#and the dark side of their life are bad and should be frown upon

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Barter 2

Warnings: suggestions of death, I am a dark blog and I write dark things.

Summary: You are bargained to be wife to the witcher if he can slew the beast in the village.

Character: Geralt of Rivia

**note, I am not a Witcher genius or aficionado and so I may get some things wrong.

As usual, I appreciate any and all feedback and enthusiasm. Please reblog and leave a comment. Love! 😍

You watch the witcher set off into the fog from between the slats of the barn. It’s been a fortnight crammed into the space. The stench has faded to something tolerable but the tension hasn’t. 

The now orphaned maiden clings to your arm. That’s what she is now. The man in black all but confirmed it. His horse tramps off into oblivion without hesitation as he sits tall in his saddle, disappearing into the haze. You sit back as your companion sniffles. 

“They’re dead? All of them?” 

“It would seem,” you sigh and lean on the wall.  

Your sister was a sweet girl but even before the revelation, you had little hope. Especially as your mother went to search and did not return. Your father has only you and your brother left. Marsh is a child still but he will grow into his legacy, so long as you father lasts that long. 

“How could this happen to us? Why Krescent? We are a good pious village,” she whines, her sniveling grating your addled nerves. 

“Bad things happen to all, regardless of prayers,” you resign. 

“That is blaspheme,” she accuses. 

“It is the truth. It has happened to all in the wretched place. And if this witcher should be able to slay the evil, then I too shall walk off to my own doom, only a living one.” 

She looks at you with her watery eyes. They are such a pale shade of green that they look almost yellow. She always reminded you of a swampy witch, the ones in the stories you whispered so the elders did not hear. 

“I suppose...” she begins, “marriage is destined to all. It shouldn’t be such a surprise.” 

“To him?” You wonder grimly. “Perhaps, at least, I will be away from this cursed land, that I should not look upon it and think of my...” your voice catches as the witcher’s words crash upon you. Your legs buckle and you slide down the wall and fold against your knees. “They truly are gone.” 

Caralyn mops away her tears as she kneels at your side. Your own eyes do not weep though your chest concaves. You brace your head as your elbows rest on your knees. You take a deep breath. 

“My father did not protest,” you murmur. “He is too dumbed without my mother to do anything.” You look at her, still hunched, “you must promise to look after Marsh.” 

“I promise,” she avows and brushes your sleeve softly. “I will keep him close to my own brothers and sisters, now that it is up to me to see to them.” 

You nod and frown deeper, “I’m deeply sorry for your parents, Caralyn. They were always so kind.” 

“So kind, I do wonder why it should be them instead of me,” her eyes spring with tears again and she lowers herself to her bottom. She wipes her nose messily and heaves.  

You wring your hands. You wonder the same of your mother and sister. How can it be that Lessa would wander off and you would be left behind to miss her. Your mother was always the order in your life and now it is chaos. 

Along with grief, is more terror. What should happen should the fogler, or whatever he called, it not desist? What if the witcher were to defeat the monster? Should he really claim your hand? A wife?  

Caralyn is right, it is not great surprise to be wed. It is a young woman’s fate but this... what sort of wife can you be to someone like him. The tainted. The sort spat upon at even the lowest tavern. 

“He was not... hideous,” Caralyn suggests as if reading your thoughts. 

You scrunch your nose at her, “how he looks is the least of my woes.” 

“Tall. Strong.” She offers. 

“Car, stop,” you chide. 

“You must... must try to hearten,” she shifts closer so her legs touch yours and she leans a little, as if to comfort you. “As our mothers would always tell us, we must be good wives one day. No matter who. I’m certain if you prove a good loyal wife, he would not treat you as one of his beasts.” 

You stare at her and hum. She is not incorrect. You were never to choose your husband so it should be that it doesn’t matter so much who it is. Only that you serve him well. 

“A man is a man, even if witcher he be,” she declares. 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Lilia please impart some sage wisdom to Fellow like how Uncle Iroh gave advice to the one guy that tried to mug him in Ba Sing Se. He fr needs some guidance counseling

I wrote this one while running on like 4 hours of sleep so I’m sorry if this doesn’t make sense 🤡

So tell me, do you wanna go?

Fellow nearly leapt out of his own skin at the figure that descended, upside down, from a tree. They were short, with choppy bangs streaked with magenta, his irises the same bright color, his vest a neon green. But youthful as the student seemed, his voice was as ancient and as deep as a starry night sky.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Lilia drawled. “If it isn’t Fellow and young Gidel. It has been quite some time. How goes it? I certainly hope you boys have been behaving yourselves.”

"W-We've been just fine and dandy, I assure you!" Fellow instinctively took a step in front of Gidel. He provided the broadest smile he could muster in that moment. "And you've been in good spirits as well, I presume?"

"Oh, I'm fit as a fiddle, as you can see." The fae swung, righting himself and expertly landed beside Fellow. Gidel clapped, as if applauding a acrobatic performance, but stopped when Fellow shot him a withering look. "Now then, what brings you to our side of the island, hmm? Surely you're not simple tourists."

"Call it temporary residence."

"Temporary residence!" Lilia echoed, his eyes set glimmering like jewels. "My, that takes me back. I was a globe trotter back in my day too, you know. Lived the nomadic life, going wherever the wind took me."

Fellow stared at him as though he had just sprouted a third eye on his forehead. This guy's got a baby face, but he's talkin' like an old geezer... (If Lilia noticed, he wasn't bothered and continued, unfettered.)

"It's wonderful to meet new people and to experience new cultures," he said dreamily. "You learn so much, even from the humblest and most simple of folk. And such interesting stories they shared, kufufu. I’d like to depart on another trip, but I’m afraid school’s got me preoccupied.”

Fellow found himself frowning. He scanned Lilia up and down—the smart uniform, his high-waisted pants, shoes polished. Neat and sweet, likely another privileged kid vacationing on daddy’s dime.

When you’re poor, they call it trashy. When you’re rich, they call it ‘taking time off to discover yourself’.

“Must’ve been real nice for ya,” Fellow muttered under his breath. The brim of his top hat fell down, eclipsing his grimace. “You can choose to stay put or leave for a new place whenever you want. It’s not really an option for us.”

“Ah, but it’s not about the frequency of travel but what you gain from it.” Lilia lifted an index finger. “For example, did you know that sleeping with an uncovered mirror directly at you is bad feng shui in the Land of Crimson Long? They also have an awe-inspiring tale about a woman that took her father’s place in the military and saved the whole country.”

Gidel listened to him intently, ears perking up.

Lilia noticed, his mouth quirked. “Oh? I trust you’ve yet to visit. You should sometime, it’s a lovely place.”

“Maybe one day, though we never stay for too long. The locals, as you can probably imagine, always come to realize they aren’t fans of us.”

“If you opened your hearts to them, then surely…”

“We don’t have that luxury,” Fellow replied, a bit of ice to his words, “unlike you. The world isn’t that kind to us.”

Lilia quieted. His expression shifted, turning several shades more serious. “… Oh dear. I knew a man like you once. He was lost too. Angry, confused, despairing—and lashing out at the world and the people he believed had wronged him, denied him happiness.

“One day, while wandering in the darkness, he came upon a patch of moonlight. It lit the way and led him out of the thicket he had been trapped in for so long.”

That man was…

Lilia smiled softly.

“We cannot turn back time, but we can make the most of what we have left. If I may ask just one thing of you… live on. Look for that moonbeam in the night, that what brings you happiness. Protect it, treasure it, nurture it—so that it may, someday, see the sun.”

Lilia gave a gentle nudge to Gidel, causing the boy to stumble. He caught Fellow’s arm to balance himself.

“And if you can do that for one person, then it’s possible for you to do that for everyone. This world needs more love… not war.”

Fellow shook his head indignantly, but he supported Gidel by the back all the same. “I don’t get a lick of that. Love, war… whatever it is, it’s not my problem. We just gotta get by.”

“Someday, you’ll understand,” Lilia said with a terse laugh. “For now, I think you’re doing absolutely fine as you are. You’re the dynamic duo, never one without the other.”

Fellow smirked, his canines proudly protruding. “Hmph. You’re damn right we are.”

[windmaedchen-oceanhorn]

Dark Magic is cool!

Thoughts on the use of dark magic in AFK Journey

I find the representation of dark magic in AFKJ confusing and this particular part made me want to sort my thoughts and write them down.

There is unclarity as to what dark magic is or what it means. Sometimes it appears to be mentioned as a type of magic, sometimes it seems to refer to forbidden and thus "evil" magic. So I would like to clearly define how I see dark magic and distinguish properly between the arcane art itself and the perception of it.

Generally speaking, I think "dark magic" refers to simply a certain type of magic. Much like elemental magic or light magic. It just has its own scripting language and unique formulas and use cases. The same effect could be achieved by any of the different magic types, while other effects are unique and require a mage to learn more than just one type of magic.

I cannot agree that "dark magic" should be the only objectionable magic, as any other magic type can be just as destructive, whether it is abused for personal gain or not. But I do concede that certain effects, like various forms of control over others or the restrictions upon them and the need for personal sacrifice, are probably predominantly found in dark magic formulas.

A better name would perhaps be "Black Magic", but I don't think this has been used in AFKJ. It would lose the preconception of being "overly evil" and just sit objectively next to the other types of magic. That is the case in Fairy Tail, the first collaboration for AFKJ and it provides much better understanding of the rules of magic in that world.

Now, the main reason I regard it as just an objective magic type, is actually the fact that we encounter many mages that wield "dark magic". They are usually enemies from the Adamant Syndicate, but let's step into their shoes for a moment.

If dark magic was not only heavily frowned upon but also outlawed, then any mage daring to use it, will risk not just extreme social ostracism but also criminal persecution. Even IF they were to find like-minded people and some alternative social life in small secret groups or cults... their lives would be reduced to that of homeless criminals always on the run, which isn't really such a big payoff for simply wielding some type of magic that isn't really any "stronger" than other types.

In particular, the Adamant Syndicate could not afford sheltering such outright criminals. While they certainly do have shady business going on behind the scenes, their public image is still to be uphold. They are a competitor to the Mithril Consortium and must present themselves with as clean hands as possible so as to not lose their acceptance and hence power over the population.

The fact that we fight their goons in the first place is of course a related but different shoe ... but neither that nor their seemingly growing meddling within the Lightbearer Empire are exactly the point of this musing. 

Let's add Cyran. The comment says two things: 1) Cyran joined the Adamant Syndicate and 2) Cyran turned to dark magic. 

Despite the public image of the Syndicate, they also clearly have a cult side within them. Such secret societies are usually well hidden enough from the public conscience or kept so silent that even if people know, they forget and don't care. I imagine that the circles Cyran moved in has influential members of the AS, who always carefully probe for new recruits that will fill their seats.* Of course, Cyran wasn't interested in the public business of the Syndicate, but he might have heard that "if you have a heart's desire that nobody can fulfill" then "talking to him or her" will maybe offer a solution. And he had the opportunity to approach that AS member who then introduced him to the cult side, the Great Will and enlisted him to the AS.

Regardless of what exactly happened**,  the result was apparently that Cyran now makes use of dark magic. As described above, if said dark magic was truly that bad, then he could not have continued at the Lyceum or become Court Mage without too much gossiping behind his back. After all, his reputation would have suffered severely for using "dark magic to win the competition". Rather than be of help, it would have had a detrimental effect. The meaning of "dark magic" here lies in "forbidden" rather than the magic type used. His focus from then onwards lies on the appropriation of magic, and predominantly abusing it for power gains. He DOES learn forbidden spells from the AS but their application remains hidden (enough) because the type of magic itself is not the problem.

So, to conclude, the game handles the term "dark magic" not very well and inconsistently. To make things easier, I propose to regard dark magic as a type of magic without the implications of corruption. Mages can declare themselves dark magic users without fear of social ostracism. Forbidden magic exists and it may come predominantly from dark magic but it does not exclusively and hence cannot so easily be detected and controlled.

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

Author Notes:

*A note on that: Recruitement among the poor is for human sacrificial purposes, the recruitment among the wealthy is for financial purposes, and among those elite members will be found those who carry on the legacy of the Syndicate as a whole.

**I believe a ceremony was held for Cyran and his wish was granted to him by the Great Will, just like Yolena was revived upon the altar. His wish being, more precisely, having greater strength and command over magic to best Merlin in the exams. He essentially just received a power boost at that point.

