#but like what purpose does not being able to see grey scale have???

[syscultureis]

Niche plural culture is our host couldn't see a majority of grey scale (3 maybe 4 shades of grey, 1 shade of black, and 2 shades of white)

And they were like that for 8 years minimum

And when they fused with another alter suddenly they could see grey scale and lost their mind over it lmao

-Luna

[analysisn3rd]

Johan Liebert

Morality

Johan has a very interesting and complex morality. This is because I thought that his morality was not as complicated and intricate as it is. I shall delve into the reasons why extensively, as an attempt to try and explain how I find him, but, before doing so, I would like to put him on the grey middle section of the scale. The reason for this is because he lacks morality. Usually, when a character is said to have no morality or is described as “amoral”, it’s used to mean that they acknowledge right and wrong, but their actions and their behaviour do not fit into either of those categories. Johan, however, is amoral in the sense that he lacks right and wrong to begin with.  Despite being this way for almost his entire life, he wasn’t born this way. He had a sense of morality; he was born with it and lived with it for a short period of time, like most people. However, morality would ruin  Bonaparte’s plans for Johan, and he knew that Johan was not created the way he wanted him to be, so he deliberately erased his sense of morality through his morbid stories. Although it’s possible for him to regain his sense of morality back, which is similar to what Grimmer did, Johan does not care enough to try and repair his corrupted sense of morality. Even though he lacks morality, he recognises “right” and “wrong”, but only on a surface level. He knows that this action would be “good” and that that one would be “bad”, but it doesn’t affect his way of thinking regarding what he’s doing, which is a way in which he’s similar, almost identical, to an amoral character who recognises morality fully but chooses not to follow it. He knows that he shouldn’t be doing this, because it’s “bad”, but, due to his corrupted sense of “right” and “wrong”, he doesn’t know why it’s considered “bad”. Johan is a very logical person; he does things always with a reason, regardless of whether or not you understand that reason, so such an unreasonable thing, which is what it seems to him, would be pointless to oblige by. He cannot tell why this thing is considered “wrong” because he was never taught the distinction after it was altered in his mind. Another thing that ties into this is his perspective on life. He believes that humans are only equal in one thing, and that is death. He sees that nothing in life matters, where the only thing that would, potentially, matter is death. He, unlike most murderers, kills due to lack of purpose. It’s pointless to keep going on the way he is, either way, and it’s pointless to prove that he ever existed by his actions and the people who knew him if it’s pointless to keep going to begin with, so he erases himself from people’s minds. He kills them, because then no one would be able to say that such a person ever existed. He wants to remove his existence from this world; he seeks “the perfect suicide”, where he could die and no one would miss him, because all those who knew him are no longer there. I, personally, am not well versed in Philosophy yet. However, from my, rather limited, knowledge, Johan would be considered a nihilist for the way that he thinks. Nihilism aligns very well with his ideology and his view that nothing in life matters. This mindset, too, could be the reason why he wanted Tenma and Nina to kill him. There was no point in his living anyway.

Because of this mindset of his, he didn’t fix what was wrong with him and his corrupted sense of morality. He knew it was wrong; he could clearly tell that something was wrong with the way his actions were perceived. However, if nothing matters, and he is going to erase his own existence from people’s minds, why bother and fix himself? He wouldn’t benefit from it, and it’s not something that he seeks. Therefore, it’s pointless.

The last thing I would like to discuss which involves his morality is that most, if not all, of his actions are not entirely his fault. Despite being the one to carry out all of those atrocious actions, he cannot be fully blamed for them. This is because one of the biggest reasons, if not the main reason, why he behaves the way he does is because of what Bonaparte and the instructors at 511 Kinderheim instilled within him. He was built to become a monster. He was born to do this. He didn’t really have a choice within that matter. If he found a reason, he could’ve changed, much like Grimmer, but he hadn’t. He never found a purpose in life. He found everything to be pointless.

Personality and insecurities

Johan is a character who can be described by so many adjectives, yet so little would only truly fit him. One of which is intelligent. He’s incredibly intelligent and there are numerous situations to prove that, but the one that sticks out to me the most is the one with Roberto, where he got him to help Johan by latching onto his only memory of the past, as he knew that he was incredibly attached to his past. This also shows another trait of his, which is manipulation. He’s terribly manipulative, due to both his remarkable brilliance and charming charisma. He has manipulated many people in both the manga and the anime, but the one that I find to be quite memorable is the situation with Milos. He managed to make a child, a small boy, think in a certain way and almost kill himself due to the ideas that Johan implanted in his head; that no one wants him, and that he’s unloved. A situation similar to this is when he charmed Suk while pretending to be his sister, and, thus, got information out of him. He knows how to interact with people in a manner that will get them to trust him. He analyses them and their actions, in order to understand the kind of façade he’d be putting up with them to make them do what he wants. Aside from these prominent traits within his behaviour, he’s childish. However, he’s not childish in the traditional way. He’s childish because, when addressing himself, he uses the pronoun that little boys use. His way of speaking is both very cryptic and childish, which shows just how much his childhood trauma and what Bonaparte did to him. It shows the extent of it. Due to the odd manner that his personality formed, and how there was nothing ever stable in his life, he became immensely attached to Nina. She’s, arguably, the only person who he would do anything and everything for, because he sees her as the only person who matters in the world, and, in his world, she’s the only other person to exist, aside from him. Tenma is someone else whom he deeply cares about, but his way of caring is a tad different. He admires Tenma greatly, and could potentially even see him as a form of father figure, but he mainly finds Tenma special due to his morality. Tenma’s morality is unwavering, and he is endlessly and continuously kind and patient to anyone. Even though he might get in legal trouble because he helped someone, he would still do it over and over again because it’s the right thing to do, and that’s something that Johan finds notable about Tenma. Due to the fact that he grew up too fast, Johan has the emotional maturity of a child. This is because he simply was never given the chance to explore emotions like people usually would at any point in his life. This is as he views emotions as a weakness. After learning that he could take advantage of people through their emotions, he realised that it’s a weakness that would make him an easy victim. He realised that if he was being emotional and vulnerable with someone, then he was being pathetic. The only exception for this case is Tenma and how he admires him. Tenma’s an incredibly emotional person, who tries to hide that fact, yet fails, but it doesn’t make him any weaker. Matter of fact, it just shows how much he’s endured and how that affected him. The only fear I was able to identify clearly for Johan was his fear of losing Nina. As I’ve previously mentioned, Nina’s the only person who has ever mattered to Johan. She means everything to him, quite literally too, and he doesn’t want to lose her, which is a very understandable fear of his. Something else that ties into this is his fear of hurting her, which is, also, quite reasonable as well.

Conclusion

I never really realised how complex Johan’s character was until I started writing this analysis. There’s so much that goes into his personality and morality, and not only that, but you can also never be certain if what you know about him is true or not, because he exists but doesn’t at the same time. He’s quite contradictory, I found, but not quite in a traditional way. He’s definitely peculiar, and I honestly think that I’ve missed many points while writing this. There’s a lot that goes into his personality, which makes him so realistic, complex and human. I always admired Urasawa-san’s character writing, but writing this really made me appreciate it a whole lot more.

[pi-cat000]

BNHA: Kakashi dimension hops crossover (1)

Summary: Kakashi gets dumbed into the My Hero Academia universe through random plot devise.

Characters:  Kakashi Hatake

Fandoms: My Hero Academia and Naruto

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence/injury

Inspired by Unforeseen Mayhem by Aerugonian 

Here is their tumblr (all their work is so good)

(NEXT)

...

Kakashi thinks he might have died. He remembers the flash of steel and Obito’s face or maybe it had been Madara. His memory of the events leading up to the attack are hazy after receiving one too many hits to the head. What he does remember is the slowly spinning, hypnotic red of a Sharingan, and the quick build-up then explosion of chakra.

Then there was excruciating pain in his left eye and…darkness…

…

Kakashi opens his remaining, usable eye to gaze up at tall angled structures that stretch into a grey overcast sky. He can’t feel the left side of his face, his limbs are numb and unresponsive, and there is the damp of blood soaking through his hair. The bone-deep ache of chakra exhaustion is so all-encompassing that he can barely lift his hand let alone stop the bleeding. Around him, there are several people yelling in shock and surprise. Civilians he vaguely notes as he clings to consciousness. There is no sign of Madera, Obito or any of Kakashi’s allies for that matter.

When his vision dims for a second time he thinks that this, this would be his last breath. Alone, severely injured, in a foreign location and with only civilians as help? It was a death sentence.

He is wrong in the end.

…

Kakashi wakes up in a strange hospital bed surrounded by the strangest people he has ever seen. He also wakes up covered in bandages, his more serious injures either treated or in various stages of recovery.

The air is dry with a distinct lack of chakra. It is something he would usually only see in a prison cell made to contain dangerous shinobi in which chakra draining fuinjutsu arrays were applied to the walls and floor. There are no fuinjutsu arrays here. This is not a prison cell. For one, there is a large window. Secondly, there is a constant stream of doctors, nurses and other patients moving in, out and around the building. Finally, the door to the room is not locked. It doesn’t even have a lock.

After memorising the comings and goings of the people working in the strange hospital, he takes some time to scout. Even while injured and drained of chakra, he has enough skill and experience to avoid the workers and other sickly people he shares his room with.

 The world outside his window is one of cement, concrete and brick, with tall imposing structures covered in reflective glass standing higher than any building he has seen before. The closest point of comparison he has are the buildings in the Hidden-Rain and Stone villages but even those are a loose approximation. The hospital is both similar to Konoha’s main hospital, abet a lot bigger and full of strange equipment and technology. The people, despite their lack of chakra, display odd and inconstant abilities, techniques and physical deformities. One of the doctors has a lizard tail and he catches a glimpse of a man with a wooden block for a head. He sees a woman heal a cut with a simple hand wave. Either he is in an unusually elaborate and detailed genjutsu or he is very far away from Kohoha.

Everything is so odd and strange that he is well and truly stumped, leaving him with nothing else to do but quickly return to his hospital room. At least the weird chakra-less people are non-hostiles and willing to provide much needed medical attention. Though he is, as of yet, uncertain about the purpose or motive behind said medical attention seeing as he was a complete unknown to them.

After some consideration, Kakashi decides to wait. He has no idea how he ended up in the place aside from a loose theory that involved his still healing Kamui Sharingan. Additionally, there was no use trying to get back home with stab wounds, his leg broken, his ribs cracked, his shoulder muscles torn and his chakra levels so pathetically low that he’d probably kill himself if he tried.

He takes solace in the fact that his presence, while probably missed to some extent- he likes to think so anyway- wouldn’t impact the outcome of any major conflict. With Naruto’s stubbornness and Sakura’s tenacity, home would be waiting for him, even if he took a bit of time getting there.

…

After a week of information gathering -ie pretending to be unconscious and listening to conversations- Kakashi concludes that the people operating the hospital are relatively harmless. They seem to be under the mistaken impression that Kakashi is a citizen of their village and thus automatically entitled to medical attention. This is despite his lack of identification or history with the place. Such a thing would never happen in Konoha as even civilians were carefully monitored and tracked. Without identification or relatives/friends to vouch for them, a civilian would more likely be thrown out of the village than given what was surely resource-consuming medical treatment. It is lucky for him that there are apparently so many civilians in this village that their shinobi-equivalent forces couldn’t properly keep track of them all. Another point in favour of it not being any sort of hidden-village or any place he was familiar with.

 “Oh, thank goodness!” Says the greying, middle-aged man in a white coat as he approaches Kakashi's bed, “You’re finally awake. How do you feel.”

“Ah…a bit tired,” Kakashi plasters on a confused smile, raising his undamaged hand to rub the back of his head, hunching his shoulders for good measure. The perfect image of a disoriented patient.

 “What happened? Where am I?”

There was only so much he could achieve be pretending to be unconscious and snooping around at night. It was time to get a real feel for residents of this strange place and figure out his next move. This meant integrating into the local culture.  

“No need to worry. You’re in Hosu General Hospital and you’re well on your way to recovery,” A nod and the doctor moves forward to stand beside his bed, “A little drowsiness is a normal side effect of the pain medication we have you on. Now, if I may have your name?”

“Kakashi.” If they hadn’t recognised the Sharingan when they had bandaged it up, then they most likely wouldn’t recognise his name either.

“Well, Kakashi,” The man says with no hint of acknowledgement, “My name is Wada Yasutoki and I’m here to make sure you are recovering properly. Can you tell me if you are feeling any discomfort or pain at the moment?”

“Hmmm…my arm and leg?”

“Would you be able to rate it on a scale of 1 to 10?”

Kakashi thinks for a second and shrugs, “3.” Honestly, he only notices the pain when he’s consciously paying attention.

Another nod and Doctor Wada fusses about, examining the bandages around his shoulder and then his leg, “Well, they seem to be healing as well as any broken limb, maybe even a bit faster. And the stab wound near your chest is almost completely gone.” A thoughtful hum follows the statement. “If not for your left eye I would say you had a healing or regeneration quirk…hmmm…maybe a passive healing factor linked to your quirk…?” Wada looks to him, waiting for confirmation and Kakashi shrugs. From his nightly snooping he knows that ‘quirk’ is the term for the bloodline ability things the people here had.

The Doctor doesn’t press the matter instead asking, “Is there any discomfort in the left side of your face?”

“No.” Kakashi doesn’t want the people here touching his eye any more than necessary. The fact that it is draining charka at its usual sluggish rate was a sign that it was, at least, somewhat functional and that’s good enough for him. He guesses he should be thankful for landing in a place with medicine advanced enough to save it.

“You had us concerned when you didn’t wake after we saw to all your injuries,” The Doctor continues, “Your left eye took quite a bit of damage and we were worried that there might have been some sort of brain injury. If you feel dizzy, lightheaded or confused please, do not hesitate to call a nurse.”

The man shakes his head and sighs, “Now, I understand if you want a bit of space after going through such a traumatic event but if you could provide any details concerning the predicament that ended with you so badly injured it would be a great help to the investigation.”

Kakashi gives a faked confused hum and smiles apologetically, “Sorry Doctor Wada. I'm having trouble remembering much of anything really.”

“Nothing? No details about the potential assailant at all. What they look like? Their quirk?”

“No. Where is Hosu General Hospital by the way?”

His bland expression obviously causes his doctor some concern as he is subjected to a penlight being shone in his uncovered eye.

 “It is located in Hosu City, a ward of Tokyo. Where is the last place you remember being?”

The names mean nothing to him.  Kakashi schools his features into one of complete confusion, “I don’t remember.” 

It’s not even a lie this time. 

After the admission,  Doctor Wada only grows more concerned and Kakashi is subjected to many reassurances that it is completely normal to forget a few things after a brain injury and that he shouldn’t worry himself too much. The level of comforting and reassuring is a bit much if he is being honest. Never before has he longed for the cold frowns of  Konoha’s medic-nin.

“I’ll have to schedule you in for an MRI. If you’re having trouble recalling basic facts alongside your long-term memories, then there might a serious problem.” The older man finally concludes, having run through an extensive list of questions regarding Kakashi’s history all of which he answers with vague half-truths.  Where did he grow up? Somewhere with a lot of trees. Did he have any close relatives? He thinks they might have died when he was little. What does he do for a living? Commission work. Did he have any colleagues? He doesn’t know where they are. So on and so forth.

“It’s a shame your ID and phone were missing when they found you. Stolen by the bastard who put you in this situation no doubt,” the Doctor sighs again, “We might have been able to track down your records. Oh well, we’ll do our best with what we have.”

Kakashi doesn’t speak, pretending to be deep in thought. Mentally, he pats himself on the back for an infiltration gone surprisingly well considering his lack of preparation and the flakiness of the ‘sorry I don’t remember my backstory’ excuse.

“I don’t suppose you remember anything about your quirk,” the doctor asks, “Ocular quirks can have odd effects on brain activity and ability to process information. It might give us a place to start.”

From what he had seen, ‘quirks’ tended to have a specific function but he is still trying to figure out their limits. All he knew for sure was that none of them used chakra.

“It’s called the Sharingan.” He offers to see what the doctor does with the information, “I don’t remember much else about it.”

“Hmmm, ‘copy wheel eye’…it’s a descriptive name at least. Maybe a quirk that deals with memorisation or information recall. I will see if I can find it on the Quirk Registry. Hopefully, that will be enough. ”

Kakashi nods loosely in agreement, filing away the fact that there was a Quirk Registry for later contemplation. 

(NEXT)

[dotharlisnapshots]

Meet Nijen Ejinn! Childhood friend of Gogo. She actually doesn’t have the long developed horns you see here. She has little nubbins, much like the smaller set of horns at the top of her head; both sets just failed to keep growing. But that’s just fine for her.

She’s part of the Ejinn tribe, and even then, still considered a loner. Does not travel with the others at all. She has the same water-breathing ability as Gogo. Growing up in the Steppe and being able to swim all around any kind of water channel, she found herself out in the Ruby Sea often, and befriended the Kojin. Thus, her blessing was given. She is a healer, Sage to be specific. Can also be a Dancer, Reaper, and Dragoon. Learned Reaper from Gogo, both learned using a lance together.

Nijen fishes. A lot. She doesn’t care to travel or quest, just wants to fish fish fish. She does Botany solely for the purpose of seasoning her catches. Culinarian... to improve the taste of her fish. She also is a weaver, so she can create nets and repair/create her own clothes and nets so she doesn’t have to interact with other people.

Gogo convinces her to leave the Steppe by promising new fishing techniques, sky fishing and dune fishing, and new fish from all over the world. She could care less about what’s happening otherwise. She lives in the little lake at the bottom of The Dawn Throne. She found a cave that she can swim up into, and has a open-air beach underneath. It’s at the bottom, so it’s unlikely that anyone outside of her tribe would be able to reach it. It’s where she keeps many rare and expensive artifacts and other generally shiny things she’s found on dives. Nijen keeps them mostly to trade to the Kojin for various favors or just be gifts in general.

She’s as short as an Au Ra can get, and has the largest bust. Her tail is chonky and short, possibly shorter than what is possible in game. Her sclera and iris are actually black, with just her Limbral eye rings being a bright blue. Her skin is a dusky blue-grey. Hair is dark blue, with lighter blue highlights. She can blend into just about any body of water. She has some black tattoos around her eyes, merely for helping with any reflection of light while coming out of the waters.

Her “scales” and skin are less dragon like, and more like a soft leather for her skin and the scales more like that of a Crocodile or Alligator. She won’t say exactly what her parentage is, but it’s possible that there may be a Matanga somewhere back there, seeing as some of her ancestry comes from Radz-at-Han.

[friendsim-more-like-lovesim]

i love your troll biology head canons!!! idk if you’ve done this yet, but can you bless us with content pertaining to noises like chirps and purrs? i’ve seen people hc that they make noises at frequencies that humans can’t hear, or chuff like lions and such. while i do think they do purr, i think it would more buggy (bug-like?) than a mammal (@ how trolls reproduce) what are your thoughts specifically? 💖 you make excellent content 😘

anon you are speaking exactly my language and i thank you for once again opening these floodgates. and thank youu~!!💖

I love the thought of them being able to make noises in a range that humans can’t hear! especially low noises - i really like the idea of trolls having a lot deeper voices than humans (since i hc them to be so big) and it’d make sense for their growls and purrs to be at a low frequency as well!!

purring and bug-clicking are the most common troll noise headcanons i think(?) and i’m totally on board. If you know my blog that probably shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone skdjkd

my personal headcanon is that their noises differ slightly from caste to caste, alpthough i know biologically this doesn’t make the most sense but. i have my reasons. let me map it out for y’all:

(get ready for headcanon infodump)

Lowbloods (burgundy through mustard)

• A lowbloods biology is more engineered towards “peasant-work” so to say; getting their hands dirty and being more in tune with the organic ground-level part of society.

