#ALL DARK ALL BLOODY MY HEART: character study.

[lususnatura]

sooo... what if i told y'all that, when i say that one of blamore's powers is bone manipulation, that it could literally make a DRILL made out of bone through it's god damn hand / around it's whole arm and could summon bones from inside of it's skin? because it honestly is one heck of a superpower to have, though with this comes weaknesses like the more bones he summons, the more energy he depletes — and thus it can become physically exhausting rather quickly for it to use it's powers. so, it's got to use its powers very wisely and prefers to end fights as quickly as possible as a result.

but whenever it comes to adding bones to its tail + contorting it's ribcage then things get a little bit more complicated,, because these are simple things for it to do in comparison to literally pulling random bones OUT of it's skin and such. though if you were to break its ribs, then it would hurt and let me tell you, there is a reason why blamore NEVER let's people it doesn't trust touch its tail because if the person it is fighting is capable of breaking any of the bones in it... it is going to hurt with a capital ' H. ' but yeah, i just thought i'd share this little tidbit with y'all about its bone manipulation power. because once again; blamore isn't invincible, though he is stronger than some may give him credit for (':

[justagirlwholikesadam]

The American: Welcome to Hogwarts

Remus Lupin x Fem! American! Reader

Prequel of The American: Welcome Back! -click to read

Summary: Entering their 5th year, Remus and his friends are told of a new student coming to Hogwarts. While dealing with problems of his own, Remus can't help but notice the new transfer student from America.

Warning: slow burn, bullying, issues of self esteem, suicidal thoughts, xenophobia against reader, name calling, the word mud blood is used a lot, very dark content.

A/N:I haven't read the books but I have seen the movies and read a shit ton of fanfic. I'm making stuff up as we go so my plot can work. There are some characters that I thought were real but where made up for fanfics. I hope people don't mind if i add them because i already wrote the chapter. I later found out while googling stuff abt The Marauders. I will be added them and other characters to my story with my own twist. With that being said, don't come for me if this character is doing this and that. Not sure how many chapters I'll be doing, really depends on the feedback. please read the tags before reading. Enjoy -L

Remus found himself staring at the tracks in front of him. His eyes studied the nails and the iron bars of the train tracks. He can hear the horns of the Hogwarts Express blasting indicating it’s near. It drowns out the sounds of the students and their families around him. He looks at the red and black train coming and Remus takes a step forward. 

Remus has thought of this a lot before, stepping in front of a train. Trains, buses and cars. Just one leap and it will be over. His fingers tighten over the straps of his bag over his shoulder as he thinks about it more. 

A quick death, what a wonderful relief. 

He hates having a full moon in the summer when he is away from Hogwarts. He didn’t have any of his friends during that time. They were off on vacation or doing activities with their families and Remus doesn’t have the heart to ask them to come over. His friends have done so much for him. He’s afraid of asking for too much and they will leave him for it. He doesn’t want to be alone. 

Remus takes another step forward getting a bit closer to the edge and as he looks ahead. His mouth slightly dropped open when he saw a man standing on the other side of the tracks staring back at him. The man stood there bloody, throat ripped open, slashes across his face and chest. Blood was gushing out from the man’s wound. He wore dark blue trousers and a white ripped collar shirt. The man lifted his hand towards Remus, reaching for him. With his finger, he pointed at Remus as blood dripped down from it. Remus feels the bile coming up his throat when the man try to open his mouth to speak. Blood came pouring out from his mouth and Remus stands there frozen in fear. Remus doesn't see a flash of red running towards him. 

“Remus!” He feels a force come at him making him take a step back from the edge of the platform. The train approaches, hiding him away from the bloody man. He felt Lily hug him and Remus shut his eyes as he wrapped his arms around her pulling her into a tight hug. He missed her so much this summer. He didn’t visited her like usual. He couldn’t. He was ashamed of himself. He tries to get rid of the sight of the man he just saw, he continues to hug her. Lily rubbed his back when Remus didn't pull right away. 

Lily Evans, was the first friend he made when he came to Hogwarts. She was the first to realize what he was and she was the first to not make him feel bad for being a werewolf. As times passed he was welcome into a group of three boys. They didn’t make him feel bad as well, they had even helped him by becoming animagus and stayed with him through his transformations.

“You haven’t written back to me all summer.” Lily said when they pulled away. The students around them started boarding into the train. 

“Forgive me, Lils. Rough summer is all.” Remus said as he grabbed his luggage by his feet along with Lily’s. She gave him a thanks and he just nodded. He wasn’t going to allow her to carry the heavy thing. 

Lily and Remus greeted the other students in their year as they walked to their usual compartment. Remus with ease placed the luggage on the top shelf as Lily sat down. Remus sat down with a huff beside her, next to the window, his favorite spot. Lily opened her beige shoulder bag and took out a brown lunch paper bag with the letter R written on it. 

“Mom, send you a snack.” Remus smiles as he grabs it from Lily. 

“She’s a saint.” Remus said as he opened it, taking a look inside. In separate plastic bags, he saw there were slices of green apples and a jam sandwich cut diagonally. There was even a small juice box. 

“Green apple, my favorite.” He comments. 

“Ugh, she likes you more than me.” Lily pulled out a bag of baby carrots instead of apples like him. Lily’s mom knew of Remus, he would visit Lily sometimes during break and the summer. Lily’s mom was always happy to see him and even called him a son at one point when he always offered to take out the trash or wash the dishes. Remus thought it was the least he could do since they had him over for dinners. Petunia wasn’t really fond of him, but he didn’t mind her. He ignored the names being aimed at him when he sat across from her during dinner. 

Remus chuckles at Lily then he takes the bag of apples out. “I’ll trade.” 

“You would really do that for me?” She asked him with a pout. 

“Hurry, before I change my mind!” Lily laughs and gives him the bag of baby carrots as she gets the bag of apples. 

Remus drops the baby carrots into his brown paper bag, saving them for later. He looked over at Lily when he noticed what she was holding out. He gives her a smile and grabs the slice of apple from her hand. 

Quickly putting it in his mouth,  he hummed at the sweetness of the apple as he chewed. Lily frowned and stopped mid-bite when she noticed Remus looking out the window. His eyes roaming quickly on the other side of the platform. 

“Looking for someone?” Lily asked and Remus looked over at her. He shook his head, telling her nobody. 

Lily is eating when Sirius and James come walking in. Remus rises up from his seat to greet his friends. Lily does the same. Remus helps Sirius with his luggage as James sits next to Lily by the door. Sirius sits across from Remus. 

He’s listening to Sirius ramble on about his summer, it was another horrid one. His mother had gone mad about tradition with the family. He was a disgrace for being a Gryffindor, but he was even more of a disgrace to his family when they found out Sirius doesn’t agree with the pureblood ideas. James and Lily are talking amongst themselves. Remus and Sirius just gave each a look, James was finally getting on Lily’s good side. 

Sirius hits Remus' shoes with his elbow that rested next to him. Remus had quite a growth spurt last year. He had his leg resting on the seat across from him.

“How was your summer, mate?! I sent you a letter, you know?” Sirius' cheeks grow pink and Remus notices it. 

“I’m sorry. I did receive it. I had a hard time answering back. Last moon was draining.” Sirius nods at him, understandingly. 

“Are you okay now?” He asks Remus. Sirius notices something odd with Remus when he doesn't answer right away. He didn’t like it one bit. Remus was usually cheerful whenever they came back to school. 

“Yes, Padfoot.” Remus answers as he leans his head against the window. Sirius decides to not push it and asks Remus about a book he was reading before summer break. He smiles when he sees Remus' whole demeanor change, Remus sat up and excitedly told him about it. The train lets out another sound and a few seconds later. The train began to move then after a few more conversations about Lily and James’ summer. One by one they started to doze off. 

Remus was sleeping with his head against the window. His body jiggled softly as the train kept on moving. He scratches his nose when he feels an itch in his sleep. Inhaling deeply, Remus’ eyes shot open when a scent hit him. The scent is new, it didn’t come from his friends. Remus felt a chill down his back, it was a strange feeling. He doesn’t know why he’s smelling it, the full moon has passed already. Why is the lycanthropy still residing in him?  Sitting up straight, he looks over at his friends. They are still sleeping, he wonders why Peter isn’t here. They have been taking the same spot in the train for five years now, so Peter couldn’t be lost in finding them. 

Remus felt his throat close up when the smell hit him again. He rose up from his seat, taking another sniff in the air.  He noticed the door was a bit open. He figured it was Sirius who usually forgets to latch the lock whenever coming back from the restroom. 

Remus decides to go to the bathroom and wash his face. He figured he was smelling things because he had a rough summer. He was barely sleeping at home. The nap on the train was the best sleep he had all summer. He shuts the door behind him then looks up and down the hall, it’s empty. The lights of the hallway were lit up, he saw most of the other people had pulled down the curtains for privacy as he walked to the restroom. Remus yawns as he walks inside the restroom and turns on the light. Rubbing his eyes he steps in front of the toilet to relieve himself. Letting out a small moan when finished urinating, he turns his head to the door. That fucking smell is there, he quickly walks to the door. He presses his forehead against it. Remus inhales the scent, it's on the wooden door. 

The scent of copper, the scent of a girl. 

Remus doesn’t realize at first but he breathes heavily, his forehead is pressed against the door as his right hand touches his chest and drops down to his lower stomach. He fist the sweater he wore on top of his uniform in his hand as he sniffs harder. When his fingers hits the zipper of his trouser, the urge to touch himself came over him. His eyes shot open and he quickly stepped away from the door. He stared at it, scared. This has never happened to him before. A scent that was making him horny, it was new to him. 

Remus knows this isn’t him, this has to be Moony. The wolf that resides in him. Moony should be gone by now but he isn’t. He leans against the wall of the bathroom and let's out a sigh. He shook his head as he looked down at his hands, he shut his eyes when he remembered how his hands looked with all that blood. He looks ahead at the mirror and whines when the background changes. He saw himself back again in the woods behind his house. 

“Stop it.” He hissed to himself as he looked away and started to push the button of the soap dispenser on the wall. 

Turning the hot water all the way up. He ignored the heat of the water as he washed his hands until it was pink and raw.  He kept telling himself, he had to scrub it away, wash the blood away. He looks ahead at the mirror and stares at himself. His eyes are staring at the new scar on his face. He hates his appearance, despises it. It’s just a constant reminder of what he is, a monster. His friends tell him differently but Remus knows he’s one. He truly is especially after what he did. 

Running his fingers through his hair, damping his sandy brown curls before turning off the light, he walks out of the bathroom. The hallway is still empty, he shuts the door and starts to walk back when he smells it again. His chest started to feel tight and he bit his bottom lip as he turned to face the other side of the hallway. 

He’s staring down the hall and he can smell it again. 

“Fuck.” He murmured when he saw that part of the train, usually students of House Slytherin, sits in. He steps forward carefully as he looks to the left. Most of the train compartments had the curtains drawn down, he stopped when one of the doors was slightly open. He guessed whoever was in there forgot to use the lock. 

‘Another Sirius.’ Remus tells himself as he looks inside. He sees a figure sleeping on the cushion seats, a leg hanging out. He frowns when he notices they wore jeans and sneakers. The person wasn't in uniform like them. Remus hears laughter further down the hall and quickly goes back. Last thing he wants to do is come face to face with a Slytherin. Making it back to his seat, he gently sat back down to not disturbed Lily who was leaning against James. He grabs the brown lunch bag Lily’s mom made for him. 

Remus quietly eats his sandwich as he stares out the window, watching the scenery. He never gets tired looking at the mountains and lakes as the train makes its way to Hogwarts. 

Shelley Mumps was the one who woke everyone the following morning. Remus had dozed off after eating his sandwich. He jumped out of his sleep when Shelley slid the door open with such force. 

“What happened?” James said in a sleepy voice as she shut the door and sat beside Sirius waking him up. 

“There's a transfer student. She's in our year.” Shelley said, looking at them. 

“Cool, can we go back to sleep?” Sirius said getting himself comfortable again against the wall. 

"She's American.” She added. Remus frowns. “They allow Americans in Hogwarts?” He questioned. 

“ Apparently because she’s here. Some of us saw her walking down the hallway. She was staring out the window. You should have seen the clothes she was wearing.” Shelley laughs and Remus looks away from her.

Lily just sighs at her friend. “What do you mean by that, Shelley?” 

“She had ripped holes in her jeans and her shoes looked dirty. She had this shirt with this ugly green army jacket. She looks homeless.”  Sirius was awake now and looked at Remus who kept quiet and stared out the window. 

“I'm sure, it wasn't that bad.” James said, clearing his throat as he sat up straight in his seat. 

“Oh please. The train is stopping soon. You’ll see her.” Shelley said before waving bye at them. 

“Tell me why you are still friends with her?” Remus asks softly, looking over at Lily.

“I have too, I share a dormitory with her.” Lily said, grabbing her bag as they felt the train stopped. 

They quickly got up and started to get their belongings. The students lined up and walked out the train. “Let's see if we can catch a glimpse of this girl.” Sirius tells Remus and James as Lily waved bye at them to find her other friends. 

Remus walked behind them as they walked to the waiting carriages. Leaving their trunks and luggage behind, they sat down. Remus looks around but has no luck in finding this ‘homeless girl.’ The carriages make it to the gates and they step down to walk towards the school, it was a five minute walk. 

“Peter!” James exclaimed and Remus looked over to see his friend walking towards them. 

“I missed the bloody train! My parents were furious. They had to drop me off.” Peter said with a sigh. Sirius and Remus shook their heads, Peter had a tendency of being late. They welcomed Peter with a hug.

“Did you hear the news?” Sirius asked. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Shelley gave me the full details on the new girl.” 

They walked together to the castle when they noticed a group of students standing by. 

“Oi!” James yells and a Ravenclaw boy, named Hems in their year, turns around. “What's going on?” 

“The American is with Hagrid.” Hems tells them as they get closer. Remus looked ahead to see. 

“Is she daft? What's she petting?” Remus hears another student ask. 

“Her name is-.” Someone said your name and Remus thinks it’s a nice name. He continues to look at you, trying to get a good look at your face. 

He can see Hagrid talking to you with a smile as you kept petting at the air but Remus can see the thestral you were petting. He could see its leathery wings flap for a second before circling around you making you giggle. Shelley was blowing your appearance out of proportion but it was exactly what he expected from a pureblood. He looks at you and he thinks your smile is pretty, that's what he noticed first about you. He looks at your clothes. You look casual. You look like a regular muggle, it reminded him of the outfit Sirius usually wears whenever going out to a muggle place. The green army jacket is a bit big on you. You wore a black shirt and blue ripped jeans. 