[spitefulverse]

Here / Miguel O’hara

Summary: You find an angry, injured miguel and help clean his wounds.

Warnings: Blood, anger, kissing, spanish cussing, maybe bad spanish lmao, established relationship (kind of), short fic, blurb. NOT PROOFREAD

Miguel was a hard working man, and sure that was great, it meant that the universe stayed the way it should, canon events happening at the right moments, millions alive because of him, but sometimes, he came off..a bit much. While you knew you were nothing special, occasionally, he would glare his fangs at you a little less than the other workers in the building if you ever suggested some carefree criticism.

As of maybe two days ago, Your boss/lover..kind of, a man that you had slept with countless times but he refused to deeply talk with you, had just 'failed dramatically' in the words off Jess. No one had seen him since, despite constantly asking Lyla for information, she had nothing and you took it upon yourself to knock on his door nervously, your ankles rubbing together as you stared at the ground. To your dismay, you heard no reply, just the same banging and clashing that had been ringing through the building since he went in there.

With a sharp inhale, you pushed the door open and peaked in, the place was a wreck, he was hunched over his desk, his hands gripping at the corners as his chest heaved, his suit looking ripped in various areas. "Sinceramente no peudo mas, no peudo mas" He stood straight, pinching the bridge of his nose and pacing back and forth, his large back flexing under his suit. "maldito" He mumbled.

Suddenly, you cleared your throat, looking around at the rubble that once was furniture. He finally acknowledged your presence, eyes wide, pupils blown and eyebrows knitted into a tight frown. "What?" He asked, shaking his head in confusion, his tone passive aggressive.

You opened your mouth to speak but grew nervous under his dark glare through his lashes, his eyes shining a darker red hue than usual compared to the dim lighting of the room "God- Fucking damnit! Qué quieres chica?!" He yelled and you put your hands up in defense, not wanting to piss him off "Shit Miguel, I'm just checking on you" You choked out.

He strode over, his large frame towering over you more and more as his feet padded against the floor.His cheekbones were a little more defined than usual, his eyes were sunken, his lips were dry, a small line of old blood on one side of his bottom lip, you wanted so desperately to clean him up, help him rest but you knew the stubborn, emotionally cut off 6,9 man wouldn't allow it. "oh yeah? Get out, I'm fine"

He scowled and turned away, standing next to a half broken chair, he placed his large hands on the edge of it, gripping so hard his knuckles began to turn a lighter shade, his eyes squinting. You could see a gash in his back, his suit ripped perfectly around it, both dry and wet blood surrounding it. "Your still here, cariño" He grunted, The chair simply shattering in his grip, in fright, you jumped, eyes widening, but he was still, it was uncanny how nonreactive he was.

"I-i can't just leave you like this, Miguel-" A few droplets of deep red spilled onto the floor, directly from his palms and you gasped "fuck, your bleeding! Please just let me help you" You apprehensively sauntered over to him, this time he said nothing, his head straight down. "Come to my room? I have a first aid kit, you wont have to go to medical" He hated medical. He inhaled roughly and looked down at you with undignified eyes, groaning with a nod.

With concern, you pulled him to your room, hand on his forearm as he held his palms upwards, blood pooling in the lines of them but luckily, it wasn't that far, and you were able to get there quick and unseen, for his sake. You let go of his arm to unlock your door, pushing t open and he took in another deep breath, you assumed out of anger control or nerves but deep down he couldn't handle being this close to you and your personal life, your room smelt so strongly of you, everything matched your personality, even the mess draped on the floor.

You mumbled an apology before tugging him into your bathroom but he just shook his head "Idiota, no me importa" he murmured, leaning on the bathroom counter. His eyes followed your frame as you grew frantic at how much he was bleeding. He tilted his head and watched you in amusement, you could feel his red orbs burning into you but you refused to look, knowing he would distract you. You held out a towel, lifting his hands and making him squeeze the towel between them, he flinched slightly, not because of the pain, because of the feeling of your dainty hands attempting to cover his large ones, he couldn't help but long for more of your touch as you pulled back to look for a first aid kit.

"keep that there please, Miggy" You pleaded, pulling out the kit and he nodded, rolling his eyes "Yes boss"

Your soft hands came into contact with his calloused, slender ones again, gently removing the towel, wiping the area clean with ever so much care and focus. He didn't care about the light sting, his eyes were entrapped on your frame. He denied all his feelings for you everyday, you had an effect on him that no one could even imagine and it drove him mad, he tried so desperately not to make it obvious, but he never wanted to be mean to you, sure he had some anger issues but he never really liked to yell at you, even though he should, because he yells at every one else.

"I'm sorry, Muneca..I shouldn't have took my anger out on you" he huffed, looking to the side as you wrapped his hands in the softest bandage he had ever felt. You smiled, having never heard him apologize. "Nono, i just let myself in when you were ragging, that's on me" You placed a hand on his chest, outstretching your arm to do so.

He shook his head and looked down at you, placing his hand on your own "No, you shouldn't be afraid to speak to me" He lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles "Lo siento, mi amor..forgive me" He sincerely spoke, obviously you nodded, smiling brightly.

"I forgive you, Miggy, now turn your ass around, you can't hide that gash from me" You ordered, removing your hand from his and pointing. He groaned, turning around, you aw the injury but the barrier of his suit and cleared your throat. He groaned again, dliding the suit off his shoulders till they it hung low on his waist, revealing his bare, tanned back. You gulped and inhaled after what felt like forever before sitting on the counter to match his height.

Gently, you began to wipe the long but not to deep cut that danced over his back muscles, with every flinch, he flexed his back muscles and you found yourself staring, taking time with him. When he began to mumble Spanish cuss words under bis breath, you finished up, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and dropping the bloody cloth in the sink. He sighed and turned around to face you, standing between your legs, his hands resting on either of your thighs as he ducked down to kiss you, his lips molding against your own in what felt like a desperate kiss. You moaned lightly and wrapped your arms around his neck, he snickered into the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours, the kiss tasting of both mint, like always and a hint of blood from the small cut on his lip.

One of his large hands slid up your waist, squeezing at your skin and pulling you close to him before he pulled back enough to press a few gentle kisses to your jaw "thank you, pretty thing"

--

Hi my loves, i will be uploading a smut soon, this was just a filler to make myself active in the fandom

[unholyhelbig]

are you going to continue the spiderperson Kate bishop au?

[a/n: Sorry for the absence! I had to move apartments and that is always a task, especially during the summer]

Title: Magnetic

Ship: Kate Bishop x gn!reader

Disclaimer: I did not proofread, if there are mistakes, I'm sorry!

Trigger warnings: Fight! Fight! Fight!

Main Masterlist | Ao3 | Request Prompts | Join my Taglist!

Part One | Part Two

Summary: Reader is a spider!person from earth-2099 and Kate Bishop is curious about why she's so drawn to them.

“We should get married” the words were whispered to you, her breath hot against your cheek, smelling so thickly of the champagne that was offered upon your arrival. Kate’s nose was comparatively cold, brushing against your skin. It made you shiver, hitting all the way at the base of your spine.

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. Kate’s green eyes were focused on your father again, as he and Lyla gave their alternating speech about the future of Alchemax. They were to change the world, and if they didn’t like the way it had been altered, they’d simply have the power to jump to a new one.

“You’re drunk,” You answered, taking a deliberate sip of your own drink.

“Tipsy, at best and entirely serious at worst.”

You frowned at that, finally devoting your full attention to the woman on your arm. The two of you were matching dark green, something that brought out the gold in her eyes. What your father was saying had no weight to it, never did. Sure, you understood the bare minimum of his science, and you were just here for obligation, but now his speech turned into a dull hum.

Nothing else mattered other than the small smile on Kate’s face, her arm looped through yours, warm and steadying. She plucked another flute from a catering tray and when she took a drink, red rimmed the glass.

“Is this a formal offer?” You asked, eyebrow raised.

“Just a thought. I’d expect a ring, you know?”

You parted your lips to respond, but the room flooded with a roar of clapping and cheers. Kate winked at you and turned her attention back to the stage. Your father had found you through the crowd, his hands clenching both sides of the glass podium.

His head was cocked to the side, jaw working in anger. There was a hatred behind his stare, one that went past general annoyance. You raised your hands, clapped with the rest of the crowd. Lyla put a hand on your father’s shoulder, drawing him back, a smile complacent on his face.

The air that you pulled into your lungs was cold and damp, a stark contrast to the warmth you had drifted into. At some point, a window opened, and a cold wind whipped through a living room that you barely recognized.

The sun was peaking over the horizon, and deep glowing embers from a dying fire failed to provide any heat. You squinted at the rain on the windowsill, what had dribbled in from a quick entry.

Your eyes moved to each darkened corner of the room, something that looked so familiar to your own apartment, but lived in, comfortable. There was a sense of dread in the pit of your stomach- one that was strong enough to wake you from a fitful sleep coated in memories of a life lost.

There was pressure in your head, every inch of hair on your body standing on end. Without thinking, because thinking was bad when it came to Spider Sense, you just had to do, you grabbed the throw pillow from under your head and held it in front of you.

The sound of ripping fabric filled your ears and feathers exploded all around you. It had been torn into two, and as you stared up at the blob of a person who had done that pillow homicide, you struggled to gather your thoughts.

Without the grunt of frustration, you wouldn’t have recognized him, not as your eyes adjusted to the slowly rising sun. In your sleep-ridden state, you still managed to wedge your foot under your attacker and toss him across the room, knocking picture frames and keyholders from their designated place.

“Miguel?”

You were standing now, staring at your older brother with enough contempt to light the end of a torch. He lumbered over the room, his shadow reaching you. With each breath he took, he growled. His eyes were unblinking, red.

“I didn’t want to believe it.” He hissed, “That you… were world hopping.”

He sounded older, angrier than you had ever heard him before. His fists were clenched and as the light filled the room you got a good look at his suit, his mask pulled off and wild black hair falling into his stare. His teeth were pointed, bared like a wild animal. You ran your tongue over your own, keeping them sheathed.

The last time you saw Miguel was at the very dinner you had left to get your father for. He was in a stupid patterned sweater that you were poking fun at all night. But there were laugh lines around his eyes and warmth that was lacking from the room now.

Your voice cracked “Did dad do this to you?”

“I asked him to, begged him. He’s been so focused on getting you back that it took some convincing. More than some, really. Day and night all he would do is stare at the monitor tracking your signature.” Miguel lilted his head to the side “He fell asleep just in time for you to pop up in this world.”

“Does he know?”

“I came as soon as I saw. I wanted to see my big bad sibling in the flesh. Infused with vampire DNA, strong enough to dismantle father brick by brick with his… his longing.”

“Miguel, does he know?”

“Not yet.”

Tension leaked through the distance in the room. You could taste the feathers in your mouth, lingering with the blood from a chewed lip. This was not the brother you remembered. This was a mercenary, this was a man who had no grip on reality.

“While I’m super stoked about the reunion, brother, this isn’t my place and you’ve already shredded a throw pillow” A lamp shattered by your head, echoing off the wall and sprinkling glass at your feet. You looked down at the mess and back up at him. “Dude?”

Miguel moved with a quickness that mirrored yours, his claws exposed and swiping through the air. You grasped his wrist, using your other hand and your strength behind it to hit him in the stomach. You felt the air rush from his lungs, hot on your face.

“Reunions are for the weak. Love is for the weak.” He pulled your arm back and you grunted in pain, shoulder popping. “That’s always been your biggest problem.”

You frowned, using the weight behind you to push him over the back of the sofa and onto the hardwood floor. He scrambled, hitting the back of his head against the tabled pushed up to the window. The sun was streaming through now, orange and unforgivingly strong.

“Weak? You’re the one that’s always hidden behind daddy’s money, his science. Don’t you understand Miguel? I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this. I had everything, and I was happy.”

“Yes. Weak.” He hauled himself to his feet, using the back of his hand to wipe away a streak of blood from his lip. “Naive. You put all of yourself into one girl and that was a liability. That angered father more than anything, you know? He gave you the world and you squandered it for someone rotting in a wooden box.”

He meant to provoke anger. It was a tactic that he used often and ferociously since the two of you were children. Miguel had a mean streak and was quick to rage. He would rip your toys apart with his bare hands, and during one particularly nasty fight right before your senior prom he had gnawed the cap off an ink pen and dripped it across the fabric of your outfit.