• Alternia wants the lowest casts to be out of sight, and out of mind for the most part really. So while trolls are naturally able to produce louder sounds than humans, lowbloods have evolved to be more on the quieter side. Forced submission in the way of silencing them by the state, un-natural selection, if you will. We don’t know if the same rules would apply without the tyranny.

• gold bloods are a bit of a grey-area here, slightly less mammalian than the rusts but not really noticeably so

• Their purrs and chirps would be more light and gentle sounding, easy to hear even with human ears, and not too distracting. tends to be more rumble-y

Midbloods (potentially lime, olive through teal)

• We don’t really have any information about limes concerning sounds, other than a soothing kind of quality to them? not sure on that one

• Olives! Olives are by far the caste with the most mammal traits, think about people like nepeta and konyyl - they’re built for wildlife survival and have many cat/lion like qualities

sure, all people within a caste are different, but i think you see where i’m coming from with this.

•Jades and Teals are where we get progressively more insectoid, although the jades are probably more insect-like than the teals. Teals have more outside input in their biology, small mammalian inputs to their dna; whereas jades are engineered to be stuck in a cave in the dark, following instructions and working like an ant colony.

• They would purr and chirp similarly to lowerbloods, but it would sound less gentle and more strong and almost (as if) intentional. Olives purr the most out of anyone, often not on purpose though. They have a tendency to let their content noises slip through without their permission.

Mid-High (cerulean and indigo blue)

• so this is interesting because there’s the whole nip-debate with the indigos, and they also drink milk which are obviously mammalian traits but i’ll get back to that ok

• Let’s look at ceruleans first. I don’t know what led me to this decision, but i always imagined them to be one of the most insectoid castes? Maybe it’s because of the the whole arachnid/scorpio thing, but i always thought the upper midbloods/lower highbloods would be the most insect-like.

• now back to the indigos, the uh. milk and nippie talk really does complicate things for me. I do believe they’re not as buggy as the ceruleans, but not as mammalian as the lowerbloods. PERSONALLY i don’t like the ‘trolls with nips’ thing. It just? doesn’t really make sense to me?? with their biology??? I don’t think they’d have bellybuttons either. But anyway. this is kinda off topic at this point but i’ve discussed this before

• Their noises and clicks would be louder and sharper, they don’t necessarily purr per se; they make little clicking and almost scratched up sounds. It’s a noise difficult to describe, something so inherently alien that you would have to hear it firsthand to really understand it - and even then you might not.

Purple

• For the purples i’m actually not 100% sure where they’d land on the mammal-to-bug scale, but their noises would probably be more unique, being in the middle of highbloods and seadwellers

• We know they Honk. like, honking is an actual sound they can make, not just a word they say. though probably both are possible. People have said this before me but i really love the thought of Karako honking with his actual vocal chords, and not literally enunciating the word “honk”

• That would definitely be a very interesting caste trait, and lots of fun possibilities to look into. that’s not why we’re here today tho so i might get into that in another post at some point

• Purples are generally more mammalian than their lower highblood-counterparts, often seen purring around their quadmates. Because of their caste and stature though, it doesn’t quite sound like purring but rather big lion chuffing, almost like a silent roar, vibrating through their bodies. The sound is very deep, almost too deep for the human ear to hear; but if you get close enough you can feel it reverberate through them.

Seadwellers (violet and fuchsia)

• Now fish, as you probably know, are not insects. HOWEVER. They are also definitely not mammals. i mean yes amphibians exist and the universe is a frog so we know that’s a thing but hush. So they are probably the furthest away from mammals, and they don’t posses any mammalian qualities either. It makes sense that they wouldn’t. cause... they’re fish.

• Seadweller noises are interesting, because aquatic beings make very distinct sounds, and they aren’t often heard outside of their aquatic environment. Could they make noises like dolphins? Could they sing like whales? Do they hum to communicate through vibrations in the water? do they make crustacean clicking noises?

The possibilities are endless!

• So i don’t think they’d purr, but some other people have theorized that they make little bubbly sound which is very cute. Also ear-fin flappies when they’re happy. that’s not really a sound though

— — —

so on a scale from mammal-y to insect-y, it goes

Mammalian < olive - lime - burgundy - bronze - mustard - purple - indigo - cerulean > Insect

amphibian < violet - fuchsia > fish

[wonder-womans-ex]

Curtain Call

Act one, scene one

Sirius finds him with his head in his hands, back against the brick wall of the information and technology building. He stops for a moment, wondering if he should go over there—ask what’s wrong, or offer assistance—then decides against it. 

He is Sirius Black, and Sirius Black does not help other people. 

Not anymore. 

So he continues on with his day. He walks past the crying boy into the theatre building, pausing by the bulletin board to pull a phone number slip from the bottom of a flyer that advertises free physics tutoring. It tears off at the area code. 

Great—just what this day needs. 

It gets significantly worse when he pushes through the stage door and bumps into Danya, who’s lurking behind the wings, black Abbey Road shirt blending in with the curtains. She smiles at him brightly. 

“Hi, Sirius,” she says. “I was just leaving. I could wait up, if you want—fancy getting lunch together?” 

There is exactly one good thing about Danya Lent, and that is the fact that she doesn’t giggle, or tuck her hair behind her ear, or look up at him through her eyelashes. She talks to him like he’s a regular person, not some sort of movie star. She’s not just attracted to his looks—she genuinely likes him. 

But Sirius just broke up with Remus. He’s not looking for a relationship. And Danya isn’t the kind of person he’d be interested in dating, anyway. She reminds him too much of James. 

“Sorry, Dan,” Sirius tells her, glancing towards where Professor Fischer is sitting at the piano centre stage. “I’ll probably be here for a while; I don’t want to keep you waiting.”

Make that two good things about her���she can take a hint. Danya just nods and grins. “All right. I’ll see you around, I guess!” 

And then she’s gone.

Sirius clears his throat before approaching the professor, startling the older man out of whatever trance he’s in. Fischer’s eyebrows shoot up comically when he sees Sirius, and he pats the spot next to him invitingly. 

Sirius steps forward, sliding onto the piano bench. He absentmindedly plucks a note—D#, he thinks, but it’s been years since he quit piano lessons—and waits. 

“I was quite impressed by your performance yesterday,” Fischer says, and Sirius’s heart sinks. Professor Fischer throws around words of praise like they’re buy-one-get-two-free, and ‘quite impressed’ does not fall high on the sliding scale of compliments. 

“Thank you, sir,” he says anyway, because he knows better than to say anything else. 

But apparently the professor isn’t done yet. “I had been wondering,” he begins, fingers dancing over the keys, yet never making a sound, “Whether you’d given any thought to that course I suggested.”

“What, the creative writing one?” Sirius’s voice, though he tries hard for it not to, gives away his surprise. He’d assumed that Fischer had been recommending the free creative writing seminar to everyone in his class, not him specifically. He’s never had a way with words—not ones that weren’t already scripted out for him, at least. 

“Yes, that one. It’s not like most of the courses we offer here—it’s led entirely by alumni of the university, and most of them are very good writers. I think it would be good for you.”

Now Sirius is intrigued. “In what way?”

“You’e an incredible actor, Mr. Black, but what you struggle with is finding the purpose behind the words.”

(Sirius thinks he has purpose down to a science, but he’s not about to say that to Professor Fischer.)

“Oh, sure, you know what the characters are feeling and why. You have a way with the people you play. But what you lack is the concept of an author.

“I’ve had an eye on you for a while, and what I’ve found is this: if Eloise is walking down the street, you know why she is walking down the street. But you do not know why the person writing the script made the conscious choice to have her walk down the street. You get so caught up in the fiction that you forget it is based in fact. Do you understand this?”

Professor Fischer’s accent gets more pronounced the more passionate he is, and right now he sounds as if he would be right at home on the streets of Berlin. Sirius nods slowly. 

“I think I get it,” he says. “I need to know what goes into the making of a story before I can make the story come alive.”

For this he gets a smile. “Four o’clock on Wednesdays in the Rogers lecture room. You’ll be there?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I will.” 

***

And, sure enough, Wednesday afternoon finds Sirius standing in the middle of a hallway, wondering where the hell the Rogers lecture room is. He checks his watch—4 minutes to go. He’s glad he got there early, but at this rate, it won’t make much of a difference. 

He contemplates just leaving. He didn’t sign up for the class or anything (wait, was he supposed to?) and it’s not like there would be roll call or anything anyway. But he trusts Professor Fischer, and at least this seminar is something to do that isn’t scrolling through his old texts with Remus and crying. 

When someone bumps into him, he turns around. It’s a girl with shoulder-length auburn hair and a lip ring. Her eyes are green—piercingly so—and he opens his mouth and closes it again a few times trying to remember what he was going to say. 

At first, he thinks oh, fuck, we’re back to being flusted around pretty girls. Wonderful. But then he realizes that while she’s attractive, sure, from an objective point of view, he’s not really attracted to her. 

He’s actually a little bit scared of her. No, scratch that, very scared of her. Maybe it has something to do with the vicious glare she’s sending him. 

“Um,” he says, finally. “Sorry. Do you by any chance know where the Rogers lecture room is?”

She purses her lips and nods, striding past him further down the hall. After a moment, he follows her to the elevator and waits as she jabs aggressively at the up button. There’s a long, awkward silence while the elevator gets to their floor, broken only by the loud ding when it arrives. 

The ride up between floors is even more painful, if that’s possible. Sirius tries to occupy himself by looking at the ceiling, which is mirrored, so he looks at the wall instead. It’s patterned like a booth in some sort of high-class restaurant—greenish, with vaguely paisley-shaped blotches here and there. 

Finally, they arrive at a hallway identical to the one they came from. The walls are the same off-white; the floors have the same grey carpeting. If he didn’t know better, Sirius would say they hadn’t moved at all. 

The girl walks out, the soles of her pink high-tops squeaking until she’s out of the elevator and into the hall. She turns around. 

“Well, come on, then,” she tells him, voice not at all how he had expected. It’s the first time he’s heard her speak, and he’s surprised at the eastern accent. Nova Scotia, he guesses, or New Bruinswick. He nods wordlessly. 

He finds himself being led into a small lecture room—smaller than any he’s ever been in, anyway—with fifteen or so other students milling around, chatting and laughing. On the whiteboard at the front of the room, someone’s written Glendale A.L.L. Creative Writing Seminar. 

Looking left, then right, and finding that his red-haired saviour has vanished into the crowd, he sits down at the very back of the room. He has around thirty seconds of awkwardly waiting for something to happen before there’s a shout of “Sit down and shut up!” from somewhere near the front. 

When the smoke clears—or, if he abandons the metaphors, everyone else has chosen a seat and he can actually see who’s speaking—it turns out the person addressing the room is the same girl who led him there. She’s smiling, now, unlike when she was with him, and her hands are outstretched in front of her. 

“Hi, everyone! Welcome to the A.L.L., or Alumni-Led Lectures, creative writing seminar—free, because we know you’re university students and you therefore have no money.” This gets a ripple of laughter from the seated students, and her shoulders rise a little more. Sirius knows why; positive audience feedback does the same thing to him. “I’m Lily Evans, and I graduated from University of Glenrow last year with a bachelor’s in Engligh lit. I’m going to be your main instructor for the next few months. Here with me to help me out, because I wouldn’t be able to do it on my own, is my good friend John Lupin.”

A boy, tall and lanky, peels himself away from the wall and goes to stand beside her. She says something else, but Sirius doesn’t hear it, because his eyes are fixed on her companion and his ears are ringing. 

Whatever Lily says, that boy’s name isn’t John. 

It’s Remus. 

And he broke up with Sirius two weeks ago. 

[oblivious-embodied]

A Miraculous Journey of Self Discovery

Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir: Rewritten, Trans AU. 

A long time ago, I decided to make my own rewrite of the Miraculous Ladybug show, do it in my own way so that things could progress the way I would like, for characters to grow and develop in personality and strength. Write my own way for the miraculous to be empowered, to be a bigger deal, to mean more than what they mean in the show. And, along the way, I saw @wintertundra-art's Trans Adrien and Marinette AU, and I wanted to see if I could incorporate that into this rewrite. And, with her permission and cooperation, I was able to get the first chapter, Origins: Part One completed! I'm excited to see where this goes from here!

So, as a christmas gift to you all, Enjoy a miraculous rewrite, and trans representation! If you haven't already, go check out @wintertundra-art and her wonderful AU! And, if you have any questions, feel free to send me an ask too.

I’ve decided to rate it as Teen and Up Audiences, and you can read it here on AO3! It currently sits at 12,265 words

Origins: Part One

(Summary: Eons ago, powerful artifacts were forged, infused with power that humans can only dream of, they were made to be anchors to beings of immense power. Centuries ago, two of the more powerful miraculous were lost, the Butterfly of Emotion and the Peacock of Soul. Now, the Butterfly has been awoken, and is in the hands of someone who want's to corrupt the Butterfly's power and use it for their own nefarious wants. The only way to stop this from happening is to bring balance, and only the most powerful Miraculous can do so: The Black Cat of Destruction, and the Ladybug of Creation. )

A man opens up a broach, revealing the smiling image of a blonde haired, green eyed woman. His breath hitches just a bit as he locks eyes with her image. With slightly shaking hands, he closes the broach and he looks to a floating, violet creature with big, purple eyes, and a swirl on its head that is the same shade as its eyes. Little butterfly wings extend from its back.

“Nooroo,” his tone is sharp, cold, calculating. Terrifying. “Tell me where to find the other Miraculous.”

“I-I do not know...” the being named Nooroo answers, bowing its head slightly.

The man narrows his eyes.

Several thousand years ago, possibly eons ago, powerful pieces of magical jewelry were forged, each serving as an anchor to beings of extreme power. Beings that are the embodiment of concepts that the minds of simple humans can’t even begin to comprehend, concepts like The Four Elements, The Mind, The Heart, The Soul, The Body, Energy, and even of Destruction and Creation itself.

These jewels were named ‘Miraculous’. They can’t be destroyed; whether that is due to the material they are made from, or the bonds they have with the beings, known as kwami, no one knows.

These Miraculous were created for the sole purpose of aiding the human race. And with their use, myths and legends of large, humanoid creatures, capable of unfathomable feats of strength and power arose.

And according to legend, whoever holds both of the two most powerful Miraculous, the anchors to the beings of Destruction and Creation, Death and Life, will be as powerful as a god.

And with that power, the ability to do whatever they want.

And he must have these Miraculous. He must have the power to become God.

His life, his happiness, all he’s worked for, all he’s done, the fate of his family, it all depends on him getting those Miraculous.

“Very well.” He says finally, but he turns his cold gaze to the poor being. “Tell me, Nooroo, what are the properties of your Miraculous.”

The being named Nooroo looks up at this man, its eyes weary. “That is the Miraculous of the Butterfly. It derives its power from the heart; it will allow you to sense the emotions of anyone around you in a certain radius, and through this you will be able to give others powers and abilities. These people will then become your devoted followers, your champions.” Nooroo straightens back up, puffing out its little chest.

A sickening smile creeps its way across the man’s face. “You are saying, Nooroo, that I can give supernatural powers to the ordinary; and they will, in turn, do anything I tell them to do.” It isn’t a question. It’s a statement. His mind is already circulating with different situations. At this, Nooroo deflates a bit, drooping.

“W-well, no, not really. You can give powers to someone you deem fit, but you can’t really control them. They’ll just be able to communicate with you, and vice versa, and you will be able to help them along the way.”

The smile does not leave the man’s face, “You said your powers are derived from the heart, yes?” Nooroo nods, it’s eyes widening. “I may not be able to control them directly... but I can to some degree.”

At this, Nooroo’s eyes fly open, his mouth dropping open. “Th-that’s-that’s not what the butterfly is intended-“

“I will do what I want!” The man cuts in, his tone forceful, he emphasizes his words with a stomp to the ground. “I am your master. You will do what I say, and you will not disobey me.” Nooroo’s eyes blow wide again, and it opens its mouth to say something, but nothing comes out of its mouth. It is unable to say anything. In it’s eyes, terror is clear. Dejectedly, Nooroo bows it’s head and body. “Yes, Master.”

This brings the man even more sickening joy.

“Nooroo, we will find those Miraculous.” Then man takes a step forward and lifts Nooroo’s chin up. “And we will do it by any means necessary.”

He takes a step back and fastens the broach to his shirt. 

“Nooroo, dark wings, rise.”

Nooroo is sucked into the broach and violet light rushes up the man’s body, transforming his clothes. When the light dies down, the man is wearing black, skin tight, laceless dress shoes. Purple, almost skintight pants. He’s wearing a purple suit jacket and black latex-like gloves. The collar folds up at the front like a paper airplane, the broach sitting in the middle, two black, shimmering, almost rubber like lapels that start just below the paper airplane collar, form around it and go up to protrude from off the shoulders about 25 centimeters. His neck and face, save for the area around his mouth, is covered by a silver material. His eyes are violet. 

“From now on...” he looks at the big metal, circular window cover, his violet eyes glistening with malice. “I will be known as Hawkmoth!”

                                                     --------

Sleeping in the brass horn of the fake record player that houses the miracle box is a small green creature, with a head much larger than the rest of his body, who looks like a miniature turtle. His body is a light-ish green, with patches of darker green. His head has some subtle scales, but is mostly smooth. Its abdomen, and the back of his arms and legs are covered in dark green scales. A turtle shell rests on his back.

Something startles Wayzz from his peaceful sleep in the fake record player’s bell, his eyes shooting open and revealing that they are completely yellow with  dark green pupils. Something pulsates through the air, a powerful, corruptive wave of energy with a hint of something else behind it. 

It’s... an old, familiar energy. It pulsates through the air again before dissipating slightly, then pulsating again. Like a heartbeat. 

One that doesn’t bode well. 

This energy... it’s from Nooroo... but... it’s tainted. It might just be from time apart, that could be why his energy feels... wrong. 

Malicious. Cold. 

Unwelcome... 

But... it could also be something else... something far more terrible than someone accidentally picking up and activating It’s Miraculous. 

It’s an energy that accompanies An unwelcome wielder. It’s Nooroo’s distress call. 

Wayzz bursts from the fake record player’s bell and into Master Fu’s side, jolting him, stilling his fingers on his patient’s back. 

The little old man, wearing a red Hawaiian t-shirt, grey slacks and brown sandals, turns to the little green kwami. 

“What is it?” He whispers, his fingers returning to work at the young man’s back. 

“Master! I felt an odd energy.” 

Master Fu pauses in his work again, furrowing his brows in thought. After another second’s deliberation, he tells Wayzz to hide, then quickly ushers his patient out the door, promising to see him next week. 

With the door closed, he turns back to his kwami. “What kind of energy?” His tone is solemn and wary. 

“Master, it was Noroo’s. It was Nooroo’s distress call. It’s in trouble!” 

The old master’s eyes widen in shock, his mouth hanging open for a second before he sets it into a hard line. “Very well then, Wayzz. We must find him at once!” 

Wayzz winces for a split second, human’s have never understood how one can be referred to by pronouns other than he/him, or she/her, and the Master doesn’t seem to catch on to Wayzz calling Nooroo by It’s preferred pronouns. But Wayzz refuses to not use It’s preferred pronouns. He would never do that to his friend.