The thestral rubbed its head against your bookbag, you wore and Hagrid shooed the thestral away from you when it started to nibble on your bag making you laugh loudly. 

“What is she laughing at?” A student asked loudly. 

“You idiot, it's thestral.” Remus looks over and notices Severus with a group of Slytherins standing by. He was glaring at you as he answered. Remus noticed Hagrid leaning down to tell you something. You turn to face them and Remus sees your face for a second. Your eyes widened by the sight of them and quickly looked away before he could get a good look at you. 

“Two galleons, I’ll have her in bed by the end of the week.” Remus noticed an older student from House Ravenclaw speak out. Remus rolls his eyes when the group of students around him starts to snicker and begin to place their bets on you. He watches you walk away with Hagrid towards the school. 

“James? Sirius?” The guy said, looking over at them. 

“No, mate. I’m good.” James said before signaling his friends to keep walking. Remus doesn't want any part of it either. 

Sirius stops in mid step when one of them starts to laugh and yells out, “The American probably has diseases. You know they are sluts.” 

“15 galleons says she doesn't sleep with you.” Sirius said, making them stop laughing and look at him in disbelief at the amount of money he was placing. 

“You're on, Black.” 

Remus, James and Peter waited for Sirius to finish when he saw Severus and his friends walking away. James just glared at Severus and the long, dark haired boy did the same to James. 

“You really think she won't sleep with him?” Peter asked as they continued to make their way to the castle. 

“You have to be Shelley to sleep with them. I doubt she's like her.” Sirius said, shaking his head. 

Settling back down in Hogwarts was easy for Remus. He missed his bed and being around his friends. The atmosphere was different from back home. He wasn't alone, in Hogwarts he was surrounded by students, professors, and even ghosts. 

Getting ready for dinner, he spoke to Sirius about another book he got. Remus was fond of Sirius and even though they both came from completely different backgrounds. They were best friends. Sirius was the second person to figure out what he was. Remus had cried in front of him when he figured it out. Sirius didn't speak while Remus told him that he would understand if he didn't want to be friends anymore. Sirius just hugged him tightly. Hugged him until he calmed down. 

“You’re ridiculous. If you think, I'm going to stop being your best friend, mate.” Sirius spoke out after a few minutes. 

‘We’ll figure something out to help you. I promise.” 

Remus didn't believe it at first but when James and Peter figured it out he told them the truth. The three managed to become animagi behind his back and showed Remus when they accomplished it. He never felt so accepted before. They supported Remus during his transformations and mood swings when the full moon was near. They accompanied him in their animagi form to the Shrieking Shack then later carried him to Poppy Pomfrey. 

He was forever grateful for them. He really was so when he got too deep in his head and started thinking about dying and ending himself. He thinks of them. He thinks of Sirius, Peter, James and Lily. He thinks of his mom as well. 

He thinks about the time his mom would bath him when he was too hurt. She would feed him, dress him when he couldn’t move. His mother changed completely during the recent summer. She couldn’t look him in the eye and it broke him. His father who treated him differently already barely said a word. 

‘Oi!” Remus was deep in thought when James caught his attention. 

“You okay, Moony?” James said, walking towards him. They were in their dorm room, putting their stuff away when James saw Remus laying on the bed with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Yeah, Prongs.” James nods and sits beside him on the bed. Remus pushes himself up and holds himself by the elbows. 

“You know I wrote to you this summer. Like four times.” James said softly as Peter and Sirius were in the bathroom freshening up to go to dinner. 

“I know. I just-.” Remus feels James' eyes on him. “I don't know.” Remus lied. 

“Everything okay at home?” James whispered in a concerned tone, he knew about his life at home. Remus nods as Peter and Sirius come out of the bathroom laughing about something. 

“Ready to eat?” Peter asked as they put on their robes. 

“Yes!” Remus said getting out of bed, he looked over his shoulder to meet James' gaze who was still sitting down and staring at him. He did not believe Remus for a second. James drops it because he knows Remus hates being the center of attention so he drops it for now and says yes to Peter. 

Remus finds himself looking for you at the great hall but he can’t. He keeps his head down and listens to James and Lily talking in front of them as Sirius is talking with Marlene. Peter is next to him, trying to ignore Shelly who was talking about her summer. He was more interested in what's for dinner. 

“Welcome Students! Back for another year with us. I do hope everyone had a good summer.” Remus sighs as he looks down at the empty plate in front of him. The headmaster Dumbledore makes a few announcements about classes and a new teacher who will be teaching D.A.D.A. 

“Lastly, it gives me great pleasure to introduce a new student that will be joining us,-.” Dumbledore announces your full name and Remus repeats it in his head. He remembers your smile. It was so genuine, no one smiled like that to thestrals. 

“She’s from America, boys and girls. She will be studying with us. I want everyone to give her a warm welcome.” Remus looked up from his plate and looked over at the doors of the hall when it opened. He saw you wearing their uniform on. You stood next to Hagrid who urged you to walk inside. 

Remus claps along with his friends as you walk to Dumbledore and McGonagall, who had the sorting hat ready for you. 

“She looks like she's going to throw up.” Remus hears a Slytherin ahead of him joke. While you walked up the steps and sat down on the stool, facing everyone. Your eyes were looking down when McGonagall placed the hat on your head. 

The sorting hat hums as it rests on top of your head. 

“I feel it, young one. Don't you?” Remus saw you looking over at Dumbledore with a frightened look. McGonagall nods at you, easing your worries. You look down at the ground once more and your hands clasped on top of your lap. 

“Difficult choice, indeed.” The hat says. 

“A fighter!” The sorting hat yells, making everyone whisper. 

 “A protector!” Remus noticed the look on Dumbledore's face. 

“Oh- my, that is-.”  The hall quieted down when the hat stopped in mid sentence. 

“I know now! I see it!” The sorting hat crackled loudly. 

 “Slytherin!” Remus saw you lift your face to look ahead and Remus thought you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. He took notes of your nose and lips. Your eyes and the way you looked so nervous made him feel bad. 

He looked away from you when the hall started to applause. McGonagall was kind enough to show you where the table was. You looked down at your uniform when you noticed the color had changed.  

He peeks between Lily and James and sees you picked the farthest empty seat from the table. He can see you take a deep breath as you look at the silverware in front of you when you sit down. 

Shelley is sniggering with an older student from Gryffindor who is sitting beside her. 

“What's so funny?” James asked. “She probably doesn't know what a fork is? Don't Americans eat with their hands?” The boy asked James. 

“That’s fucked up, lad.” Sirius says, eyeing him. 

“Look ahead, she's using them just fine.” Lily snaps before looking down to eat her food. Remus looks over and notices you have begun to eat as well. It was quiet after that, Remus ate and only looked over when he took a sip of his juice. They ignore the others who keep making jokes are your expense. They spoke about your hair and how you looked. Some thought you were hot while others thought you were ugly.

Sirius noticed how Remus was quiet. It was pretty normal for Remus to be quiet. Quiet Remus, who only speaks when spoken too but right now it was different. Sirius felt his best friend’s vibe completely off right then and there. 

Remus had different sides of him. He can be so quiet then be very cheerful and make jokes. Until the full moon comes, he becomes cranky and snappy. Sirius stabs his chicken with his fork as he looks at Remus. There’s a new scar on his face and Sirius doesn’t have the courage to ask him about it. Especially since he saw how Remus acted when asked why he hadn't responded to his letter. Something must have happened during the summer, Sirius thinks to himself. 

He noticed Remus looking over when he took a drink. He followed his gaze and landed on you. Sirius does a double take when he sees his younger brother Regulus walking towards you with his plate in his hands along with his cup. 

Regulus flashes you a smile. “Oh fuck!” A Gryffindor from the table whispered.

Regulus sits down across from you. “You ok?” Remus whispers when he sees it. 

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be? He’s with his kind.” Sirius says to Remus but he doesn’t believe that Sirius can just be okay. Remus knows the complicated relationship that Sirius had with his younger brother. 

It was a few minutes later when Regulus and you stood up. Plates are empty and Remus watches as you pick up the empty plate. 

“What is she doing?” A boy from the Hufflepuff table behind them says catching their attention and the voices in the hall become quiet. 

“Do we have to wash it?” It was a simple question that you asked. Remus gets annoyed at the fact that you get laughed out by the Slytherin table when you ask Regulus. 

Regulus shoots them a glare and shakes his head at you before telling you that there was no need. You can leave your plate there and the elves will get it and clean it. 

“Elves?” You frowned, and your eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“Like a Santa's elf?” Remus hasn’t heard the word Santa since he was a kid. 

Regulus tilts his head at you, he’s confused now. 

“She’s half blood then?” Remus hears the table start throwing ideas of what your blood is. 

“What the fuck is a Santa?” Sirius whispered to James then looked at Remus when James shrugged his shoulders. 

“Are  you sure that she’s in the right grade if she thinks Santa is real?” Someone asked loudly and people began to laugh. 

It had gotten to the point that the laughter behind Remus started to get to him. He didn’t find it funny at all that they were making fun of you. He wondered what did you know about magic, perhaps you didn’t know anything at all. His guess had to be that you were muggle born but he keeps it to himself because if he was right about you being a muggle born then you will have a difficult time, especially in house Slytherin.  

He knows what it feels like to be made fun of and he hates it. He gets bullied for his scar face. He gets bullied because he’s quiet. He gets bullied because he’s poor. 

He sees Regulus walking out with you from the great hall. He leaves a few minutes after saying he had a headache but he just didn’t want to hear the comments they were making. He decided to go to sleep early that night. 

He was glad he had a dreamless sleep. He didn’t dream about the man. It was morning and he saw you again walking with a younger student from your house to the great hall. Remus walks in with Peter and he sighs when he sees Shelly and Marlene there already, eating. He didn’t mind Marlene at all, she was kind and reminded him of the female version of Sirius. She was spunky and played quidditch with James and Sirius. 

“Morning, guys.” Remus greets them and sits down. While a Ravenclaw girl ahead of them rises up from her seat and runs to Shelley. 

“You won’t believe what I just heard!” The girl said to Shelley. 

“The American slept in the bathroom on her first night here. Her roommates are telling everyone. They heard her crying.” Shelley and the girl began to laugh. 

Marlene looks at the girls. “I don’t find that funny. She probably misses her home.” 

“Oh come on, Marlene.” Shelley said, waving her hand dismissing Marlene’s words. 

Before she can say anything James and Lily along with Sirius came in. “Morning.” They greeted their friends. 

“I’m not ready for classes.” James sighs as he sits down. 

“Guys, Penelope just told me that -.” Remus finally cracks and cuts her off when he slams his hand on the table loudly and looks over at her. 

“Would you shut up already? Enough making fun of the new girl.” He said and Shelley grows red from embarrassment of his sudden outburst. 

“You feel bad for nasty foreigners?” The Ravenclaw girl, Penelope asked, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I feel bad for anyone that has to deal with tossers like the both of you!” Remus said, looking at her and Shelley. He stood up from his seat ignoring James and Sirius calling out for him. He walks out the doors and goes back to his room. He paces around the room, coming to terms on what he just said to Shelly and the other girl. He felt bad for calling them that name but he just got so angry. 

How can people make fun of other people suffering, he asks himself. He had lost count on how many times he’s cried himself to sleep during his first year coming to Hogwarts. Being alone and afraid that someone will find out his wolf secret. He checks the clock on the nightstand and notices it's almost time for his first class. He grabs his books from his trunk and hopes he doesn’t see Shelley or the other girl.

He started to grow worried as he walked to class that Lily would be angry at him for calling her friend a wanker. He was surprised when Lily hugged him when they saw each other for the third class of the day. 

“I can’t believe her!” Lily told him when she unwrapped her arms from him. 

“Don’t tell anymore but sometimes I get homesick. I’m in tears in the tub.” She admits to him. 

“You know how I feel about bullies.” Remus tells her and she nods at him knowing all too well about bullies. She was a victim like him, she was bullied heavily in her first year for being a muggle-born and sometimes even now. 

When lunch began he was walking with Peter who didn’t say much about the incident and Remus was grateful for it. They talked about their class they had last period. As he walks in he sees you sitting with the same younger student. You were smiling and so was the kid. 

The kid had a book open in front of you and Remus smiles at your choice of writing utensil. You were using a pen instead of a quill and you were writing down on a regular notebook instead of parchment paper. 

The kid kept talking while you nodded and wrote frantically. 

Everything seems to be going well, Shelley had decided to eat with her friend, Penelope at the other table. James and Sirius came soon into the hall talking enthusiastically about quidditch. 

“Guys! Guys!” Remus flinched when a group of Hufflepuff students came beside him and stared ahead at the Slytherin table. 

Remus looks ahead as well to see what all the fuss is about. Lance, from house Ravenclaw is in his last year and everyone knows him for being a bully. He was pure-blooded so he thought everyone who wasn’t was beneath him. He usually picks on the muggle born and the half bloods from any house. Of course no one interfered because they didn’t want to get bullied as well. Lance’s blue eyes widen as he walks into the great hall and makes his way to the kid sitting across from you. 

“He’s such a twat for always picking on Ruben.” The Hufflepuff next to him tells the group. 

“Ruben is the kid?” Sirius asks and they all nod as Lance gets behind Ruben and pulls on his hair making him yelp. Remus has never seen someone's eyes grow hard so quickly. The smile you had on disappeared. The hall grows quiet when you stand up from your seat. 

“Get the fuck away from him.” It was not usual for Lance to have someone stand up to him. He was caught by surprise from your words. 

“What did you say?” Lance said with a disbelief chuckle. 

“Get. The. Fuck. Away. From. Him.” The great hall is quiet and Remus noticed a few teachers had risen up from their seats when they noticed what was going on. 

“What’s going on here?” McGonagall had walked towards the table and stared at Lance then at you. 

“Nothing, Professor McGonagall. Just having a chat with my friend Ruben.” Lance said, taking a step back while still staring at you. 

Ruben was almost in tears by the whole thing. Professor McGonagall walks Lance back to his table. 

“She just placed a death mark on herself.” One of the Hufflepuff near Remus said, shaking his head. Lance was staring daggers at you and you kept your eyes on him showing no fear, just hate. You didn’t take your eyes away from him until he sat down and spoke with his friends. 

“You might just win your bet. She got balls.” James says, turning back around to Sirius who turned as well to continue on with his meal. 

“What bet?” Lily asked the boys and they got quiet real fast. James being whipped for Lily ratted them out and she shook her head, telling Sirius how horrible that is. 

“I betted that she won't sleep with anyone, Lily!” The redhead girl shook her head as Marlene copied her. Remus kept silent as he glanced over the table and saw you grabbing Ruben’s bag. You and the kid started to walk out of the great hall after collecting your things.  

