̳͖̼̐͜͝u̷̧̠͙̫̭͖͍͋̍͠ ̵͉̮̲̌̓ň̶͔͊̎͘͝͝ĕ̸̬̜͔̑e̶̤̞̹̜̮̗͂̈́͂͜d̷̡̨̙͎̩̭̭̱̜̟̎̒ ̴̧̬̯̠̼͈̹̽̋͒t̵͓̖͙͍̯̜̣̲̅̀o̸̪͈͓̤͍̖̘͔͎͓͋̂̑ ̴̢̢͙̙͎̠̘̳̳̄̈̉̋ͅl̶̗̭̮͑̃̃͌é̷̜͓̫͚́̐͗̅̃̑á̶̜̲̪̟͙͕͍̹̀̓͋͆͐̉̔ř̴͓͈̥̜̜͆̌̑̓̊͝͠ṋ̷̜͍̲̈͘ ̸̞̘̱̥̞̬̣̫̾h̵͎̻͔̼̻̜̓́͋͘͘o̵̳̭̬͙̠̹̪͇̮͊̈̏̊̕͜w̷̭̟͙̱͔͕̃͋̈́̇̕̚͘͘ ̵̦͎̳͋̀͝͝t̵̢̨̗͖͖͇̺͔͖̾̄͌͗̓̾̀ö̴̲́̀ ̸͇͔̱̟̹̫͓̙̀̏̐̌̆͛̋͑͊ṯ̴̡̭͕̮̯̭̘̌̇̽̉͂̾̓̚͜r̷̪͙͎̱̩͚̻͛̾̓̉̉̓̐̿̀͘ȩ̴̧̣͈͚̗͓̯͚͂̀̈̽̚a̷̛̛̠͙̬͖̾͂t̶̡́̕ ̴̨̡̠̰̮͕͍̘̩͎͌ò̸͖̈̏͜t̶͎̼̑͒̿̔̓̈̕͝͠h̷̨͎̲͔̭̖̗̼̘̅̂͂͗͐̍è̷̝̥̠̬̮͈̮̟̔r̸͍͔̳͕̼͛s̷̨̫̼̙̠͉͓̰̽̊̊̔̀͊̃ ̷̛̰̞̳̖̻͕͕̘̝̹̀̎̕k̷͍̳̥̊̋̂̎͒͑̉̽̈́͌ͅḯ̴̩̹̥̤͉̭̘ņ̸̟͎͕̜̞̥̩̬̝͑̋̊̈́̑̏̀̆͐͘ď̸̜̬͇̙̫͉̬̔̏̀̓͊͋l̸̺̲̤̦̼̓̐̀͒̆ẏ̸̖̟͕̣͔̦̳͜,̶̥͇̝͙͔͎̬͌͐̌” ̵̡̻̺̟̻͓͊B̶͖͇̣̲̙͛̊̆̃͑̈́̾̃̕a̶̧͂̍̐̌ķ̶̨̬͇͙̦͓̝̰̩͗͐̿̈͊̏̀̏̕u̴̢̨͕͍͆̆́̏̓͒̉̂̇͝ģ̷̗̱̟̼͉̱̣̐̌̉̒̓́͆͑͒͠ô̵̡͚̻̬̓͒̀͋̔u̵̡̗̻̝̙̓̿͒͆͐̕͝ͅ ̷͖͖̥̭̳͈̑͐̎̐͒K̴̡̡̯͖̹͍̺̟͉̰̆a̴̡̠̘̫̰̖͚͈̲͘t̷͎͈͉͓̩̋̽̿͌ş̷̙͔͎̰̪̜̫̾̌͜͝u̷͉̝̠͚̣͖̿̈́̀͂k̸̜͎̍͠i̴̬̯͇̻̼̹̦̱̋́”

(”you need to learn how to treat others kindly, bakugou katsuki”)

Bakugou is ready for this weird ass shadow man to attack him, he’s got his palms already sparking for the opportunity to blow his ass away back to whatever hell it came from

That doesn’t exactly go as planned

The monster doesn’t come at him but instead, he uses his black matter tendrils to pin you and shouto to the floor as the vine-like shadows slither around your body and constricts your lungs from breathing properly.