The old master stands up straight, holding up his right wrist, his other hand bracing it. “Time to transform... Wayzz-“

‘Crack!’

“Augh, oh...” Master Fu groans as he falls to the ground, muted groans escaping his throat. 

“Master, please be reasonable! You are-“ 

“Still young!” Fu cuts in, “ I’m only 186!...” he grunts as he stands back up. “but I can no longer do this alone... we will need help.” 

He walks over to the fake record player, and Wayzz looks away as Master Fu puts in the code to open up the record player. 

Within seconds, the middle slides open, and a black box with red, ornate, ancient Chinese characters on it is lifted from the cavity in the record player. 

Before he opens the box, he looks to Wayzz; the kwami has been with him for most of his life... they’ve been through a lot together. So, Wayzz is certain that they surely think the same thing. 

Allowing those Miraculous to be out in the open, even if it is just to recover Nooroo from its captor, it’s incredibly risky. But... Wayzz has a certain feeling about this, it may be a risky move, but it feels like the right one. If they are to recover Nooroo, and if It’s had Its powers abused by a corrupted heart, they will need to cleanse and balance it’s Miraculous; and only those of Creation and Destruction can do so.  As Fu takes out those two Miraculous, Wayzz nods his agreement. Hopefully... hopefully this doesn’t go wrong.

                                                   ----------- 

For the next few days, Fu looks for two people who fit the parameters for these two Miraculous. They need to be kind, and selfless... those two traits aren’t too hard to find. But for the Miraculous of Creation, he needs to find someone who has the mind to handle the complexity, the heart to consider the options, the soul to value everyone, the body to meet the physical requirements and the energy to withstand it all.

They need to be of the right age too, for if they are too young, their mind could snap, their heart could burst, their soul could be irreparably damaged, their body could shrivel… just like his did when he was a boy. 

Finding someone who meets all these requirements is grueling, but it’s the only way to make sure they don’t face life long detriments.  

Fu finds himself in a bakery, looking over everyone he can see as he simultaneously looks for what pastry to get for himself. The people he finds don’t fit what this Miraculous needs, and he gets no reaction from the box containing the being who embodies Creation itself. He is about to give up on his search for a suitable wielder for Tikki when a feeling of warmth pulsates through his body, emanating from the box Tikki’s Miraculous resides in. 

He looks up, and is greeted with the sight of the baker’s daughter, a young girl with black hair, Asian features, and beautiful grey eyes. She talks animatedly with the customers, smiling so brightly and with such warmth in her eyes, she makes it seem like she makes friends with everyone she meets. 

But she’s too young, she doesn’t look to be more that 14 years old, he will not put the stress of being the wielder of Creation on a child. His body was crippled when he wore his Miraculous when he was too young, and his Miraculous is substantially less powerful than Creation. He will not the the reason for the death of a child. 

He moves on. 

But Tikki is insistent, if the way the box burns in his pocket is any indication. 

Reluctantly, he turns to his kwami companion, Wayzz, and nods to him, making a mental note to have Wayzz watch this girl. He can only hope that he finds someone better suited for Creation. 

When out of the bakery, Wayzz whispers in his ear, “Are you sure giving a Miraculous — especially one of such magnitude — to a child is a good idea?”

Fu pulls out and bites into a pastry, his facial features dark. “I do not know, my friend. I refuse to give a Miraculous to someone so young, especially one that is so powerful. However, Tikki is insisting on this girl. I hope to find someone who is suited for Tikki, and is older, but we must be prepared for the event that we have to give this girl this responsibility.”

Wayzz sighs, “Alright, Master.” 

                                               --------------

The next day, Fu makes his way to the bakery  — those pastries are to die for! — but he’s in a sour mood. He hasn’t been able to get Tikki to react to any other person, she is insistent on this bakery girl. He’s keeping an eye out for someone else, but he’s starting to believe he has no other choice. 

Just as he rounds the corner, the box that houses the Black Cat Miraculous of Destruction sends a chilling wave of energy through Fu’s body, and he stops in his tracks. Plagg has sensed someone he wants to choose. Fu starts looking around, going through all the parameters the wielder of Destruction needs to have: They need to have a mind strong enough to resist temptation, a heart kind enough to give mercy to those around them, a soul to see the good and bad, a body to withstand the effects the Miraculous of Destruction has on wielders, and the ability to rein in Plagg’s energy. 

Everyone he looks at is wrong, and they incite no reaction from Plagg, but then he sees a young man with blond hair, green eyes, and fair skin in the park. He’s sitting on a bench, looking crestfallen. To his right, cameras and photographers are setting up around him. There are other children playing at the park, and the young man is staring at them with a longing gaze. 

The hope in Fu’s eyes dies down as he realizes that Plagg’s chosen is one that is, once again, too young, 

He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to put them through this, but if Tikki won’t change her mind, Plagg most definitely wont. 

Resigned, Fu turns around and starts going to the bakery, making a note to look into this boy. He looks up and finds himself looking at a poster advertisement for Agreste Fashion, and the boy he was just looking at is on it. 

It seems finding information on this boy will not be as hard as he thought. 

                                                  -------------

As he continues to watch the bakery girl, he sees just how kind and selfless she is. She routinely offers help in the bakery as often as she can. She lights up talking to customers about fashion — apparently, she’s quite fond of fashion, especially the Agreste brand, how fascinating — how she lifts full bags of flour with only a few grunts and wobbles here and there. Fu’s found that she created the design for the bakery sign. As well as the menu board. She is truly creative. And, if his hearing does not fail him, she even bakes some of the pastries from time to time. 

Tikki grows more and more insistent on choosing this girl, and Fu has resigned himself to the fact that he will be putting them through things he never wished to put anyone through again. If he is going to give her the Miraculous of Creation, he must be there to mentor her. He must be able to guide her through all of this. Hopefully she can handle this and he isn’t sending her to her death. 

Now... the young man, the child model... he wasn’t quite sure at first, and he was getting ready to have a long argument with Plagg. He just seemed to be a boy longing for the time to play with others. But, as he continued to pursue knowledge about this boy -- his name being Adrien -- he’s found that he is praised for his kindness, and he’s seen that in video recordings of interviews with the boy. Wayzz has told him that when he has photoshoots at the park, when he sees kids fall down, he twitches almost imperceptibly. As though he wants to go over and pick them up. And when he watches parents with their difficult kids, he seems to want nothing more than to help. 

Fu has seen the way he smiles at his bodyguard, at his scheduler, the photographers, the other models, it seems to be completely genuine. 

He harbors a heart that wants to do good, that wants to do nothing but help, his soul longs for the freedom to be selfless, but it is unable to. And Plagg has latched onto this boy.

He must be able to guide these two young people. He must not allow them to go through this alone. 

Late at night in his apartment, Fu sits before two small pieces of paper on his kitchen table, writing two identical notes to put in the boxes containing the Black Cat Miraculous and the Ladybug Miraculous. 

They are to meet him at the base of the Effiel Tower at 22:00, but in order for this to work, he must give them the miraculous at the same time, which means he must execute his challenges before it is too late. 

Suddenly, Wayzz flies up to his face and bows before speaking. “Master! I just sensed Nooroo transform Its captor! It was powerful, whoever has Nooroo is powerful.”

Fu stops writing and strokes his goatee. If he remembers correctly, the first day of the French school year is in three, almost two days. This means that he doesn’t have much time to issue his challenges to these kids, and even less time to train them. He must act now. “Thank you, Wayzz, we must act soon, before it is too late!”

Fu finishes writing the notes and places them on top of the boxes containing the Miraculous of Destruction and Creation, before he goes to bed.

The next day, Fu makes his way to the bakery. He doesn’t know how to issue his challenge, but it will come to mind eventually. It is the day before the first day of school, and there will be no lack of heightened emotions, and paired with the power that Nooroo has over emotions, who knows when Nooroo’s captor will strike?

Suddenly, Adrien bursts through the bushes, sprinting his way to the school. He has a pleased smile on his face, and hope in his eyes. He reaches the school, and stops, looking up at it, sighing in admiration. 

A car passes by, Adrien whips around, looking at the car, but finds that it is not something he needs to worry about. He relaxes and starts to open the door to the school when three kids burst from the nearby park and speed their way on bikes across the street toward a nearby intersection. He looks at these kids, furrowing his brows. 

Then, a rumbling sounds, Adrien whips around to look, and there is a car coming down their way. And, by the looks of things, the car isn’t slowing down, and neither are the kids.

Fu waits in silence as Adrien seems more confused than ever, looking between the car and the kids, taking a few steps from the school toward the intersection. When it is evident that neither the kids nor the car will stop on their own, he takes action, rushing forward and waving his arms. 

Two of the kids look at him, then at the car coming down the road, and as though it is their first time seeing it, they skid to a stop. But the kid in the middle, a girl with pink hair keeps going, her head turned toward the two kids who stopped, hair whipping around under her helmet. She seems to glare at them and then at the oncoming car.  

Adrien seems to sigh, looking frantically between the rapidly approaching kid and car. 

He looks back to the pink haired girl, and sets his jaw. Clearly set on a course of action. He takes a few long steps toward the street just as she comes by and grabs her arm, forcing her to fall from her bike, but the bike continues onward into the street. 

Where it promptly gets crushed by the car, while the driver looks up from their phone and honks as they drive away.

As the pink haired girl sits there shocked, Adrien stands there awkwardly. But, after a second, the girl stands up and punches Adrien’s arm before seemingly telling him off. All Adrien does is furrow his brows, confused. 

Fu walks away with a small smile. 

He has a feeling this might actually work out well. 

                                                 --------------

An alarm jerks Marinette awake from her dreamless sleep. With a groan, she blindly gropes around her bed to find her phone, but when she finds it, she only manages to push it from her bed down onto the floor. 

The alarm doesn’t stop, and Marinette can’t decide if she should be relieved, or annoyed. 

With a resigned sigh, she slips from her bed, mourning the lost warmth of her covers, and climbs down her ladder. She picks up her phone and inspects it for cracks. 

Somehow, for some reason, it doesn’t have any. Thank the beings that rule the universe, her phone is indestructible! She doesn’t know how many times she’s dropped her phone, but it doesn’t even have a scratch!

Sluggishly, she goes to her closet, trying to decide on what to wear, looking over everything and battling that feeling of unease she feels every time she looks in her closest; but ultimately decides to put it aside, she’ll just eat breakfast in her pajamas. 

She doesn’t even want to look at her messy, black hair, her body, the bags that are surely to be under her eyes. She’s always loved her eyes, her Maman is from China and has grey eyes, while her Papa grew up locally in Paris with blue eyes; but her eyes are amazing, they’re grey with a ring of blue around the pupil. She can’t help but think of her parents when she looks into her eyes. She doesn’t have as much Asian features as she would like, but she has her eyes, her black hair, and a slight Asian facial bone structure. 

Rubbing sleep from her eyes she starts going downstairs, not really wanting to face the day. Not wanting to fight to feel good. 

It’s the first day of school. The first day of Collége. And, for some reason, Marinette has a strong feeling that Chloé Bourgeois is in her class again. 

One would think that the spoiled brat that is the daughter of the Mayor would be in private school. But, for some reason unknown to all but the two Bourgeois and the beings that rule the universe, she still attends public school; despite all of her complaining. And the bullying. 

She really, really does not want school to start. 

With a big yawn, she opens the trap door. 

“Marinette! School starts soon! You don’t want to be late for your first day back at school!” 

Wincing from the early morning yelling, Marinette suppresses another yawn, calling out a small “Coming...” before climbing down the stairs.

When she reaches the bottom, she finds her Maman smiling at her from the kitchen. She smiles back, already feeling the grasp of sleep start to slip away.  “There’s my beautiful girl!” 

Despite the warmth that fills her being when around her Maman, Marinette can’t help but feel uneasy with being called beautiful. It’s probably because of Chloe bullying her, she’ll get over it. 

She gives her maman a kiss on the cheek, leaning down just a bit. When she was younger, she wondered why she was taller than her maman. But, after an awkward talk with her parents, she’s realized that she just inherited the taller genes from her Papa, but got the skinnier genes from her Maman. 

“Good morning!” 

“Yeah...” she grumps, “I’ll bet you anything that Chloé is in my class again...”  she sighs as she sits down at the kitchen table, where her Maman has already set out a cereal bowl, a milk jug, spoon, her favorite cereal, and a bowl of fruit. Uncapping the milk jug, she pours it into the bowl.

“Four years in a row?! Is that possible?” Her Maman exclaims, putting something in the sink behind her. 

“Definitely... Lucky me!” Marinette rolls her eyes, pouring in some chocolate cereal flakes. 

“Oh! Don’t say that! It’s the start of a new year, I’m sure everything will be just fine!” Her Maman says resolutely, brushing a hand against her hair. And who can argue with such sound logic? Not Marinette.

Nodding, feeling her spirits rise just a bit, she places the tub of cereal flakes down. But, with just a slight miscalculation of how hard to set it down, a chain reaction of terrible, ill boding events happens. 

The vibrations send an orange rolling down a conveniently placed bread stick, right to and over another conveniently placed knife. Which then sends the orange into the milk jug, the knife into a bowl of sugar cubes; sending a few flying with such velocity that as it collides with the cereal tub, it tips it over. And, as her spirits plummet, the orange completes its journey by knocking into and tipping over a yogurt cup. She groans dejectedly, closing her eyes so as to block the situation from sight and in turn, her mind.

For a girl whose parents have always called their “lucky charm”, she sure isn’t all that lucky.  

As she cleans up the cereal tub mess, her Maman reaches a hand to her cheek, chuckling. Which, somehow, helps to lift her own spirits.

It’s weird how mothers can do that. “Go get dressed, honey, you’ll look beautiful. I’ve got this.” 

An hour later, Marinette is down in the bakery, dressed in her back-to-school-day clothes: tan/pink flats, pink Capris, white shirt with a flower pattern on her left collarbone, grey blazer and her very own, hand sewn, pink clutch. And yet, despite being proud of her work, she can’t find it in her to be proud of how she looks. 

Her Papa, humming a tune, presents a box of macarons to his daughter. A warm, gentle smile on his face: “There’s my gorgeous daughter!” There’s that uneasiness again...

“Papa! These are so awesome!” She exclaims, bouncing in place. “Thank you, Papa! My class will love them!” She looks up to him, adoration and love filling her eyes. 

“Glad you like them!” He ruffles her hair, chuckling as she smirks a bit under his huge hands, an almost mute “don’t mess up my hair!” coming from her.

“You look beautiful, my darling daughter” Her papa says with small tears in his eyes. 

“You’re the best!” she says, giving him a one armed hug, her smile falling as she tries to figure out how to get rid of the uneasy feeling in her gut. 

“We,” he pulls her close again with an arm, and angles his other in a ‘muscular, show-off’ manner, “are the best.” Marinette can’t help but giggle.

Giving both her parents goodbye kisses, she rushes out the door, intent on not being late for school on the first day. And, in her haste, almost rushes right into the path of an oncoming car. 

Breathing a sigh of relief that she isn’t splattered on the windshield of a car, she slouches a bit, before jolting ramrod straight as she sees an elderly man with a cane in a red hawiian shirt having trouble crossing the road, another car rushing toward the man, not slowing down at all. 

Marinette frantically looks back and forth between the two and decides, after a second, to rush out and save this man from meeting the very same fate she had just narrowly avoided moments before. 

Just as she pulls him to the sidewalk, her legendary clumsiness takes hold of her once more, and she trips onto the sidewalk, taking the man down with her; the box of macarons spilling. And, with horror, she watches as inconsiderate city people step on them, reducing them to nothing more than crumbs. The man’s “Thank you, miss” goes unheard. 

But, his “Oh, what a disaster” does not go unnoticed. Picking up what remains of the box and the macaroons, she tells him: “Don’t worry, I’m no stranger to disasters.” She holds the box to him. “Besides! There’s still a few left.” 

She smiles at this man, as he picks a macaron from the box and bites into it. Letting out a pleased “Delicious!” 

A bell across the street rings, signaling the start of school. Marinette looks to the school, to this man, back to the school and back to him again. While she’d rather not be late to school... well, she had just pulled this man from the street. The least she can do is walk him partially to where he is headed. 

“Go ahead.” The man says, his smile genuine, understanding and proud. ”You’ve saved my life, the least I can do is save you from getting into trouble! Now go!” He waves her off. 

She takes a moment of further deliberation before nodding, bowing, and rushing out “have-a-nice-day-sir!” Then she’s off, rushing to school. 

                                                 ----------------

As the young woman runs to the school, Master Fu straightens up, putting his cane behind his back and holding up the box containing the Ladybug Miraculous. The box warms up and spreads warmth all throughout his body, confirming that this young woman is Tikki’s choice to be her wielder.

While he doesn’t want to put this stress on a child, he knows that there is no other solution, no way around this. He just has to be her mentor.

He walks to the bakery, allowing Wayzz to take the box to the girl’s room while he buys pastries for himself and his companion. 

                                            -----------------

Just as the custodian is closing the school’s front doors, Marinette slips in, not breaking from her near sprint. Rushing up the stairs, she bursts into the classroom, stumbling to not lose her balance. She’s hunched over, trying to catch her breath. 

“Nino,” the teacher calls out. She’s a tall woman with fire red hair, teal eyes, and a white pantsuit. Marinette doesn’t recognize her. The boy in question, Nino, has been in her classes for as long as she can remember. He’s a kind hearted, introverted kid with dark skin. He’s always wearing a red baseball cap and grey and orange headphones. 

She looks up and sees that Nino is sitting with his eyes wide behind his glasses from the back of the classroom. “Why don’t you sit in the front this year?” The teacher may have formed it as a question, but it was more of a polite command. 

Nino grumbles and stands up, his back and shoulders slouched. As he walks to the front of the classroom, on the side closest to the door, he groans. Before sliding into his position in the front of the classroom, right by the door. He pulls his headphones down and rests his elbows on the desk; his jaw resting on his knuckles with an annoyed look on his face. 

Though she’s been in the same class as Nino for years, she doesn’t know much about him, and she’s really regretting that now. Maybe this year will be different? 

She takes a moment to deliberate, but ultimately decides to sit on the row behind Nino, in her usual seat. She wants to sit by him but he doesn’t seem to want to talk to anyone. 

Shaking her head, still breathing with slight difficulty, she walks to her usual seat, the second row, left side of the classroom, right next to the aisle. Just behind and over Nino’s right shoulder.

Mylène, a timid girl, sits directly across the aisle from where Marinette’s seat is. She’s a shorter girl, with fair skin and long dreadlocks that are blonde at the roots but fade into multiple colors at the ends.  

Sitting on the next row up, just to the right of Mylène, is a dark skinned boy with a close cut afro hairstyle brown hair, a green polo and glasses. Max is your go-to kid for anything and everything that has to do with electronics. 

Sitting right next to Max is a tan skinned boy, Kim; he’s wearing a red, short sleeved hoodie, and sweat bands on his wrist. His black hair is up in a faux hawk style and he’s lounging back in his chair. He’s the class jock. (He tries to hide it by being a jerk and a goof, but he’s actually a good guy.) 

Kim is always next to Max, tells everyone that they’re best friends, and that he needs Max to help with homework, but Marinette knows better. She can see his eyes.

On the back row, sitting behind Max, is a girl named Rose. She’s a quiet girl, with her blonde hair in a pixie cut. She wears all pink and has an incredibly high voice. 

Just as Marinette sits down and starts to unpack, a pale hand, with yellow, perfectly manicured nails slams down on the desk before her, startling her. “Marinette,” the almost shill voice starts, “Du-pain-Cheng” it sneers her last name like it's an insult to it personally. (Which, if this is who she think it is, it most likely is an insult to her personally.) 