He was surprised when he saw you walking inside the classroom. You were a few minutes late for charms class. The professor grabbed the slip from your hands and pointed at an empty seat in the back. Remus almost drops the quill in his hand as you pass him to sit on his row. Remus usually stayed in the back because he was tall. A Hufflepuff girl, Nancy sat in the middle between you and him.

In the corner of his eyes he noticed you had taken out the same book as before and a pen. 

The Charm professor called out your name as he walked towards you. The student laughed when he told you that there is no pen and notebooks allowed only quill and parchment paper. 

“I’m sorry. Mr. Robinson. I‘m still learning how to use the feather thing.” You told him, looking up at him. 

“First, it’s called a quill and you're a witch now so you better start learning fast how to use it. Second of all, it’s Professor Robinson. Things are different here, Miss.” 

“Yes, Professor Robinson.” Remus looks away by the tone of your voice. You sounded so defeated. Professor Robinson walks away and continues with his lesson. Nancy leans over to you when you grab the quill from your bag and the ink. 

“Hold it like this.” She whispered to you showing you how to handle your quill properly. 

Remus goes back to write his notes, he hoped you realize not everyone in this school were mean. There were some students who were kind. Throughout the class, his eyes would glance over Nancy to you. 

After class Remus walks to the Gryffindor common room. Making it inside, he heard chattering and looked over to see Lily and Mary Macdonald. 

“Hey, Remus!” Lily said, waving him to come over towards them. They were sitting on the couch by the fireplace. Remus sits on the other side as Mary hands him a box of chocolates they were eating. His eyes widened and they giggled at his expression. 

Lily chuckles when Remus is wiggling his fingers trying to decide which one to take. James and Sirius came with their Quidditch uniforms on. Lily frowned when she saw them walking towards them. 

“I thought you guys had practice?” Lily asked and Remus looked over at them with a frown when they didn’t say anything. The guys just looked at each other for a brief moment. 

“Oh fuck, Sirius have nothing to say. It must be bad.” Mary said, trying to lighten up the mood but James and Sirius didn’t say anything. They sat on the couch across from them instead. 

“They canceled practice.” James said and Lily glanced over at Remus. It had to be more, James would be in tears if practice was canceled. He took quidditch very seriously. 

“Why?” Remus asked, grabbing another chocolate from the box. Sirius takes a deep breath. 

“The word is going around that the new girl is muggle born.” 

‘Shit.’ Remus says to himself. He was right. 

“She didn't know what it meant, they asked her about her parents and she told them they weren’t wizards. Those snakes dragged her by the feet to the quidditch field and slimed her while chanting mud blood.” Sirius said. Lily and Mary dropped their mouths open in shock. Sirius and James glance at each other. They were famous for their pranks. Being slimed in the field was a good idea but they didn’t like how you began to cry and how confused you looked about the whole thing.

“Never seen Professor McGonagall look so mad before. She started yelling.” James said, leaning back on the couch crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Did you see the new girl?” Lily asked and James nodded. “Yeah, the other professors had to help her off the field.” 

“Blimey.” Remus mumbled as the door of the common room burst open and Shelly walked in laughing with a group of students. Remus rolls his eyes when he hears your name being whispered. This year was going to be rough, he tells himself while popping the piece of chocolate in his mouth.

[adaptacy]

A little Johnny character study.

Warnings: Stalking, romanticized cannibalism, graphic gore, corpses, extremely fucked up mentality, unsettling stream of consciousness, a LOT of red flags, all around just a sickening version of Johnny as I attempt to solve the gaps in my understanding of him.

Seriously, if you're the kind of person who doesn't usually care about tags, this is one of the ones where you maybe wanna give them a glance.

He'd met her at a bar. Well- 'Met' was a loose term. She'd caught his eyes at a bar. She was pretty, but not special. He'd seen pretty before. She was talkative, but not interesting. He'd heard talkative before. And yet she'd still caught his attention.

But she hadn't heard his voice. He never did take a seat next to her, never did buy her a drink, never did take her home. But he watched. Watched as she finished her last drink, just sober enough to manage her drive back home, but too tipsy to notice the truck trailing behind her the entire way back. Too tipsy to notice it parked on the side of the road when she entered her home.

He'd stopped at the kitchen window, knowing it was far too dark out for her to possibly notice him. He watched as she flicked on the kitchen light, sorting through her fridge for something to eat. And then he left.

He found himself at her window often. When he needed to cool off. When she'd been on his mind. When he'd kidnapped a girl with the same eyes as her, with a similar shape as her. When he'd ripped into yet another meal, imagining it was her between his teeth. Imagining the sweet, metallic stench of her blood, the soft cries she'd release as he cut into her.

But all he did was watch. Watch as she twirled the cord of her phone between her fingers, chatting away with her mother. Watched as she ate another frozen dinner too late at night, all by her lonesome. Watched as she sat in front of a tv, curled up in her blankets as bloody images of fictional murders played on screen.

She didn't know fear. She didn't smell like fear. She didn't look like fear. But he wanted to introduce them. He wanted to see her lips tremble in terror as her face ran pale, he wanted to see her force her last breaths out in sobs, he wanted to see her shake beneath him, unable to beg for her life with anything more than gurgles, her words washed away by the blood filling her mouth.

But all he did was watch. He learned her schedule. Learned how she folded her laundry. Learned her favorite meal. Learned her nervous ticks. He could've had her.

He could've killed her.

He stood over her bed as she slept, silent and dangerous. She always put her spare key in the plant on her porch. Was she stupid? Oblivious to the dangers in the world? Unaware that she'd given him such easy access. And she slept, defenseless, helpless, inches beside him as he just watched. Watched the way her eyelids twitched, the way her shoulders shifted, noted every minute change in her breathing. He wanted to see it stop.

He wanted to see her lungs freeze. He wanted to feel her heart in his hand, wanted to taste her blood on his tongue, wanted to claw his way into her skin and hear her scream at the violation. He wanted her to run. He wanted to taunt her, he wanted to hold her as she desperately tried to squirm away from him. He wanted to watch her innocence disappear from her eyes, he wanted to watch as she gave in to the death he wrought upon her.

And he watched, but there was no fear. Nothing but peace. It made him angry. He could suffocate her where she lay. He could press his body against her as she tried to kick him off, he wanted to wrap his hands around her throat and feel her pulse weaken-

But he just watched.

And then he went home.

He'd pretend the woman in his basement was her. He'd drive his knife deep into the corpse, ignoring the stench of rotted blood as he added to the frenzied stabs. He'd pant, and heave as he jammed the metal in again, and again, and again. And he'd imagine her choking, coughing up pleas and apologies. And kicking at him, and suffering. He didn't know her name. He didn't need to.

He knew her character, because he'd watched. He knew her outside, and one day he'd know her inside, too. But for now, he sliced until he could see the grayed edges of her torn intestines, the flies around the corpse diving between the folds of the decrepit flesh at the chance for a new taste.

The skin of her face had already been peeled, and flies sat on the edges of the sockets where frayed edges of flesh had been left by Junior's shoddy sawing. That was fine. She didn't have a face. But she had the facial structure he'd dreamt of. And his imagination was good enough.

When he deemed himself satisfied, he removed his knife from where it was lodged in her softened liver and stood up, finding his hand wet with a strange, slick ooze. There wasn't any blood- not anymore. Just a strange, thin, diluted version of what once kept this woman alive. He shook his hand off and stood, wiping the blade of his knife off in the fabric of his shirt.

He used his foot to kick the body back into the position it had been, but he knew he'd ruined it far past being able to harvest anything off of the brittle bones. She was nothing more than a meal for the flies. And a terrible stench.

He hadn't fixed anything. No, he'd made it worse. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to see her expression when he revealed himself, lurking inside of the very place she deemed her safety. He wanted to hear her stammer as he crept towards her, asking who he was, begging for her life.

But he took a seat at the dinner table, once more being ignored even if he could feel the prying eyes on him. They knew he'd had another one of his fits, but they knew better than to ask.

Mashed potatoes for dinner. It left him thirsty. Left him lonely.

He didn't say anything when he headed into town, returning to the bar he'd met her at.

This time was different.

This time, he didn't watch. This time, he didn't wait. This time, he didn't fantasize.

This time...

"You look lonely, Darlin'. How about we fix that?"

"Oh? That's awfully forward. And who might you be?"

"The name's Johnny."

===

for clarification, no, he did not fuck the dead body. he just attacked it. pls dont get the wrong idea LMAO

[inazumaeleven-fanfiction]

I'm sorry for posting these 3-4 days late. I have no excuses for that. I'm reusing the same background as last year if you don't mind.

Good for fanfiction, fanart, and any other fanwork!!

Inatober 2024 Prompts

The prompts in text form:

Food in the hospital / stranger danger...?

Lunch buddy / within the closet

Mountain / in another life...

Dystopian / favorite scary/horror-themed character

Blank / Role Reversal AU

Wonderland / favorite trio

Hauls / Hanahaki Disease

Gore / sentient avatar/keshin

Beast / Who run the world?!

Study table / Addams Family AU

Weremonsters / episode redraw/rewrite

Shield / proud soldiers

Bug/s / military experiment

Vulture / life in line

Resentment / stolen time

Despite these inflicted wounds I chased your cowering hand; you pulled me down with your weight over the cliff that spelled the end to your life and met my eyes with desperation and unsettling relief. // In that empty smile that at one time held my tomorrow, I saw my mistake... // My love... you are here no longer. // I loosened my palm; with knives in my constricting chest, hoped for the blood in your hands to take you... // And take you it did. // It was as if the skin of my bestfriend was peeled off and a smiling beast appeared in their stead. // You savagely yanked at my treasured bracelets. Given to me by my beloved whose eyes are now but a darkness with no end that taunted our precious memories. // You tugged down my arm with the force that severed all the good in you that I held onto. With the pieces of our treasure, and the imagined relief in your face; you let the abyss below swallow you.

Extracted / Poor groomed soul

Pressured / No man's treasure

Polycule / To love is to conquer

Dragons / opposite elements

Doomed yuri / villain female character

Found Family / someone's possession

Abandoned / Other sports AU

Golden hair / Doomed Siblings

Beers / bloody statue

Better half / Not even human

Robots / Friendship bracelet

Flowers / Glass heart

Graves / torn and scavenged

Sun Garden / favorite hissatsu

Bestfriends / limb from limb

[storyscribeforthesentiment]

the detective & the dark knight | chapter 7

Summary: Detective Marie Manning, investigating a series of brutal murders in Gotham, crosses paths with the mysterious Batman. As they work together, their mutual respect turns into a deep, passionate bond. Amidst danger and corruption, their unlikely partnership evolves into a profound love, forever changing their lives in Gotham’s dark corners.

Pairing: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f!main character

Author’s note: Buckle in for a rollercoaster of emo. We’ve got Bruce, the king of brooding, drowning in guilt because, surprise—deception isn’t a great foundation for a relationship. And then there’s Marie, who’s understandably hurt about the lies... but she’s also battling the very real urge to kiss his ridiculously handsome face. Enjoy!

Word count: 6k

Warnings/tags: mentions of gun violence, police bribes, fighting, murder

Chapter List

Marie stepped into the dimly lit study of Wayne Manor, her heart racing as the heavy silence of the mansion pressed down on her. The aftermath of the fight at the docks was still fresh in her mind—gunfire, screams, Maroni—and the terrifying sight of Bruce, beaten and bleeding, lingered.

She hadn’t been able to stay away. Not until she knew for sure that he was still breathing.

Bruce is Batman. Bruce is Batman. Bruce is Batman.

The thought played over in her head.

Her boots squeaked against the ground, covered in mud and blood—Bruce's blood. Her entire body shook as her sweaty curls clung to the side of her face.

She had stayed at the docks long enough for Gordon to get taken away by the ambulance, and for Bullock and the other detectives to arrive and take her story.

She gave them a brief account of what had happened, but she didn't mention a word about Bruce's secret.

Alfred looked up as she entered, his hands steady, though his expression was tight with worry. He was standing beside Bruce, who laid unconscious on a long, oak table.

Alfred’s gloved hands were soaked with blood, carefully stitching up a deep gash on Bruce’s abdomen. Bloodied bandages were scattered around, and Bruce’s face was pale, bruised, the life nearly drained from him.

"Miss Marie," Alfred greeted quietly, his voice a calm but somber presence in the room. "He’ll be alright. The worst is over."

She didn’t reply right away, her eyes locked on Bruce, deeply injured and so vulnerable.

It wasn’t the man she was used to seeing, not the stoic and invincible Batman, or the sweet and affectionate Bruce. This was a hurt man, flesh and blood, raw and wounded. It felt too real—too human.

Alfred noticed her hesitation. “I was a medic in the army,” he said, as if offering some comfort through the explanation. “This isn’t my first time doing fieldwork.”

Marie stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “Have you had to stitch him up before?”

Her question hung in the air, heavy with implication. Alfred paused, his needle poised midair, before he looked up at her, understanding in his eyes. There was no need to say it outright. She already knew. He nodded slowly.

“Yes,” Alfred admitted softly, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken truth.

Marie swallowed hard, her throat tight, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she stood beside Bruce, close enough to feel the warmth of his skin, despite how cold and weak he looked.

She gently touched his battered, sweat-soaked face, a whirlwind of emotions surging through her—gratitude for saving her life, betrayal for the lies he’d kept, and a deep respect for his work as the Dark Knight.

Hours passed, but she didn’t leave his side. She watched his chest rise and fall, counting every breath as if each one was a fragile reassurance that he’d survive this.

The anger she’d felt earlier—the hurt over his lies, the unresolved tension between them—it could all wait. Right now, none of that mattered. All that mattered was that he was alive.

As long as he was alive, there was still time.

—-------------------------------

Days had passed, and Marie had spent most of them holed up in her apartment. The silence was comforting at first, but now it felt stifling. Her precinct had granted her a brief leave from work, an opportunity to recover and process everything that had happened.

But there was only so much time she could spend staring at the same four walls, replaying the events over and over in her head.

With no word from Alfred that Bruce had regained consciousness, Marie knew it was time to visit again.

Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the steering wheel, Gotham's city lights blurring past in a haze. Rain drummed against the windshield, each drop echoing the turmoil raging inside her.

Every part of her wanted to scream, to let out the anger and confusion tearing her apart. If Bruce was awake, she wasn’t even sure what she would say to him.

She couldn’t stop thinking about all the moments that suddenly made sense—the little things she had overlooked, the times Batman had been just a little too familiar, too protective, too... Bruce.

Had he started dating her for a reason that had nothing to do with love? Maybe he’d seen it as a way to have a cop in his corner—an inside track on cases and information, someone to clean up his messes when the vigilante work crossed lines.