Kate had reassured you that it was fine, that none of it mattered and was superficial anyway. Still, when she arrived on your doorstep dark blue splotches muddied her silver dress. A smile cracked against her lips. She had even found a blue carnation to match.

There were good moments with Miguel. More good than bad, if you looked back on it. Once he matured, and apologized for his behavior, there was still an edge of jealousy around him. His need to please. You had let go of that aspect of yourself years before when you realized nothing you did would satiate your father.   

Regardless of his intention, it provoked the right reaction. You were, after all, mostly human and when your brother pushed your buttons, he did with intention. You found yourself on top of him, knees on either side as you shoved his shoulders to the wooden floor. In a blind rage, you threw as many hits as you could; one after the other, your knuckles aching, each time you pulled back more black blood would coat your knuckles.

Your own claws, something you barely exposed, pushed into the soft skin of your palms, a sharp sting aiding in your anger. Eventually you felt an arm around your midsection, pulling you back with unnatural strength.

“Whoa, Whoa, Whoa!” Peter’s voice snapped you out of it.

You felt the aching of your shoulder, no doubt pulled out of place for the second time this month. You tried to blink away the anger, the despair that came with Miguel’s statement. Blood dripped from your fingers, puddling on the carpet. Deep breathes, you just needed deep breaths.

There was another hand on your shoulder, the scent of egg and bread that wormed it’s way through the metallic air in the room. The grasp was tender, and a hand was on your face, leading you.

Kate

Again, she had shown up at the most inopportune time. You’d absolutely ruined the shirt she had given you, and feathers were stuck to the blood in your hair. Miguel would be fine, you were sure. Afterall, you healed the same way.

“Hey,” Kate ran her fingers over your cheeks, “Y/n, come back to me, alright? Put the teeth away.”

The teeth. God, you had bitten through your bottom lip. You ran your tongue over the sharpened tips, relished the pressure that was released when you let them escape. Still, you were quick to reign it back in, take a shaking breath.

You came back to the room around you. It was a wreck; glass sprinkling the wooden floor, features coating every viable surface. Miguel let out a soft groan, masked with a gurgle. Peter was at his side, fingers searching haplessly for a pulse. He wouldn’t find a strong one.

They had gotten breakfast, leaving you alone in the apartment to sleep. Quickly, you wiped your fingers on the already ruined garment, giving Kate a pleading look of an apology. There was no fear behind her eyes, nothing that evaded to disgust of the monster that was standing in front of her. Because that’s what you were at the end of the day.

The same monster that was lying unconscious on the floor. You had the same teeth, and claws, and DNA running through your veins. The experiment had worked on you in the same manner. And part of you- part of you wondered if your Kate would still feel the same way about you, looking at you now.

“He,” Your voice was soft, garbled, so you cleared your throat “He won’t stay out for long.”

Kate pleaded silently, “Pete?”

“I’ve got it.”

You were being led into the back bedroom. It was Kate’s, something apparent by the abundance of trophies, and a workstation that was littered with small pieces of explosives. There was a target with a news article for King Pin strapped against it’s center. Her aim, of course, was impeccable.

It smelled like her, the scent cutting through the blood and the dizziness that rushed through you, an after-effect of the anger. She led you to the bed, plopping you down and digging in the bottom drawer of her desk. Kate emerged with a first-aide kit. You let her busy herself, blinking away the rest of the disorientation.

You attempted to get up, but Kate pushed you back down gently, deliberately. There was a stern look on her face that was enough to keep you in your place. You’d let her play doctor, fix up the wounds that struggled to heal. Her touch was gentle, soothing, and constant.

“This was a horrible idea.” Kate admonished, a frown on her face as she shifted through the loose bandages and the small packets of anti-septic. She was mumbling under her breath, something that was a mix of annoyance and worry. “I told you it was an awful idea and now-“

You gently grabbed her hands, halting her movement. She looked up at you, eyes hard with anger. But they softened only a moment later, a quiet surrender. You had a goofy smile on your face. The blood had dried at your hairline and maybe it was the head injury itself, but this was entirely too comical to deny.

“Katie, I fully accepted the consequences the minute I agreed to spar with Jack.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Love, I promise I’m okay” You laughed, moving your hand against her cheek with a softness that ebbed away the rest of her rage. “Give me a bandage and some ice and I’ll be as good as new, I swear it.”

It was supposed to be a family dinner, and then you and Jack started riling each other up over dessert. Kate’s mother swallowed a gulp of red wine and rolled her eyes, shrugging at her daughter as if there was nothing to do to stop the course of events.

Eventually, the coffee tables were pushed to the side and the fencing sabers were brought out. Kate was much better than you were by miles and miles of talent. But you could hold your own. It got out of hand, a little too competitive.

Kate was exasperated, but it only lasted for a few moments before the smile melted her exterior and she grinned herself. “Fine. Fine. You did good. It’s not your fault that you chose to puff out your chest against a swordsman.”

“Hey, I think I did amazing until I tripped over the coffee table.”

“Sure, baby. Very valiant.”

You huffed, but let Kate guide your head to the side. You winced with the alcohol pad started to wipe away the deep brown color. No stitches needed, just a strategically placed bandage. Kate placed a soft kiss between your eyebrows.

“You know,” you said, pressing your forehead against hers “You are in the perfect position to propose right now.”

“Without a ring?” Kate beamed, her nose scrunching up “Not a chance.”

Kate frowned, her thumb moving against your hairline “It looks like you’ve healed.”

There were alcohol pads scattered against the bed. They were dark red, then brown, then a soft pinkish-orange. The pad of her finger traced a barely visible scar. Electricity moved across your skin.

“It’s alright,” you assured “I’m… I’ll help clean up the mess. I’m sorry.”

Your mind was swimming and not in smooth waters. Kate looked so much like Kate. She had the same concern, the same tender touch. You stared at her, hair falling into your eyes. There had been a moment last night, before you drifted to sleep, that allowed you to hope.

Miguel had squashed it, just as he had the night that he bit into a blue ink pen. He got the same amount of blue pigment on his lips that he did on your dress, and part of you wanted to laugh at the metaphor.

“I don’t care about the mess, y/n. You’re what matters.” She grimaced, laid her hand on your knee. “Are you alright? Who is that man?”

“My older brother. He’s got a nasty temper and it won’t take long for my father to follow him through whatever hell he crawled out of.”

Again, you attempted to stand, but Kate pushed you back down with more force this time. Her hand had moved to your shoulder, keeping you in place. “Relax for a second, alright? We knew this was coming. This is just an extra obstacle.”

“An obstacle with the power of splice DNA like a God.” You laughed humorlessly.

“Okay, a big obstacle, but nothing we can’t overcome.”

“You’re way too optimistic for eight am.”

The dorky smile on Kate’s face was wiped away when a loud clang came from the living room. You winced, sucking air through your teeth. Kate was on her feet and pulling the door open in a moment. You were close behind, the lavender scent that clung to the girl tickled your throat.

Her mouth was propped open in shock. All of the furniture was upside down, the couch belly-side up. There were DVD’s everywhere and a potted plant that splayed dirt across the hardwood floor. The breakfast still seemed intact, but the coffee had spilled, something that caused Kate to jut her bottom lip out in a pout.

Peter stood by the window, both of his arms outstretched, and his palms pointed towards the floor. His eyes were widened. “I- one minute he was right there, and then the next, gone! Everything was floating, like gravity just got turned off.”

“Huh,” Kate lilted her head to the side “not was weird as fifteenth street bodega guy.”

“He’s gone,”

“No, pretty sure we saw him on the way to get breakfast this morning.”

You groaned, putting your head in your hands. “Not the bodega guy. My brother.”

“Right, right. No, I knew that.” Kate nodded, her face stoic again.

“He’s going to come back.” You said.

“Look, it… it doesn’t matter. Because when he does come back, we’ll be able to handle it. I have already called Clint and Yelena. They’re both in and with all four of us, there’s no way we can lose.”

There was a sadness in your eyes as you looked at the hopefulness in Kate’s. This was putting too many people out, pulling Clint away from his family and Yelena away from… whatever Yelena did in this universe. In most of them, she wasn’t fond of you.

“We wait for them to get here and come up with a strategy that will be fool proof. We can’t fail.” Kate knelt down, picking up the discarded bag of breakfast. She rummaged until she found what she was looking for and looked up at you, holding a bagel. “But first, we eat.”

“I can’t believe you’re thinking about food right now.” You shouted over the sideways smattering of rain. It would shift directions with each new gust of wind, making the awnings you and Kate had crowded under obsolete.

You’d taken off your jacket and draped it over Kate’s shoulders when the first drops had started. Both of you naively thought you could make it back to the apartment before the storm rushed in full-force.

The two of you had closed out a restaurant, never running out of conversation, drinking a full bottle of red even after dessert had been served and cleared. Now she breathed evenly, her nose inches from yours, your back against the outer wall of a storefront.

A few drops of rain sparkled in her hair, the gold flecks in her eyes noticeable when you were this close. Kate hugged your jacket closer. She chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m just saying, the ice cream in the freezer is calling my name.”

You hummed, pressing your lips to Kate’s. You could taste the earth of the wine, the coolness of the rain. She smiled into the kiss, sighing into you. She shivered, keeping her forehead pressed to yours. Thunder shook the windows of the building. Kate pulled your coat tighter around her shoulders. The woman frowned and you lilted your head to the side as she fumbled with the jacket.

“No, wait Katie-“

She pulled out a small dark green velvet box, one eyebrow lifted. Kate’s eyes met yours and you sighed, your breath forming in the air in front of you. Kate was holding hers. You carefully pulled open the lid.

Inside was a white gold engagement ring with a round diamond in the center. Two smaller ones bordered the largest stone. You had spent days talking with Clint before Laura stepped in and went ring shopping with you. And then- then the ring sat in your coat pocket for a month, weighing it down, your thumb moving across the green box more than once in question.

“I was waiting for the perfect time.” You explained, blush against your cheeks. “But nothing seemed good enough. And, maybe I’m thinking too much about it, Katie, but you deserve the entire world and every time I thought about proposing it didn’t’ seem good enough.”

“Hey,” she said softly, placing her hand on your cheek, her thumb moved across and you relished the warmth of her touch. “Hey, you’re rambling, darling.”

“That’s my line.” You sniffed, shaking your head “So… What do you say? Will you marry me?”

“Oh, I don’t know, you have to woo me first.” She said in a sigh, “Of course, I’ll marry you.”

You grinned, pulling Kate in by the lapels of your jacket. There was a whisper of honey in the taste of her tongue, a quiet longing that seemed to fill the hole in your heart. Kate hummed, pulling back every so slightly.

“Oh! Right!” You fumbled, pulling the ring from the box carefully. It was weightless, but with a heaviness that countered the pouring rain. You ran your fingers over Kate’s, gently guiding them until you could slip the ring onto her hand.

“It’s beautiful,” Kate breathed, “and perfect.”

Taglist 💜: @lovelyy-moonlight

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Who Heals the Healer? Day 21 – Unresponsive

Continuation of Day 7. Hyrule passes out from his injury. Legend takes care of him with Warrior’s help. He berates himself for not noticing. TW: description of injury, discussion of death

“How did it get this bad?” Legend whispered in horror. Hyrule’s condition had grown no better over the hours since he’d fainted. The hole in his side, tinted green at the edges, had been stitched up and bandaged, but the sight of it still burned itself into Legend’s mind. “How did we let it get this bad, Warrior?”

“He… I don’t know, Legend,” Warrior answered quietly. Crickets chirped in the rustling grass, announcing the coming morning. In the east, light only just brushed the low hanging clouds. Legend hadn’t slept a wink that night, keeping a vigil beside Hyrule as he tossed and turned in his sleep, whimpering when his side caught with a flare of pain that he wasn’t conscious to feel. Warrior had taken it upon himself to stay up with him, no matter how much the vet fussed about being babysat. “It… it was a chaotic situation. He just wanted to make sure that Four was safe. We all did.”

“But someone should have noticed that he wasn’t well! I should have noticed. If he hadn’t spent all of his magic healing Four—we had potions, and once Four’s life wasn’t in danger—or even fairies, Time could’ve—Hyrule wouldn’t have to be this hurt,” Legend finished finally, dropping his head into his hands. He let out a small sniffle. “I can’t believe we let it get this bad.”

“There’s nothing to do but wait it out, now,” Warrior said. “He’ll be okay, I’m sure of it.” “But what if he wasn’t?” Legend shot back tearily. “I saw that he was looking unsteady, but I didn’t even do anything about it until he was already collapsing and—I already knew that he has this stupid self-sacrificing tendency that we all do, but I went and let him heal Four without making sure that he wasn’t—!"