Chloé Bourgeois. The bratty daughter of the mayor. She’s wearing a yellow jacket, white pants, and a large, gold (not actually gold, it’d be too heavy for her skinny, fragile hips to support) plated belt. No wrinkles in sight on her clothes. Her golden locks are pulled into a high hanging ponytail. Blush, eye liner, magenta eyeshadow and pink lipstick on her face. It only serves to make her look that much more bratty. 

Her school bully.  

Marinette slouches, she knew it would happen. A weary, dejected, “Here we go again...” leaves her lips. 

“That’s my seat.” Chloé brings her hand from the desk to her chest. 

“But Chloé, this has always been my seat.” Marinette looks up to Chloé, grey-blue meeting dark, cruel blue. 

Chloe’s face scrunches up. “Not this year!” 

A sudden, but not unfamiliar voice cuts in. “New School, New Year, New seats.” Sabrina, Chloé’s lap dog slides into the desk beside Marinette, her orange/red hair in stark contrast with her teal-green eyes sparkling behind her glasses, and pale skin. She’s wearing a, quite frankly, ugly sweater vest. 

“So,” Chloé sneers again, “why don’t you just go and sit beside that new girl over there.” She turns to point at a girl she hadn’t seen walk into the room. 

She has darker skin like Nino, with long, curly, red-orange locks. She’s wearing a red-orange flannel short-sleeved shirt. At the mention of “New girl” she turns from her phone and her brown eyes glare behind glasses at Chloé. 

“But..” is all Marinette can think of in response. (She’s tired, and already feeling exhausted, she doesn’t want to move or think.)

Chloé turns back to Marinette, her hands on her hips, her face contorted in anger. “Listen, Adrien is arriving today, and since that’s,” she points to the seat beside Nino, “ going to be he— his seat, this is going to be my seat.” Chloé slams her hand down in front of Marinette again, then she turns toward her fully, slamming her other hand on the desk. “Get it?”

Adrien... who is this Adrien? And why is he friends with Chloé?

“Uh, who’s Adrien?” She asks Chloé. 

Two simultaneous gasps leave Chloé’s and Sabrina’s mouths. Then they burst out laughing in that ridiculous, annoying laugh, drawing Myléne’s attention. 

The laughing stops abruptly and Chloé speaks again. “Can you believe she doesn’t know who Adrien is?” She directs this at Sabrina. Then, to Marinette, Chloé scrunches her face in disgust and anger. “What rock have you been living under?” 

“He’s only a famous model!” Sabrina chimes in. 

“And I am his best friend.” Chloé begins again.

Marinette raises her eyebrows at this. None of that helps clarify who Adrien is. And, if he’s a famous model, why would any sane teacher let a man who is probably in his early/mid 20’s come to class with 14-15 year olds?! Why is a man who is in his mid 20’s still in middle school?!

“He adores me.” Chloé looks to Marinette, and scoffs when she sees that Marinette has not moved from her seat. “Uh, go on, move!” She emphasizes this with a thumb pointing toward the proposed seats. 

And all Marinette can think of is, is this Choe’s new scheme to get attention? Who would believe that a 20 something year old is hanging out with a 14 year old? They’d be all over the news. 

Suddenly, the new girl is behind Chloé, her voice strong and brave. A fatal mistake when talking to Chloé Bourgeois. “Back off, Brat.”

Chloé turns to the girl, anger and annoyance taking the wheel. She leans toward the new girl, making sure her tone is mocking and sarcastic. “Ooh, look, Sabrina, we got a little do-gooder in our classroom!” Chloé leans in further. “What’re you going to do, Super Newbie, shoot beams at me with your glasses.”

Marinette cringes, this is why it is best to stay docile around Chloé, if she senses any opposition at all, she’ll only cause a scene. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” The new girl sneers, her voice dark and dangerous. She pushes Chloé to the side and reaches for Marinette’s arm. “C’mon” she says as she grabs Marinette’s arm. Marinette barely has any time to grab her box of macarons and her bag before she’s being dragged from her seat. 

In her haste to steady herself, grab her stuff, and the new girl’s quick pace, Marinette misses a step on the way to her new seat and ends up falling; her box of macarons falling to the floor, where several are flung from the box and are crushed on the floor. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” She mumbles as she cleans up and slides into her new seat for the year. Chloé’s and Sabrina’s laughing etching its way into her memory. 

“Chill-ax, girl, no biggie!” The new girl says, eyeing Marinette as she’s hunched over her almost empty box of macaroons. 

“Alright, has everyone found a seat?” The teacher asks the class as other kids file in, leaning her hands on the desk. The class speaking up behind them drowning out her voice. 

Marinette straightens up and looks to the new girl, “But I so wish I could handle Chloé the way you do.” The new girl raises an eyebrow, a corner of her lips quirking up. Not threatening, or suspicious, but curious and slightly confused. She reaches for her phone and unlocks it.

“You mean the way Majestia does it.” The new girl pulls up an image of a woman in a skin tight, blue suit, her shoulders, hands and face uncovered. She wears a fire truck red, sleeveless jacket with a ruffled coat tail, two thick, golden, zigzagging lines run across the bust, stars above the lines. Boots of the same shade reach to about her mid calf, the tops lined with the same type of lines as the jacket. “She says: All that is necessary for the triumph of Evil, is for Good to do nothing.” The new girl says proudly. 

She leans past Marinette, wrapping her left arm around her shoulders and pointing to Chloé with her right hand. “And that girl over there, is evil, and we,” she points to herself and Marinette, “are the good people. She has a smirk on her lips. “We can’t let her get away with it!” 

“That’s easier said than done...” Marinette hunches her shoulders a bit, her voice dejected. “She likes to make my life miserable.” 

“That’s easy to fix, girl, you just need more confidence!” The new girl says, conviction strong in her voice. 

Marinette smiles, and takes the last remaining macaron and breaks it in half, extending the other out to the new girl. 

“Marinette.” she says.

“Alya,” the new girl says in response, taking the half macaron. 

With this, they turn to the front, pleased smiles on their faces. 

Maybe... maybe this year isn’t going to be so bad?

                                           -------------------------- 

“For those of you who don’t yet know me,” the teacher says, drawing all attention her way, “I’m Ms. Bustier.” 

As class starts, Chloé leans on her new desk, sadness in her face and eyes. Looking at the empty seat before her. “Ugh, he should have been here by now.” she says under her breath. 

She meant to have annoyance in her tone, and she does, but she can’t hide the underlying disappointment. 

Where is s— he?

                                             -------------------------

Master Fu watches as Adrien rushes through the street, pressing against the bushes and trees, looking over his shoulder frequently, searching for something or someone. 

Fu smiles, it seems like this young man has decided to try to get some freedom. But, if the frantic look in his eyes means anything, it’ll most likely be short lived. 

The young man reaches the school grounds, and pauses next to a cologne ad poster that, coincidentally, has him on it. He looks over his shoulder again, and a smile finds his way into his face. He’s beaten the system, it would seem. For the time being.  

This is Fu’s chance to issue his Challenge, to see if he has the ability to wield the Miraculous of Destruction. He has the potential, when faced with no other option, but this will test whether he will choose to help others and not himself. To do what he feels is right, and forfeit what he wants. 

Just as Adrien reaches the steps, Fu launches his plan, clutching his back and falling to the ground, dropping his cane just out of his reach. Crying out in pain. 

This causes the boy pause, and he stands on the steps of the school, frozen in place. Trying to figure out what to do, looking between Fu and the school’s front door. 

Not a second later, he rushes to Fu, bringing his cane to his hands and helping him stand. 

“Thank you, young man!” He says, patting his arm. Adrien’s eyes cringe and he tenses before his entire face lights up. 

Huh, interesting... 

“Do you need help getting to where you’re going?” He asks, his green eyes hopeful. No doubt wanting to help out more. If only so he could get further away from whoever he’s running from. 

“No, I will be fine, but thank you for your kindness! Now, shoo, go to school!”

Adrien nods, the mention of school making his face light up even more. 

He turns and rushes to the steps, and, just before he reaches the door, a silver sedan screeches to a stop, a tall woman clad in a purple suit and red blouse, her black hair fading to red on the left side. “Adrien, please reconsider! You know what your father wants!” 

She walks slowly toward Adrien, as a large man steps out from the driver's seat, walking toward him with her. Adrien turns slowly toward them, his feet frozen in place, fear in his eyes. But only for a brief moment. 

“But this is what I want!” He says, the fear taking a back seat to hurt and anger. “I’m sick of being stuck at home. I want to be like a normal kid!” 

The woman shakes her head. “Adrien, you are not a normal kid, your father can’t afford to have you at public school!” 

Adrien scoffs, “We both know he has more than enough money to afford it.” 

“That’s not what I mean, Adrien. You know he only does this to keep you safe. He’s doing this for you.” 

At this, Adrien’s eyes soften, his posture drooping. “I know... I just... I want to be around others. Please don’t tell Father about this.”

The woman’s eyes soften as she puts a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “I know, and I’m sorry. But you just can’t. Come, let’s go home.” 

As Adrien is led to the sedan, and is driven off back home, the second box pulsates in Fu’s pocket. 

This boy has the traits that are required for the use of this Miraculous, but he does not have the right life for it. Fu is unsure whether Adrien can handle it. Plagg seems set on this boy, however. And, if Adrien is going to learn and grow, there is only one other Miraculous that will do just as good a job, and he’s already found a match for Creation. 

He’ll just have to watch out for Plagg. With that, Fu swings his cane onto his shoulder and walks away whistling, following the sedan.

                                                -------------------------

“Those of you who have P.E., Mr. D’Argencourt is expecting you at the stadium.” Ms. Bustier calls to the class as the bell rings and everyone packs up. 

As the kid named Ivan, A large, fair skinned boy, with short brown hair save for the small tuft of blond in the front, gets up Kim gives him a note. 

“The rest of you can head over to the library.”

A moment later, Ivan bursts out with an angry cry of “Kim!” He lurches toward Kim, an impish smirk on the lankier boy’s face. Ivan is cranking his fist back to slam it into Kim’s fragile face. 

“Ivan! What are you doing?!” Ms. Bustier exclaims, leaning over her desk in shock. Ivan looks to her in confusion, lowering his fist. 

“It’s Kim!” Ivan looks back at Kim, raising his fist again, and, for the first time, Kim is shocked and scared. “I’m so gonna—“ 

“Ivan! Go to the principal’s office!” Ms. Bustier cuts in, pointing out the door. 

At that, Ivan steps away from Kim, growling as he looks back down at the note Kim passed him. With anger rolling off him, Ivan crumples the note in his hand and storms out of the classroom, muttering to himself; leaving Kim to shake in his seat, and Ms. Bustier to wonder if she could have worked the situation out better. 

                                                   ----------------------

The man known as Hawkmoth stands in a large room, a metal, circular window cover sliding open, letting light pour into the room, sending pure white butterflies fluttering about. 

“Such powerful emotions. Anger. Frustration. Betrayal. And in a school no less, a perfect catalyst to test my limits.” He reaches for a butterfly, and clasps his hands around it. A second later, dark, purple energy seeps into the butterfly, and when he releases the butterfly, it is black with purple cracking apart the black, a violet mask-like pattern on it’s head and back, its legs a dark purple. “Burn a hole into his heart, little akuma, transform his anger into something more!”

The transformed butterfly, now an akuma, flies through the air, tracking down the boy with such anger and frustration with supernatural speed. 

                                                ---------------------

Ivan opens the door to the principal’s office, but before he can take a step inside, the principal stops him. 

“Excuse me, young man! Hasn’t anyone taught you to knock?” The principle, a large, overweight, white man with a receding hairline and greying hair exclaims. This shocks Ivan, his anger and frustration building. “Go on, go again.” He says, leaning back in his decked out, rolling swivel chair. 

With a shake of his head and a growl, Ivan closes the door and turns around, raising a fist to knock.

Before he can put his fist to the wood, something stops him. A sound. The sound of something wet twisting and crawling. And suddenly, in his mind, there is a man floating in a grey space, his voice echoing all around his head. The principal’s “Go on, knock!” is ignored. 

The man before Ivan is wearing a dark purple suit, and it shines in a way cloth doesn’t, kind of like rubber. On his chest are two black wing like lapels, which just make whoever this guy is look weird. Covering his head is a grey mask, only his eyes, which are an unsettling violet, and mouth looking normal. He’s leaning on a cane. 

“Stoneheart.” the man says Ivan’s confusion at the name going unacknowledged. “I am Hawkmoth, I am giving you the strength and unstoppable power to seek revenge on those who have wronged you. To prove to them that you do have what it takes. All I need you to do is cause mayhem. Destroy all that you can.”

The power to get back at Kim? To prove that he does have what it takes? 

And all he needs to do is cause mayhem? 

Who can deny such a thing?

“Okay, I’ll do it.” Ivan says, a dark look on his face. 

The man smirks. 

Black and purple bubbles ripple over Ivan’s body, morphing his skin and bones.

When the bubbles disperse, Ivan is no more. Only Stoneheart remains. Standing at 2 meters tall, with cracked stone for skin and yellow eyes. He’s built like an athlete, and literally chiseled. Wrapped around his right hand is a purple fabric, like that a boxer would wear under their boxing glove. On his chest, the stone is jagged and protruding, right where his heart would be, like his heart had exploded. The cracks in the stone glow a faint yellow. 

“Well?” The principal asks, waiting for a response. 

Suddenly, the door is flung from its hinges, the principal only has enough time to move enough so that the door doesn’t slam into his head, but it still collides with his shoulder, sending him to the ground.

With an almighty roar, Stoneheart launches through the window, leaving an echo of “KIM!” behind as the entire wall crumbles to the street below.

                                                  -----------------------

In the library, a thunderous roar rattles the walls, then the whole building shakes, causing students to tumble to the ground. 

After a few seconds, Alya, Marinette’s new friend, grabs her from the ground and drags her to the TVs in the library, which are showing the security footage. 

A large, probably 2 meters tall, stone golem is walking down the street, the cracks in it’s stone skin glowing bright yellow. It roars in a voice so raspy and stiff, she wonders if it has vocal chords, and if so, how they’re working. 

“Wh-what’s going on? I thought it was an earthquake!” a random kid exclaims.

Alya turns to Marinette, her hands on her cheeks. “It’s a real life super villain!” Suddenly, Alya’s eyes glint and she pulls out her phone. “Battery, 80%, check! GPS, check! I am so outta here!” Then she’s off, leaving Marinette to marvel at her. 

“Wait! Hey, where’re you going?” 

Alya pauses only briefly before turning around and hopping backwards “Where there’s a super villain, there is always a superhero!” Then she’s through the doors. 

This is such a weird day...

Marinette looks back to the tv and jumps as the rock monster collides a car, the car crumbling and shattering. The yellow in the cracks of it’s skin glows brighter and- and she could have sworn it grew! It picks up what remains of the car with ease, and throws it at the school camera, and it goes to static. The building shakes again as crumbling brick and groaning metal reverberates through the school. 

                                             ---------------------

Fu stops just outside the gates of a mansion. His eyes glinting with wonder and awe. 

This should provide good living conditions for a being with such a high cost diet. 

He hums in delight, letting Wayzz take the pulsating box up into the mansion.

                                                   -------------------

Adrienne *hates* homeschooling. She’s alone, save for Nathalie, and has to stay in one place for at least 7 hours, sometimes more, depending on the lesson. And, most of the time, she’s in the dining hall, the cold, undecorated dining hall. She’s stuck hearing her father, Nathalie, the mansion staff, call her ”Adrien”. Call her a boy. She can’t talk to anyone, can’t have a break. It’s useless. 

“Who was the 1st president of the 5th French republic?” Nathalie walks up and down the length of the dining table. A tablet and pen in hand. 

And all Adrienne can do is lean against her hand, not even able to summon more than a bored, monotone voice. “Everyone thinks it was De Gaulle but it was actually René Coty before the first elections.” 

“Excellent, Adrien!” Nathalie exclaims. Turning around, a… pleased look on her face? ‘When did that happen?!’ Adrienne can’t help but think in shock. She opens her mouth to say something but a cold voice cuts through the room.

“Give me a minute would you, Nathalie?” Adrienne immediately tenses. It’s an involuntary reaction she has no control over. Not anymore. 

Her Father turns to look at Adrienne, his eyes cold, disappointed, disproving. Angry. But his face remains stoic. “You are not going to school. I have already told you.” 

Adrienne’s heart sinks. She looks to Nathalie, her eyes burning. She betrayed her. She- she does know what happens when she disobeys her Father, right?

Nathalie only lowers her head in shame. 

Adrienne looks back to her father. “But, Father-“ 

“Everything you need is right here, where I can keep an eye on you.” He cuts in, tone dark and dangerous. “I will not have you outside in that dangerous world.” 

“It’s not dangerous!” Adrienne tries, standing up from her seat, hands on the table. “I’m always stuck here by myself! Why can’t I go out and make friends just like everybody else?” She asks, pointing out the grand window to her left. 

“Because you are not everybody else! You are My son” Adrienne flinches, her body flinching as her gut falls. She hates it when he sounds like that, it makes her feel so small. She has to bite her tongue to keep herself from shaking at her father’s deep, angry voice. He’s using the tone that suggests that he will not allow for any more words to be said. 

Adrienne stands up straight, bowing her head, holding back tears that threaten to form. 

Always her... it’s always Adrienne who makes things difficult. Who makes Father angry. All Adrienne does is antagonize him. 

With that, Gabriel leaves, and Nathalie steps forward. “We can leave it there if you wan-“ 

Before she even finishes, Adrienne takes off running, hiding her— his face. Hiding his reddening eyes. 

As he runs to his room, he catches a brief glimpse of a painting of him, his father and his mother. 

But he can’t look at it for so long. It brings back too many bad memories. 

Once in his room, he lays down on his bed, Letting his pillow soak in all the tears leaking from his— her eyes. From her eyes. 

Why is Father like this? The thought bounces around in Adrienne’s head, it makes her dizzy. Why am I like this, if I’m really- if I’m really a girl, I wouldn’t revert to using those pronouns, to using “Adrien” when I’m stressed, would I? I wouldn’t do that when I anger Father, would I? How the hell am I a girl-

He doesn’t understand, Adrienne’s mother’s voice cuts through her spiraling thoughts. He probably never will. Your father is a stubborn man, and closed off in many ways. Just remember who you are, and that I’m here for you, my beautiful daughter.

This only makes Adrienne sadder. She isn’t here anymore. How can Adrienne keep going if she isn’t here? 

Suddenly, something shakes the mansion, sounding like a stampede. 

Curiosity takes over, and Adrienne takes off to go find out what’s happening. 

She opens the front doors of the mansion, and a large (probably 4 meters tall) rock person is stomping its way toward a police blockade. 

When the monster is within 10 meters, the police officer standing on top of a police car yells: “F-ire!” His voice cracks with fear and all the surrounding police officers fire off their guns. 

The rock monster holds up it’s arms, but instead of the bullets doing any harm, they make the cracks in between the monster’s skin glow brighter, and it grows to be 2 meters taller! The police officer that was on the car scrambles down and tries to get away, but the monster grabs the car the officer was previously standing on with one hand, shouts out an unintelligible word, then throws the car with ease at the police officer; who only just barely manages to get out of the way. 

Whatever this thing is, they sure are very, very angry. 

Adrienne sprints back to her room, and vaults over her sofa, turning on the TV to the news. 