Was she just an asset, a useful tool to him?

Marie hit the steering wheel, a curse escaping her lips. “Goddamnit, Bruce.”

She felt stupid for not seeing it sooner, but more than that, she felt betrayed. All those moments when she thought they were connecting, when Bruce had opened up to her—how much of it had been real? 

The rain picked up as she drove, her wipers barely keeping up with the downpour. She replayed conversations in her head. There had been moments—many moments—where Bruce had asked about her work, about cases, even if it was in passing. What if those moments weren’t casual? What if they were calculated?

 Her stomach twisted with each memory. It was as if the pieces of the puzzle had been in front of her all along, but she hadn’t been ready to see the full picture.

And now, she couldn’t unsee it.

Bruce. Batman.

Was their whole relationship built on lies?

Marie pulled into the long, winding driveway of Wayne Manor, her heart racing as she approached the mansion’s towering silhouette. As much as she wanted answers, part of her wasn’t ready for them.

“Fuck.” She muttered under her breath. 

Marie killed the engine, sitting in the dark silence of the car for a long moment. The mansion loomed ahead, cold and imposing.

Taking a deep breath, Marie stepped out of the car, her boots sinking into the gravel as she approached the front door. Alfred was the one who greeted her, as always, his expression calm and measured. But tonight, there was something different in his eyes—a heaviness she hadn’t seen before.

“Detective Manning,” Alfred said softly, opening the door wider to let her in. “I assume you’ve come to check on Master Wayne again?”

She nodded, stepping into the grand foyer. “Is he okay?”

Alfred’s face gave away nothing. “He is.”

Marie swallowed, unsure how to approach what was really on her mind. She paused, glancing around the mansion before turning back to Alfred. “How long have you known?” she asked, her voice low, almost accusatory. “That Bruce is... that he’s Batman?”

Alfred’s expression didn’t falter. “I’ve known for quite some time.”

Marie nodded slowly. “How is he doing, really? Physically, I mean.”

“He’s sleeping, hasn’t woken up since he got back. His injuries were severe, but not life-threatening, thanks to... well, you and Commissioner Gordon.” Alfred paused, his eyes softening as he looked at her, assessing the concern on Marie’s face. “He’s come back from far worse injuries than this. I know he’ll pull through.”

Marie exhaled, her shoulders dropping slightly. “I’m glad to hear that.” She took a step toward the door, her mind still buzzing with too many questions.

Alfred straightened his posture, his gaze steady and thoughtful. “Detective Manning,” he called softly. His voice was calm but deliberate, like a man who’d seen more than his fair share of heartbreak. “I don’t mean to overstep, but if I may?”

Marie stopped, turning back to face him. Her demeanor softened at the familiar warmth in Alfred’s tone. “Go ahead, Alfred.”

He cleared his throat, taking a careful step closer. “Master Wayne may live behind a mask, but his feelings for you are genuine, Miss Marie. He doesn’t let many people in. You’re one of the very few he’s ever truly cared about.”

Marie shook her head, the knot of confusion in her chest tightening. “Then why lie? Why keep everything from me?” Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke, the sting of betrayal sharp and fresh

 “Was he just using me? Did he see dating me as some sort of way to get information? For the last few days, that’s all I’ve been able to think about.” Her eyes flashed with the anger she’d been holding in.

Alfred’s face softened, and he let out a quiet sigh. “No, Miss Marie. It wasn’t like that. I think Master Wayne appreciates how you can understand him well beyond others can. You both lost parents too young, and that pain—that drive—it shaped who you are, just as it shaped him. You both fight for justice, though in different ways. And believe me, he respects you, deeply.”

Marie’s eyes flickered, caught off guard by the vulnerability in Alfred’s words. She bit her lip, fighting back the mixture of frustration and doubt swirling inside her. “But he still lied. He could’ve told me. I thought we were...” She paused, searching for the right words. “I thought we were partners. More than that.”

Alfred nodded, stepping closer, his gaze unwavering. "Bruce fell for you, unexpectedly. He’s never cared for someone the way he cares for you."

Marie crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked away. “How do I know that’s true? How do I know I wasn’t just another part of his... plan?”

Alfred shook his head gently. “Because I’ve seen him with you. The way he is when you’re around. He’s... different. Less burdened, even if just for a moment.

You give him something he’s never had—a reason to believe in more than just vengeance.” He paused, then added, “It’s not easy for him, being with someone. Not when he spends every night risking his life. But he does have deep feelings for you, Miss Marie. That, I’m certain of.”

The room fell silent for a moment as Alfred’s words lingered in the air. Marie wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that Bruce’s feelings were real, that their connection hadn’t been built on lies.

But the hurt was still there.

“I just... I don’t know,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. “I don't know if I’ll ever be able to trust him again.” Her tone was harsher than she’d expected.

Alfred stepped closer, his expression compassionate. “Trust is earned, Miss Marie. And I can’t promise you that it’ll be easy. But I know Bruce—better than anyone. And if there’s one thing I can tell you, it’s that he will do everything in his power to earn back that trust. He won’t give up on you.”

Marie’s heart clenched at the words, the weight of everything finally crashing down on her. She let out a slow breath, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and heartache. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Alfred nodded, his eyes kind. “And that’s okay. Take your time, Miss Marie. But please, don’t doubt for a moment that you mean the world to him.”

Marie stood there for a long moment, absorbing Alfred’s words. Part of her wanted to run—run from the confusion, from the hurt, from the overwhelming realization that Bruce had been living a double life this entire time. But another part of her couldn’t deny the truth in Alfred’s voice.

She approached the door, her hand hovering over the doorknob. In a quiet voice, she murmured, “Thank you,” her words lingering in the air before she paused, adding softly, “For everything.”

Alfred gave her a small, understanding nod. “Of course, Miss Marie. I’m always here, should you need anything.”

With a final glance back toward the door leading to Bruce’s room, Marie turned and left, her heart heavy but her mind racing with questions she wasn’t sure she could answer yet.

—-------------------------------

The first thing Bruce felt when he regained consciousness was the sharp, deep throb in his side. It wasn’t the usual dull ache of a bruise or the fleeting sting of a cut; this pain was sharper, more insistent, gnawing at him with every shallow breath.

His body resisted movement, as if it was demanding he stay still. Every ache was a heavy reminder of the damage he’d taken.

His eyes fluttered open, and the world around him slowly came into focus. The dim light filtered through the thick curtains of his bedroom in Wayne Manor, casting long shadows that danced across the room.

He groaned softly, the mere act of turning his head sending a bolt of pain through his ribs and down to his side. He lifted his hand, feeling the thick bandages wrapped around his torso.

As he tried to shift and sit up, his body betrayed him. A burning sensation flared in his side, the fresh stitches tugging at the skin, forcing him to freeze. He barely stifled another groan when a figure moved into his peripheral vision—Alfred.

“You’re awake,” Alfred said, his voice a rare mixture of relief and caution. His usual calmness was tinged with concern as he approached the bedside. He placed a firm but gentle hand on Bruce’s shoulder, urging him to stay down. “Easy now, Master Wayne. Let’s not undo the work those stitches are holding together.”

“How long was I out?” Bruce’s voice was hoarse, more from the exhaustion than any real injury to his throat.

Alfred paused, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Three  days,” he said softly. “You’ve been out for three days, and quite frankly, you needed every hour of it.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed. Three days? He tried to sit up again, but the stitches in his side screamed in protest. His body still felt sluggish, as if it hadn’t quite caught up to his mind.

“I’ve been asleep for three days?” Bruce echoed, his disbelief mingled with the irritation of feeling helpless. His mind raced to the events before—he remembered the fight, the blade slicing through the gap in his armor, the blood that followed.

“How bad is it?” Bruce asked, gritting his teeth against the pain. He’d dealt with wounds before, but this... this felt worse.

Alfred’s expression grew more serious as he stood beside the bed. “You took a deep cut to your side, Master Wayne. It missed your kidney by mere inches. Several stitches were required, not to mention the blood loss. You’ll recover, but not without giving your body the proper time to heal.”

Bruce exhaled slowly, trying to process the severity of his injuries. His instinct was to push through the pain, to get up and continue his work. But his body felt like lead, weighed down by the reality of how close he’d come to serious, possibly fatal damage.

Alfred adjusted the blanket over Bruce, his voice softening. “You’ve faced worse, of course. But this time, you were fortunate.”

His thoughts wandered to the fight. To Marie. He had left her there. Did she make it out? Was she safe? The thought of her, of leaving her behind, gnawed at him. He forced his eyes open again, looking at Alfred with a question forming on his lips, but before he could speak, Alfred seemed to read his mind.

“She’s fine,” Alfred said softly. “Detective Manning came to check on you, in fact. Twice.”

Bruce’s eyes widened slightly. “She... she came here?”

Alfred nodded. “Yes, sir. She arrived shortly after the fight, anxious to hear about your condition. I told her the truth, that you’d be fine in time. She stayed for several hours the first night, and she visited briefly again yesterday.” He paused, his expression softening. “You were out both times, of course.”

Bruce’s chest tightened, and without thinking, he tried to sit up again. The sudden motion sent a wave of fiery pain through his side, but he pushed through it, gritting his teeth. “I need to see her.”

Alfred’s hand was immediately on his shoulder again, this time more forceful. “Sir, please. You’re in no condition to—”

“I need to talk to her, Alfred.” Bruce’s voice was raw, his tone almost desperate.

Alfred sighed, his grip on Bruce firm as he gently pressed him back down onto the bed. “She left hours ago, Master Wayne. There’s no point in pushing yourself to go after her right now. You’ll only make things worse.”

Bruce exhaled sharply, the tension in his body momentarily giving way to frustration. He closed his eyes again, forcing himself to breathe through the pain, through the regret.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the exhaustion creeping back into his tone.

“You needed the rest, sir. More than you realize.” Alfred stepped back slightly, giving Bruce space to process. “You’ve been pushing yourself harder than ever, and it’s taken a toll on you, whether you want to admit it or not.”

Bruce didn’t respond immediately. His mind was too clouded with thoughts of Marie, of the last conversation they had before everything went wrong. He could still see the look in her eyes—the hurt, the confusion.

“Did she... say anything?” Bruce asked quietly.

Alfred hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “She asked about you. About... why you didn’t tell her the truth.” He paused, his gaze softening. “She’s hurt, Master Wayne. But she’s not beyond understanding.”

Bruce’s chest ached, but not from the physical pain. It was the thought of Marie, of what he’d put her through, that weighed on him now.

“She cares for you, sir,” Alfred added, his voice soft. “But you’ll have to decide what to do with that.”

Bruce didn’t respond, but Alfred’s words settled heavily in the room. He knew he couldn’t keep running from this. He couldn’t keep pushing Marie away.

But for now, all he could do was lie there, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how he was going to make things right.

—-------------------------------

It had been over a week since the night at the docks, and back at the Gotham City Police Department, Marie sat at her desk, staring at the chaotic spread of papers in front of her. Frustration knotted in her chest as she sifted through lead after lead, all of them dead ends.

She’d been hunting for any trace of Maroni since the docks, but nothing panned out. Even her most reliable informants had come up empty, leaving her with the suffocating sense that the walls were closing in.

The more she tried to pull at the threads of the case, the more it seemed to unravel in her hands. And with Gordon still in the hospital, she didn’t have her usual ally to turn to for guidance.

She leaned back in her chair, her mind spinning. What now? How was she supposed to get ahead of Maroni’s operation when everything was a dead end?

The thought struck her before she could stop it—Batman.

He’d know what to do. He always did.

She glanced at the clock, biting her lip as the weight of her decision settled in. Part of her didn’t want to admit it, but she needed him now more than ever.

He was the only one who might offer a fresh perspective, some angle she hadn’t yet considered. The case was closing in fast, and without his insight, she feared she might miss something crucial.

Alfred had left her a voicemail a few days ago, letting her know Bruce was awake. Bruce had even tried to reach out, calling several times, though she’d ignored each call, still grappling with how to even begin a conversation after everything that had been revealed. His lies, the deceit—it all still stung.

Yet despite that, their connection remained. She hated how much she still relied on his judgment, and how he was the only person in the world right now that she wanted to see.

She stood abruptly, grabbing her jacket as she left the station, the night air biting against her skin as she made her way to the rooftop where the Bat-Signal waited.

Her breath fogged up in the cold night air as she flipped the switch and watched the familiar beam shoot into the dark sky. She crossed her arms, waiting, trying not to let her nerves get the better of her.

But after half an hour, the rooftop remained empty.

A sick feeling twisted in her stomach as she glanced at the sky again, the signal casting an eerie glow over the rooftops of Gotham. He should’ve been here by now.

Where was he?

Marie’s heart hammered in her chest, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as panic clawed at her. What if his condition had worsened? The image of Bruce slumped on the docks, bleeding out, barely able to stand, flashed through her mind in vivid detail.

She remembered the way his body collapsed to the ground at the docks, the blood pooling faster than she could stop it. Alfred had reassured her that he was healing, but doubt gnawed at her. What if something had gone wrong? What if he was worse off than anyone realized?

The thought sent a fresh wave of fear crashing through her. She couldn’t stay here, waiting. Without a second thought, she bolted for her car, fumbling with her keys as she slid behind the wheel.

Her hands shook as she gripped the steering wheel, the engine roaring to life beneath her. She floored the gas, tearing through the streets of Gotham, her pulse racing faster than the car. She had to see him—now.

Wayne Manor loomed ahead, but she barely registered the sprawling estate as she slammed the car into park and practically sprinted up the stone steps.

Her lungs burned and her heart still thudding in her ears. She only focused on the grand door in front of her. Her breath came in ragged bursts, her hand trembling as she raised her fist to knock—but before her knuckles made contact, the door swung open.

And there was Bruce.

She froze. She had expected Alfred to answer, his calm, reassuring demeanor ready to greet her.

Instead, Bruce stood there, leaning against the doorframe, dressed in a dark t-shirt that clung to his frame, with white bandages peeking out from underneath, wrapping tightly around his torso. He wore black sweatpants, a far cry from his usual composed appearance, but still standing—alive.

His face was pale, deep shadows carved under his eyes, and though he looked like he had been through hell, the steady rise and fall of his chest was proof that he’d made it through.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of everything unsaid hung heavy between them, suffocating in its intensity. Marie’s heart pounded in her chest, a mix of emotions swirling within her—relief, anger, confusion.

"Marie," Bruce finally said, his voice somehow soft yet rough, like the echo of a storm that hadn’t yet cleared.