“Shhh, you’re going to wake the others,” Warrior hushed him. Indeed, he was sure that half of the camp was awake by now—Time’s breathing was too even to be natural, Twilight’s ear flicked irritably, and Wind grumbled out some sort of protest and turned over, pulling his pillow up over his head. Across camp, Wild sat up, made eye contact with Warrior, and slipped out of camp silently. Legend noticed none of it, and if he did, he didn’t care to mind his interruption. Warrior reached out and put a hand on Legend’s arm. “I understand that you’re upset. But it’s no one’s fault. And Hyrule doesn’t blame you. None of us do.”

Legend shoved him off irritably. “I do! I blame myself!” he protested. “Christ, he could have died, and I just—!”

Hyrule’s face twisted. He squirmed where he lay with his head in Legend’s lap, turning towards the older boy’s voice even in sleep. 

Legend ran a hand through Hyrule’s curly hair. “Rulie, are you awake?” he whispered, his voice so soft and gentle, so unlike his normal acrid jibes. It made Warrior… sad. “Rulie, can you hear me?”

“Link, can you open your eyes? Warrior found Hyrule’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Can you squeeze my hand? Let us know you're in there, buddy.”

They both waited with bated breath, but there was no more response from Hyrule. He settled with a huff and fell back into an uneasy slumber. Legend sighed and dropped his hand back into Hyrule’s dark curls. Warrior sat back, frowning.

“He’ll be awake soon,” Warrior promised the empty air. “He just—just has to heal a bit.”

“It’s not just the injury, it’s magic exhaustion,” Legend said, his expression clouded. “It… It can be a lot more dangerous than just a simple injury. Both combined…” He trailed off and didn’t start again. 

“I’m sure he’ll be alright,” Warrior repeated, as it felt he had dozens of times before. “He just has to get through this… this magic exhaustion thing.”

Legend gave no answer. By the look on his face, he didn’t believe him, either.

Read the whole story here! Who Heals the Healer

Or check out my Febuwhump Series here! HotCheetoHatred's Febuwhump 2024

[thegirlwhofellfromthestars]

still can't stop thinking about kara accidentally referring to hal as "dad", even in a more low-key context and how something that could usually be played for comedy is nothing sort of devastating.

maybe kara's having a bad day - the sort where her chest is tight with frustration, every little minor convenience makes her fingers twitch, the sort where the schoolwork and reminders of the ordinary life she has alongside her life as supergirl is smothering her, all the missed phone calls from the friends who only know her as linda danvers. she's snapped at people throughout the day, blurting out a tired little, "i'm sorry" when they frown or look at her in shock. every little reminder of when her ill temper leaks through the cracks is like a stab to the side. i should be doing better, she thinks to herself, everyone says it's okay, that i'm still only a kid. but i don't want to be just a kid. i turn sixteen in september.

she runs into hal and waits for him to say or do something - anything - that will make that horrid little knot of agitations that's formed in her chest tighten further. but he sees the sting of bitterness to her dark blue eyes, the way she's trying so hard to twitch her lips into a solemn but neutral expression. hal must know and keeps himself at arm's distance; they've both had their fair share of bad days aplenty. he only walks away after giving her a slight nod through the green of the mask he wears, leaving her be.

hal comes back a few minutes later with a small cardboard box of juice and hands it to her. apple juice - her favorite, no pineapple or fruit punch on the label to be found. just plain apple juice. she tears the straw off the back and pushes it through, taking a a sip. the rush of sugar is a balm, even if only a small one. the barest hint of a proper smile stirs upon her visage for the first time in a while today. after a few engrossed sips:

"thanks, dad."

her smile vanishes.

they both stare at each other with the depth of something fathomless - horror, maybe, or some sort of flooding, viscous mess of all sorts of feelings. she remembers for a moment the way her father back on krypton would wordlessly give her comfort on bad days - drape a blanket over her shoulders as she stared out at the openness of dark red sky before departing, ensure she had a small snack even as she sulked alone in her room. and hal...

well, kara remembers he only told her a little bit about his father. but that is enough for her to know.

she takes a deep breath, the smile on her face not quite so genuine this time - moreso some sort of crumpled, uncomfortable mimicry of the real expression. "sorry about that. it just sort of slipped out."

"it's fine. sometimes things like this happen."

"still..." the words coat her mouth, fuzzy under the apple juice she'd been drinking. "thank you for doing that. i've been having kind of a crappy day today, and it helped."

the sting from earlier still persists, hal's face settles into a fixed, solemn look. "no problem," he says. "i'm glad i could help, even just a little."

[purpleprincessonfyre]

For Part 1 click here

For Part 2 click here

OUAT AU Finale - We're Gonna Be Timeless

Characters: Liane St James, Mia Spencer, Ethan Long, Belladonna St James, Cassandra Sean

Other characters: Bruce Banner, Melissa Wallace

IB: Once Upon A Time and Timeless (Taylor's Version) (From the Vault)

A small crowd had gathered around the hospital bed of Liane St James. If you didn't look at the tubes, the gown or the general environment you would assume she was simply asleep. Bella had gone very quiet, Mia was trying to keep her eyes on her clipboard, Cassie had her head in her hands sat to the side and Ethan was at the foot of the bed, a strange aching in his chest.

He liked Liane. He hadn't known her for very long, it had only been a few weeks since his daughter had dragged him to this town, introduced him to her adoptive mother, gotten himself arrested and now he was staring at the unconscious form of someone he had grown to care for. It didn't make a lot of sense but love never did, in his experience.

"This is all my fault, I should have..." Cassie was rambling in the corner, tears slipping down her cheeks. Bella was still deathly silent with her eyes fixed on Liane. Ethan tried to put an arm around Bella for comfort and expected her to recoil at her touch but instead she sidled up into his embrace, wrapping an arm around his waist and burying her head in his flannel shirt.

"We're doing our best to keep her stable but right now, we still can't determine what's actually happened to her. I don't usually say this but Liane's gonna need a miracle if she's going to survive this." Mia said softly, her eyes sad. The room was eerily quiet aside from the beeping of the monitor and muffled sounds from outside the door in the corridor.

Just as Mia was about to leave, Melissa and Bruce came bursting into the ICU, a half eaten pie in their hands. Mia frowned before she recognised the pie from earlier. She managed to stop them from rushing over to Liane's bed, asking them what was going on. Melissa let Bruce catch his breath and started to explain.

"This pie...she ate this before she collapsed. Its not one of Bruce's pies, it wasn't baked in our ovens."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we baked a pie for Liane but this is not the one we baked. This one is different. Whatever is in this caused her to collapse."

"We checked her blood, she wasn't poisoned or anything, no allergic reaction. It was an apple pie right?"

Melissa nodded. Cass lifted her head hearing that and so did Bella, wiping tears from her face.

"Alexander. He did this. He wanted to hurt my mom."

"That can't be true, I ate that pie."

"How much did you eat?" Cassie questioned, coming back to her senses. Mia sighed, looking at the half eaten pie in confusion.

"I didn't eat much, a couple bites then I got the call to come back to the hospital when they brought the Joshua kid in. But Liane said she was gonna eat that whole thing."

"And you've been fine?"

"Well I had a couple of dizzy spells and I felt slightly fatigued but I'm fine now. Just kind of a headache."

"And Liane ate-"

"She ate the rest."

Bella lifted her head from Ethan's shirt her eyes widened as she reached into her bag and pulled out her storybook.

"The curse, she ate cursed apples and now she can only be awoken by true Love's kiss!" Bella exclaimed showing a page where a woman with dark hair was awoken by a kiss by a man dressed like a Prince. She turned to Ethan, eyes determined.

"You have to break the curse, it's the only way."

"'Bella I-"

"You love my mom, right?"

"Kiddo-"

"You love her. I know you kept your distance because she's my carer and she kept hers for the same reason but I can tell. She loves you."

"I can't kiss an unconscious woman!"

"Why not? It works in the stories!"

"Because this is real life, Belladonna! There aren't cursed fruits, there aren't Big Bad Wolves, there aren't glass slippers, there isn't magic and there isn't True Love's Kiss! And...I can't keep pretending anymore." Ethan trailed off as Bella's eyes narrowed, her chin quivering but all she did was shove the book into his arms.

"Read it. And maybe you'll see the truth. I'm going for some air." She stormed out of the ICU, tears in her eyes as she ran for the doors. Mia sighed and looked at Cassie who seemed to look guilty? Mia looked over Liane's body one last time before heading to check on other patients, patting Liane's hand kindly as she left. Cassie took a seat, looking at Ethan.

"She's right, you know."

"Right about what?"

"All of it. But we've all been too blind to see. I tried telling people when I figured it out but people call you crazy when you question their reality..." Cassie muttered, watching the clock on the wall. She turned to Ethan as she grabbed her bag.

"Just read the book. Listen to your daughter for once. And maybe trust her too. She's smarter than she looks."

As Cassie left, Ethan sat by Liane's bed, the silence almost deafening as he watched the machines help her breathe. He picked up the book and started to read. He recognised the tales from his childhood, stories of princesses in castles and knights on white horses and evil queens in towers.

Then he came across the tale of Sleeping Beauty and saw a face he recognised. A man dressed in armour, his green eyes almost shining off the page, his hair lit by the sunlight and a young woman with long blonde hair down her back, long black curved horns on her head, dressed in purples and blacks, both sat on a horse together, her purple eyes glimmering as they went to kiss.

That was his face! And those eyes despite being purple immediately made him think of Liane. How could he be in this book? This battered book with tales of magic and mystery? Why was he depicted as this Ace of Hearts? Why was Liane The Dark Fairy? And why did he feel like he knew this story more than just reading it off the page?

As he continued to read he started to recognise more and more faces from the town, Mia eating an apple as Snow White, Cole as a mystical magic man called Rumplestiltskin, Alexander as this King of Shadows, the waitress from the diner as Belle, Cassandra as Rapunzel in a high tower, he was starting to see everything more clearly. He looked at Liane and stroked her hair, finally saying what was on his mind.

"I never wanted to be a Dad. When I was a kid I made a choice to never be the reason a kid hates their life, hates their world. I didn't think anyone would ever want to have a kid with me. Then of course, life happened, a life that I really didn't want to bring a kid into but...I was naive. Not naive, dumb, really.. really dumb.

"I did love her, or I thought I did. Bella's mom. But she betrayed me. Ratted me out. I got the clink, she disappeared, and Belladonna was given to a Foster home. I never tried to make contact because I thought she'd hate me. That she'd resent me for not being there, not being her Dad when I absolutely should have been.

"It was cowardly, I know, to run away from my problems like that but I just really didn't think this kid would want anything to do with me. And then she showed up at my door. Like an omen. No not like that but it did certainly scare me. Especially cause she had found me like that. I knew vaguely that she had a home but I never tried to reach out. And then I met you."

Ethan smiled and took Liane's hand, just admiring her face as she lay there.

"You with your firey temper, the way you almost slapped me on your lawn after I arrived that first day, how your stare looked like it would make me burst into flames if I looked directly at it. And it all made sense. Why this girl, my little girl had come all that way to find me. She wanted me to meet you. To...connect with you. Because she loves you so much that she knew even if she could do it alone, she shouldn't.

"You spent years rearing this kid like your own, teaching her self-respect, giving her unerring confidence, letting her speak her mind, allowing her the freedom to express herself however she wants and now she's the best thing ever. I used to think parenthood was like jail.

"Bad comparison I know but I knew what that was. Servitude, solitude, nothing but pushback and obstacles as you try to get your freedom. Living off rations just to keep your kid afloat. Drowning in debt and knowing that you'll be so broken when it's over but accepting it as part of life. But it's not.

"You made me see parenthood is...like a garden. It won't grow if you don't feed and nurture it, it can be hard to tame but it's all the more beautiful when you let it run wild, if you prune too often it becomes too linear, too perfect. But as long as you feed and water it, give it sunshine, attention, love and care it will be so beautiful and become so beneficial to the insects and wildlife.

"Belladonna is not a perfect kid but she's brilliant. She's book smart and street smart which she did not get from me, she's intelligent and thoughtful, she's got the best emotional regulation I have ever seen and she's so glad you are her mom. And I would be honoured to raise her by your side. I've never believed in magic and miracles but if Bella believes it will save your life, then maybe I'll give it a try."