“I’m asking all Parisians to stay inside until the situation’s under control.” Mayor Bourgeois says into the microphone, and Adrienne lets out a snort. Having everyone stay inside is the right call, don’t want anyone getting in the way... but, the man would be more than happy if he were the only one that stayed inside. And with the way that the situation is being handled, it isn’t going to be solved any time soon. 

Then it switches to the TVi news station, where Nadja Chamack reports. “As incredible as it seems, it has been confirmed that Paris is, indeed, being attacked by a monster. The police have been struggling to get the situation under control.” Up in the right corner, a camera still reports what the monster is doing. Which, by the looks of it, is picking up cars and throwing them at buildings, trees, and other cars, destroying buildings and otherwise just causing mayhem, carnage and... and death. 

It switches to another news camera, and it shows the police officer that was on the car in front of the gates, he’s getting his arm bandaged by a firefighter, speaking to an interviewer. “Be confident! The strong arm of-“ he cuts himself off as a painful crack is heard from the officer’s broken arm, his face contorting in pain. The firefighter then eases the arm down, and admonishes him for using his broken arm. “I meant to use the other arm...” the officer mumbles.

Blinking and shaking her head, Adrienne looks away, trying not to be too ashamed of Paris’s police force. From the looks of things, this monster is absorbing kinetic energy and using it to grow stronger. 

Then, out of the corner of her eye, something catches her attention. 

It’s a small box, with Chinese characters she doesn’t recognize on it. 

She diverts her full attention to this box, a confused: “What’s this doing here?” Leaving her lips. 

She picks it up, weighing it in her hand, moving it around and shaking it. It makes no noise. Shrugging, she opens it and finds a folded piece of paper. When she picks up the paper, she catches sight of a black ring, the corners of the face have silver raised points.

Suddenly, a bright green light glints off the ring, and a ball of green light bursts from it, temporarily blinding her, making her drop the paper, and box. 

When her vision returns, there is a small, black being laying down in the air. It has a body covered with smooth, black fur, with a slight green sheen to it. It has a puff of fur on both cheeks, with two long, black whiskers poking out of each puff. There are similar tufts of hair on the bendy points of its limbs and back where the limbs connect to it. It has an aura that surrounds it that makes everything seem darker around it. Light seems to bend around it, like a black hole. It has two long, thin, puffy tails. It has two little ears that are currently drooped lazily, and little wisps of hair poke out from the inside. It has a tiny nose and snout. It... looks like a small deformed cat. And is absolutely adorable!

Suddenly, it uprights itself, stretching its arms and legs, little claws extending from it’s limbs, and releases a huge yawn. Upon closer inspection, each limb ends with a little paw. Its mouth reveals tiny, tiny fangs and an emerald green hue on the inside of its mouth. It’s ears perk up. Once it’s done with the yawn, the ears drop down again, and it opens its eyes to reveal two neon green eyes with black, slitted pupils. 

“No way!” Adrienne exclaims. “This is so cool! You’re like the genie in the lamp!” She reaches a finger up to rub the little cat-genie’s forehead. 

The little cat-genie launches back. It’s eyes going wide, with…. fear? But the cat-genie quickly schools its adorable little face into calm, uninterested, unimpressed neutrality. 

“I met him once, so he grants wishes, big deal, I can do so much better and I'm personable!” The cat-genie crosses its nubs over its chest, claws extending slightly, spreading its leg nubs, like it’s pouting. Clearly trying to look intimidating, but Adrienne can see that it’s trying to gauge her reactions. 

Huh, so the cat-genie speaks... it... it’s awfully squeaky and nasal. 

It looks up to Adrienne, its eyes piercing into her soul. “Plagg, nice to meet ya.” 

With the one sided greetings out of the way, The cat-genie known as Plagg zooms into a swirl before zipping off to explore the room, startling Adrienne some. 

It lands on the foosball table, “Ooo, swanky!” Then it chomps down on a figure’s head, ignoring Adrienne’s “Don’t touch that!” by saying “Nope, not eatable.” 

Just as Adrienne is about to grab Plagg, it takes off again, Adrienne’s ”Hey! Get back here!” going unnoticed as it locks eyes on an arcade’s joystick. “It’s so shiny!” Plagg lands on the joystick, uttering a curious “Can you eat this?” Before clamping its mouth down on the joystick ball. 

Plagg turns away from it in disgust as it finds that it cannot, in fact, eat the joystick. “No, you can’t.” It says slightly dejectedly, then locks into something else and zooms away from Adrienne’s hand, leaving behind an excited “Ooh, what about this?”

                                             ----------------------------------

Marinette hates back to school days. She makes sure to tell her computer screen just that as she watches the news. 

At the moment, Sabrina’s father is talking to a news reporter, having his arm wrapped up by a firefighter. “Be confident! The strong arm of-“ he cuts himself off as a painful crack is heard from Officer Roger’s arm, his face contorting in pain. The firefighter then eases the arm down, and admonishes him for using his broken arm. “I meant to use the other arm...” he mumbles. 

Marinette shakes her head. Officer Roger can be a... a special type of person sometimes. 

She glances down to her mouse to click away from the news station, but finds a black box with Chinese characters she doesn’t recognize. 

Picking it up, she opens it, and finds a folded up paper. When she removes it, she catches a glance of two red earrings with black spots on each stud before a bright red/pink light glints off of them and she is temporarily blinded. 

When it fades, Marinette’s jaw drops. So does the box and paper. 

Floating before her, with its head bowed, is a giant scarlet/pink, ladybug-like bug, with a head much larger than the rest of its body. It has two antennae coming from its forehead and droop toward its back. It has a large black dot on its forehead. On its back is a scarlet ladybug shell, with five small black spots. From this shell are some pink, translucent wings that aren’t moving. The light around it seems to be…. brighter. Its limbs are little, sectioned, black nubs. 

Suddenly its head shoots up, the light glinting off it’s large white eyes that have rings of blue in the center. 

“Haaweeelllp!” The word leaves her mouth in a shriek as she jumps back, tipping over her chair, getting as far away from this- this- this giant bug! “It’s a giant bug!...”

The bug, no not a bug, a mouse… “A mouse!”

No, a-a bug-mouse, “Bug-mouse!”

it slowly floats its way toward her. 

It continues to get closer. 

“A- an alien!” She almost shrieks. 

“Everything’s okay! Don’t be scared!” Its voice is high pitched, super high pitched, and slightly squeaky.

Marinette’s terrified, she does the only sensible thing. She grabs something behind her and chucks it at the bug-mouse-alien, eyes going wide, and it dodges her projectile. “Bug-mouse can talk! Bug-mouse talks!” She continues to throw things at the bug-mouse-alien, her terror only growing as it continues to dodge all of her projectiles. 

“Listen, Marinette...” the bug-mouse-alien continues to speak. “I know everything is strange...” 

As it talks and gets closer, Marinette can’t help but release terrified squeaks and whimpers as she gropes around for something to trap the bug-mouse thing under. 

Suddenly, her fingers find a cup, and delight shoots through her as she lunges at the bug-mouse, slamming the glass cup down around the little —giant?—   thing. She absently wonders why the glass didn’t shatter. 

It looks up at Marinette, its expression and eyes calm. “Okay, If this makes you feel safer.” 

It has no qualms about being stuck?! What can this thing do that makes it so that it isn’t scared of being trapped under something?! 

Marinette keeps the glass firmly on the ground. “What are you? How do you know my name?” She asks. 

“I’m a kwami,” the bug-mouse puts a nub on its chest. “And my name is Tikki!” it perks up as it says it’s name. “Now, just let me explain.” Its voice is slightly muffled by the glass. It makes the bug -Tikki- sound even weirder. 

“MAMAN, PAPA!” Marinette shouts, inching her way to her trap door. 

“No, no, no!” Tikki tries to warn her, pressing against the glass, but Marinette still ignores it. She puts a hand on the trap door and Tikki calls out again. “No!” It tries again, pushing against the glass, but Marinette keeps ignoring it.

 “MAMA-“ 

“Shhh, No!” Tikki cuts her off, phasing through the glass and floating in front of her face. “I’m your friend, Marinette, you can trust me.” 

Marinette narrows her gaze,

“Marinette?” comes the worried voice of her Maman, and Tikki and Marinette stare at eachother in tense silence. 

“...It’s nothing, Maman, sorry”

Marinette turns to Tikki, the talking bug-mouse-alien-- ahem, Kwami. “Explain.”

                                               ----------------------

In such a big room, filled with so much stuff, the kid doesn’t even have any food to eat! Plagg’s tried so many things. Still, nothing edible! 

He could just use atrophy and siphon off some energy, but that requires effort, and he did not wake up from 250 years of being dormant only to have to do things as soon as he is activated! 

Plagg is zipping around this human child’s room and finds a semi-promising rectangle. Hopefully this works! 

He bites down, only for his fangs to meet hard, foul tasting material. Ugh, he should just Cataclysm this whole room... 

He drops the remote, and raises a paw, but the human-child drops from the ceiling and wraps her feeble, insufficient, human fingers around his body, which does not make him release an embarrassing yelp. Nope, not at all. It’s funny, how the human thinks she can keep him in place with just her fingers wrapped around his body, which is made from the very essence of chaos, destruction, bad luck and most importantly, if he does say so himself, death! 

...Eh, he’ll let the child have her victory. 

“Listen, I still don’t know what you’re doing here.” The child says, her tone stern. 

Ha! As if a human can intimidate him! 

This is really getting old, he just wants sustenance! Even mushrooms will do! Birds and fish are better, but they taste weird. Cheese is preferable, and Camembert is exquisite.

“Look, I’m a kwami. Kwamis grant powers.” Plagg narrows his eyes at this, this uninformed child. “Basic gist of mine is Destruction. Got it?” 

“Nuh-Uh.” The child shakes her head, her blonde locks swaying. The locks of hair that grab the light just right... that are probably super soft locks... Locks that would make for an amazing be—

Plagg shakes his head. No time to get distracted. He needs food. 

“Good.”, He looks around before looking into the child’s eyes and not the attention grabbing hair that looks like such a great spot to sleep in. “Got anything to eat, I’m starving!” 

The child narrows her eyes, staring at him. Plagg stares back, keeping his expression neutral. 

“Father’s pranking me, right?” The child stands up, leaning her massive, disgustingly proportionate, head over him. Plagg looks away, he does not want to see up that nose, no matter how clean it is. It’s gross. 

“Wait... that’s not possible, Father doesn’t have a sense of humor.” 

Plagg pulls himself from the human’s surprisingly tight grasp, spreading his limbs out wide. No matter what he thinks of this rule, the last time he didn’t obey it, Tikki ignored him for 500 years and his wielder caused Vesuvius, all because Tikki’s wielder, by extension, also ignored him. “Your dad must never know I exist. Or anyone for that matter.”

Adrienne tilts her head. Furrowing her eyebrows. “Plagg, I’m pretty sure Father already knows other humans exist...” 

Plagg raises his eyebrows. This kid might actually be fun to be around. “I meant no one else can know that I exist.” 

“Oh, yeah, that makes more sense.” 

“Anyway,” Plagg zips into the kids face. “Where. Is. The. Food?” The kid looks at him with the weirdest expression. 

“I only get to eat at breakfast, lunch and dinner. No snacks.” 

Plagg narrows his eyes. “That’s no way to live!” 

“Well It’s how I live.” 

Plagg drops his tone a bit. “It’s not a way that anyone should ever have to live.” 

The kid’s eyes go wide

Plagg stares into her eyes, cocking his head. “Well, time to get this out of the way.” Plagg suddenly zips from in front of Adrienne, and into her bathroom. “I’m a kwami, and I can grant you the ability to destroy anything you touch!” 

Plagg stops before a roll of paper, hanging above a , quite frankly disappointing, porcelain throne. He grabs and *nearly* lets out a delighted gasp. Such an amazing invention! He drops it to the ground before landing on it and it starts to unravel. FUN! 

“All you need to do is put on the ring! To be able to do anything, you call out “Claws Out” and to activate your power, call out Cataclysm, you’ll be able to destroy anything you touch!” He explains as he runs around the room on this roll of super soft paper. (Well, actually the powers that he can grant are much more than a mere Catalclysm, but the kid isn’t ready for that yet. Plus, Tikki’d kill him if he were to tell her that.)

“I can do that?” 

“Psssshhh, no, I can do that, I just allow you to be able to do that.” 

“What do I say again?” 

“Claws Out.” 

“Claws out?”

The ring sucks Plagg in and he’s getting ready to meld with the kid. Create what she wants subconsciously. In a flash, he’s inside her mind and he’s ready to shape her body to the way it’s supposed to be, but stops. It would make her happy, but she isn‘t ready for anyone else to know yet, she’d have a break down. And, probably worse. So, he lets her mind create her suit in accordance to what she wants right now.

                                         -----------------------

Looking in her mirror, Marinette puts on the earrings. “So, you’re saying, you can give me the power to…. create anything—“ 

“At random, you won't be able to choose it!” 

“—and restore damage—“

“Only if you cast Lucky Charm! And it only restores damage dealt to people caused by a specific event that has happened recently.” 

“Okay, so, you can transform me into a ladybug styled superhero, with increased physical and mental capabilities-“ 

“Mental only in the fact that you’ll be able to take in more information and take it in faster, other than that, it’s all you!” 

“And I can create a random object by calling out Lucky Charm and restore damage dealt to living things caused by a specific event by calling out Miraculous Ladybug?” 

“Yep!” 

“And I can become this Ladybug by….” 

“Calling out ‘Spots On” Tikki looks into Marinette’s eyes, he doesn’t know it yet, he hasn’t realized it yet. 

Hopefully he will. She really doesn’t want Marinette to go through more of his life in unknown misery. Luckily, when the time comes, she can help! 

“Spots On?” 

“Wait I forgot—“

Melding with his mind, Tikki ignores the urge to shape Marinette’s body the way she knows he feels subconsciously like he should. He doesn’t know yet, and she doesn’t want to put that stress on him. But Sugar cookies she forgot to tell him about the ability to purify things! And that the way to take down this thing is to destroy the corrupted object, or that there is a corrupted object. Well, he’s her wielder, he’ll figure it out. 

Technically Tikky can give her wielders so much more power, but this is the first time being her wielder, so she’ll have to ease Marinette into this. 

[This is the image I used to base Nooroo’s, Tikki’s and Plagg’s designs on, I have also used it to alter Trixx’s, Wayzz’s, Pollen’s and Duusuu’s designs.] 

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Are you going to finish the Tiny Virgil AU? Cause the last chapter ended on a cliffhanger. If you don't feel like finishing the whole thing, you could maybe give us bullet points of what was supposed to happen?

Ahaha whoops, I kinda forgot that fic. at the rate I'm going, it'll take like ten years for that or any of my other fics to get finished. Tbh, I actually have a whole outline for that one? Acantha (@theeternalspace) and I brainstormed the rest ages ago and then I took our thoughts and bullet-outlined it out.

The thing is? Like, emotionally I want to hold onto my thoughts and finish it, but if I am to be completely honest, realistically it probably won't happen. Because I wanna prioritize Gibbous over it and all.

so tldr: I'd like to write more installments, but in the case I never finish it and/or you don't care about spoilers, check the read more for what happens.

warnings: hurt/comfort, crying, morally grey sides (all sides are present so beware idk its been awhile im not up to date with how the fandom handles this sorta thing)

Chapter 5

Anx cant believe he forgot about Thomas!

He was so caught up in Creativity wanting to play with him, he's forgotten about his whole purpose

He goes to the real world, worried about all the things that could've befallen his host without his guidance

Anx is confused to be faced with adult Morality and another...side?

"Thomas?"

Thomas is big, Anx is not

This can't be real, can it? How can he protect Thomas like this?

Roman shows up, but the damage is dealt (Ro and Pat converse a bit)

Virge starts panicking and panics even more when he sees Thomas affected by it

Ro & Pat try to comfort Virge but no use

It's Thomas who gets to him. Who is...helping? Why?

"Wh-why are you so nice? I'm bad, I hurt you--I do bad things."

Thomas looks sad at that. He tries to explaining that he doesnt think Virge is bad, he can be good

Virge doesnt really understand but at the same time...Thomas loves him??

Thomas offers him a hug and he accepts it. Still so confused but at least his host loves him.

Chapter 6

Virgil ends up tuckered up in Thomas' arms

"Crying is exhausting, don't like it" He complains to Roman.

"I know. You've been very brave, little prince."

It's not that late but Thomas seems nervous. "I should go to bed." (Basically feels like if he doesnt adhere to his childhood bedtime, he'll get in trouble aka lil Virgil's influence)

Patton asks if he'd like for him to accompany him and Thomas nods

Roman and Virgil end up back in the mindscape with Patton promising to follow soon after

Roman tucks him into bed

Patton comes back, looking tired, and both Roman and Patton agree to talk with Logan in the morning about things

in the morning with Virgil still asleep, Lo, Pat and Ro talk briefly

Logan shares some theories (Age regression maybe?)

Patton tells them what's up with Thomas

Roman decides to bother the Dark Sides. "If this happened before in the past, they would know, wouldn't they? And if they're behind it this time then I can get them to stop it"

They decide to have Patton look out for Thomas again and for Logan to watch over Virgil while Roman ventures out to the Dark Sides

Chapter 7

Logan mulls over what is happening

Grateful that Thomas is going to bed early at least

He is not worried, he is Logic

Tries focusing hard on his book

Virgil wakes up, disappointed to see Logan and not Roman

Roman ventures through the dark mindscape

infodump detail on how it differs vs. the regular mindscape, quiet, silence nobody is around

"HELLO" Roman screams as his brother pops up

"What do I owe brother dear for this visit?"

Virgil is worried about Roman, but Logan placates him a bit

The two end up doing a puzzle

During which Virgil randomly hugs Logan

When Logan asks why, Virgil explains "You're scared. Hugs make me feel less scared"

Logan thanks him for the sentiment but insists he is not scared

"You're scared, I can feel it. It's okay, I get scared lots of times so you don't have to." Virgil says

And then Logan's fear dissipates

He stares at Virgil, shocked, because did tiny virge take his fear away??

And if so, if tiny virge knows how to do this, has adult Virgil been doing it without them knowing??

Chapter 8

"I know you did it" Roman growls. It makes sense really. Remus did random things for sh*t and giggles

Remus blinked "Oh! You found out about ____, didn't you?"

"What no!" Roman says, disgusted. "I'm talking about Virgil."

"Wait, you think I did it with Virgil? Mr. Emo?"

"NO!" Roman snaps. "Stop playing dumb!"

The two have a scuffle, ending up with Remus having a sword at Ro's throat (who is stuck in green goop)

"I really don't know what you mean." Remus says, "What is it exactly do you think I did again?"

Logic must hate him, Anx thinks, otherwise why would he be looking strangely at him?

but its okay, even if it really really really hurts, Anx has done it before and would do it again to keep from any of them feeling pain

He asks if Anx took his fear away and he nods

surely this must be a happy thing but Logic seems even more upset

the fear grappling tiny virge is foreign. It's so different than fears he's taken before. He finds himself drowning in it. he doesnt quite understand most of it. But there's fears about himself, Logic being scared for him, not of him. (basically oh boy adult fears are much harder to process for a child Anxiety)

Logic grips his hand and asks for his fears back

"I can't" Tiny Virge says, shaking like a leaf

Logan asks it again. Virge shakes his head "I can't, I--I don't know how!"

He really doesnt know how. Usually he just holds it all in until it explodes.