She took a shaky breath, struggling to keep her composure. “I... I didn’t know what to do,” she admitted, her words rushing out before she could stop them. “I called for you. I used the Bat-Signal. I thought something happened when you didn’t show up. I—”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce interrupted, his voice carrying a heavy weight of guilt as he leaned more heavily against the doorframe. “I wasn’t... in any condition to respond.”

Her eyes flickered to the bandages wrapped around his torso, noticing how his posture stiffened with every shallow breath he took. He was clearly still in pain, the strain of standing there was written all over him, but he was alive. She wanted to feel relief. But instead, frustration and anger bubbled up inside her.

"I thought something had happened to you. I thought your condition got worse or... or you..."

Bruce’s gaze dropped for a moment, his jaw tightening as the guilt flickered across his face. “I didn’t want you to worry. Alfred said you’d checked on me.”

Marie swallowed hard, emotions colliding inside her as she stepped closer, her chest tight with conflicting feelings. “I needed to make sure you were okay,” she said, her voice softening as her fingers unconsciously reached up to graze his chest, fingertips lightly brushing the fabric of his t-shirt. She could feel the warmth of his skin through the bandages, feel his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath her touch.

Silence enveloped them before she whispered, “I thought you were going to die at the docks.” The memory of him slumped on the ground, blood soaking through his armor, flashed vividly in her mind.

Bruce didn’t move, letting her touch linger, his own hand slowly coming up to cover hers. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if even the act of lifting his hand took effort. “I know,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry.”

Marie’s jaw clenched again, her pulse quickening. He was right here, right in front of her, but it wasn’t enough to dull the sharp edge of her frustration. The relief that he was alive was being overtaken by the anger she’d tried to suppress.

“What are you sorry for?” she asked, her voice cutting through the silence.

Bruce’s lips twitched, a hollow chuckle escaping him despite the pain it caused. His breath was shallow, uneven. “For not saving you and Gordon. I failed you.”

Marie shook her head, her grip tightening on his shirt. “You didn’t fail me. I’d be dead right now if it weren’t for you. Gordon would be dead. I would’ve ended up just like my dad.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and the air between them shifted. Bruce’s hand tightened over hers, his expression hardening, but his voice was soft when he spoke. “I’ll never let that happen to you.”

The conviction in his voice sent a shiver down her spine, and for a moment, she faltered, her breath catching. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. She wanted to forgive him, to wrap her arms around him and tell him everything was okay. But she couldn’t.

“You were supposed to be honest with me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You should’ve been honest about everything. You decieved me, Bruce. I feel like a fucking idiot for not realizing you two were the same person.”

Bruce’s expression tightened, and he looked away, unsure of how to respond. The silence stretched on, the weight of her words pressing down on both of them.

When he finally looked back at her, his eyes were filled with regret, but there was something else there too—something that made her heart skip a beat.

“I didn’t want to put you in danger,” he said quietly, his voice raw. “But I understand why you’re angry. I should’ve told you.”

They stood there, staring at each other in the doorway, the tension between them thick enough to choke on. Marie exhaled sharply, her chest rising and falling with the intensity of the moment.

“I shouldn’t have rushed over here like this,” she muttered, more to herself than him. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Bruce took a slow step toward her, wincing with every movement. “You were worried,” he said softly. “It’s okay.” He moved his hand from hers, gently placing it on the side of her head in a soft caress. It took everything in her not to lean into his touch.

Marie’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Well, now that I see you’re okay, I should go.”

But neither of them moved. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension still simmering between them. Her hand lingered on his chest, and for a brief moment, she considered stepping closer, closing the distance between them. But she pulled her hand back.

Bruce’s tired smile barely touched his eyes, but he nodded. “Thanks for coming.”

She hesitated. Just as she turned to leave, Bruce’s voice, hoarse and quieter now, stopped her.

“Marie… I’m sorry. For not telling you sooner.”

Her body stiffened, the reality of the words crashing over her again. She could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the fear that he had lost her trust. He started to say more, to explain, but she stopped him.

“Bruce,” she said softly, lifting her hand and gently placing it on his cheek this time. His skin was warm beneath her touch.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she whispered, her thumb brushing lightly across his cheekbone. “You need to rest. We’re not doing this now.”

Bruce’s eyes flickered with both relief and frustration, but he nodded slowly. He didn’t push, didn’t fight. He just stood there, watching her, letting her hand linger for a moment longer.

—-------------------------------

It had been five days since Marie had seen Bruce, and she was now back at work, trying to keep herself busy. With no new leads on Maroni, she was stuck in the limbo of desk work, tapping her fingers against cold files and waiting for something, anything, to break.

The empty hours began to blur together until she found herself in front of Gotham General Hospital, ready to visit Gordon. She hadn’t visited him since that awful night at the docks, and the guilt twisted inside her. She needed to see him, to make sure he was okay.

As she walked down the sterile hallways, the smell of disinfectant and the low hum of machines filled the air. The hospital’s lighting was harsh, almost as though the world inside these walls was separate from the one outside.

Marie paused at the doorway to Gordon’s room, hesitating for a moment before gently knocking.

“Come in,” came a voice, hoarse but familiar.

She pushed open the door to see Gordon propped up in bed, looking worse for wear but alive. Bandages were wrapped around his chest, and though he looked tired, he managed a small smile when he saw her.

“Detective,” Gordon greeted, his voice gruff but warm. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, Commissioner,” she replied, stepping into the room and standing at the foot of his bed. She gave him a quick once-over, relief flooding through her. He was going to make it.

Gordon’s eyes softened, and he chuckled weakly. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Figured you’d still be chasing down leads.”

Marie shook her head, sighing. “Not much to chase right now. Maroni’s gone quiet, and without any new information, I’m stuck at a desk.” She shifted uncomfortably. “I should’ve come sooner.”

Gordon waved her off. “I don’t want you worrying about me.” His voice dropped slightly. “I’ve been meaning to apologize, by the way. For tricking you into going to the docks.”

Marie’s stomach twisted at the memory. The image of Gordon's battered body at the docks flashed in her mind, just before Batman—Bruce—had jumped in.

“Maroni made you do it.” she said, though the words didn’t feel as strong as she wanted them to. “It’s not your fault. You did what you had to.”

Gordon nodded, his face marked by guilt. “Still, I should’ve found another way. You didn’t deserve that.”

Marie looked away, swallowing the familiar lump that rose in her throat. “What matters is that you’re still here, and we’ve got another shot at taking Maroni down.”

Gordon’s gaze softened. “You know, Batman came by earlier.”

Her heart skipped at the mention of his name. She fought to keep her expression neutral, though the mention of Batman’s visit brought all the emotions she’d been trying to suppress rushing to the surface.

“He visited you?” she asked, keeping her voice steady.

“Yeah,” Gordon said, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if gauging her reaction. “He came to apologize... for not saving me. For not getting there in time.”

Marie clenched her jaw, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. Of course he had. Batman—the man who carried the weight of Gotham on his shoulders, even when it was crushing him. Even when it almost killed him.

“It wasn’t his fault,” she muttered, more to herself than to Gordon. “We both know that.”

Gordon sighed, shifting slightly in his bed, wincing at the movement. “He didn’t see it that way.”

Marie let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

For a moment, silence hung between them. Gordon studied her carefully before speaking again. “He asked about you, you know.”

Her heart lurched. She couldn’t stop the brief flicker of surprise that crossed her face. “He did?”

“Yeah,” Gordon nodded. “Wanted to know how you were holding up. He seemed... concerned.”

He had asked about her. The thought shouldn’t have meant as much as it did, but it did anyway. She hated that part of herself—the part that still craved his presence, even when her trust in him had been shaken.

Marie’s breath caught, and she quickly looked away, swallowing the sudden rush of emotion. She didn’t know why it hit her so hard, hearing that Bruce—no, Batman—had asked about her. Maybe because it had been days of radio silence. Maybe because she hadn’t stopped thinking about him.

Or maybe it was because part of her was still trying to figure out how to feel about everything—the lies, the betrayal, the fact that Bruce Wayne, the man she had begun to fall for, and Batman, the man she relied on as her partner in the shadows, were one and the same.

“I’m fine,” she said stiffly, too quickly. “There’s a lot to work through, but... I’m fine.”

Gordon raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You sure about that?”

Marie forced a tight smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll be fine. I have to be.”

Gordon didn’t press, but the weight of his gaze stayed on her, as if he saw more than she was willing to admit. He let out a slow breath before speaking again. “He asked if you still wanted to work with him.”

Marie stiffened, her heartbeat quickening. She forced herself to meet Gordon’s eyes. “What did you say?”

“I told him that was between you two,” Gordon said with a knowing look. “But I could tell it was eating him up.”

She didn’t respond right away, her thoughts racing. She had no idea how to respond to that.

Days had passed since she’d left Bruce standing in the doorway at Wayne Manor, and every minute that ticked by had been a tug-of-war between anger and understanding.

She was furious at Bruce for keeping his identity from her, but there was another part of her—a part she hated to admit—that still cared deeply for him, and respected him for his work as the Bat.

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I’m ready to.”

“No one’s asking you to make any decisions right now.”

Marie nodded, though her mind was far from clear. She had no idea how to fix the tangled mess she was caught in with Bruce. At some point, she would have to confront him.

Whether she was ready or not.

[illarian-rambling]

Character introduction: Twenari Undetasib, the Blessing of House Tunnel Wasp

With a feeling like jumping from a great tower, Twenari reached forth into the great corpse of magic. For an instant, her body went into shock. Trying to cast without energy nearly always resulted in, if not always death, then at least some severe brain damage. However, she had no choice but to plunge ahead.

A moment later, Twenari latched onto power. The girl gave a ragged scream as the ancient magic poured into her, lighting her very bones with bloody fire. It was too much! It was beauty incarnate!

There was a second where Twenari could have been the most powerful mortal mage on the planet. Ten thousand years of runoff magic from what could have only been the work of something tantamount to the gods themselves flowed through her, around her. It became her.

Magic is as central to Twenari as air or food might be to another person. It's her purpose, her true love, and her greatest ally, even when it sometimes burns her from the inside out.

Twenari’s path began with the unique circumstances of her birth. She is the only daughter of Undeta Idansib, smuggler queen of the infamous House Tunnel Wasp, as well as a prodigy sorcerer. Though she only learns of this later, it is heavily implied that Undeta sought out a powerful sorcerer for the sole purpose of having such a gifted heir. Life with the Tunnel Wasps, spent mostly on her mother’s flagship, was one of brutality and subservience. Twenari was expected to be a perfect smuggler princess; educated and polite, ruthless and cunning. Her duties, which she began at the age of eight, included warding priority shipments, acting as an intimidation tactic, and reading the minds of any enemies her mother might torture for information. All while keeping up with her rigorous studies.

Obviously, this wore on the kindhearted girl. After delving into the mind of an innocent pawn in a game between crime syndicates whom her mother killed regardless, Twenari fled the Tunnel Wasp flagship. She ended up on the shores of a rural, out-of-the-way island called Saaz, and running right into a certain pair of seafolk in hiding. However, Twenari’s mother is not one to easily let go of anything valuable, especially not her main source of magic.

That is where the story of Honor's Outcasts picks up. As Twenari soon learns, her mother’s pursuit may be the least of her worries in the wide, wild world.

As a person, Twenari carries a pragmatism and maturity well beyond her years. She is insatiably curious about everything from cooking to divine magic, yet she approaches all of these interests with methodical precision. Some would be quick to call her cold. However, a righteous heart hides beneath the shield of aloof severity. She cares deeply for the family she's come to choose and will help them with their own problems in any way she can. Acts of service is very much Twenari’s love language.

As for what she looks like, there's a four year gap between books one and two, so that changes a bit. In book one, she's a messy-haired twelve-year-old with absolutely zero meat on her bones. In the later books, she's a tall girl of sixteen with many piercings in her ears. She has dark skin, short locs she keeps under a kerchief, bright tawny eyes, and prefers skirts to pants. There is a tattoo of a stylized tunnel wasp on her wrist.

Now for some fun facts!

Twenari loves to cook. She cooks most meals for the quartet.

She's unimaginably terrible with kids her own age.

She has resting crazy eyes.

Despite her natural sorcerous gifts, she wants to go to school to study runic magic and alchemy. Every sort of magic will bend to her will one day, or so she hopes.

She's an amateur arborist.

Being 12/16, she swears the least out of my main cast, however, she's picked up a lot of Halawema’ishi curses from Izjik. Most of these are eel-related.

And that's a wrap! I hope you all enjoy this absolute freak of a prodigy middle schooler raised by the fantasy cartel. Lmk which outcast I should do next!

Have a bitchin day <3

(Tag list @amandacanwrite @elsie-writes @riveriafalll @kosmic-kore @kaylinalexanderbooks @bard-coded @carrotsinnovember @patternwelded-quill @somethingclevermahogony @whatwewrotepodcast @goldxdarkness @the-angriest-author)

[groovydazestudent-stuff]

Taming ofthe Shrew

Snippet of something I tried to write years ago that never went anywhere. Remus Lupin X OC, Sirius Black scheming, nerdy flirting. kink if you squint

1.2k words

"Juuuniiiii" I could hear Sirius whine from the row behind, stage whispering to get my attention. Merlin, I just want to get this question done, can't he let me be for one goddamn moment. " I know you can hear me" Sirius shifts in his seat to lean closer "I need help with the muggle studies essay meet me in the Gryffindor common room?"

"Aye no, I need to run through new plays with my team" trying to focus on the work in front of me.

"tomorrow?" He looks at me with those stupid puppy dog eyes. Sirius doesn't ask for help, he's up to something.

I hesitate "Fine." What is that boy up to? I didnae think he studied, on a Friday night no less!

--

If I get one more look from one of these bloody Gryffindors I'm leaving, he's fecking late, I guess I'll help him some other time. I turn back to my book, try and ignore the gits walking by and gaggle of Third years giggling coming up with reasons I'm sat in their common room.

The amount of people in the common room dwindles, it's getting dark out where the bloody hell is he?

"Juniper!" merlins beard gimme a heart attack why don't you! Remus was stood at the bottom of the stairs looking equally surprised by my presence.

"Hullo, Remus" I swear this boy is getting taller.

"hi...sorry um not to sound rude but what are you doing here?" he stumbles over his words, how precious "I-just mean, 'cause you're a Hufflepuff ya'know?

"oh aye thank you for noticing, no I'm meant to be helping Sirius with Muggle Studies" meant to be.

"Oh, well he actually asked me to help him with the potions essay hence" Lifting the books and parchment in his hands.

"Funny. He's not in your dorm I take it?" Remus shakes his head, merlin those curls are bouncy. "well I'll just have to wait here to tell 'im off then" turning back to my book.

"Do you like him?" What? He quickly clarifies "Shakespeare I mean, well his work," he says clearing his throat.