Ethan leaned in towards Liane's face and very carefully kissed her on the cheek, her skin feeling like a soft pillow and the warmth from her face hitting his. Almost instantly a huge spark of power began radiating from where Ethan stood, spreading through the town as Ethan took and step back, his mind suddenly flooding back to him.

Ethan Lensherr, The Ace of Hearts. Champion for Wonderland. His sister, The Mad Hatter. His brother, Rumplestiltskin. His father Erik, The Knave of Hearts. And his beautiful Liane, The love of his life, The Dark Fairy. Had awoken from her slumber.

Liane opened her eyes and looked up to see her beloved Ethan standing by her bed smiling. She pulled off her breathing mask and flung her arms around him in tears, holding him close as she kissed him passionately. She had found him, and he had found her. The doors swung open as Mia, or rather Snow White, came rushing inside with Cassandra at her side and Belladonna.

"Snow?"

"Mal!" The two embraced after Ethan let his wife go, remembering all these people. Cassie also came in for a hug as Belladonna watched, pleased.

"Since when did you get a haircut, Goldie?"

"It wasn't my choice, trust me." Cassie insisted, smiling and laughing. They all stepped back to let Bella through who ran into her mother's arms tearfully, grabbing her tight as they embraced.

"I told you so.. " she whispered in the hug as Liane just laughed and sat up. Then she felt that pain again. The pain where her wings were supposed to be. Snow handed her a staff to help her stand.

"Rumple left it here if you can believe that. Found it in the supply closet of all places."

"Is it still magic? Am I still magic?"

"No one knows yet. But everyone's waking up. Wait- Nikolai!" Snow tugged off her white coat and ran out of the hospital to go and find Charming as the others laughed.

But Liane stayed stoic, remembering at least who caused them all to be stuck here.

"Alexander.."

"Babe don't worry we'll get your wings back."

"Not just my wings. I want him DEAD!" Her eyes flashed bright purple, that fire back in her eyes as she stood up. He was going to pay for his actions. A flame of lavender fire formed in her palm as Ethan caught her arm.

"Where are you going?"

"To kill the Mayor."

Thats a wrap for now folks! It's been fun and it's gotten me to rewatch OUAT so I guess that's a good thing? Thanks to @jackiequick for reigniting my love of fantasy fanfic writing, thank you @gcthvile for always giving my OCs someone to love, and love to my moots @blueboirick @cherrysft @rooster-84 for the support.

Next fanfic series might be a bit more upbeat, a little cheesy and slightly more musical? It will be hinted at in the next post that appears on this page. Hope you've enjoyed!

[quillomens]

Book Omens Week Day 3: Historical

I'm catching up since I thought the week was cancelled. Haha. I THINK I'll have day 4 up today, though! It continues from this one.

Summary: The first time they got married was only a few hundred years after the Garden. It wouldn't be the last.

HERE ON AO3

Over the next few days, watch out for: ancient Sumer! The Round Table! Leo da Vinci! Piracy! Two Very Lazy Immortal Beings! Paperwork!

----

Sixty years and some change after their second unfortunate meeting, Crowley happened upon the angel while prowling a sort of  cave-village puttering along in Mesopotamia.   

He didn’t panic this time.  He’d been sent to the settlement because an angel was there, so he hadn’t been quite so startled this time around.  He also slinked up slowly, watching (and tongue twitching beyond his lips every now and then), which helped his reptile brain report, “This is that Eastern Gate fellow.”   

So instead of panic and discorporation, Crowley was able to slide up, smooth and cool, and say, “How’s it going there, oh, Angel of the Lord?” 

The angel jumped, which was very gratifying.  About time an angel was nervous about him.  

The angel’s currently dark brows drew together before his expression cleared.  “Crawly?” he asked, and then, before Crowley could correct him, “No, it’s Crowley, isn’t it?” 

Crowley was gratified again.  “It is.  And you’re Aziraphale.”  He tried to sound casual.  Maybe he’d asked around.  Maybe he just knew things.   

Aziraphale turned his eyes back to the foul-smelling but good natured mortals as they went about their business.  The two of them were visible, not not…noticeable.  Nothing interesting here, please go on about you pre-historical business.  “It’s been some time.” 

“’Bout 60 years.”  Crowley had spent nine of them doing punishment paperwork and other, less enjoyable, things for so quickly wasting a corporation.  But the last fifty hadn’t been so bad, back on earth.  He was finding Earth highly preferable to hell, and didn’t understand why most demons bellyached about assignments on the first floor (so to speak). “What brings you here?  Spreading a little miracle or three?  Light of grace and all that good stuff?” 

“Observing, mostly.  I’m rather between assignments at the moment.”  The angel glanced over.  “You?” 

“Oh, sent here to kill you, I reckon.” 

One brow rose alone this time.  The gray-blue eyes were a little incongruous with his current coloring, but who was Crowley to point out glass houses?  “Oh?  And how are you planning to do that?  Another epic bout of clumsiness.” 

Crowley probably should have scowled, but found himself grinning instead.  Not bad! Most angels were painfully boring.  ….At that, so were most demons.  “Maybe.  Want to stand near a handy fire for me?”   

The angel made a show of considering it before settling on, “No, I think not.  I don’t need any more paperwork or nasty notes.” 

Crowley would (pretend to) kill for a nasty note.  Bet there were no boils and papercuts in heaven.  

“Ah, well.  Guess I’ll just slink downstairs then.” 

Crowley didn’t move.  They kept standing there, side by side.   

“Did you know,” Aziraphale said after several minutes of oddly comfortable silence, “that they’ve started little pairing ceremonies?” 

Crowley shot him a look.  “What now?” 

“Well, you know how some of the animals pair off for life?  And others don’t?  Humans are similar, yes?  Some pair off, like Adam and Eve, others don’t.” 

“Rrrrright.”  Crowley scratched at a flea trying to set up house in the long fall of his hair.  “Hell’s undecided on that one.  Seems to fit with a sort of heavenly chastity on one side, but the way two people can make each other miserable?  Full marks.” 

The angel gave him a censorious frown.  Crowley spread his hands with demonic innocence, as if to say, “Above my pay grade, good sir.”   

Had the movement been invented and imbued with meaning at the time, Aziraphale would have rolled his eyes.  As it was, he just said, “Well, be that as it may, they’ve created this little ritual for it, and it’s rather sweet.” 

A minor miracle caused every flea in the vicinity to go up in tiny flames.  

“Ritual?  What, skulls and blood and feet of newts?”  Crowley tried to look pleased, though the whole concept actually made him a bit queasy.  He couldn’t shake the feeling that “feather of demon” or “eye of serpent” would one day be popular for these “little rituals” of the humans’.   

“No, no, nothing so disturbing.  Just a sort of speech and a promise.”   

“Oh.”  Crowley wrinkled his nose.  He was fond of a good nose wrinkle these days.  Couldn’t pull that off as a snake.  “Sounds boring.” 

“It’s sweet!” Aziraphale argued.  He looked decidedly put-out, as if the opinion of this semi-random demon was of some importance in his angelic brain.  Then he clearly came to a decision and, without so much as a “Mary may I?” wrapped his hand about Crowley’s wrist and pulled him into the bustle of humanity. 

Crowley should have protested, maybe popped a little hellfire, but he was so surprised by being touched without an intent to cause pain (it had been so long) that he shamedly just let his enemy drag him on.  

They stopped in front of a woman – older, heavy set, stripes on her stomach and gray in her hair.  She wore little in the heat, but she had several necklaces of shell and bone, painted with red clay, that were unique among the humans.  Someone of importance, then?   

She clearly recognized the angel and greeted him with a smile and a fair approximation of his name.   

“Hello,” he said back, his smile warm but his voice officious.  “Lovely to see you again.”   

“It was only this morning,” she said, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes that Crowley wholeheartedly approved of.  “I’m not so old as all that.” 

“Of course not!  You’re a lovely young woman.”  Crowley shot Aziraphale a look.  He thought perhaps the angel was being sincere.  Still figuring out aging, was he?   

The human chuckled warmly. “Now then, young charmer, what do you require my help with?”  

“I would like you to show the pairing ceremony,” Aziraphale motioned to Crowley, “to my,” he stopped a moment, frowning.  Crowley watched with some amusement. My enemy was hardly the way to introduce someone without causing suspicion.  After a beat, he settled on, “companion.” 

The human’s eyebrows rose in a riot of wrinkles.  “The pairing ceremony?” 

“Yes.  I told him it’s quite lovely, but he has his doubts.” 

Dark eyes glanced between them.  “I hardly think it is appropriate to perform the ceremony for someone who isn’t certain.” 

“Oh, I’m certain enough,” Crowley drawled.  Clearly it existed, since they were talking about it. 

The old woman eyed them again, gaze assessing.  Then she raised her shoulders dismissively – he'd seen that a few times now, wasn’t entirely certain what it meant to them – clapped her chapped hands, and said, “Might as well!” in a cheerful voice.  

Aziraphale gave Crowley a smug look.  Crowley stared at him, annoyingly unblinking.   

(Later, Crowley would miss those early days, when his eyes hardly merited comment.  The woman had looked at them, of course, but passed on readily.) 

The woman motioned to a young man, who jogged off to gather a few supplies.  She chatted easily with Aziraphale as they waited, and offered a handful of figs to them both.  Aziraphale took them immediately.  Crowley was more hesitant, but gave in when Aziraphale bit into one with clear enjoyment.   

And here he thought angels didn’t eat. 

They were so delicious (he hadn’t properly had figs; they were sweeter than he  that the boy was painting a stripe of clay on his forehead before he realized they’d started.   

“Wait-” he started to say, but the woman shushed him and Aziraphale sent him a look for interrupting.  He fell silent, listening to the simple words.  The gist was all about support – looking out for the other person, working to keep the other person safe, providing comfort. 

It was lovely, though he was loathe to admit it.  A nice idea, having someone to depend on and spend time with.  He couldn’t remember much about heaven, but hell certainly wasn’t known for its comradery.   Shame it wasn’t real- 

The woman took his hand and placed it on top of the angel’s.   

Crowley jumped as if burned – expecting, really, to be burned, that was the rumor – and saw Aziraphale flinch as well.  But. 

Nothing happened. 

The skin was unusually soft, given angels didn’t work, but beyond that, it was just a hand.   

Their eyes met briefly, yellow to gray. 

“And may you protect each other until the end of your days,” the woman said, taking their two hands in her strong, leathery ones.   

Crowley saw, in Aziraphale’s eyes, the moment the angel realized what he had. 

This was not a demonstration. 

It was a ceremony. 

He couldn’t help it.  Crowley threw his head back and laughed, startling the woman, the demon, and several people in the vicinity with the underlying hiss he hadn’t learned to control yet.  It was an inhuman laugh, and an inhuman smile, and the angel frowned at him, but he couldn’t help it.  It wasn’t real, not truly.  They weren’t human, and human ceremonies didn’t mean anything in heaven or hell, but- 

An angel bound to a demon just to make a point? 

Hilarious! 

Aziraphale sighed deeply, the old woman barked a laugh (“It’s unusual, but some people react like this,” she assured Aziraphale gently as he looked like he might throw up if his corporation would let him), and Crowley grinned, broad and toothy and wild.   

(As long as hell didn’t know, as long as hell never found out, he should be just fine.) 

@book-omens-week

[brattyfrenchvampire]

I’ve started to reminisce about some things that will probably never make it into the books as it’s not relevant to the story as a whole. Besides I don’t foresee the rating going up haha.

Before I had steady companions, that eventually turned into partners, I used to frequent the brothels. I know, I come off as the type to have a preference for men. You would be correct in that assumption, I’m not exactly in the middle of the Kinsey scale. Close to it, but leaning towards homosexual tendencies. There were a few men I had picked up at pubs. They were usually fumbling drunk and not very enjoyable. The men around my age were timid and scared of their desires. The older men…let’s just say there were skill issues and I know their wives were unhappy.