It isn’t long until you and todoroki pass out from the lack of air flow and

Bakugou goes into a rage as he sees your unmoving body displayed across the floor as he was too slow to protect you from this fate

The monster discards Deku’s body across the room like a ragdoll and slides its venom-looking ass next to Bakugou’s face and as soon as his crimson eyes meet then eyeless sockets of complete void, Katsuki’s head is smashed into the floorboard as the demonic energy escapes through the window to wreak havoc on the world.

Kaminari decides to check up on the four that ventured off by themselves and when he enter the room and saw them all laying on the floor huddled together, surrounded by candles all he could think to say was...

”🥺 they didn't invite me to the orgy”

[soundofseventeen]

Bee’s (soundofseventeen) Recs

Hi, here are my recs! They’re mostly Erin’s but I do have a few that I’m kinda proud of.

Tell Me (Seungcheol): I love anything that involves a character not telling their friends, family, s/o or really anyone about the struggles they go through and Erin really hits the nail on the head here.

Take This to Heart (Seungcheol): This song is really special to me and Cheol is  really special to me. What better way to combine the two than this?

Call Call Call (Jeonghan): I don’t know why I love this one, but it’s really sweet and dorky and telemarketer part just gets me every time.

Everything You Are (Jeonghan): Originally I hated this one when I wrote it just bc I was angry and I didn’t wanna post it just bc it’s not a happy one. It’s on my list now bc you can grow from something that feels like the end of the world and you can come out on top, and sometimes we have to remember that our idols are human.

Three’s a Crowd (Jeonghan): I love how Erin managed to keep the core friendship platonic while adding the third person...who also happens to be the other best friend. 

Kiss Me Slowly: (Jeonghan): At the end of the day, I love the thin line of friends to more and when to cross it.

I can’t believe Erin’s really gonna make me say this and I can’t believe I am too. The deception. All the Joshua fics have been my favorite bc they’re either so sweet and fluffy and domestic and leave you happy for the rest of the day or they just kinda shatter your heart. It’s fine though.

Hold This (Junhui): It’s super lame and it’s so dorky and it’s the sweetest thing ever. I can never stop smiling like an idiot whenever I reread it.

Kissing in Cars (Junhui): I can’t really explain this one, but I hold it dearly in my heart. This song from Pierce the Veil just makes me feel everything and this boy makes me feel everything. If there’s any fic I’d want y’all to read, it’s this one.

My Fairy Tale (Junhui): The friends to lovers; the bittersweet feelings; the last sentence that ties it together; I just love everything.

Carnival (Junhui): The secretly dating thing gets me every time, especially when they get caught and it’s just very fall-y.

Midnight (Junhui): The whole pining thing in a fic is very underrated, especially when everyone knows someone has to confess but they don’y. I love the realism and how you just wanna yell at the screen and writer to make them come together. 

Come Back (Junhui): ANGST my dudes!!!! I live for things like this!!!! I love that sometimes not everything we write has to be sickly sweet and happy. I WANT TO FEEL THINGS. I WANNA CRY UGLY TEARS and then cheer at the happy ending. 

7 Things (Soonyoung): I think that as a writer, one of my favorite things that I’ve done was give readers hope, only to just take it away it and this one did it justice. Erin and Haley haven’t forgiven me for this one but I did warn everyone. 

Make You Smile (Soonyoung): I’m a nerd at heart and if anything has pens, paper, a notebook, books as the key thing in a fic (along with coffee shops), I’m a goner. And it’s so sappy!!!! You can hear my heart crying!!!!

Firsts (Soonyoung): I’m very bad with feelings and this just made me happy for some reason.

Can I have This Dance? (Soonyoung): I loved this a lot more than I thought I would to be honest. Erin just has a simplistic happy way of writing and I know that everything will be alright.  

Movies (Wonwoo): A Halloween-ish type special from Erin that is hysterical to me for some reason. (Bonus points for the gif she uses!)

Favorite (Wonwoo): Small moments leading up to the big finale? My heart does a thing still!

Terrible Things (Wonwoo): This one I was really wanted to do bc it was a story begging to be told and Erin liked this too???