"oh aye this one's my favourite 'taming of the shrew', bit problematic but it has some good scenes ." I wonder if he's read it. "I have to admit it's always better performed," I turn back to the page I was on and murmur "s'not meant to be read."

"What part are you on?"

"where Kate and Petruchio meet for the first time." I smile, hoping he knows why. It can be a hilarious scene if it's done right. He nods and I go back to my book, play? script, no um-.

"Good morrow, Kate for that's your name, I hear." Hmm, he knows the first line, okay let's see how much boy wonder remembers.

"Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing. They call me Katherine that do talk of me." I attempt to put on the character, probably a good thing I didn't decide to be an actor as a bairn.

"Liar." I feel myself getting warm as he looks at me, eyes boring into me" for you are called plain Kate, and bonnie Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst, but Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate, For dainties are all Kate and therefore," he pauses slowing himself "Kate. Take this of me, Kate of my consolation: Hearing thy mildness praised in every town, thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, yet not so deeply as to thee belongs. I am moved to woo thee for my wife."

Shite okay, pretty boy. I get up from my seat to stand in front of him just to be sure he cannae read my book.

"'Moved,' in good time. Let him that moved you hither, remove you hence." I feel myself smile a little as I watch him think over his next lines, "I knew at first you were a moveable."

"Why, what's a moveable?" He asks already knowing the answer.

"A joint stool."

"You're right, actually." his confidence falters as he hesitates on the rest o' the line "Come, sit on me."

I didnae think he was actually going to continue, well, I'm gonna have some fun with this one. I decide to do it and sit in his lap. Good lord, does he always smell like this? what is that, chocolate? line, what's the line. "Asses are made to bear, and so are you." I read attempting to regain my stubborn kate-like demeanour.

"Women are made to bear, and so are you," he says lightly patting my stomach. that smug mother fecker.

"Not by the likes of you!" I get up in an attempt to seem angry and not at all flustered.

Mockingly "Oh heavens, Kate, I wouldn't think of burdening you. I know how light and carefree you are." my he's really gotten into character, who knew.

"Too light for such a swain as you to catch, and yet as heavy as my weight should be." ooh we're getting to the fun bit, I wonder if he'll-

"' Should be'—should buzz!" he gets up off the lounge.

"Well like a buzzard, Buzz off!" he continues to move closer.

"If I'm a buzzard, you're a turtledove." He winks! what's this boy trying to do to me."Come, my little wasp, you're too angry."

Hmph well " If I be waspish, best beware my sting." I step toward him in an attempt to regain my composure. bad Idea.

"My remedy is then to pluck it out." he says, has his teeth always been this nice? Gods I wish I could wipe that stupid, smug look off his stupid face.

"Oh aye, if the fool could find it" I wonder how far he's going to take it, he clearly knows the play well.

"Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail." he's bloody close, merlin's beard.

"In his tongue." keep it cool, it is just a boy, wow he has so many little scars you wouldnae see until you get this close, they're faded, old.

"Whose tongue?" oh um-.

"Yours, if you talk of tales. And so farewell." I move back toward my things picking them up off the couch.

"What, with my tongue in your tail?"He's stood directly behind Merlin oh mighty "Nay, come again, Good Kate. I am a gentleman." oh my lord his hand slides down my waist, I smack it away before he moves any lower trying to stay in character.

"A gentleman? that I'll try!" whipping around to face him. Bloody hell he's staring into my soul I swear, he grabs my wrist and pulls me closer.

"I swear I'll cuff you if you strike again." Holy shit who are you and what have you done with boy wonder. No stop we're friends, but that cuffing thing dinnae sound so bad. oh crap, he's looking at me. you know kissing him wouldnae be a bad idea right now. If I just leaned forward a bit-

"Nice one James!" oh shite,

Remus and I quickly sort ourselves. Like nothing happened, hm."Oi, what happened to muggle studies hmm? what happened to 'oh please I'm failing I need your help' 'it has to be Friday night'?" I turn my attention to Sirius.

"I forgot?" of fucking course, I collect my stuff and proceed to walk toward the portrait hole.

"wait!" Remus stumbles over pulling on his robes "I'll walk you back if we get caught this late I can say I caught you out during rounds and am escorting you back."

"oh yeah, Mr prefect" I forgot about that." you hoping for head boy next year?"

"Nah."

[suzannahnatters]

2023 In Books!

Due to mild fatigue, 2023 was a bad reading year for me - I did not reach my yearly 2-books-a-week goal for the first time since I began logging them, and many of the books I did read did not agree with me. But I still found ten fiction and 7 (!) non-fiction books I had to shout out for the end of the year.

Top 10 Fiction THE RED PALACE by June Hur A historical murder mystery set in Joseon Korea, featuring crystalline prose, a painstakingly evoked historical setting, and an understated romance in a dark atmosphere of terror, secrets, and palace intrigue. Despite being written for a young adult audience, this book impressed me with its complex picture of a deeply flawed real historical context.

TOOTH AND CLAW by Jo Walton A Victorian style comedy of manners in which every single character is a dragon, from the dragon parsons and spirited young lady dragons to the crotchety old dragon dowagers and feckless young dragons-about-town. All of them wear little hats. Sheer cosy perfection.

DRAKE HALL by Christina Baehr My bestie surprised me this year by spontaneously producing four whole novels pitched as "cosy Victorian gothic, with dragons". I haven't read the final edition of DRAKE HALL yet but it's sunshiney, summery, cosy goodness. With dragons.

CRIMSON BOUND by Rosamund Hodge (re-read) A dark and bloody fantasy full of lifegiving female friendship, ride or die siblings, theology, guilt, and stabbings. This one also contains gratuitous St Augustine quotes, a one-page retelling of the VOLUNDARKVIDA, and a love triangle that exists to present the heroine not so much with drama as a proper ethical dilemma.

EMILY WILDE'S ENCYCLOPAEDIA OF FAERIES by Heather Fawcett The story of a mildly autistic lady academic researching faeries with her flamboyant rival professor, who is probably secretly an exiled fae king…but the annoying part is his habit of making his students do all his field work. Cosy, thrilling, hilarious.

THE LAST TALE OF THE FLOWER BRIDE by Roshani Chokshi This gothic-infused psychological thriller was dark, creepy, and sometimes heavy, but it's also a tale that flips the roles of innocent maiden and Bluebeard, engages in valid Susan Pevensie Discourse, and ends on what I found to be a genuine note of hope and healing.

THE COLDEST GIRL IN COLDTOWN by Holly Black This book tackles vampirism as a metaphor for the evil hidden in the human heart, and it's epic, bloody, twisty, and monstrous. I couldn't put it down. Not sure I'd recommend it for the target audience, but it's mature and well-crafted enough to be enjoyed by grown-ups as well.

THE WITCHWOOD KNOT by Olivia Atwater I've read a number of Olivia Atwater books, and this one is head and shoulders above the rest. The best blend of gothic and fae, like a grown-up LABYRINTH, with one of the great fae butlers and so many subtle yet walloping feels. It felt like an old fairytale in the best possible way.

BEHIND THE CURTAIN by WR Gingell The WORLDS BEHIND series is about trauma and healing and repentance, and in this, the fourth book, everything comes decisively to the boil as our favourite twisty knife uncle pits his wits against an enemy who very uncomfortably mirrors himself.

Top 7 Non-Fiction (because I couldn't get it down to just five)

TWO VIEWS ON WOMEN IN MINISTRY by Beck & Gundry (eds.) Four New Testament scholars from a range of complementarian and egalitarian perspectives debate the question of women in ministry, with a lot of detailed scholarship. If nothing else, this book proved that this is something orthodox Christians can honestly disagree about, because there are significant exegetical strengths and difficulties with each position - it's time to stop seeing women holding ministry positions in the church as tantamount to heresy.

REFLECTIONS: ON THE MAGIC OF WRITING by Dianna Wynne Jones This collection was magical - funny and sad tales of her life, many good and passionate thoughts on books and writing, and one absolutely marvellous study of narrative structure in THE LORD OF THE RINGS. Absolutely delightful and highly recommended.

PATERNAL TYRANNY by Arcangela Tarabotti A 17th-century nun takes aim at the misogyny of early modern Europe, wielding razor-sharp logic to argue boldly for the equality of women. But it's Tarabotti's passionate faith, which somehow managed to survive moral injury and spiritual abuse, and even came to see hope and encouragement in scriptures which must so often have been used against her, that will stay with me.

THE GOLDEN RHINOCEROS: HISTORIES OF THE AFRICAN MIDDLE AGES by Francois-Xavier Fauvelle A series of bite-sized essays on the medieval history of Africa from approximately the Islamic conquests of the 7th century to the arrival of Portugese colonists in the fifteenth. Each essay offers the most fleeting glimpse of a long-vanished, half-imaginary world of often breathtaking sophistication and splendour. I loved them.

ONE HOLY LOCAL CHURCH? by Bojidar Marinov This short book, which draws very solidly on past luminaries like Rutherford, Gillespie, Spurgeon, and Hodge, helped me think through some of the questions I've been asking myself about ecclesiology and the role and authority of elders, particularly as I've been rethinking women in ministry. Terrific.

TEN DAYS IN A MAD-HOUSE by Nellie Bly "People on charity should not expect anything and should not complain." In 1887, the American "girl reporter" Nellie Bly got herself locked up in a New York lunatic asylum, and this shocking expose was the result. Sometimes, nineteenth century attitudes towards women and the poor were beyond parody.

A PEOPLE'S TRAGEDY: THE RUSSIAN REVOLUTION, 1891-1924 by Orlando Figes Some aspects of this book have aged poorly - the unthinking acceptance of Russian imperial aspirations, for instance - but apart from that, this is a sweeping, epic picture of the Russian Revolution, covering three decades and every level of society, from daily life in the village commune to the political rivalries of Lenin's declining years, without ever becoming dull or bogged down in detail.

[sylvienerevarine]

Over in @nirnwrote land the prompt "I'm not drunk enough for this" came up, and I took it as an opportunity to introduce y'all to Amaal, my Harbinger character. She's a delight, truly. And also possibly Jessie from Toy Story 2.

---

“I’m not nearly drunk enough for this.”

Sophrine looked up, surprised, as a young Redguard woman plopped onto the bar stool next to her. She was both pretty and tough-looking, with a sturdy frame, a warm brown complexion, and a cloud of dark curls, and there was a friendly look in her dark eyes. 

That said, it was unclear who exactly she was.

“Not drunk enough for what?” Sophrine inquired.

The woman laughed. “Sorry, you must think I’m off my head. It’s just been a long bloody day at Jorrvaskr. Skjor got taken out by the Silver Hand, and now the entire place is in an uproar. Had to sneak out for a drink before I perished from the tension.”

“That does sound stressful,” agreed Sophrine. “Pardon me for asking, but…have we met?”

“Not yet, anyway.” The woman stuck out a calloused hand. “Name’s Amaal. I’m the new recruit with the Companions. And I know who you are, of course.”

Sophrine shook the proffered hand, eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“Are you kidding? You’re Sophrine Aulette, the dragonslayer! Everyone’s been talking about you! Gods, you’re lucky.” Amaal shook her head wistfully. “I’d give anything to study one of those beasts up close. Is it true their hearts are made of fire?”

“I wouldn’t know, I’m afraid. Their bodies always dissolve when I’m nearby.” Sophrine snapped her fingers. “That’s right, I have heard of you. Hulda called you an animal scholar.”

Amaal shrugged, looking gratified. “You could say that. My folks run the Stros M’kai Zoological Garden, so I’ve always been fond of critters. That’s why I came here, actually–to study the local wildlife.”

“There’s a lot of good wildlife to study, that’s for sure. How did you become a Companion?”

“Kind of a boring story, honestly. I needed money for groceries and all that, and couldn’t see myself as a farm hand or a housekeeper, so I joined up at Jorrvaskr. It’s not bad work, really,” said Amaal. “Lots of fresh air, interesting creatures, free food. Though this week it’s all gone pear-shaped.”

“You said something about a Silver Hand?”

Amaal took a long drink from her mug and nodded somberly. “Nasty bunch. They’ve got beef with the bosses for reasons I can’t really get into. Now we’re all caught up in it. And you know what the kicker is?”

“What?”

“Ever since they turned me into a werewolf, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks.”

[lususnatura]

so i've been playing with the idea that, since some of the plants that are now a part of blamore's body are perennial's (which means that they will go into dormancy / the plant version of hibernation around when winter starts), that blamore tends to get extra careful around the winter month's and will go out less often.

and this is not only because its plants are vulnerable since most plants won't be able to survive frost collecting on them — but also because this period of having its plants basically restoring themselves during the winter by breaking down proteins and remaking them does take more energy out of blamore (as any chemical process within plants or animals requires ATP, or energy to happen, i believe).

thus, he tends to get tired more easily during this period; which could be bad news for him in regards to heroes being able to stop him and what-not. though the cold, in general, is actually something that could be VERY dangerous to blamore. that is, if he were to be exposed to it without some kind of protection, and/or something to keep him warm.

because (and i believe i've briefly mentioned it once before) it also has trouble with maintaining its body temperature due to its hypermetabolism, especially in severe conditions such as super cold weather. so yeahhh. should your muses ever see blamore out during the winter, it'll be wearing layers upon LAYERS of clothing since it is not out here trying to get hypothermia

[martianbugsbunny]

Baby While You're At It (A Cherik Fic)

Well my dears I am now laughing at my past self and calling them a bloody fool bc they swore up and down they were not going to get involved with writing Cherik, not with so many other ships/fics already languishing in WIP hell, but it's happened. I've written my first Cherik fic and I'm no longer annoyed at the idea that it might not be my last.

I was listening to a Jessie Murph song and I was like "Hm, this kinda gives Cherik" and I picked the bits I thought were the most Cherik and used those as inspiration for the fic. Definitely favored loyalty to the characters over the song, don't worry! I would recommend giving it a listen because I absotutely-lutely love it, but first I would recommend reading the fic because it turned out splendid and I adore it. Read on and enjoy!

Two weeks, was that all it had been? Charles stared at the calendar, wishing it would tell him it was all a mistake and they were launching for Cuba tomorrow; that he had dreamed up everything that had happened since then—but he knew each one of those fourteen days really had passed because he had counted each of them. Day One without Erik. Day Two without Erik. Day Five. Day Nine.

Day Fourteen.

He felt as though he had aged ten years in that short span of time. Beneath his eyes were dark, bruise-colored circles, as though his body was beating him up for how little he slept.

How could he sleep, when every time he closed his eyes he was back on the beach? He could feel the grit of the sand beneath his head as he fell, then the stiff material of…gloves, as he was lifted halfway up and cradled within the confines of strong arms. The scent of the salt air; the taste of fear; the compressing of his lungs as he realized who was responsible for the pain in his spine and the even worse lurching of his heart as he realized that same person was going to cause him worse pain yet.