The women I have fallen for, I’ve really fallen for. None of them were the prostitutes, though I had a fondness for them. Society frowned upon them, meanwhile they were providing a very wanted service. I heard and saw some of the things they had to put up with and it made my blood boil. It could be in part because of my own background. But I despise the whole societal hierarchy. These women deserved to be treated like people, not objects. They should have been paid better too. I was pro sex workers then, I’m still pro sex workers now. But I’m getting side tracked…

One of the pluses about prostitutes, they didn’t ask questions about me leaving my gloves on or worse give that look of pity when they’d see all my scars. A handful of them had scars of their own. There were two women that stood out to me, they were my favorites. I never knew their names. As most brothels, names were whatever seemed exotic, “Rose” or “Moonbeam” or whatever. (Actually, I think there were a few that used those exact names in my troupe.) Not that I gave them my name either. Both struggled to have a steady flow of clients. They had a few weirdos that saw them as novelties. Others would be offended to be paired with them. Most didn’t see either of them as people. I’m not some noble person, but I think everyone is deserving of respect. That should be the minimum.

The first woman I was ever with was an amputee. She lost one of her legs in a carriage accident. The infection almost cost her life. Her leg ended at mid-thigh. She had a prosthetic but it was heavy, on bad days she would drag it more than walk with it. She was a nice girl. Close to my age at the time, around 17, and wanted to travel. Though unless she eventually married a rich man, she didn’t have much to look forward to. She wasn’t completely uneducated, but not enough to be an exceptional woman at the time. Her beauty was “flawed” by her leg. She was a bit too fond of the bottle and dabbled with opium. (I should have known then it was like standing in front of a damn mirror.) While I was there for sex initially, we did enjoy each other’s company. There were times that most of our session was spent talking. An escapism. We never ventured too deep into subjects unless it was about our dreams. We could pretend for a while at least that she really could go somewhere and that I had all the time in the world and wasn’t dying. (Not that I let anyone know the last part.) I was probably the closest thing she had to a friend, though I did not deserve that title. After a couple years, I never saw her again. I can only hope life treated her kinder one day and she got her prince charming.

The other woman was intersex, though they used other unkind words to describe her. I would say she closely resembled someone that was AFAB but on T for a few years. She was petite, built straight up and down, and hairy all over. She shaved her facial hair but that’s it. She had strong facial features, dark hair and equally dark eyes. She was gorgeous, though I guess she was deemed too masculine for most of the clientele. Their loss. (You’d think she would be more popular seeing as she was infertile so there was no risk of pregnancy.) She was very adamant that she was a woman but some still called her ‘it’ and a ‘thing.’ She wasn’t much for words and didn’t do kissing. (I do hope that was what she genuinely wanted and not that she felt forced to act a certain way based on how others treated her.) She brought out something in me that I didn’t know I had. Until her I hadn’t thought I could be submissive or that I shouldn’t allow it. (It was rather tame in comparison to what I got up to later. But it was the first time I let someone have some control over me after what had happened in the lab.) I had felt safe. I don’t know if it was because she was heavily scarred as well or I felt a kinship of being something other than what your body projects. While our interactions were only physical, she helped me to trust again. I don’t think I could have pursued my relationships if it wasn’t for her. I was told one day she left the brothel. I can only hope that is what really happened. The madams never talked about the murders, it’s bad for business.

I eventually found myself in a romantic and sexual relationship with both Jeanne and Noé. I had a difficult time allowing myself to be naked in front of either of them. Even after Jeanne saw everything in Gévaudan and Noé assisted in dressing and bathing me a few times when I was ill. They weren’t being paid to deal with my body…compensated for having to look at me or touch me. I was ashamed of my body, the scars, the mark, too many memories attached to it all. I often took off as little clothes as possible while intimate with either of them. Somedays I refused to get undressed at all and just attended to them. I didn’t want to spoil the mood. I didn't want to be seen as a person if I were fully nude, it was easier if I was just objectified. I had to be in a certain headspace.

[angel-deucesimp]

Good night, world.

PREMISE: [Name] [last name] was just an ordinary person. Nothing special nor had any real talent. The only talent they had was in PLANET. A virtual world where people like them go to escape reality.

But what if they met someone in PLANET, who believes the world is a shitty of shittest place. Or should I say, a childhood friend they didn't even knew they were talking to.

CW: Terrible Grammer and probably spelling mistakes 💀

"Hey, [Name]! Wanna hang out after school?" A group of co-workers called out towards to you as today's meeting have just ended. "No thanks, I have some things to do." You apologized with a nervous smile. This disappoints the group before they say their farewells and left.

"I have something, way more important..."

You walked back home.

"This world..."

You entered your house.

"It's nothing but of boring people..."

You get to your room, setting down your bag before sitting in your chair. The only light source in the room was the computer.

"So, that's why..."

You grabbed your headset and placed it on your head, starting it.

"'PLANET' Is my only escape."

_________________________________________

"Ichi!"

Your lively and bright character calls out, running towards a short man with a dark red hat and slanted down eyes. "Ah, hey [User]! Long time no see! What's been keeping ya?" Ichi greets, with the smile that always makes you swoon.

"Ah, y'know. Work and stuff! Nothing important!" You laughed nervously. "And guessing by the way you look. Wanna raid some dungeons?"

"You know it! I need to blow off some steam!" Ichi huffed, quickly summoning his sword. "C'mon, I wanna make sure all those monsters are killed!"

"Gotcha!" You smiled, the two of you running towards the direction of a nearby dungeon.

_________________________________________

After getting some loot and getting lots of EXPS. There was awkward silence that fell upon the two of you.

Quiet.

Quiet

And quiet.

Then Ichi spoke.

"Say, what are you like irl?"

Your avatar stiffen. Taken aback from the question. "Ah... what do you mean?"

"Like, what do you do... on a regular basis?" Ichi explains in more detail as his gaze trailed towards your form. "Like. Anything interesting or something."

You were silent.

You didn't even utter a word before suddenly your logout plush appears in your place.

Ichi eyes widen before he starts hitting himself. "Shitshitshitshit! I messed up for shit!"

_________________________________________

You placed down your headset on the table. A blank and dead expression was written all over your face before you let out a exasperated sigh.

"When did something interesting even happen to me...."

Your mind wanders through your memories, trying to recollect anything exciting or something that can make you even slightly interesting.

"Ah...."

Then you remembered.

Taichirō Arima.

You're childhood best friend.

And...

Your first love.

You remember back in those days, the world around didn't seem to matter. All that matter was Taichirō was there with you.

You had a big time crush on him ever since pre-school, but ever since his... sister passing, he started distancing himself and shutting everyone. You haven't seen him in a long time.

But, how would you even bring this up Ichi?! He probably doesn't even want to hear you rambling about your ex-childhood crush! That's boring.

You lay your head against the wooden table. A frown on your lips as you were ultimately fighting with yourself if you should log back in and tell Ichi either way.

....

"I'm gonna take a break...."

Who knew you're life and everyone else's was going to take a turn.

_______________________________________

It's been almost a month since the pandemic started, monsters from PLANET roaming around, looking for their next meal. But fortunately, most of humankind have adapt to them started killing them before they could get kill.

But bad side was that most have lost their homes, now they're seeking refuge in a safety shelters.

"Ah... this is so..." You let out a sigh after sticking your axe into one the monsters that were trying to kill you. Your stats have raised up, but your mood certainly didn't.

You quickly put down your axe and start looking through the old house, in hopes to find some kind of food or necessities in the old broken down house.

Then you came across a game....

It was a board game, this quickly catches your attention as you reached out and picked it up.

"I remember...." you smiled to yourself as a old memory comes flying back.

_________________________________________

"Wahh! How come you're so good at this Taichirō!" Younger you cried out as the boy in front of you grinned.

"Because, I've been mastering this game for months! No one can get to my level, not even you!" Young Taichirō said, triumphly.

You pouted before you quickly rolled up you sleeves. "One more game! This time, you'll see!"

"Fine! But I'll still beat you!" Taichirō exclaims as the two of you played again.

You laughed and had fun...

_________________________________________

You make your way back to the safety shelter in Wakagi. You walk towards the guards and show your ID before being let in.

As you walk back to your small space, you notice a young high schooler who looked quite familiar.

Wait...

Is that Taichirō's young brother? What was his name.... Asuma?

How come you're just notcing this now? Well, maybe you kept your head low or probably don't pay attention to the environment as much...

You whipped your head the other way, not wanting to be caught gawking. If Taichirō's brother was here.... than that means-

Your heart start beating faster, you lips formed a thin line as you clenched your heart. "No! I can't-" You thought to yourself. "-This isn't even the right time! Besides, his family is probably having a hard time as well..."

After a few minutes, you managed to calm down your heart. Taking a deep breath, you slowly reached into your bag and pulled out your phone, it was almost sunset.

"Maybe... we can rest easy." You muttered under your breath as you slowly close your eyes, in hopes to get some peace...

Then you hear people gasps all around you.

This confuses you, slowly opening you eyes to see what was the commotion about.

But only to meet face to face with a white face, it's black soulless eyes staring at yours.

You let out petrified scream as you quickly got up and tried to run, but to see the walls and floors cover in the same colorless face.

"What the hell-" you cursed under you breath, your gaze looking all around as the walls started to glitch. It's as if the world itself was slowly crumbling down.

You quickly pulled out your axe, ready to fend off this mysterious entity. But the something caught your eye.

Taichirō running out of the building in a hurry. You furrowed your brows, wondering what the hell Taichirō is thinking.

But...

You run after hum.

_________________________________________

"Taichiro! Taichiro!" You yelled out through the crumbles of the city, trying to look for the guy. You were panicking to say at least, the world is practically crumbling and Taichirō is here running around.

You gritted you teeth, ready to find him and give the scolding of his life.

But after running around, you came across a school, the gate broken down into shreds as of someone used something to tear it down.

You slowly took a step closer, ready to whatever you were going to face.

But then...

You heard... crying?

You peeked around the corner, your eyes slightly widen as you see Taichiro...

But there was also something else...

"...Ichi?"

Taichirō turns on his heels, staring back at you with the same wide eyes while the boy next to him in the ground continue to sob.

Taichirō's mouth was slightly agape as he took a step closer to you...

"....[User]?"

You quickly held in your tears as you quickly ran towards him and hugged him as tight as you can. All this time, Ichi, the man that you felled in love with, that helped you through dungeons....

Was the same man that was your childhood best friend and crush...

_________________________________________

YEAH, IM MAKING THIS TYPE OF SHIT NOW 🤯🤯🤯🤯

Anyways, I've been getting into Good night world and I REALLY LOVE IT :3 I love me some shut in men (That's a joke 😞😞😞)

[clarisse-owo]

so, me thinking about this post a bit.

i think that none of the examples above are bad writing, but I can't say much about piccolo cuz i never watched his part, but let's see...

darth vader was corrupted to the dark side, committed a massacre in a preschool of kids that admired him and then caused genocides in the whole universe. even if given the "he was groomed" card, i think he should not be forgiven. he is kinda similar to catra, but he changed when he was an adult, and even saying that the jedi also brainwashed him wouldn't have changed it. catra was groomed from a baby, she didn't knew any better and thought she was doing what was right. also blowing a whole planet is not okay. do you know how many habitable planets there are in the universe? not enough.

vegeta was born and raised as a prince of a super powered race that is known to engage in wars and stuff. he felt entitled to whatever he wanted and in the end, although I don't have the whole dbz in my head, he did change and became a good characters. yeah, he may have caused genocides, but he was also kinda groomed from birth like catra. and i like his character so he gets a pass

magneto may be a villain, but he fights for a good cause in the only way he thinks is viable. yeah, he may have caused a lot of deaths, but he saved a lot of other ones for sure. even if you don't think he deserve to be forgiven, he is just a symptom to inequality and how violence will only lead to violence and the only way that the abused minorities can get something is by taking action. yeah, he should probably not commit mass murder, but he is making more mutants know that they have a place in the world and they have to fight for it. also he killed hitler so it's ok. his character is nuanced and i love it. btw i heard he was inspired by Malcolm X and Xavier be Martin Luther king Jr on their ideologies which makes me like him just because of the whole peace vs revolution aspect of them. also i am not from the USA and i haven't studied a lot about them so i may be wrong or misinformed, so if i am, I'm up to learning and changing. no one is a monolith, we can grow and be better.

zuko was similar to catra too. he was basically groomed into a war he was never going to win, he thought he was doing what was right, but his uncle helped him see and he ended up breaking his need to please his father, turned to the hero's side and did redeem himself. also genocide in his belt. i see a pattern

venom is an alien form that consumes living things for survival. idk where to put him, but yes, genocide. i legit don't know a lot about him besides that and that he turn peter into a bully, but that's ok i guess

catra was groomed as a kid into a war she was never going to win. was abused and forced into submission against her nature. she feared for her life, but she thought she was doing the right thing. she saw her best friend betray the authoritarian regimen they both worked for and felt like it was personal. she needed to fight, but now she had no one else to turn to, she was alone. after a while she did see her ways and redeemed herself, but she suffered by doing so. zuko had his uncle, vegeta had nothing else to lose, but catra lost all the support she had. the friends she grew up with. yeah, i think she is not even close to what darth vader did, bit she had no iroh by her side and was blinded by her abusers. and even when she helped to save the world, seeing it as a realistic universe, she would still be frowned upon for years. she-ra went through it, and now she will go through it. she will not just be a friend of the whole city just because she helped to save the world. plus we don't know if the whole world is ok with queer relations, so she could still be a target for that. catra is really well written and do deserve forgiveness. also wlw, so she's good on my book.

remember kids, suffering goes past canon. it's not because they redeemed themselves that they stop suffering. catra will still deal with her actions and trauma for her whole life while the others are mostly ok from what i know. vegeta changed, got a family and never talked about the genocides, he look like he got over it very quick, zuko will still deal with all of that as he was a part of the whole fire nation shtick, but i think he was not that badly treated and even got the fire nation redeemed and even was aang's helper, so i think he had it well and maybe had an ending that would be similar to catra's in the end. darth vader was redeemed but dead in the end (unless retconned by disney) so he did not suffer as much, and well... venom is venom, idk...