Logic echoes some of what the fear is telling him, that Logic cares for him. And weirdly, it means a lot for him to hear that Logic actually cares.

But noooo he must only care because of Thomas, right?

Anyways this is resolved somehow idk lmao and then Logan is called to help with Thomas

Virgil promises Lo he'll be okay, not wanting to stop him from being able to help their host

Logan promises he'll back momentarily

Virgil squeezes Zola and tries his best to stay calm

Previously on Rem and Ro

Roman spills the beans on whats up

Deadbeat silence

Remus then babbles about how he has no clue what Roman is talking about, but is super intrigued and wants to check this out for himself

He sinks out as Roman grabs onto his ankle, but isn't enough to stop him from sinking out.

Chapter 9

"Hiya!"

Little Anx squeaks, shadows gathering at his feet, ready to strike at....

A Green-Dressed Creativity? He dresses fancily like him.

"Princey?"

Green laughs. "No, I'm The Duke! Princey's my brother!"

And Lil Virge is kinda confused but rolls with it because Creativity pretending to be someone else/splitting himself into two is a very Creativity thing to do and isn't too worried about it.

Roman shows up, fuming

However, because of Virgil, he has to play nice

They end up having a pretend tea party

Roman finds himself shocked that Remus is decent with kids? Or at least a Kid Anxiety??

He still says outrageous things but Virge giggles at them (Basically kids really have no baseline for moral right-or-wrong, they find talk of murder funny)

Roman feels a bit guilty/regretful realizing he never played much with Remus growing up

Eventually, Logan pops up slightly frazzled

He's relieved to see the twins there looking after Virgil

Explains the situation w/ Thomas to Roman while Remus and Virgil play

Patton pops up, looking slightly weary, leading Roman and Logan to insist he take a day off from watching Thomas

Upon seeing Logan & Patton, Virgil runs up to hug Logan, but shies away from Patton

Patton tries to hide his disappointment about this

Remus tries to leave upon seeing Lo and Pat are here

but Virge clings to him, insisting he stays

The Others agree, and Remus perks up a bit.

Somewhere, there's a discussion about Virge again, late at night?

Logan reveals Virgil taking fears from him

At some point it's decided to leave Janus out of it as it's unknown how little Virge would react to him and the fact that Janus most likely knows what's up and has chosen to stay out of it

It's decided that Remus and Roman will traverse the Imagination to see if there's a solution there

Logan will be with Thomas

Meanwhile Patton will look after Virgil

Chapter 10

Patton's POV

Little Virge is upset about both Remus and Roman leaving

they try to placate him but it does little. (Telling him how they'll stay safe and they don't want him going because they want to keep him safe)

Patton's heart breaks but he has to holds back Virge.

Eventually the two have heart-to-heart

Apparently the two had a classic childhood spat, that means a lot to Virge even tho poor Pat doesnt remember the spat at all.

Pat tells them they're the best of friends now, even shows him evidence

Virge feels a little better

Sees a snake stuffy in Pat's room, asks about Dee

Patton deflects

The two end up making cookies together

The Imagination is a bust, although the twins return squabbling in a good mood

And Remus has a "present" for Virgil, who delights in it.

They chat, when suddenly Virgil screams

Chapter 11

Virgil's POV

He's been trying his best to stay calm, to hold back the anxiety gained from Logan and also the other fears swelling inside of him

But it's too much, and push comes to shove. A burning sensation occurs

And it explodes

He has a panic attack and realizes it extends into the real world

Overwhelmed and upset, he runs off.

He runs off to his hideaway and sits there

Getting bombarded with fears

He's there for what feels like hours when--

"Oh my dear Anxiety" A crooning, unfamiliar yet familiar voice says

Virgil looks, surprised, to see Deceit!! There's a lot more scales and he's wearing a funny outfit but it's him

He is happy to see him albeit sobbing into his capelet because of what happened.

Dee holds onto him going, “Shhhh everything’s alright. Shhh it’s not your fault. It’s my fault, I’m sorry—“ and Virgil interrupts shrieking it can’t be his fault, because in his mind Dee would never do anything bad and it hurts Dee to know that young Virge has so much faith in him.

"You'll hate me" But Little Virge refuses to accept that. "You're lying, you don't mean that"

"Okay, you caught me. "We stay best friends forever" OR something along those lines

Dee convinces him to bring back to the others, that they don't hate him

When they return, the others "freaking out" is a mild understatement.

Dee slowly produces tiny Virge out of his capelet.

Hisses at them to keep their distance because crowding Virge will only freak him out

Apologies and misunderstandings are made clear

Thomas summons all of them and they all have a sleepover

Virgil falls asleep snuggled between Remus and Dee

Chapter 12

Maybe Roman's POV?

Along with Thomas, they have a discussion

Dee waits a bit, before revealing that he's behind the reason for Virge's current state.

As his role Deceit, he has access to both truth and lies. One lie is that Virgil believes his kid self died and is no longer a part of him--attempting to actively repress those memories

He then points out the childish aspects of each side's function. (Maybe Logan input something about growing up and stuff)

P: "But why would Virgil think this?" J: "oh gee, I wonder why. It isn't like he was made to feel like an outcast from a very young age or anything"

Instant Guilt for all

Anyways Dee explains some mishap occurred, thus reverting Virgil back to this state

You get the sense Janus isn't telling the whole truth.

Janus says he has a way to fix things, and that's when there's a noise

"Anx?"

Virge is there, standing incredibly still, slightly heavy breathing

"Anx, it's okay, we're not upset"

Little Virge heard everything and is upset but he understands

He knows Thomas needs big him, and the others reassure him that they'll be there for him, each having a small moment with him

Then he starts glowing brightly, causing them all to be alarmed, Janus included

Chapter 13

Virgil is back and boiiiiiii is he freaked the heck out

The Others including Thomas are all there, F*CK how can he ever recover after they saw him like that?

He's both embarrassed and mortified

Not to mention it hurts to have two sets of childhood memories rattling inside his head. One that was lonely and painful, and the other that was happy but fake

He snaps at Janus and ends up fleeing in his room

He doesn't duck out

He cant do that

He just doesnt....go out. He doesn't want to hear the jokes start. He doesnt want the babying or the pitying to start.

He does his job and that is that.

(inwardly he knew this would happen, but not like this)

They try summoning him (Thomas included) but he wont come out. His door is locked.

Patton slips a note under the door but Virge refuses to look at it.

Blares MCR

Somehow Zola appears in his room, and he'd like to tear it apart or something, but he can't help but squeeze the stuffed bat tight and cry for the childhood that never was.

A week passes, and there's a very sad prince at his door

Virgil ends up letting him in because look, he's not a monster

it's very...awkward at first

but they eventually have a heart-to-heart and some snarky banter

and Virgil is very confused when Princey feels the need to apologize to him

They also discuss Janus and Virgil very reluctantly agrees to talk to him

Virgil ends up talking with Janus over tea

Janus doesn't really look at him, staring at his teacup as he explains himself

and dammit, Janus has hurt him (but then again so has Virgil hurt Janus)

But a part of him really misses him. A part of him that has always missed him.

Janus explains he just wanted to know where he went wrong in their friendship, that he went the round-about way because knew Virgil wouldn't talk to him but messed with things he shouldnt and accidentally caused Virgil to revert to the age before their friendship started fraying by accident.

He admits that he almost wanted to leave Virgil that age, to take advantage of it as a way to start again, but ultimately couldnt let himself take advantage of virgil in that way

He also apologizes, telling Virgil "Showing weakness isn't bad. I told you once that you had to stay strong and not let anyone see it, but I was wrong" and that he understands if Virgil doesnt accept his apology right away or if ever

And Virgil doesnt completely accept, not yet, but he's willing to try

It ends happily with them going down to dinner with the others. (possibly Virgil having moments with the others??)

the end

BONUS, Written Scene from Chapter 11 w/ Virge's and Janus's reunion because I was self-indulgent and wrote ahead

“Oh my dear Anxiety,” A silky voice croons, so achingly familiar.

He sniffles, raising his head to meet eyes with the much older face of his best friend; Deceit. It has to be, there is no other side whose left side of face is reptilian in nature. He’s crouching beside Virgil, only one set of arms present at the moment. He’s wearing a funny outfit, but then Deceit has always dressed funny, just like Creativity. Neither of them have ever been worried about standing out.

“Dee!” Anxiety cries out, all but flinging himself onto the older side. The velocity of it flattens the two onto the ground, with Deceit letting a small grunt from the impact. He’d be more worried about possibly hurting Deceit if he wasn’t too busy bawling his eyes out into the strange cape Deceit is wearing.

Deceit strokes his hair, so soft and gentle. Then two sets of arms hoist Anxiety upwards, settling him onto Deceit’s lap. Deceit hugs Anxiety, cocooning him in a warm embrace. For a moment, everything feels normal again. As if they’re all kids still and Anxiety had sought Deceit for comfort after a bad nightmare.

Then Deceit speaks, saying words meant to be comforting. They are comforting at first, until Deceit says things that don’t make sense. And Anxiety knows Deceit is a liar, that he says things that aren’t true. But he knows when Deceit isn’t lying. They’re best friends after all.

“Shhh, it’ll be alright. Shhh, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s not your fault. It’s mine. I hurt you and I’m--”

“No!”

“No?” Deceit repeats.

“No, it--it--you didn’t do anything bad, you wouldn’t!” Anxiety says, nearly shrieking, “You’d never, ever, hurt me. We’re best friends and best friends don’t do that.”

A strange, choking noise erupts from Deceit. Anxiety looks to see Deceit’s human eye glistening. His best friend’s lips quiver, like Anxiety gets when he gets too scared to speak. Except Deceit is never scared. He always knows what to say in a situation, confident in ways Anxiety could never be.

“Oh, I’ve forgotten what you were like at this age,” Deceit whispers, so low that Anxiety thinks he wasn’t meant to hear it. Then Deceit shakes his head, a weird laugh escaping him. “You’re going to hate me, Anx. Or rather, you’re going to hate me more after this is all over.”

“You’re lying,” Anxiety accuses, his fingers tightening around the fabric of Deceit’s cloak, “You don’t mean that. I love you, Dee, you’re my best friend and--and...Big Me is still best friends with you, right?!”

Deceit inhales sharply, as if there’s something stuck in his throat. Before Anxiety can even grow concerned for his well being, he breaths out a long dramatic sigh.

He rolls his eyes, smirking, “Alright, you caught me.”

“I did?”

“Yes. I was only lying to scare you out of crying,” Deceit assures him, “I didn’t mean to scare you into thinking we weren’t best friends still. Of course we are.”

“G-good,” Anxiety huffs, “don’t scare me like that, Dee, I don’t like it!”

“I won’t do it again, I promise,” Deceit says, his smirk fading a bit as he takes on a somber expression, “it still isn’t your fault for what happened, Virg--Anxiety. Neither I or any of the others think it is. They certainly despise you for it.”

“Despise?” Anxiety’s heart jumps a bit, “Oh! You mean...you’re saying...they don’t despise me?”

“I don’t know,” Deceit raises an eyebrow, “Why don’t you try reaching out? See what their fears tell you.”

Anxiety closes his eyes, sticking his tongue out in concentration. If he thinks super hard, he can envision everyone's fears like spider webs, branching all over the mindscape, interconnected in some ways and in others, completely disconnected in each side's little corner.

And he is the itsy bitsy spider, that scuttles about and maintains the webs to some degree. Because a little bit of fear is good, it helps keep Thomas alive. So he traces the webs and searching for what Dee suggested. There is one thread present, in every nook and cranny of the web, he searches, even in the splinter-offs. One fear that repeats and loops through the whole network that he has never seen before.

"Oh." Anxiety breathes, eyes widening. They're not afraid of him. They're afraid for him, worried about his safety and wellbeing. Anxiety doesn't know what to think of that.

[draven-imani]

Journal 5 (Part 2)

So. Yeah. Commander Irabeth Tirabade gave me a temporary field promotion. Although she said there wasn’t much of the Raven Corps left to speak of at the moment. Apparently, a certain Golden Boy had commandeered as many people as he could convince to come with him on a mad quest into the Worldwound after the attack and our group fell underground. He has an entire legion following him, which he dubbed the Silver Legion. She said it was likely he’d be back soon for a supply run.

Damn. I always knew Leto would go far. But to rally the troops on his own without any preestablished backing and just…go for it? I don’t know how he does it. We walked the same path and yet somehow he’s always been in a completely different league than me. I don’t envy him, not in the slightest. I’m in awe, more like. It’s like looking at the sun. It’s incomprehensible.

Ah. I wish he were here instead of there, though. He’d know how to handle this whole ‘Acting Captain’ thing. I feel in over my head already. I don’t want a position of power. I don’t want people’s lives in my hands. I only thought I wanted to go up the ranks when I was an idealistic kid with no idea what that meant. Now…the idea of giving the order that gets someone killed sickens me…

But if Commander Tirabade is the one who gives me that responsibility, I don’t think I’ll be able to say no.

I was starting to doubt…a lot, the last couple of days, honestly. Everything about Luna threw things into question. And then we found out Baphomet cultists infiltrated the church. And then Auriel died. And then I first talked to Radiance…and heard their threats. The threats from a holy weapon that sounded like they should have come from a demon. That stung. That shook me.

But then we met Irabeth Tirabade. And even in person she represents everything I have ever strived to be. Both in the sense of a former Raven Corps member who pulled herself out and into a position to actually be of use to the world, but also in the sense of how an Iomedae worshipper should carry themselves. She’s noble and strong and honorable, but she’s not quite so stuck in her ways as Auriel was, she seems to see things the way they are, and have been in the past, and she seems to be willing to admit when things are rotten and need to be fixed. I respect her. A lot. I…don’t want to disappoint her.

Aaaaand that means, if she gives me a responsibility, I have to rise to the task…even if I really really reeeeeeeeally don’t want to.

Commander Tirabade told me to give her a full report of everything that had happened. Which is exactly what I’d been keeping this journal for. So I gave her my report, and had the others chime in where my memory or note taking didn’t serve adequately. Then I showed her Radiance. I didn’t really think about it, because I thought since she was a paladin that Radiance wouldn’t be quite so ‘I’m going to flay you alive’. Or maybe I just wasn’t thinking, because she was Irabeth Tirabade and I’m dumb. That’s more likely. Anyways Radiance started burning her hands, so I quickly took them back.

And I may have admonished them out loud for doing that. To which Radiance basically asked ‘what part of chosen wielder don’t you understand?’ which…fair, but I guess I kind of thought Radiance was the one deciding whether or not to start hurting someone for touching it with how they’d worded it last time. I didn’t think it just happened.

The others were looking at me like I was crazy and asked if I was talking to my sword. So then I had to explain that Radiance is a magic intelligent weapon and also really picky about who wields them.

(And I got a little off track figuring out Radiance’s pronouns here. The answer boiled down to ‘I don’t conform to your mortal view of gender, call me whatever you want’, so I’m sticking with they since it’s neutral. Must be nice being a formless weapon spirit who can just give a copout answer like ‘I don’t conform to your mortal view of gender’. I’d not conform to my mortal view of gender if I could, but I have a flesh prison with all that gender-y stuff that comes with it.)

So then one of them, I forget who, commented about me being the chosen wielder of Radiance. And I think I laughed. I corrected them. No, I wasn’t the chosen wielder. The others pointed out I was wielding them, it sure looked like I was. So I explained what Radiance had already explained to me. That Auriel had been meant to wield them. That I was only holding them now because Auriel didn’t make it this far, and because Auriel’s soul vouched for me.

Commander Tirabade gave her condolences to us about Auriel, and asked that I tell her as much as I could about him later, as someone was going to give a eulogy for all who had been lost in the battle against the demons soon and she would make sure given his heroic sacrifice that he was given the send off he deserved.

Then Anevia rejoined the conversation, having been listening in on the sword talk. She called Irabeth over and asked her about the sword she had lied about selling. Anevia proved even with a sweet voice and a smile to be scarier than the much larger and more fearsome looking commander. Commander Tirabade admitted that she had sold her sword in exchange for an anniversary gift for Anevia. A potion that permanently changes one’s gender.

Aaaaand looking back I really hope the talk about pronouns was not uncomfortable, I was legitimately trying to be polite to the sword, despite Radiance never once extending the same courtesy to me.

Anyways.

By the end the Commander determined that it would be a good idea for us to continue taking out the safehouses, but she had another mission for us as well once that was done. Something big. She told us that another of Deskari’s generals was on her way here—the witch Arelu Vorlesh. We had heard rumors of this from drifters on the streets as well. The crusaders had managed to get information that Deskari’s cult had holed up in Old Kenabres, making a stronghold of a temple to the Inheritor known as the Grey Garrison. There was a piece of the wardstone left still intact, and Arelu was coming to corrupt it. If she was successful, the Commander believed Arelu was going to turn the wardstone into a weapon that would decimate the crusaders on the battlefield.

With that in mind, she had a librarian from the Blackwing come forward with a magical rod. I’m not one for the arcane, but Hiskaria sounded extremely in awe and almost equally disturbed by the implications of the rod, a ‘rod of cancellation’. The important part I gathered was that if Hiskaria used the rod on the wardstone, then it would destroy it.

Melody was hesitant, wondering if there was any way to eventually fix the wardstone and restore the barrier to save the city. Commander Tirabade said no. It had been created hundreds of years ago, when times were less turbulent, and with divine intervention. We had neither the means nor the time, and every moment we left the wardstone intact was a moment Arelu could return to attempt to corrupt it to her own purposes. Better that it was destroyed than in enemy hands.

We agreed. The Commander said that she would not order this strike until we had cleared out all of the safehouses, so that they had nowhere to fall back to, and no reinforcements to call upon, or else the strike would be a suicide mission. But once we had finished ridding the city of their other bases of operations, she would have an army march on the main forces of Deskari, drawing their attention, while our small strike force took the Grey Garrison.

With a plan in place, we decided that today we would at least take down one more safehouse before we rested. I was the only one really in need of any rest, and Commander Tirabade offered that the clerics of the crusades were at our disposal before we left so that we would not have to use our own limited supplies. Once my remaining injuries from those blasted vultures were healed, we set out.

We came upon some looters, who had overturned the caravan of a handful of survivors and were picking through it. We discussed, and decided we didn’t particularly want to kill these guys, just spook them. So Luna pulled up her hood and donned her Butcher persona, then went after the looters, threatening that she would add them to her pile of the dead if they didn’t abandon this cart to her. It worked, and they fled for their lives.

Luna removed her hood and we approached the survivors. They were frightened after that display, but glad to have their supplies back. We pointed them in the direction of Defender’s Heart and gave them the passcode, and told them to let them know we’d sent them, as we’d seen a number of refugees being housed safely there.

After that we continued on our way, until we came upon the Tower of Estrod. From the note we’d gotten off Hosilla, there was a passcode, “I’ve new material for the archives”. Since we knew this, and we knew Hosilla’s face, we formed a plan. Melody was able to use the magic of her scale of Trendalor to disguise herself as Hosilla. I was to pretend to be one of the Baphomet worshippers who was a false Iomedaen. And Luna was merely being a more exaggerated version of herself, using her infamy as the Butcher of Balestreet to her advantage. Hiskaria didn’t want to go inside and be stuck in close quarters, so she remained outdoors on lookout, listening for any sign of things going badly. After some discussion, Melody had handed off Auriel’s scale to Hiskaria, and explained how it worked to her. The scales couldn’t be used together, so Melody needed to hand it off regardless, and it seemed right that since Hiskaria was going to be helping us for the foreseeable future, she should be the one to hold it. And as an archer the levitation ability it granted would be of more use to her than to any of us.