Charles exhaled, his breath still shaking as though he were lying in agony on the sand, and went to join Hank in the kitchen for breakfast.

Hank, a strong contrast to Charles’ often dark mood, seemed happier than usual. He handed Charles the carton of orange juice and slid a small vial across the table with it. “I’ve developed a sort of antiserum,” he said. “To the one I made from Mystique’s DNA. It allows me to control my mutation.”

Oh, yes. That was the other difference: Hank was also a lot less blue than usual. “It’s a very interesting formula, I thought you might want to know,” Hank said.

Charles picked up the glass tube and shook it idly. The fluid inside looked unremarkable, but if it could manipulate Hank’s genetic code, interesting was an understatement.

Hank glanced at him warily, then set down his spoon and folded his hands. “I’m supposed to remind you we’re having a sort of welcoming party for the soon-to-be teachers? Tonight?”

Charles leaned back in his chair, sighing. He liked a lot of the people who had signed on to help with the school, but the ghost of…the past was following him around so closely he barely had room for his own shadow, much less a houseful of guests.

But he wasn’t going to cancel. Hank deserved to have time with his friends, and Charles could always disappear and leave them to their fun if he needed to. “We’ve got enough food?”

“Plenty.”

“Alright then, just—make sure nobody breaks anything.” He had seen what it was like when young mutants got together before, and he didn’t particularly want his house to end up like their former CIA facility had.

Charles managed to get through the rest of the day without too much trouble; he didn’t retreat to his study for booze as he often found himself doing, and he went outside for a while to get some fresh air. Maybe having friends around wasn’t such a bad idea, after all. Maybe they could push those ghosts away.

Alex Summers was the first to show up; he brought with him a smile that lit up the corners of the house. He had changed a lot since Charles had first recruited him, going from definitively bitter to being brilliant and full of life.

Charles shook the thought away that he had had a nearly opposite transition.

Another half hour later the future teachers had all arrived. Charles noticed the way Alex’s bright smile changed into something infinitely softer when Sean Cassidy arrived, and felt a brief stab of that horrible bitterness when Sean went to greet Alex first, their embrace a lingering one that left the entire room giving each other knowing glances.

Charles was just about fed up already and he hadn’t even said hello to everyone yet. He cast a pleading look at Hank: How much longer do I have to stay? It was, after all, his school, his idea, that had gathered all of these people together, and detached as he felt from the rest of them he didn’t want to make enemies of them.

Hank crossed the room and sat down on the sofa, next to which Charles had parked his wheelchair. “Fifteen minutes,” he said quietly, squeezing Charles’ hand. He understood, to the extent that anyone could, because he had spent the intervening weeks between Cuba and now at Charles’ side.

“Fifteen and I’m out,” Charles answered tersely. Hank gave him a sympathetic smile and then went back across the room to get something to eat.

Fourteen minutes later the front door opened again, eerily silent, and the room went still. Alex moved to stand more-or-less in front of Sean, who gripped his wrist reassuringly.

Charles bit back a curse when Erik Lehnsherr walked through the door. It closed behind him, swinging noiselessly on its metal hinges. Erik’s eyes lighted on Charles instantly, and an emotion started filling Charles’ chest that felt like the sting of bile in the throat. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, his voice clipped.

“I came to see you.” Erik glanced around the room—it was definitely hostile. Hank had reverted into his blue form. “Perhaps we could move to somewhere less public?”

“You’ll shoot me in the back in front of these people but you won’t speak to me while they’re present?” Charles could hear the hysteria bubbling up in his voice and felt powerless to stop it. Every beat of his heart as it limped on screamed Erik—Erik—Erik and yet he was furious with the man. Furious at being wounded, furious at being left, furious most of all that Erik’s heart was probably pounding stronger than ever without Charles chasing two steps behind. He had some nerve to show up uninvited with that handsome half-smile so typical of him and just expect that Charles would chase after him again.

….Mostly because he was absolutely right. Charles would never be able to resist the pull of that grin; it drew him to Erik as magnetism drew metal to him, irresistibly and almost inevitably leading to disaster, even while Charles felt a blue-hot searing fury with himself for crumbling so easily.

“Fine,” he spat. “You all go on with your party. I will be back soon.”

He had longed to escape just moments ago and yet he dreaded the loss of backup as he led Erik into the kitchen, several hallways removed from the living room where the others were no doubt starting to whisper about why Magneto was here.

Charles stopped his chair next to the table, turning it to face Erik. “What do you want?” he asked.

Erik wasn’t foolish enough to sit down. Their conversation was far from being that casual. “I wanted to see you,” he said. “To—to make sure you were alright.”

“Oh, now you want me to be alright? Now? After everything you did to me?” There was that hysterical sound again. This time, Charles tried to bite it back—it and the tears that were building in his eyes.

“It was Moira’s fault,” Erik said. “Imagine being stupid enough to shoot at a man who can control metal.”

“You certainly had no problem controlling that bullet into my spine,” Charles said.

Erik stepped back as though Charles had physically slapped him in the face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

It had been Erik’s strong, gentle, desperate arms that had cradled him after the accident, Charles reminded himself. It was an accident, after all, no matter how much Charles wanted to place blame on a single person and push that person away to alleviate his grief. Erik had caused him pain, but he had also held him, eyes devastated, hands straining with rage.

“And yet you always do,” Charles said. “I left that beach less than I was before. Not because of the injury, but because I had to leave without you.”

Erik said nothing, staring at Charles expressionlessly.

He couldn’t help laughing now, one hand going up to brush his hair roughly back from his face. “Why don’t you just rip my heart out of my chest while you’re at it? It would be easier to handle than knowing that it wasn’t love you felt for me. What was it, pity? Contempt?”

Finally Erik moved again, kneeling in front of Charles and covering one of Charles’ hands with his own. “I loved you then and I love you still,” he said, his voice hushed but more intense than Charles had heard him except in the heat of battle, or a fit of temper. “Why do you think I came all this way?”

Charles let the gathered tears fall, only for Erik to brush them away. “I regret little that I’ve done in my life,” Erik said. “It’s all been for a reason, a cause. But hurting you, no matter that it was an accident…that I do regret. Every night I hear your cries, see your tears, and it’s been eating at me.”

“No matter how bad you have it, I’ve got it worse,” Charles said, the break in his voice betraying his attempt at coldness. “You think the memories you left me with after that beach haven’t been gnawing on me like maggots on so much rotting meat?” There was more Charles wanted to say, but he stopped. “You’re not wearing your helmet,” he realized. He reached over and ran his fingers through Erik’s hair. It was longer already than it had been two weeks ago. “Why—?”

“I wasn’t sure you would believe me,” Erik said. “If I’d the worn the helmet, you would’ve said…”

“I would’ve said you were a liar,” Charles finished. “Because it’s easier to love a liar who’s laughing behind your back than to love someone who loves you back, if he’s hurt you.”

Erik nodded. This time, Charles caught the flicker of remorse in his eyes, deep-seated and powerful. “You know what, Erik? I don’t expect you stay with me. You’re too set in your convictions for that. But we’re done hurting each other—I want better than that for us.”

“Charles, I swore the moment I held you in my arms on that beach that I would never harm you again.” Erik’s eyes were as serious as they were only when he was talking about the mutant cause. It wasn’t about Erik’s intentions, though; Charles had meant it as a promise, as a forgiveness, as a bandage for the barbed-wire words he had already pushed into Erik’s heart.

“And no, I won’t stay, but I’m not leaving you,” Erik said. That, too, was a promise. An apology. “My heart and soul are with yours, wherever I go.”

True to his word, Erik didn’t stay. That night was all they had. This time, it was Charles who held Erik in his arms, Erik’s head pillowed on his chest, one hand curled around Erik’s jaw so Charles could feel the pulse in his neck. Erik slept, and peacefully; Charles didn’t.

There would be time for that later. He wouldn’t have Erik to have and to hold forever, and he didn’t want to waste a moment, but he didn’t begrudge Erik what he knew was one of few truly restful sleeps in his entire life.

Early the next morning, Charles sat on the porch, watching the dawn light up the sky in pale shades of lavender and pink over the still-dewy lawn. In the trees, birds were already singing, and a spider was busy in its web on a bush next to the railing.

It didn’t hurt so much to watch Erik go, his cape rippling like water behind him as he walked down the driveway, with the warmth of his kiss goodbye still lingering in Charles’ heart and on his cheek.

[strawberryclementine]

please I would die for For Tokyo revengers angst right now 🤧😭♥️

8. Baji Keisuke

25. For Hanma Shuji

4. For Taiju shiba

7. For Chifuyu Matsuno

Thanks for the ask! Admittedly I've only written Hanma out of these characters before, but I'll do my best~

8: "Leave. Now. Just leave!" (Baji)

Chifuyu couldn't comprehend why Baji would leave Toman so abruptly. The only possible reason he could accept was that his Captain had an ulterior motive, perhaps to act as a mole for Toman by joining Valhalla. But even if that was the case, Chifuyu was completely in the dark.

Was it too soon to ask what was going on in Baji's head? Perhaps, but there was only one way to find out.

"Can we talk about this over some yakisoba?"

Chifuyu had hurriedly brought one packet of Peyoung yakisoba to Baji's doorstep, not even taking the time to change out of his Toman uniform after the meeting Baji had stormed out of. It didn't feel appropriate to propose this conversation in any other outfit.

"No," was the only response Baji gave. The lighting from his home behind him outlined his dark hair with a golden halo.

"But Baji-san," Chifuyu started.

"Just leave!" Baji exclaimed, and Chifuyu's face was met with the front door, leaving him alone with the chirping crickets and cicadas outside.

When he knocked on the door and rang the doorbell again, there was no answer.

"Peyoung yakisoba for one," he muttered to himself as he trudged home later that night, "I guess it was supposed to be eaten alone."

25: "I know you have no reason to trust me. But please... I'm asking you to anyway." (Hanma)

Glimpses of an unhappy future had been haunting the Reaper. On the morning of the Kanto Uprising, he caught another glimpse.

His bloodied, aching self limping down a suburban street. A small, disfigured body on the road. A Tenjiku jacket saturated with hot blood. The sensation of boiling tears streaming down his face.

He snapped into the present with a jolt, an icy shiver rushing up his spine.

"If something happens today, I want you to trust me," Hanma said later that day as he watched Kisaki button his red jacket. "My instincts, I mean."

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"I have," Hanma paused, "I have a bad feeling."

Kisaki frowned. "You have no reason to. I will get what I want today." He was about to turn away, but Hanma reached a hand over his shoulder.

"I know you have no reason to trust me," he said, "But please... I'm asking you to anyway."

Kisaki calmly studied Hanma's apprehensive expression before responding.

"Stop acting strange. You know you're the only one I actually trust."

Hanma nodded affirmatively, but he watched Kisaki walk away with a heavy heart.

4: "Stay. Please stay." (Taiju)

Truly, I have no idea how to write Taiju... I decline this one (⁠๑⁠•⁠﹏⁠•⁠) 🙏

7: "I'm here. I've got you. You're safe now." (Chifuyu)

"I didn't care about saving you," Kazutora said. He looked away from Takemichi and blinked away the wetness welling in his eyes.

Takemichi's tense expression softened.

"The person I wanted to save," Kazutora continued slowly, his gaze set on the paling sky, "was Chifuyu."

Takemichi blanched.

"I wanted to save Chifuyu," he repeated with a desperate crack in his voice.

It was too late, but all Kazutora wanted was to be able to say, "I'm here. I've got you. You're safe now," to the man who had once said those same words to him. There was nothing to be done but carry on ahead without him, to carry on for him, just as he had done for Baji. He had no other choice and no other purpose.

Send me an Angst + Hurt/Comfort Prompt!

I hope you enjoyed and I wish you an awesome week ahead <3

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

You're Still Alive (Inside my Head)

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

For Whumptober Day Four. Title from More by Billy Locket.

Renata is gone, but not dead. That is the hope that Malik clings to.

Contains: Minor character death, some gore, grief/mourning, vampires, angst, complicated feelings

---

Dr. Blackwood didn’t cry at the funeral.

No tears fell from her eyes as the pallbearers carried two caskets into the graveyard behind the cathedral. Her face remained impassive as the priest gave his last rites. The only indication that she felt anything at all was when she closed her eyes as her daughter’s empty casket and her husband’s mangled corpse were lowered into the ground.

Malik wondered how she could remain so stoic.

The sight of Augustus’s study was still burned into his mind’s eye. Blood had covered his desk and floor and shelves, had splattered all the way up to the ceilings, the smell of it hanging in the air like a dark miasma. Augustus’s throat had been torn out in deep gashes down to his stomach, as though a wild animal had set upon him. His body had lain against his desk, a mockery of a tired professor having fallen asleep writing in his journal.

A scrap of Renata’s blouse, the white cloth stained red, had been left behind. There was no other sign of her.

Malik couldn’t believe it at first. Even as he called for the guards, rushed forward to try to wake Augustus up, he couldn’t believe that something like this could happen. That his friend and professor could just be gone. They had all had dinner together earlier. They had plans to go to the lake later that month.

But now, as he watched the gravetender throw dirt over Renata’s casket, it was more than grief that had him trembling. Who could do something like this? Because as violent and senseless as it was, there was no way it wasn’t planned and purposeful. Not with Augustus’s office being the only one to see any blood. Not with the books carefully taken from his shelf. Someone did this, someone took people that he cared about away. His one friend, gone, and he didn’t know why, but he intended to find out.

And, given that they never found Renata’s body… did he dare hope that she was still out there somewhere?

---

The first sign was a bloody handprint on the wall. Then, the almost-silent sound of footsteps against the stonework. When he turned the corner, there was a cloak-shrouded figure, ever-so-slightly hunched over, back towards him and a hand braced against the wall.

“Hello?” He was careful to keep his voice friendly, even as his hand hovered near his sword. “Are you hurt, stranger? I can take you to the university if you need healing.”

The figure went still, almost unnaturally so. Malik couldn’t see if they were bleeding, but their cloak was too dark for him to really be sure. But they didn’t turn towards him, didn’t even seem to breathe.

“It’s okay,” he said, softer. “I won’t hurt you. If you’re in danger—“

“I’m fine,” they said, sharp and scared, and it was Malik’s turn to stop cold. The voice was familiar, even after all these years, even after time and change and who knew what else. “I’m fine, you can- you can go—“

His hand fell limp at his side. Unthinkingly, he took another hopeful step forward. “Renata?”

She didn’t turn. Didn’t look at him. Didn’t even pause. Just took off, down the alleyway and away into the evening.