Face it, Darth Vader, Zuko, Piccolo, Vegeta, Magneto, Loki and Venom did far worse, unforgivable things yet when they were redeemed to varying degrees, fandom gave them free passes. Yet when Catra ,a child soldier who was physically and mentally abused by her mentor, realizes how much she has hurt the people around her; strives to be a better person; saves her childhood best friend and the entire world with the literal power of love (in spite of the series being cut short), fandom screams for her blood, yelling that she was "the real villain" and "should've died".

I have nothing against either Vader, Zuko, Piccolo, Vegeta, Magneto, Loki or Venom. However, when fandom declares a queer catgirl to be "the face of unforgivable evil", that's when we need to call out the blatant sexist, and kind of queerphobic, double standards.

And no, don't even give me that "BuT BaD WrItInG" thought-terminating rubbish. Funny how everything seems to be "BaD WrItInG" only when it involves some form of media made by and/or starring women, queer people and other minorities. Don't you think?

[violetswritingg]

Only in Darkness

Jason Todd X OFC!

Description:

"Only in Darkness can you see the stars."

Or

Marlowe Knight stumbling upon a girl prophesied to end the world and going on the adventure of a life time.

Rating: M (Blood, cannon typical violence, sibling rivalry, scars, torture, trauma, angsttttt)

Want to read the other chapters?

Click here

7

Interstate 80 motel

2018

The tension in the air was palatable, Rachel watching Marlowe walk across their room and lean her carrier on the wall like she had before. Looking away quickly when the older girl caught her staring.

"Take a picture, it lasts longer." Marlowe quipped, her tone and expression neutral as she moved to sit on her bed. Eyes falling to her duffle bags zipper and narrowing slightly before moving to Rachel and then her case on the table past the girl and then back.

Rachel didn't answer, just got up and walked through the adjoining door. Marlowe quick to follow, watching from the doorway as she messed with Dick's case, unable to open it. Moving on to another case, this one smaller and already open. Marlowe recognized it instantly as Wayne tech. Much like her own laptop in the middle of her duffle bag.

Rachel sat, starting to type something while Marlowe stood in front of Dick's case, running her fingers over the top. A small smile coming across her face, getting Rachel's attention. The girl watching Marlowe closely.

Marlowe shot Rachel a look out of the corner of her eye, feeling the teens eyes on her and leaving Dick's case alone. Instead plopping down on the foot of the bed closest to Rachel, leaning back on her hands and fixing the girl with a watchful gaze.

"What's in there?" Rachel pointed to the case on the table. Marlowe just raised an eyebrow, her face reading, you expect me to answer that? The girl sighed and looked back to the computer. Silence enveloping them for a while.

"You're scared of me."

"You're scared."

"No, I'm not." Marlowe shifted on the bed.

"You're lying."

"When you do what we do, there's no time to be scared. Either push past it or suffocate. It's up to you. Come find me when you're ready." Bruce turned on his heel, his shoes clicking tauntingly with every step, getting softer and softer. A promise of something getting farther and farther away. Slipping right through her fingers.

Not again.

Marlowe huffed, pulling a knee into her chest, "Yeah? And how do you know?" Rachel stayed quiet, "I've seen a lot of weird, messed up things Rachel, you don't even crack the top ten."

Lie.

"I'm ready. I'm not scared." Marlowe grit, stiffening her spine and standing straighter than she ever had. Bruce didn't even turn fully, barley glancing over his shoulder.

"You should be."

Another silence overtook the room Marlowe the one to break it this time. "Back in Detroit... you called me the girl with the golden staff. Why?"

"I saw it." Rachel turned, her eyes pleading with the girl in front of her. For what? Neither of them really knew. Marlowe stiffened, her whole body going rigid.

"You saw it." Marlowe's voice barley carried over the air. Rachel went back into her shell again, avoiding admitting anything by pretending she just hadn't heard Marlowe. She had said too much, instant regret weighting on her shoulders. Marlowe frowned, her hand clenching as she stood from the bed and walked over to Rachel, staying at least a foot away just in case. "How."

"There was a man, he was dressed weird. You were... younger, your hair was different, you were tied to a chair, crying. I could feel how scared and confused you were, you thought it was some kind of bad dream, but then he touched you right there-" Rachel, after some hesitation, started to answer. Reaching for Marlowe's side as if on instinct. The older girl dodged, faltering back a step, eyes wide, palms starting to sweat. Rachel dropped her hand and hesitantly glanced up at Marlowe, "and you screamed. Everything burned, I could feel your pain. Every night."

"Stop." Marlowe forced out around the lump in her throat.

"There was another man with a long coat and goggles, he hurt him too. There was a bright light and he was on the ground, you standing over him with a golden Staff-"

"I said stop Rachel!" Marlowe snapped, Rachel shrinking slightly under the burning heat in Marlowe's eyes. Marlowe's insides tearing themselves into little pieces as memories threatened her vision. "I don't care what you think you saw. You know nothing about me or my life, don't act like you do." Marlowe quickly composed herself, her voice quiet but authoritative and Rachel knew better than to push any further.

Marlowe paced over to the window and looked out across the parking lot, schooling her expression as she peeled the curtains away from the slightly foggy glass panes. Her whole body felt like the earth was trying to drag her into its depth.

It was clear she was done talking, but Rachel still had so many questions.

So, she googled Marlowe's name.

They both jumped when musicblasted from Marlowe's back pocket. The older girl cursing and fumbling for the phone and turning it down, Rachel trying and failing to catch a glimpse of the screen.

"Are you gonna answer it?"

Marlowe paused, listening to the dulled song ring, her chest aching. Taking a breath the bottle blonde hit the red button on the screen, tucking the device into her back pocket and glancing at the girl across from her.

"Spam call." Marlowe couldn't stand the look Rachel was giving her, the soft slope of the teens eyebrows and the knowing glint in her eye setting Marlowe on fire. "I'm gonna head outside for a minute, don't go anywhere," Marlowe pointed at Rachel. Stopping on her way out the door the older girl tapped the doorway, "Lock this."

~~*~~

The girl reached up and hit the door bell, looking over her shoulder one last time. Her mother gone. Just as she was about to back track and call out for her mom, the door opened with a quiet creak. A woman, not young, but not old, with fiery red hair and bright green eyes stood with a confused smile. Subtly looking around the street before crouching down to the girl's height, her smile broadening.

"Hello there. You look a little young to be selling girl scout cookies."

Marlowe stayed silent, looking at the woman with wide eyes, unsure of what to do. The woman seemed to understand what was happening in her little head and sighed. Holding out a hand for the girl to shake the redhead introduced herself.

"I'm Sadie, what's your name sweetie?"

"You're not my dad." She didn't know what her dad looked like exactly, but she knew what a man looked like, the person in front of her wasn't a man and therefore a complete stranger.

"Are you trying to get home? Did you get lost?" Sadie couldn't believe any parent would let such a young child walk home by themselves, the girl in front of her barely six years old at the oldest.

"My mommy said my daddy and brother lived here." Sadie's eyes widened and looked up and down the street again.

"Where's your mommy? Huh?"

"I-I don't know, she was right there. But she's gone now, doing adult things. She-she said I couldn't come." Sadie recognized the lip tremble and the flood of water, but hesitated in her next action. This wasn't her child, she didn't even know the girl's name, but when the waterworks came, they didn't stop and the girl closed the gap and initiated a death grip hug. Sadie looked up, Jack now at the door, watching in confusion as his fiancée hugged a small, crying child at their door.

Sadie pushed the girl away slightly, helping her calm down. Subtly looking between Jack and the girl in her arms, hair as black as a light polluted night sky, eyes as blue as the Atlantic Ocean, the same nose, and slant of their eyebrows.

Sadie felt her stomach drop, her throat closing up as she picked up the girl who had still yet to tell her her name. Her pale hand rubbing up and down the girl's small back but wanting to clench into a fist and dive straight into Jack's confused face.

"What did you do?" Sadie whispered, the girl slowly nodding off in her arms after a traumatic afternoon. Not giving the man the opportunity, she passed him and strode down the hallway to Kyle's room. Shushing the boy as he protested the intrusion and kicking him off of his bed to lay the girl down, covering her with the blanket, pulling it up to her chin.

"Who-"

"A guest, for now. Come on, lunch is almost ready." Sadie pulled Kyle out of his room, the curious boy fighting to catch one last glimpse of the girl commandeering his bed.

~~*~~

The first memory Marlowe had of Sadie wasn't a particularly pleasant one. The woman raised her, Sadie was her mom for all intents and purposes and Marlowe wouldn't have it any other way. Sarah, Marlowe's birth mother, had just dropped her off on her dad's doorstep, and the red head was the one who answered the door.

Marlowe was a black mark on Sadie and Jack's love, the woman had every right to hate her. But she didn't, she took her in, treated her like one of her own. Loved her like a mother should love their daughter, not to say that Sarah didn't love Marlowe in her own way.

Sadie held her when Sarah reemerged and blew through the Knight household like a hurricane when Marlowe was fifteen, stealing a good amount of Marlowe's jewelry and a couple of her medals. Disappearing again as if she had never been there in the first place. Sadie held her when the news of Sarah's death by overdose came through the grapevine.

Sadie was the one who kept telling her that it wasn't her fault, that Sarah was the only one who could be held responsible for her own death. They never got back her medals.

This woman, her mom, had always been there. Come rain or shine, she was there like an indestructible, immovable pillar. The years not dulling her sharp tongue and blunt honesty, the woman completely unafraid to tell you how it is. Her smiling contact picture burned Marlowe's irises, glaring up at Marlowe. Warm eyes watching her, saying you feel guilty? Good. You should.

Sadie hadn't called her up to this point. Giving her space, because the woman knew how Marlowe – much like her dad – worked. She would come to them when she was ready.

Something could be wrong. Anxiety swept through Marlowe as she bit her lip, a million horrible scenarios rushing through her imagination without permission and caused her heart to pound almost out of her chest. He could have gone back-

Her thumb was hitting the contact on the screen before she could think about it for more than a second. Marlowe feeling as if she was having an out of body experience as the ringing reverberated around her skull. Alarms screeching like chickens at the slaughter.

Marlowe could hear the lilt of disappointment in Sadie's voice already and the woman hadn't even answered the phone yet. Teeth bit into her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as everything started to spin. 

The phone rang one more time, the click of the line connecting to the intended person had her panic spike and, like a reflex, Marlowe ripped the phone away from her ear just as Sadie's voice came through the speaker. The muffled voice sending painful sparks through Marlowe's chest.

Marlowe gasped, not knowing she had been holding her breathe until that moment. Her thumb smashing the red button on the screen as hard as it could. Coughing Marlowe clung to the railing and leaned back on her heels. Putting her head in between her shoulders as she tried to start breathing normally once again.

She didn't realize how much she had missed hearing Sadie's, her mom's, voice.

Her nose violently tingled, her eyes stinging with the same ferocity. Tears dripping onto her boots without permission as she brought a hand to her mouth. Crouching down, leaning her forehead against the cool metal, her grip on the railing never letting up and cutting into her skin with a bite.