Speak Now (Wonwoo): You know when you read a book that completely shatters your heart but you go back and reread in hopes it ends differently? This is it. I will never forgive Erin for this one bc she came out with this one around the time I dropped the fact that Wonwoo wasn’t my main bias anymore and -ouch. This is probably my favorite one she’s done.

Someday (Wonwoo): Let me just say...friends to lovers...my absolute poison.

My Life Would Suck Without You (Jihoon): I always pictured Jihoon falling in love with someone he’s known for years and the outcome for this made me happy?

Home (Jihoon): This one I wrote in a couple of days after hearing Home and it wasn’t too shabby, I guess.

First Night (Jihoon): The ending made my heart go whoosh honestly.

Cafe Crush (Seokmin): The way to my heart is giving me a coffee shop setting and this just made me uwu

Fake Date (Seokmin): I don’t know why I adore this one, but I do! It’s so cute and funny and I meant this to happen irl

First Sight (Seokmin): The angst! The hope! The little thing you’re relying on to make it end on good terms only to just...fall apart at the seams.

When I Grow Up/ 1.5 (Seokmin): Truthfully, I don’t know why I wrote this one, but it made me really happy and I’m just a hopeless romantic at the end of the day and apparently everyone loved it so everybody wins. Plus I know it made Erin really happy and that made me even happier. (And it’s one of my favorite seventeen songs which shocks people for some reason?)

All the Mingyu ones, lmao. Everything that’s been written about Mingyu, I’ve loved.

Night and Rain (Minghao): I was inspired to start writing for these boys when I heard this song and this was the outcome. This is my firstborn, and I still listen to this song a lot.

Muffins (Mingaho): Another dorky one that just has me :D

Cheated (Minghao): Again, I won’t always write happy stuff and this was another one that just made me happy to write.

Tattoo (Minghao): I’m really sentimental about this one. Like I love it a whole lot?

Photo Credit (Seungkwan): This is probably the most original piece I’ve ever read and I still laugh about this!!!!! 

Temporary Goodbye (Seungkwan:) The bittersweet moment of last days is just something that hurts. You want more time but there’s always hope for next time and that’s what gets you through the times.

You Had Me at Hello (Seungkwan): I just started writing this one, but pen pals y’all. :( Letters, and rambling and talking to each other is just beautiful. Trust me, it’s a special kind of friendship. 

8:43 (Hansol): I don’t know why but I love reading about the flashbacks and present times. Erin’s a genius y’all.

Just the Way You Are (Hansol): Literally the time I was fighting Haley to admit her love for Vernon, I was listening to Pierce the Veil’s cover of this song (and I was going through it bc I adore this band and their music!) and I realized that this would make a good fic...although she does hate me for this one!

Lost Woods (Hansol): Mutual feelings? Sign me up. And honestly, the “No one called him Hansol anymore (or something along those lines is the sole reason it’s up there lmao)

How Would You Feel? (Hansol): Yeah, yeah...I’m just a big softie and apparently I can do cute shit like this (I’m really happy with how it came out though and I didn’t expect everyone to like it?)

Birthday Treats (Chan): I hate my birthday too, but I suppose I’d make an exception for him :(

Ice Cream (Chan): Erin and I unintentionally collaborated on this bc she said it was too short and she let me add on to it so it’s special bc we haven’t done anything since the Princess series.

Locked In (Chan): the thought of being locked in the same room with the person im crushing on is equal parts scary and exhilarating...aka my guilty pleasures!!!!

You First (Chan): I just...love break ups and make ups and the whole “let’s try it again” thing

Thirteen Ways I Said I Love You (OT13): They’re short and sweet and it’s postcards

Friends to More (OT13): FRIENDS. TO. LOVERS. NEED. I. SAY. MORE.

Hogwarts Seventeen: Erin and I talk a lot about AUs and Harry Potter so this made me GEEK

Once Upon a Time (OT13): I wouldn’t stop bugging Erin about my theories and I just...she doesn’t disappoint!

Serial Killers (OT13): Y’all I love shit like this; the creepy and scary and just wow 

Funhouse/ Thriller/  La Llorona (OT13): Funhouse was my first attempt at haunted houses; Thriller for scariness and La Llorona for the urban legend and dia de muertos!!!