With a plan in mind, the three of us walked into the proverbial lion’s den. Two cultists of Baphomet were lounging about on the bottom floor. Believing they recognized Melody as Hosilla, they let us in, and told us to meet with a man on the upper floor by the name of Faxon. We followed Melody’s lead, and went up the stairs. At the top of the tower, we found a tiefling with a scorpion upon his shoulder. He spoke smugly to ‘Hosilla’, and had a very…slimy feel about him. I got the impression that he and Hosilla were not on good terms, perhaps even that Stauton Vhagn pit them against each other and that’s why he was having Hosilla check up on him, just to rub salt in the wound. Unfortunately, Melody didn’t quite know how far to press, and backed down too soon, after making her ‘report’, agreeing to return downstairs with little bite back. When questioned about what I knew, I did the safe thing and pled ignorance, claiming to merely be Hosilla’s guard and not someone in a position to have information. When asked, Luna said she was just there for the kills, nothing more nothing less.

As Melody went to have us return downstairs, Faxon called Luna back to him. I had a bad feeling, but Luna shrugged it off and said to go on without her. Melody decided that maybe we could take out the cultists downstairs quietly while he had whatever discussion he wanted with her. I agreed, although we never got the chance. When we reached the bottom of the stairs, the sound of violence broke out upstairs, and the two downstairs were alerted that something was amiss. Melody and I decided it would be best for us to guard the stairs and make sure these two couldn’t sneak up on Luna from behind first before going upstairs to try to help her finish with Fenox.

I took care of one of the cultists swiftly, with Radiance spurring me on, the both of us eager to put an end to the evils of these worshippers of the Minotaur. The sounds upstairs began to die down, as Melody took a stab at the other from the stairs with Hosilla’s glaive. He tried to flee. Melody wasn’t going to allow that. She leapt from the stairs, and with far less regard for a glaive that isn’t her family’s sentimental one, she used it to pole-vault at the cultist, landing behind him and swinging around to stab at him once again. Still he was up. He almost made it to the door.

Just in time for Hiskaria to open the door and shoot an arrow in his face.

Somehow by some twisted luck he was still going, but Melody caught up with him once again, and maaaay have decided to show off a little to our new companion as she leapt in the air and skewered the man, finally dead.

All was quiet. I was about to be concerned about what might have happened to Luna, but then Hiskaria told me about the absolutely ridiculously amazing one sided one on one ‘fight’ she’d had with Fenox. As if I should have been worried about Luna. Hiskaria had heard the commotion and used the scale to levitate up so she’d she the last half of the fight. The upper floor didn’t have a roof, so she had been intending to shoot an arrow right into the other tiefling’s skull, but it ended up not being necessary.

See, there was a wall bisecting that room, with a door. He’d shut and locked the door to put it between him and Luna when things started looking bad. Luna had shown yet again just how little walls meant to the Butcher of Balestreet when she used the glaive she’d been holding holding for show as a means to pull herself up and over, then came down on Fenox with her axe. The Butcher one, Baphomet zero.

We met with her upstairs, where we found a shrine to Baphomet and a minotaur shaped object on the wall that was causing the room to be desecrated by its mere presence. There was also a treasure chest, so we decided that while the others went through the loot, I was going to take Radiance and have a bit of fun.

It took some time, that minotaur head was damned sturdy. But when it did break, Radiance’s voice echoed through the room. It wasn’t just me that heard it that time, but everyone. Their voice faded after only a moment. The others seemed a little shaken by that. I don’t really blame them. Radiance is…a lot. They’ve gone back to just being in my head now, which is probably for the best. Them quieting down entirely would probably be better, but I’m not lucky enough to have a normal holy sword that doesn’t demand the blood of demons and cultists as we fight. Ah, well. At least we agree on who our enemies are.

The chest had holy symbols and the favored weapons of multiple faiths, pointing towards the cult’s penchant for infiltration. We decided we would return them to the clerics at Defender’s Heart. Looking back I kind of wish I’d asked if they’d be okay with me keeping one. My wooden holy symbol’s seen a lot of use, and isn’t exactly the sturdiest material. Silver to match Leto’s wouldn’t have hurt. Ah, well. Hindsight and all that.

We were feeling really good after how well that went. We’d been planning on calling it a day after the tower, but since we’d used virtually none of our resources we agreed that unless we ran into particularly nasty trouble on the road we should try to clear out Topaz Solutions, report back to the Commander, and prepare to storm the Grey Garrison tomorrow.

Topaz Solutions was quite a bit farther than the tower had been from Defender’s Heart. Which meant more time for attacks from demons or other things lurking about.

First we were attack by two barbed creatures which made a terrible howling noise. Their barbs were painful when we got too close, but we cleared them out quickly enough with little trouble to speak of. No one ended up with any of the barbs stuck in them, which was a blessing. That could have proven difficult.

Then…we came to Balestreet. The demons had left the street as much a gory horror scene as one might have expected of Luna’s namesake. Here, two cultists of Baphomet tried to ambush us. Big mistake. Luna decided she was eager to make true to her nickname, and took her axe to them. They didn’t go down.

Then two arrows went straight through them, ice burst from one’s injuries, and both fell dead on the road. Hiskaria looked a bit sheepish, asking Luna if she shouldn’t have done that, since Balestreet was supposed to be Luna’s thing. Luna shrugged it off, saying it worked either way.

Remind me not to get on the bad side of the ladies in our group, they can cut quite the fearsome characters.

With that we were on our way, the rest of the walk to Topaz Solutions uneventful. The apothecary was being looted by a couple of thugs when we arrived. Luna decided to do her thing and scared them off with a few threats from the Butcher. Then we started looking around. The looters had taken anything of value, but Luna after some poking around found some ‘really nice door technology’, and opened a secret passage that led into a hidden basement. Luna and Melody snuck down first.

After a minute of waiting, Hiskaria and I heard Luna and Melody call us down, saying there was a strange mechanical doll and an image on the wall they couldn’t identify. I went down first. As Melody stepped forward to let me in, the minotaur head on the wall began to speak. It taunted us, saying it hoped we were Iomedaens so that this surprise from Baphomet wouldn’t go to waste. Then the doll began moving, and smashed a bottle, releasing a small plant creature.

There was also some kind of…gas I think? Something was in the chamber after that which was causing us various issues. Melody and I both started finding it hard to breath for instance—not so much that we were suffocating, but enough that we were wheezing and likely would have been unable to easily move stealthily.

Worse was that plant. It was in a thick patch of vines that it could move through with ease but which we struggles in. It screamed in such a way that it caused both Melody and Hiskaria to become nauseous, forcing them to flee upstairs to safety and leaving me and Luna to deal with it by ourselves. And it was small and tricky, dodging around many of our attacks in the most frustrating manner. Luna did finally squash the blasted thing, and I went over to the minotaur head and broke whatever the device was that was releasing gas into the room.

Then we searched the room and found a chest with a mocking note claiming we deserved a reward for besting the trap. Within were a number of stolen holy symbols. Luna stopped us from taking them, noting that they were covered in a contact poison.

I have decided I rather dislike this Igon Topaz, and do hope he survived the attack on the city. If only so that I may someday bring judgement upon him myself.

With all three safehouses cleared out, we’ve returned to Defender’s Heart for the night. We reported back to the Commander, and we spent some time unwinding and preparing for tomorrow. There are some merchants set up so we were able to get some supplies. And, more importantly, we got some drinks.

And even more importantly, Leto’s back.

He showed up while we were making preparations, all smiles and charm as always. He thought I’d died in a pit, I thought he’d been killed by demons, same old same old.

He looked amazing. He’s been doing well for himself. He really was the picture of a paladin in that silver armor riding up on a holy steed. Although I guess to him I must have looked maybe a little impressive with the holy sword Radiance at my side. Ah, if only he could have a conversation with them, he’d quit being impressed real quick.

Leto played up his knight in shining armor role well, flirted with Hiskaria even though she’s twice his age and a convicted murderer, and got on well with Melody. He…did not get on well with Luna. He tried, certainly, at first, but then she threw some misplaced insults about him being Raven Corps which I corrected, and then she brought up how all the reports of her being a murderer are vastly exaggerated by the Raven Corps and…it was just all around awkward, I think.

So then he introduced us to his horse, Charles, instead. He got a kick out of the fact he’d given his holy mount such a mundane name instead of something more heroic like—

Hold up. Charles.

Charlie.

Chalie Horse.

…that blasted tiefling, I’m going to wring his neck next time I see him.

I can’t decide if I’m mad about the pun, mad I didn’t catch it when we were talking about it, or mad that I didn’t think of it first.

Named his holy steed a pun, the nerve of that man...I wonder if anyone else has caught on. Commander of the Silver Legion, Leto Jules, the tiefling so charismatic he managed to sway 50,000 people to his banner…named his holy steed Charlie Horse. Inheritor help me I don’t know what to do with him.

Or how to outdo that.

Which is frustrating.

Oh well. What’re you going to do? Some days you find out your brother is not just still alive but now leading a legion on the back of a horse named Charlie and you just roll with it.

I’m glad he’s okay.

His Silver Legion is going to be joining the fight against the main forces tomorrow while our strike force goes into the Grey Garrison. So that’s more for me to worry about. But Leto’s always been a lucky bastard unlike me. He’ll be fine.

After the fact Melody, Hiskaria, and Luna decided it was really important to whisper amongst themselves and to send me away. So apparently it’s rumor time again. Yay. I’m fairly certain with them it would be nothing bad…but I can’t fathom what they could have possibly been whispering about. I suppose if they think Leto and I are related by blood it could have been about that, if they think I share his demonic bloodline…but Hiskaria is a tiefling as well, I see little reason why they would need to be secretive about it if that were the case. And quite frankly Leto and I don’t look alike. At all. Even if he weren’t golden, we don’t share even close to the same features. So I don’t think we could be mistaken for blood relatives.

I don’t know, and there’s really no use in speculating. It’s growing late, and we have a temple to siege in the morning.

[lailoken]

“Lord of Norfolk, Grey Lord of the Flint

In our magical work, we often visualise the Lord of Norfolk in human form, because that is the way we are best able to approach and comprehend his being. He appears as a huge and ancient grey-clad figure, a hunter with bow and arrows, a strong and powerful builder, a protector and defender of the land, striding along the coastline, beside the meres, across ploughed fields or though the woodlands. Sometimes he seems to emerge so clearly, from the mists of the veil, that it is almost possible to glimpse his features, to make that step towards a richer understanding, a greater knowing; and then the moment passes. Nevertheless, the physical signs of the extraordinary remain with us, for the Lord of Norfolk is there in the stones, in our gardens and fields, as they work their way to the surface, blunting tools or needing to be removed to allow delicate plants to thrive. At other times, we hear his voice as the waves endlessly shift the shingle, back and forth upon the beach, creating smooth and sea-tumbled pebbles, or we catch a sharp reminder of presence on bare feet or careless fingers.

The Lord of Norfolk is embodied by a magical stone indeed. Flint is composed almost entirely of silica, and only diamonds are harder and more durable. Yet because it flakes so easily it can be worked into different shapes (Russell, 2000) and has a multitude of different uses. Although we see the Lord of Norfolk as a Grey Lord, his stone varies in colour, and may be yellow, brown or amber, if iron oxides or other pigments have seeped in through the his of the stone and left their own special magic. pores The core of a piece of Flint is usually smooth, dark and lustrous, while its outer surface, known as the cortex, is less dense and much more porous, and can be seen as a clear white line when a stone is broken open. Once Flint is cut and exposed, the process of cortication often transforms the colour from black to pale bluey grey, although the rate of the change is delightfully unpredictable. On some Medieval buildings, the shiny core is as little changed as on some Victorian buildings. Another process, patination, gives the Flint a yellow or white waxy look, somewhat reminiscent of ivory (Hart, 2000). Such a rich assortment is useful when selecting stones for magical work, as is the range of shapes and textures. Pieces found in Thetford Forest are often angular and rather waxy looking, with blue patterns on them, sometimes surprisingly like broken pieces of Willow Pattern crockery, but also containing runes or other forms of written messages.

The Lord of the Flint's domain extends far beyond Norfolk, and the buildings of the whole region of East Anglia are expressions of centuries of interaction between this magnificent being of the Earth and the ingenuity and skill of human craftspeople, at one with their materials, which come directly from the Source. The Lord of the Flint provides the raw materials for the simple hearth and home of ordinary folk, grand abodes for the rich, the protection of Norwich's city walls, the spiritual aspiration of the great wool churches.

Some of the constructions use "as-found" Flints, sometimes set into mortar, in an apparently random patterning, sometimes in coursed arrangements, where clear horizontal lines are visible. Herringbone patterns are often seen, as is galletting, when small flakes of flint are added to the mortar before it dries, to provide extra packing between irregular shaped stones, or for purely decorative purposes. A rich vocabulary has developed to describe the different kinds of Flint work, which have become part of the Flint Lord's poetry. Knapped work may be "select", "squared" or “rough squared"; it may use "ovals", "scales" or "blocks". In combination with other stone or brick, the patterns formed may be "chequer", "Flemish chequer", "banding", "morse" or "diaper". The names can be read as spells, and indeed used as such, with their "diamonds", "lozenges", "trellises" and "lattices". Flushwork uses the contrasting characteristics of Flint and ashlared freestone, mostly brought to East Anglia, by water, from Lincolnshire limestone quarries, to produce distinctive designs, which are full of symbolism, meaning and magic. The earliest example of this technique is thought to be St. Ethelbert's Gate, in Norwich, built in 1316, although restored in 1815 by William Wilkins (Hart, 2000). Flushwork on other buildings shows seasonal patterns, merchant's marks, the tools of many trades, wheels, foliage, intricate interlaced patterns, heraldic designs and protective or religious or spiritual symbols and even the Glastonbury Thorn. Just like the foliate heads, seen in so many Medieval churches, a wealth of Pagan and magical imagery can be seen in these flushwork designs (Talbot, 2004).

Not only does this Grey Lord represent protection from the weather and from attack, He also provided our ancestors with the means to hunt and grow their food. Arrowheads, sickles, polished axe heads and grinding stones were all made from mined Flint, at that liminal point in our history when we made the gradual transition from being hunter gathers to domesticating animals and cultivating crops (Russell, 2000). In honour of this, we attach Flint heads to the arrows we use on the garlands in some of our rituals.

Probably the most dramatic and focused way to experience the power of the Flint Lord, as he manifests in His Norfolk form, is to visit Grimes Graves, in Thetford Forest, where our Neolithic forebears risked their lives to bring out, from the depths, the most prized, unweathered, black Flint floorstone, which was to be found ten to thirteen metres below the surface, in seams just 20-30cm thick. Although there were lesser Flint workings, Grimes Graves was the largest and most complex in Britain (Forrest, 1983), with 433 shafts, many with galleries radiating out from them. None of this is easily discernible from ground level though. Approaching the site (now owned by English Heritage) along a straight, single-track forest road, one is just aware of an open grassy area of mounds and dips, a car park and a small building, which is the visitors' centre. In the Summer, there are Skylarks all around. The flora of this once industrial area, but now a Site of Special Scientific Interest, is rich and diverse, and there is a discernible crackle of ancient magic all around. Reciting just a few of the wonderful plant names associated with this place is one simple way of alerting the spirits to your desire to be fully present in the enchantment of both the past and the now. Heather, Harebell, Knapweed, Mouse-ear, Stonecrop, Hawk's-beard, Eyebright, Squinancywort, Gentian and Mignionette can all be words of power, which skim the surface and initiate a little quivering, which allows the eye to see more as you attune to what is really all around you.

Once you know what is in the ground beneath you, it is not difficult to picture an underground constellation of deep shafts and star patterns joining them all, in a fantastic, invisible network. The presence of another of the powerful gods of this land, the Norse/Anglo-Saxon deity, Odin or Woden, can also be felt to wander across the strangely- textured surface of the place, as it is by one of his many names that this site is known. There are no representatives of Odin's Ravens, Hugin and Munin, here, but we are reminded of them in the constant cawing of the Rooks, in the distance trees, and the many black feathers lying in the grass amongst the shards of Flint. Besides, both Thought and Memory are important aspects of any visit here.

Fortunately, at the time of writing, it is still relatively inexpensive to buy a ticket, which allows you to go down into the one pit which is open to the public. Visitors are required to wear a yellow hard hat (which would not be my first choice of headgear when going to meet a major deity), but they are permitted to go down unsupervised. The thin metal rungs of the alarmingly narrow, but very stable, ladder are chilly to the touch, and grow colder as you make the descent, passing the various layers of Flint- the topstone and the wallstone - and watching the circle of the sky above diminish, the deeper you travel into this underworld of the ancestors. The tap of antler picks on stone can still be heard by those who are prepared to listen, and the power and presence of the Lord of Norfolk is all around. There is an indescribable tingling when you step off the last rung of the ladder, place both feet on the floor of the chamber, breathe in, and reach out for that magical understanding of ancient power and wisdom. Low arches lead off into tunnels, but these are now barred against physical entry, although it is possible to glimpse into that network of passages which join one pit to another.

Standing there, we think of the many antlers which were used to mine the Flint. These were most often Red Deer antlers, with the crown and first two tines either burned or cut away. When the tools broke, or became blunted, they were discarded, and in just two of the pits, a total of 244 such antlers were discovered, many of which had been worked smooth by the hands of the miners. On some there were even finger prints in the Chalk which covered them (Clarke Clarke, 1937). So, the Lord of Norfolk is most definitely a horned god, and the magic of the Deer is woven deeply into the fabric of the county. Naturalistic depictions of Red Deer, engraved into floorstone, were found during the early excavations of the site, although many commentators now consider these to have been part of a hoax designed to convince people that this was a Palaeolithic site (Russell, 2000). Nevertheless, this does not undermine the depth of the connections between the Grey Lord, the Deer and the landscape of the county.

It is not difficult to imagine the miners making offerings of antlers, carvings and drawings, as well as the exquisitely worked axe heads. Craftspeople of great skill worked the Flint, inspired or guided by the Lord of Norfolk who, millennia later, can still be called upon to give assistance to the county's makers and artists. I think this is one of the reasons why all of the practitioners of Norfolk's Nameless Tradition do some form of art or craft work, drawing on thousands of years of inspiration and magical help, in the development of the skills of hand and eye.

Of course, the process of going down into the pit at Grimes Graves can be done purely in the mind, in meditation or pathworking. Those who are especially skilled at knowing and visualising what they have not experienced with their mundane senses, can even do this without having been to the place in person. For most of us, though, the physical experience is important, and the effort of a regular visit becomes an act of pilgrimage.

On re-emerging from the shaft, a visit to Thetford's Ancient House Museum can provide a moving insight into the skills of the 20th-century Flint knappers. The Museum is home to an exquisite Flint alphabet, knapped by Bill Basham, in his spare time, over a period of two years. He also made a delicate necklace of seventeen circlets and a heart, which he sold, in 1927, for just £10. Sadly, like many of the Flint knappers, Basham died of silicosis, in 1932, at the age of 38 (Forrest, 1983). But the art of Flint knapping is far from lost. Will Lord, the son of earlier custodians of Grimes Graves, is an expert Flint knapper, and continues to teach the skill, as well as running prehistoric experience courses (www.will-lord.co.uk).

The Lord of Norfolk is a being of Fire as well as of Earth, for this everyday, common, yet intensely magical stone also carries within it the stuff of stars, which can light the hearth fire or ignite the divine spark within. The Flint as a strike-a- light is of enduring significance.