“Wait!”

He didn’t hesitate to follow her, heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t let her get away, not when he just found her. But though he knew these streets like the back of his hand, barely a minute passed before she was gone entirely. As though she had never even been there.

Coming to a stop, Malik heaved a deep sigh. His heart ached. He wondered what he did wrong. Wondered what she was so afraid of. Wondered if it had even been Renata at all.

---

There was a vampire sitting on the edge of the lake.

His old friend was sitting on the edge of the lake.

The vampire and his friend were the same person.

Malik had been sent to kill the vampire, or, failing that, bring her in to be dealt with by the Church. She was a danger to the city. She couldn’t be allowed to walk free.

But Malik couldn’t hurt his friend. He just couldn’t.

He just watched her as she stared out at the sun disappearing beneath the lake.

She looked small.

Could it really be her? It seemed impossible. But there was no mistaking it.

“I know you’re there, Malik,” she called, her voice carrying easily across the open air.

He wanted to get closer, but he was afraid that she would run away again. So he stayed where he was. Held his ground. “I’m not going to hurt you, Renata.”

“Aren’t you?”

He winced a bit at that. Sighed. “I don’t want to. I won’t.”

“Yeah?” She didn’t turn to face him. She sounded tired.

He didn’t understand how she could sound tired. He was here to kill her. Nervous energy was skittering under his skin like electricity; it took a matter of will to stay still.

“What happened, Renata? Why—“

“Don’t.” Her voice was flat, but strained with just enough tension to give Malik pause. “Please.”

“Okay.” His mind was racing, trying to figure out what to do, but she spoke up again before he could come to any sort of conclusion.

“I just wanted to see the lake again. That’s all. I wasn’t going to stay any longer. You can tell your captain that I’m gone.”

“They want you dead.”

She turned to look at him. Her face looked younger than it should, and yet so, so much older. Her jaw was set; there was no affection in her gaze. “I already am, Malik.”

He watched her stand, and walk away into the forest. He didn’t stop her, or follow her. Just watched her go.

Renata was a vampire. But it was still her. She was still out there.

And maybe there was still something in her that could be saved.

[jenibearx3]

✔️11 Books Read

Out of Love

Give and Take: Revolutionary Approach to Success

Girls Can Kiss Now: Essays

Give a Sh*t: Do Good. Live Better. Save the Planet.

Love and Other Disasters

How Not to Die: Discover the Foods Scientifically Proven to Prevent and Reverse Disease

Kill Anything That Moves: The Real American War in Vietnam

Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead

Strong Female Character

Hell Followed With Us

Skin of the Sea (Book #1)

❌️ 0 Books Dropped

✔️ Out of Love 🏳️‍🌈

By, Hazel Hayes

❤️

🔥

It follows the end of a relationship by tracing it in backwards. From end to beginning, seeing how they had so much potential, only to end. It leaves you wishing that things had turned out better, but knowing that it's far too late. Seeing how the dominoes fell in reverse, leaves a new type of heartbreak to experience in this novel.

✔️ Give and Take: Revolutionary Approach to Success

By, Adam M. Grant

❤️❤️

This book, like many, shows that being a kind and decent person will always work out for the best. The world often tells us to be hard and self-interested, but it's the givers who will come out on top. I really enjoyed how the book brought all this to light using real people and they're stories of success to show what it means to truly give.

✔️ Girls Can Kiss Now: Essays 🏳️‍🌈

By, Jill Gutowitz

❤️❤️❤️

A collections of essays about the author and their queer journey through the years. I'm close in age with them, so I totally understood the struggle of trying to figure out what it meant to be queer in the 90s and early 2000s, haha. It was fun to join them as they figured out themselves and made me laugh.

✔️ Give a Sh*t: Do Good. Live Better. Save the Planet.

By, Ashlee Piper

❤️❤️

I love how they teach ways to be more eco-friendly while also not pushing too hard for it. They allow people to do what they can, where they can. They can be a bit much, but they offer some great ideas and are accommodating none the less. It’s a good book if you're looking for a starting point in trying to figure out what little steps you can take to doing better for the planet.

✔️ Love and Other Disasters 🏳️‍🌈

By, Anita Kelly

❤️❤️

🔥🔥

This book is a fun wild ride. It takes the POV of the main two leads, London and

Dahlia, while they're on a cooking show. It gets hot and heavy, but so much fun with food both in the kitchen and in the bedroom, haha. Both of them are struggling with their own problems, with them standing in their own ways at times. Yet it was a joy to read and see them come together.

✔️ How Not to Die: Discover the Foods Scientifically Proven to Prevent and Reverse Disease

By, Michael Greger

❤️❤️

This is one of my new fav books when it comes to food. I love learning about food and the body with hard facts and studies. Like real, good studies that are double blind. The title is pretentious, but he isn't saying go vegan or nothing, haha. The author is accommodating and just wants people to give more veggies a chance, using studies to prove just how good they are for you. He can get really excited about how effective some veggies can be, he did title the book "how not to die" after all. But this book is full of great knowledge and a fun read.

✔️ Kill Anything That Moves: The Real American War in Vietnam

By, Nick Turse

🩸🩸🩸

This is a dark book that should not be read by the light-hearted, so rating this book with hearts felt inconsiderate to the hard work and truth that written on its pages. The events told in this book are bloody and violent, yet is an important read to learn the truth of what happened during the Vietnam War.

✔️ Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead

By, Brené Brown

❤️❤️

This book was inspiring. The title refers to one of Theodore Roosevelt's speeches where he ended with a rally to dare greatly, and this book does the same. To be vulnerable is one of the hardest things to do, but it is the only way to truly live and love. The author helps us with her research just to show how true these words are, and how we can do the same.

✔️ Strong Female Character 🏳️‍🌈

By, Fern Brady

❤️❤️

🩸

This memoir follows the author's journey to finding out their neurodivergent and the struggles of being a woman in modern society. Her life thus far has been a struggle to say the least, but if you struggled to first figure out that your neurodivergent, and then accept that you are, this is a book for you. It can take time that something you've always struggled with had an answer, a label even, and can take time to settle in your bones. But once it's there, it can be bittersweet because it was always there, you just didn't know. And what if you had known sooner? I laughed, I teared up, and I related with a lot of this author's journey.

✔️ Hell Followed With Us 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

By, Joseph Andrew White

❤️❤️

🩸🩸

🔥

OMG this book is so dark, haha. Like, great writing, but also so much body horror. Oh, and the religious trauma. There are two POVs, and one lead is trans while the other lead is autistic. It's post-apocalyptic, with world ending horror 2.0 coming soon, haha. I vibed with both characters, cuz being queer and/or neurodivergent is hard now, just imagine adding the world ended on top. Like, does anything matter when clean drinking water isn't a thing anymore? But if you're not ready to listen to the terror that is the disease that transforms dead people, or not dead, then maybe don't. Great writing, but I have new fuel for my nightmares now, lol

✔️ Skin of the Sea (Book #1)

By, Natasha Brown

❤️❤️❤️

I am so ready for the sequel, so be warn this is book 1 of Skin of the Sea. I truly enjoyed this book, the vibe, the characters, and not to mention the lore. It takes from West Africa legends to shape this book's world. From the Mami Wata, to the Orisha, this book weaves together a beautiful story of adventure and uncertainty. What we must do is sometimes the most heartbreaking thing to do. Our lead, Simi, struggles to find balance with who she was and who she is now. It is endearing and inspiring to watch her as we follow her on her path. It has me on the edge of my seat to read the next book, the tension still gripping my heart just thinking about this book again.

How Much did I love it? (1-3 hearts)

❤️ = Good

❤️ ❤️ = Great

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ = Loved it

🩸 = Blood/Gore/Violence (1-3 Blood Drops)

🔥= Smut (1-3 Flames)

Visit my Website for this and more information ♥︎

My poetry and short stories can be found on my Website/Blog, like my short story series Sad Girls ♥︎ Or hear them on my Podcast, The Second Door

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[lesfir]

Nice discussion. Well, I've always called Astarion a "tormented predator". He's a noble of Baldur's Gate, he chose the career of power, and he was a harsh magistrate (it's still in the game, dialog with Wyll). I think of him as more of an evil character. I'm also pretty harsh on him as a character, even though I like him a lot.

I think his vampiric twist is really working in his mind. I think that was the idea, he's even bloodier than a mere mortal bad man, otherwise they could have made him just a human.

Which is added because of Cazador. A greater desire to control everything around him. Control your body, those around you, "don't touch me." His desire for power has tripled. Fear is definitely added, but Astarion is pretty strong, he fights bloody for himself.

His brutality throughout the game, all of it, will never be a mask and facade for me. Together and simultaneously and independently with Cazador's story... It's his true, dark part, part of that evil magistrate, part vampire spawn. Neutral-evil Astarion.

I just see how Astarion besides practical desires and the desire to preserve himself (neutrality), he have fun, enjoys power, controlling the minds of others, blood and violence - That part of his inner evil.

I like watching his true dark desires and path of evil better.

Lord Astarion. He has no limits, he does what he wants. It's not clear how Ascension affects DnD5's True Vampirism. The Ascension is the apophysis of his evil desires and their continuation. He's evil and I think chaotic.

I'm enchanted actually by the idea of how he thinks, and his ambition, his chaotic, often dark, force of intellect and spirit, in any ending and before the story begins. How he searches for a means to the sun, studying ancient manuscripts. How he's a Lord, studying Faerun politics, there's a line in the original that he knows how the heart of Baldur's Gate beats, talking to foreign ambassadors.

This is a big topic for my poor English.

I love Astarion phrase about good and evil. And devnote. The theme of yin and yang, scales.

And she's quite funny, considering Astarion is pretty corrupt anyway and any scales and moral compass will point to "what the hell do I want". And about power, "being kind", too "Even evil people can be a little bit good. And even good or evil people can be a little bit complicated"

After enduring 200 years of torture, starvation, and prostitution under Cazador, Astarion's current identity is known, but his past remains obscured. I wanna do an exploration akin to the "Nature vs Nurture" debate to discern which aspects of his character were shaped by pre-existing elements and which were forged by the traumatic experiences he endured. Of course, due to limited source material, this is all mosrlt interpretation and conjecture.

Before Cazador, Astarion possessed a fully developed personality with thoughts, feelings, and opinions. (And we have to keep in mind his original story was discarded from Clearly Evident Canon beyond the being a Magistrate part) The subsequent 200 years of trauma, compounded by the transformation into a vampire, brought mental and physical alterations. While the specifics of the mental changes are unclear due to the ambiguous rules of Spawn, the undeniable shift included an insatiable blood thirst imposed by his newfound vampiric nature.

Unraveling Astarion's true self involves deciphering what parts of him existed prior to Cazador, (not possible, given source material) what remnants of that man endure, how these aspects have been distorted, and what parts of him ONLY exist as a result of the trauma, and were never a part of the "original" man.

Astarion faces the daunting task of reinventing himself rather than reclaiming his previous identity. This process requires meticulous consideration of every action and emotion to discern what aligns with his core self and what doesn't. The struggle lies in navigating a sense of self that eludes recovery, because he CANNOT view the "old framework" for hints and must instead just try to figure out what feels right when EVERYTHING feels wrong because he is stuck in a cortisol overload and near permanent state of fight-or-flight right until the end of the game.

His own journey within himself aside I wanted to start a chat with fandom:

Considering his character, what original but now warped traits do you sense he retained?

Which traits are likely products of learned behavior or trauma?

As the game concludes, regardless of the path he chooses (Spawn, Ascended, romanced or single) what key feature(s) do you believe define the person he decides to become?

[loosejournal]

Poems from BABY, I DON'T CARE by Chelsey Minnis

V.I.P.S

This is a matter of life or death, probably death. Your bullet is very close to my heart. You're way off base, darling. Let's put some ice on our fingers. By ice, I mean diamonds.

You know how I am. Oysters for lunch, dinner and breakfast. A broken heart is not for me. Now, don't I want some mink? Don’t tell me you're a bloody communist!

When you say it with feeling, then you're wonderful. Going out of my mind wouldn't be hard. You need to be kicked under the table. Let's go sell another polo pony. I'm worn my diamonds down to the bone, darling.

I'm afraid someone's not going to give me my favorite thing! Then I would bite their head or face. This could be a long turnaround. Baby, don't be gruesome! I only wanted one stuffed grizzly bear in my study, not two.

I like to scream in a satin bed and get a baby bunny as a present. I can't stop thinking of myself and what might be to my own advantage! For example, I love to go to bed sober which means I have to start drinking early.

Don't keep saying "down the hatch" all night long. Something matters but what is it? A window with a very long fall underneath? One time, someone refused to give me a pink topaz and I fainted. Let me be the first to pour your tears down the drain.

From INTRODUCTIONS

Am I laughing? On the contrary. Please let me think of the right self-reprimands. I assure you, this will be a conventional poem. Now let me introduce you to a hungry tigress, me.

What do you want with me? I'm just a dirty little shoplifter. I'm like a woman in a sequined gown in a dark cave. Can you tell me I'm worse than others? Ok, yes, I'm worse than others, but can you say I'm the worst of all?

Now, let's be reasonable with ourselves. If you show me a man in a turtleneck sweater on the beach then that is beyond my resistance. If you show me a liquor cart on wheels, I will just climb on.

Who am I? Someone who kisses your shoulder when they're not supposed to. I'm wearing high heels by the pool so that makes everything OK. Now don't be charming, darling. There could be a lot of smashed vases in our future.

What should I do? Mind my manners? I'm the type of person to lose an emerald ring. I might drop it in my champagne and drink it. How can I be such a swine? Oh, darling. I hate to be thirsty.

Let's have a drink, medicinally. I'll stand on the couch and introduce myself. This isn't a drink; it's pure leopard sweat! You shouldn't be allowed to run around with me. I'll only give you a good time.

From BUSINESS

Let's settle our accounts. Let's conduct our interviews from the bathtub. Now hand me my robe. There's a pretty good chance I love you, but I'll have to take it up with my board of directors.

What in the name of heaven can they do? The contract's signed. Anyway, I like to be pawed over. I believe in keeping up your standards at night. Don't be such a sterling character, darling.

There are a lot of compliments lying around. Why don't you give me some? You're the kind of darling I hate. Now let's get ritzy. I'm a pair of diamond earrings away from sleeping with you.

I just want to get a smell of the money. I'm fed up with this kind of living. Will you help me with the zipper, darling? I never can get a zipper to close. I think that's good business.

I'm the kind of person who breaks heirloom ashtrays I'm the kind who whirls a jumbo globe. Have I said something awful? Why not? I like it when I have a bad idea. Why don't you make me your beneficiary, darling?