A muffled yell and thump being heard from inside the room startled Marlowe. The lights along the walkway flickering as the nineteen year old stood shakily and tried the handle, it wouldn't move. She had forgotten to grab the keys and Rachel had actually listened to her and locked the door – which was unexpected.

Grabbing her wallet from her jacket pocket, sniffling and scrubbing her face free of salty water, she pulled out a random gift card and shoved it in the door. Right between the lock and the door jam. Leaning into the plastic and jerking it up, just like Jason had taught her. Marlowe felt it push past the lock and cheered quietly. Not prepared for what lied behind the door.

~~*~~

Dick didn't know what to make of Marlowe.

His brain stewing over the erratic, wild shifts he had seen in her in just the last twenty-four hours. She was a hurricane and it seemed to only be getting worse. Sometimes she would remind him of the man he knew as a child, in the ways she moved or spoke, but then she'd flip on a dime.

Her comment about powered individuals sticking with him more than he would have liked it to. He could guess pretty easily she was talking about.

Kyle.

It was the obvious conclusion as he was her brother and the closest person to her that had abilities. Destructive abilities. The thing that he couldn't figure out was why she would say what she said about him.

It's never worked out well.

With both her and Rachel Dick's head was filled with more questions than answers. He hated it.

Jack had sounded cagey on the phone but Dick just chalked it up to him being a worried parent, but now he wasn't so sure.

"I didn't know you had a daughter." Dick started off, voice a bit choppy. He hadn't spoken to the man in years, and now he was calling and digging into his personal life. It was more than a bit uncomfortable. For both sides.

"You've met Marlowe?" Jack coughed, stilted voice filled with hope that confused Dick, "How is she? Is she okay?"

"I don't know, I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her in person. I am getting used to seeing her messy crime scenes though."

"What?"

"I'm in Detroit, some evidence has come up in a case I'm working that connects to her," Dick explained bluntly, "I wanted to see if you could give me any information." Dick rocked back on his heels, watching the cars roll by the front of the precinct.

"Case? I didn't know you were still in the game. In Michigan no less."

"I'm not, in the game. Not anymore. I'm a detective with the police department and Marlowe has run into some serious trouble. Why is she here and not in Opal with you and the O'Dares?"

The man on the other end of the phone took his time in answering, making Dick call his name to make sure he was still on the line before he spoke up.

"The Mist. She's there because of The Mist."

From there he went on to explain that there was a new, third iteration of the golden age big bad the original Starman faced off with frequently. Similar to Batman and the Joker. How Marlowe had taken off months ago to chase the bad guy that had taken over the mantle.

According to Jack The Mist had been around for almost a year and a half, and Dick could pick up on the context clues leading to how he was the reason why Jack was now retired. The heaviness in the man's tone made the hair on the back of Dick's neck stand on edge and his stomach turn.

When he asked about Kyle, why he wasn't the one handling the Cosmic Staff, Jack just brushed him off with a non-answer. Dick didn't want to dig any further, expecting the worst. Dick hadn't known the boy too well; in fact, he - and Roy - really only saw him as a nuisance when he would show up at the manor during League meetings.

Donna and Wally on the other hand were more patient with the, then, ten year old. They indulged him when he'd talk about becoming the next Starman or bragged about his dad and they'd play action figures with him on the floor of Dick's bed room.

One of the most vivid memories Dick had of the boy is when he got too excited one time and lost control of his powers. Multiple floorboards, the corner of his bed, and desk victims to the boys disintegration and haphazard redesign. He remembered getting so angry, yelling at the boy until he started to cry.

Looking back, Dick wasn't proud of it, but he was a kid. An angry one at that. If it wasn't that moment with Kyle, he'd have found something or someone else to explode on.

Dick was forced to apologize, and Kyle didn't come to meetings as frequently after that. Then Jack just pulled out of the League one day and Dick saw a lot less of the man and his son.

His phone ringing pulled him from his memories and questions of who the Mist could be, what he had done to Marlowe and Jack, and what had happened to Kyle Knight.

"Grayson."

~~*~~

[fademirrored]

gamma: Inquisitor

“Can we get back to business, or should I fetch you a bucket to finish drooling in?”

Petrichor “Petra” Lavellan Herald of Andraste. Inquisitor.

Nonbinary. They/them. Pansexual. 17 Haring, 9:14 Dragon. Free Marches. Warrior; double-handed. Reaver.

Eyes: Very bright, almost neon aqua, initially. Large. Darken and go red around the outer iris after they specialize. Hair: Deep, dark red. Shaved around the sides and back. What’s left comes down past the middle of their back, and is done in a multitude of small braids which are gathered back in a tail. Skin: Gold-ish bronze-ish. Freckles easily during the summer. Height: 5'6". Build: Deceptively lanky and lean, but very sinewy. Very compact muscle. Flexible. Does not look like they should be able to heft the sword they use. Notable Details: Complex Elgar'nan vallaslin in black. Nick near the tip of their left ear. Several earrings in both ears, though none of them ever match. Nails become claws once they’re a Reaver, canine teeth get sharper and longer. Get more physically durable. Voice: This specific dragon.

Positives: Protective; as antisocial as they can come across, there are people they’re close to, and they’re going to do what they can to make sure those people stay as safe as can reasonably be expected. Durable, mentally and physically; they’re going to run into a lot of shit in their life, they’re aware of it, and they aren’t overly concerned about it or its lasting impact on them. Difficult to offend, beyond generally being unimpressed; being insulted isn’t going to ruin their entire day and they aren’t going to throw some sort of tantrum about it. Fair-ish; they’ll have their own preconceived ideas, obviously, but in general if they decide they don’t like someone it’s for a specific reason, rather than on a whim. Good at compartmentalizing, even if they don’t always actually do that; they can actually be diplomatic when the time calls for it, they’re just going to grind their teeth and develop an eye twitch. Negatives: Avoidant, of people and confrontation; they don’t dread confrontation, but it seems like way more of a hassle than it’s worth, and a lot of the time they don’t really want to deal with other people. Irritable and impatient, and prone to snapping because of it; from the moment they wake up in a prison cell they are in a different world that it seems like no one else has ever paid attention to, and they get sick of constantly needing to explain themself quickly. Bad at second chances; ‘fool me once’ is bad enough and they aren’t keen on letting it get to ‘fool me twice’ unless they’re suitably convinced. Impulsive; while they’re not impossible to reason with when they get an idea in their head, that does rather hinge upon someone getting a hold of them before they act on the idea. Selectively insensitive, mostly on purpose; if someone is going to have a problem with them, they don’t really see it as a hardship to give them a reason to have a problem, so they selectively erase ‘tact’ from their vocabulary when it suits them. Neutrals: Ambivert. Very talkative, but most of what they say is sarcastic, snarky, unimpressed, deadpan, or some combination. Surprisingly good with kids. Not overly sentimental, but doesn’t frown on sentimentality. Optimist vs. Pessimist: Cautiously pessimistic. Quirks: Does not like being confined in small spaces. Will carry on one-sided conversations with their dog. Once they become a reaver and can tank more damage, they can and do escape unwanted conversations by just vaulting over ledges around Skyhold. Prone to disappearing without warning and popping up with equally little warning. Would much prefer to be outside than inside.

Religion: Believes in the Creators. Likes: Vastly prefers animals to people. Fresh air. Being outside, and especially in the woods. Dragons. New stories. Venison. Fruit. Sweet wines, especially when they’re made from something more unusual than grapes. Dislikes: Templars. The Chantry. The Circle. Most people who are too loudly in favor of any of those. A little iffy on a lot of humans, but they’ll take them on a case-by-case basis. Being the center of attention. Being treated like an idiot. When people can’t take a hint about them wanting to be left alone. Cities. Favorite Colors: Sky blue. Hunter green. Golden brown. Hobbies: Hunting. Exploring. Riding. Sparring. Dog training. Judging the impracticalities of Skyhold and the people therein.

Family: Clan Lavellan. Younger brother is the clan’s First. Steed: Revas, a literal moose. Other Critters: Mi'durgen, high content wolf/mabari cross; worryingly clever. Romance: Josie. Friends: Dorian. Cole. Blackwall. Note: Mutual respect with Cassandra, but they didn’t actually like each other that much; worked well together regardless. Initially got on well with Sera and Solas, but those relationships deteriorated as time passed. *everything in this section can of course be tweaked or disregarded entirely for specific threads, if you’d rather.

[silversoulstardust]

.

[adversitybloomed]

          mulan grinned at her friend, dark brown eyes sparkling with pure amusement. she was glad that the two of them had gotten along as well as they had, for mulan had zero intentions of being on kagome’s bad side.      ❝  it happens every blue moon or so ━━ we should check for that tonight.  ❞    her tone was light as wiggled her brows along with the joke.

          wincing a little, she made a little tsk sound, though truthfully the gentle pat did not hurt too bad. but that did not stop her from playing the part of a pained patient, and the dramatics helped to distract her from the fact a demon had gotten the better of her for a single moment in a fight.

        ❝  are you sure that you do not mean that we cause those said fires ?  ❞    leaning back against the table top, her position was far less formal, as a soft laugh escaped her lips. she could tell her friend was either in denial or embarrassed by her observation, though truthfully she was only just starting to understand these feelings herself. it was hard to admit to the strange feelings, especially when there was uncertainty on whether or not they were returned.     ❝  這麼固執 ( Zhème gùzhí - So stubborn ),  ❞    she teased under her breath before she realized that kagome had turned the tables on her.

          she could feel her cheeks heat, a slight color tinting her pale tones as she glanced away for a moment to collect herself and her thought,        ❝  𝑲𝒂𝒈𝒔 ━━ i ━━ i am not sure what you are trying to imply.  ❞    puffing her cheeks for a moment, she dared a glance over in her direction.       ❝  wait, do you think he likes me more than that of a friend ? i just thought he was just being nice as he is the type who spoils his friends.  ❞   

          shifting herself, she scooted a little closer to her with a slight frown upon her lips,      ❝  i am.... confused. what does likeing someone entail ? how can one know that they have such feelings for someone ? because truthfully, my feelings towards 𝑺𝒊𝒛𝒉𝒖𝒊 confuse me. i cannot seem to stop thinking about him and whether he is near me or not, just the thought alone sets my heart racing  ━━ i have wondered if it is because of my diet, but it is has not changed since meeting him, save for the fact i have eaten more.... ❞   

          she trusted kagome with her life and thought of her as a chosen sister. as such, she could be trusted enough to be asked to help navigate the feelings that her heart tried to convey.     ❝  we are, 𝑲𝒂𝒈𝒔.  ❞    lifting her hand she poked at her leg,     ❝  that reminds me though, i had a special dagger made for you. it is of jade, which can help enhance your purifying aura.  ❞   

「巫女」:: The miko grinned a little and nodded.::

. "Pretty much, yea. That's exactly what I'm saying. You catch on quick!"

. ::She chuckled, keeping in tune with the teasing air, but of course, seeing through to the truth of the matter as well.::

. "And if you could remember it, that'd be great."

. ::She added, her grin coming back to a slight smirk, as she patted the area on her friend that she'd been working on. Gently, before falling to a sitting position beside her, and looping her arms loosely over her knees; exhibiting a relaxed appearance, as La-chan agreed that she was stubborn by comparing her stubbornness to herself.::

. "That is a fair assessment, I think. Must be part of why we get on like a house on fire, ne? Hehe.

. "As for expressing your feelings--you do it well enough, in your own way. Just because you aren't a completely open book with them--doesn't mean I express them any better than you do. One just needs to know what to look for in you to see."

. ::The smirk became an encouraging smile. and she softly elbowed the other girl, as a further light indication of her encouragement. And then the miko made a subdued clearing of her throat sound--and turned a petal pink herself with Mulan's appraisal of the hanyou's feelings.::

. "Yeah....well... achem...Anyway!"

. ::She then looked back sideways at her friend as she pinked up too, and her smirk was back-but this time it was a tad on the mischievous side.::

. "Just a friend, huh? You sure about that, La-chan? He sounds like he's a whole lot more than that! Especially since he's having intricate pearl jewelry pieces made specifically for you. From a private collection no less~! I'd say definitely more than a friend there."

. ::The girl giggled a little, and leaned in closer to the arm wrap, her own arm slinging lightly around her too, taking in and enjoying the comradery, friendship, and chosen sisterhood they shared, especially as Mulan said that final piece.::

. "Same with yours, La-chan. We're just a couple peas in a pod!"