However, like so many things, the power of the Flint can be used for good or for ill and has not always been adapted for purely peaceful purposes. Flint arrowheads come in various shapes and styles, ranging from the chunky to the slender and elegant. The sheer numbers which have been found are thought to suggest that people may have used them in warfare, not just for hunting (Wymer, 1994). Indeed, Flint weapons have been said to be Britain's oldest industry, from Neolithic arrowheads from 2000 BCE, to the gunflints made in Brandon, and much prized for use during the Napoleonic Wars.”

—

Of Chalk & Flint:

A Way of Norfolk Magic

by Val Thomas

[peachfluffsoftstuff]

Beyond The Reef [1]

Content: Soft Vore, G/T Vore, Unwilling Prey, Shark Mer Pred, Eventual Safe Vore Reveal

Word Count: 2230

Fandom: N/A; Original Content

A/N: An older piece, but I’m still fond of it!! I have a few more chapters already written, too. I promise it gets fluffier.

-

Aless pressed himself flat against the rockbed, listening as the reef went quiet around him at the sight of two predators passing through. Neither of them seemed to notice, probably used to the attention, and were talking in low voices that still clearly travelled to all the smaller folk in the area, him included. 

He watched in half-stunned awe as the giant mers passed his hiding spot, neither noticing his tiny body camouflaged against the plant life. What a chance encounter… He was suddenly glad he had decided to venture out alone again today, watching them glide along with an unassuming steadiness to their pace. 

They continued their discussion as they moved, and despite, or maybe because of the danger, Aless darted after them, eavesdropping as he swam through concealing nooks and crannies. 

The one currently talking was seemingly younger, with wild dark hair flowing around a face with bright eyes. He had olive skin with dark grey scales scattered in patches around his fins. His tail was a lighter blue-gray, tipped with black, marking him as a reef shark breed of mer. Unlike stories Aless had heard, there was no constant anger in his eyes, but rather, crinkles around the corners that looked an awful lot like smile lines. 

At the moment however, he wore an expression of tentative concern as he frowned at his companion. 

“...I don't know Dev, doesn't it seem kind of harsh? Maybe there's some other way to find one, no need to-”

“Skim,” the other mer cut him off, and Aless wondered at that too. The older and, apparently, leader of the two had similar dark hair, though much tamer, and his tail was the deep mottled grey of a tiger shark. “I understand your concern, but this is the way it's been done for ages. There’s no need to make waves, it’ll work out alright. It always does. You’ll understand when it happens. Trust me.” He offered the smaller a slight smile.

The other mer-- Skim, allegedly-- seemed to droop slightly as he sighed, returning a weak smile and seemingly finally resigned to whatever it was they were talking about. Aless tilted his head, wondering for only a moment or two, before becoming distracted by the familiar surroundings. This… was the route to Hali Reef that the two were taking. 

Aless knew because he had just come from that very direction, hoping to avoid more harassment from the other teens his age. Nevi, at least, didn't try to draw attention to him, but it could only do so much when one’s been the whole village’s scapegoat for so long. 

What would two giant mers be doing in such a small mountain reef? Aless moved faster, an uneasy pit in his stomach, old folk tales suddenly springing to mind. These were still predators, after all.  

Soon, they came upon the opening into the underwater village, which looked uncomfortably recently abandoned. Aless could tell they hadn’t had much time to lock down and hide, and felt a little guilty for not immediately swimming ahead to warn them. 

Though, if the giant mers hadn’t come through and he’d raised a false alarm... Well, he caught enough flack from the townsfolk already without ‘attention seeker’ being added to the list. 

There was a tense pause, before Dev cleared his throat pointedly, much to Skim’s dismay. 

“You mean I really have to--?” Dev gave him a quelling look, and he sighed uncomfortably again but turned to the nearest patch of seagrass and reached out with one hand, slowly picking through it. Aless’s sense of horror mounted as he spotted a flash of silver amidst the waving plants. The only one in the village with those distinct glinting silver scales… was Nevi. 

Skim seemed to have spotted it as well, going by the way he was indecisively hovering his hand closer. Aless watched, his whole body tense with anxiety. In an instant, he saw as Nevi’s self-restraint broke, and she darted out of the plants and away like quicksilver. 

Unfortunately, Skim was even faster, slamming his hands together over her so quickly it seemed like it had been only his reflexes that caught her. He seemed to feel the same way as he looked between the prison his cupped hands had made and the other giant mer, who was looking expectantly at him. 

Hesitantly, he closed his hands together and used the position as leverage to hold the girl by pinching two fingers securely around Nevi’s muscled waist. She looked small compared to him, barely the size of his hand. 

“Why isn’t anyone helping her,” Aless murmured to himself, though deep down he already knew. She was the strongest and second-fastest one in the entire village. If she couldn’t get free, nobody could save her. 

Not without risking life and limb, with no chance of success. Aless reached for the carved dagger tied at his hip. 

Nevi was thrashing in Skim’s hold, gills and frills flaring, lashing out with enough force to break something vital in a mer her size, but only making Skim take on an expression like a kicked guppy. He started to lift her closer to his face, and a dismayed note of alarm wailed in Aless’s mind. He was moving before he could even think twice, shooting across the open water as quickly as his fins would propel him. 

He used his momentum to drive his small dagger into Skim's finger, hard enough to stick. Skim yelped at the unexpected pain and pulled his injured hand back to his chest, releasing Nevi. In the same motion, like clockwork, Aless was dragged along, the drag causing him to collide with the back of the hand he’d attacked. 

Before he could reorient himself, Skim’s other hand weighed down on him, leaving him sandwiched between the two, just as trapped as Nevi had been. 

“Aless!”

Unable to do anything about his position, he floundered for a moment, before managing to meet Nevi’s eyes. She had twisted to look at his predicament, caught in indecision, but there were two predators there and only one’s hands were occupied with him. 

“Go!” He shouted, harsh enough a command that she jerked and darted away, still stuck in the fight or flight mindset. It was a good thing he was probably about to die because otherwise she would have kicked his ass later for yelling at her like that.

He got only a moment to watch her vanish back into the reef in a flash of silver before the warm skin around him moved, one hand moving down to grasp his tail between finger and thumb. As soon as his bottom half was securely snagged, he was pulled back to look at his captor. His orientation shifted as the hold tugged him from the bottom end, leaving him hanging upside down. 

Despite the instinctual panic edging his mind, he didn't try to escape, common sense dismissing it as a fruitless effort. If nobody was brave enough to try and free Nevi, everyone’s darling, from Skim’s grip, then there was no way Aless, the local bastard, would be getting any semblance of help at all. Seeing as Nevi’s considerable strength hadn’t done anything for her, he wouldn't be able to make a getaway on his own, either. 

Still, he refused to cower or beg, glaring at Skim as he was dangled upside down in front of him. The mer was nursing his injured thumb, pulling the tooth dagger out of his skin with his teeth and spitting it into the open water. Aless watched somewhat mournfully as it sank down to the ocean floor below. That had taken him ages to find and fix up into a proper weapon. 

“At least it’s not deep...” 

Looking back up, Aless automatically flailed as he was dragged by the tail to in front of the giant’s face, and he stared at the big features, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the tip of that lightly freckled nose. It was close enough that Skim went cross eyed trying to keep looking at him, defeating the whole purpose of closer scrutiny. Aless stubbornly crossed his arms to keep from pinwheeling them, ignoring the way his fluttering gills and fins gave away his fear despite his best efforts. 

He expected Skim to pull back and send a desperate look to Dev yet again, but instead his expression was strangely dazed, his glowing irises near eclipsed by expanding pupils, gaze fixed on Aless with a strange intensity that sent a chill down his spine. He absently chewed on his bottom lip with sharp-looking teeth, and then slowly lifted Aless up above his head, looking up to keep him in view. 

Aless was only kept in the dark about his intentions for a second or two, before Skim made them very clear by opening his mouth, displaying rows of triangular white teeth framing a fleshy gullet.

“Ah,” Aless said, softly. 

At least Nevi wasn't in his place. At least they’d all know what happened to him. At least nobody would miss him too much. His chest jolted up in hiccups as his breathing started to speed up unsteadily. 

As if in spite of its inevitable end, his heartbeat was pounding a frighteningly quick tempo as he was lowered into the gaping maw, the prehensile tongue stretching out to receive him. He numbly watched as his head passed under the stacked rows of teeth, aligned neatly to tear prey apart. The rough muscle at his back was the only thing cushioning him from being skewered on the lower teeth. 

Abruptly, his surroundings went dark, Skim’s lips sealed around his torso cutting out all the outside light. His hands rose to push against the hard palate above him automatically, as if he could somehow keep the mouth from closing further. He felt the pressure from the fingers holding his tail vanish, apparently satisfied with his current level of immobility. He didn't try to move, too aware of the fangs barely scraping his stomach like a threat. 

The seconds stretched, and Aless was certain that any moment, the jaws would snap shut on his spine, interlocking and slicing him clean in half. The blood would be a mess. Distantly, he hoped that none of the children in the reef were watching. 

His grim predictions were interrupted by a pulling sensation on his skin, and he yelped as more of him was suddenly suctioned into the dark, enclosed space. More than ever, Aless could feel the difference between the warm, cloying atmosphere in the giant mouth and the cool ocean water brushing past his tail fin, which was still peeking out between Skim’s lips, twitching weakly. 

The top of his head gently bumped into something solid, and when he reached out with one hand to investigate, the smooth flesh of the throat rippled under his touch. He jerked away, seized by a primal urge to get out get out get out get out-- but at his squirming, the tongue beneath him rose up and pinned him against the ridged roof of the mouth, knocking the wind out of him. 

He was stunned for a moment, splayed out with his arms flung above his head. Then, there was another pull, an uncanny tug on his whole body accompanied by a thick sound, and his arms were suddenly surrounded on all sides by the same smooth, slippery muscle. He drew in breath to yell, terrified, and with the sound of another heavy swallow, found his entire head and chest stuck in the same constricting tube. Even as he tried to wriggle free, he could feel the rough tongue on the scales of his tail, tasting him, and he shuddered, squirming as the esophagus contracted and pulled in more of him. 

He only had a moment to think ‘I can't breathe’ before the final thick swallow resounded in his ears, peristalsis locking him in place and tugging him downwards. His smooth fish half went down easier, one gulp enough to tug the whole thing down, fins and all. Locked completely in the slick tube with barely enough room to twitch, Aless focused on trying to bring in oxygen from the meager water trapped with him. Everything pulsed around him, loud and overwhelming.

Just as the edges of his vision began to darken, his hands were released from the complete peristalsis, and the rest of him soon followed, sliding into a slick pouch full of warm seawater, contracting and relaxing rhythmically at his arrival. It was larger than where he’d been before, but filled quickly, his tail coiling and twisting in the meager space.   

After gasping in enough air to function, Aless looked around at the pitch dark space with growing despair, and began to run his hands along the stomach walls, desperately searching for some kind of exit. He found only smooth flesh under his fingers, and a rumbling purr started up above him, making him yank his hands away angrily. That giant bastard was enjoying this. 

As quickly as his temper had flared up, it died away, and he slumped against the soft folds of flesh around him. Of course Skim was enjoying this. In every way, he’d acted as the predator that shark mers were rumored to be. 

Aless was nothing more than a meal now, tucked out of sight and out of mind.

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

So motivated by anyone who shares they are working on losing weight. FYI 10kg is nothing to sniff at, esp. if you're not being too restrictive (as a lot of restrictive diets basically make you lose water weight at first, prob not your case). Keep it up!! If you don't mind answering, what are your goals?

I don’t mind, but I’m putting it under a cut because it’s going to be a looooooonnnnng ass ramble and I’m going to include some pics and I’m aware that I’ve already clogged everyone’s timelines with enough pictures today. Before I go off on my tangent, though, I want to make it really clear that I firmly believe that any person can be beautiful and love the way they look at any size. This is something that I am fighting very hard to believe about myself, too, regardless of what weight I am. I am not at all a believer in slimming down for the sake of vanity (despite my negative opinion of my own looks, vanity has never been a big enough motivator for me to lose weight), but this has progressed to the point where vanity isn’t even a consideration anymore.

Okay, so, backstory. When I first moved to England, I weighed 140lbs (63.5kg) and I looked like THIS ↓

Aren’t I BEAUTIFUL? I think so, even if nobody else does, I think so. I think so now. That part matters.

I can distinctly remember that when all three of these photos were taken, you see. I also distinctly remember looking at each one afterwards and thinking, “Fat, repulsive, disgusting.” Fat, repulsive, disgusting. That was my opinion of myself. I repeated those words in my head on a daily basis. I truly believed them. Hence, I’m wearing the same ugly cardigan in two of those pictures, because whenever I wore pretty clothes I felt so undeserving that I was compelled to cover them up with something ugly (the red dress is an anomaly because there was a dress code involved). EVERY TIME. It practically become automatic. “I’ve spent £40 on this dress, so what can I cover it with?” was basically my mantra. It was fine, I thought, because I didn’t care about pretty clothes. Liking pretty clothes was beneath me. This was a lie. I love pretty clothes. I love bright colours. I was drawing pictures of pretty gowns and tiaras from the age of six. But hey, easier to pretend that you don’t give a shit about pretty dresses than admit that you don’t feel worthy of wearing them.

I am seven whole-ass years older now, and I topped out at 283lbs (128kg) on the scales fives weeks ago. That is the heaviest I have ever been. I have doubled my body weight. By medical standards, I am extremely obese, and I’ve had seven whole-ass years to think on how I behaved back then. I’ve thought a lot about how much I hated my body and how undeserving I felt and how I stuffed myself full of junk food and said it didn’t matter because I was repulsive anyway, so why not? I wasn’t being kind to myself. How can I be a kind person if I don’t treat myself kindly? My own self-loathing has cost me my health, because in 2013, I didn’t need to take stomach tablets every day. I wasn’t vomiting a few times a week because of chronic digestive issues. I had regular periods. I lived in Sunderland and would get out of bed on my days off and walk three miles to Seaburn beach, just to hang out with a book and build sandcastles and paddle in the water and thoroughly enjoy my life. I had the ability to do that without wanting to collapse. I had the energy to write for hours on end without getting sleepy after forty minutes. I had lots of energy, lots of it!

I don’t have the luxury of enjoying any of that stuff now. I have lethargy and sluggishness and I get breathless walking up the stairs, and a huge part of that is because I have gained so much weight over the years, and because I have been eating things that specifically exacerbate my digestive issues. And I’m sick of it. My brother’s lottery win has been the most insane blessing to my family in that it is allowing us all to live out our wildest travelling dreams, and I don’t want to be the person who takes an eight hour flight to Paradise, only to sit around and do nothing because she just doesn’t have the strength. There is an eleven-year-old diamond in my life who I would do anything for, and I want more than anything to be able to bring him places and have fun with him and partake, instead of sitting on the sidelines holding coats because I am too fat to ride the rollercoaster (which happened to me, FYI, shout out to Port Aventura for sticking to safety measures, though the woman manning the coaster didn’t have to poke my thigh and say, “fat,” to make her point clear).

The thing is, and maybe this is a tl;dr moment that could have saved me a lot of trouble, but I am unhealthy and I’m tired and this is like...my life. My one life. What am I doing? I owe it to myself to treat my body better.

So these are my aims.

I want to get back to 140lbs. That is a healthy and reasonable weight for my height and body type. I am aware that I will not look the way I did in 2013 because I am seven years older, but I don’t care. I am aware that I will have loose skin and a belly and wobbly thighs when I reach this weight, but I don’t care. I will have energy. I will be healthier. I will be able to bring my stepson to all kinds of places and have the most fun with him.

No fad diets ever. This is all I’ve ever tried before, and the end result has always been the same: lose a bit and put it back on. I am making legitimate and incremental changes to my lifestyle. I am building lasting habits. I will weigh myself once a week to keep track of how I’m doing, but never more than that. I will exercise every day for a small amount of time, but if I miss a day for any reason, I won’t beat myself up about it. I will not skip meals. I will not deprive myself of food.

I am an excellent cook and I love trying new things, so I will be using that skill to find and experiment with new, delicious recipes from all over the world for my family to eat. Once lockdown ends, I’m going to start throwing dinner parties. I think this will really help me to change my attitude towards food and make meals fun for me, rather than a self-inflicted punishment.

No denying myself things. If I want to get a McDonalds I will get a McDonalds because, y’know what? Tomorrow I am going to have lots of veggies and cook myself a good, nutritious dinner, and that McDonalds won’t be anything but a delicious interlude in my week that I am not going to feel bad about.

No hiding myself in drab clothes. I hate wearing brown, grey and black and yet it accounts for most of my wardrobe. Both of those cardigan pics were taken in the middle of summer. I have wasted years of my life sweating it out in long sleeves and leggings so other people wouldn’t see, and for who? For what purpose? I am going to buy all the pretty clothes I like, wear loads of bright colours. Fuck it, it’s just for me.

[lefaystrent]

Can we get more of the Nursing Home AU please?

Part 1, Part 2

Virgil doesn’t always stay the newguy.

There’s a new new guy on theblock.

“You can call me Dee,” the man sayswhen Virgil meets the new physical therapist.

There are tattoos covering the lefthalf of his face, green scales running from his jaw to his hairline.

He’s also got heterochromia, theleft eye a glacial-blue and the right brown.

And he’s wearing a bowler hat andyellow gloves. Not as part of his uniform attire, but like as a life choice.

Virgil had never met an animebad-guy character in real life.

Virgil gives him a guarded waveinstead of shaking the hand he offers.

Dee retracts the hand after amoment, not showing the slightest bit of offense.

“Isn’t this great?” Patton saysfrom beside them, having brought them together to be introduced. “Meeting newpeople is fun!”

Virgil stares at him like he’sgrown another head.

How long had it taken Patton towarm up to Virgil?

Weeks? A couple months?

And now he was immediately chummywith this new guy who threw up more red flags than Virgil’s little prison stintever could?

Virgil gives the universe hismiddle finger.

The truth is Patton had beenalarmed when he first saw Dee.

But Dee is the smoothesttalker, able to charm anyone who gives him a fraction of a second.

“Society can be rather condemnatoryof those who dare to embrace individuality, don’t you think?” he had askedPatton upon first meeting.

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” Pattonnodded along, completely enamored.

After all, Patton had judged Virgilright off the bat without getting to know him, hadn’t he?

He didn’t want to make the samemistake twice.

“He seems nifty, yeah?” Patton asksVirgil for his opinion.

Virgil shrugs noncommittally. “Iguess.”

He inwardly grumbles to himselfthat the tattoos are actually really cool.

It’s so not fair. Who does this guythink he is? All that trying so hard to stand out will surely come to bite himin the end.

Virgil feels a little validatedwhen it does bite him.

Or rather Remus bites him.

“There’s a snake in our midst!”Remus hollers in faux-concern before cackling.

“You bit me! You actuallybit me!” Dee growls.

“That’ll be twenty bucks!” Remusholds his hand out expectantly.

Virgil has never been more proud ofthe crazy old coot than in this moment.

Logan tells Virgil his thoughts onthe new physical therapist later.

“He’s clearly well-read, cunning,and charming.”

“Sooo, you like him then?”

“I never said that. If nothingelse, I would not be opposed to challenging him to a game of chess. Which wouldsubsequently end in soul-crushing defeat for him, of course.”

“Logan buddy, have I ever told youhow much I appreciate you?”

Okay, so Logan might admittedly bea little salty that his ex-husband is enamored with the new physical therapist.

Roman is hit with Dee’s charm and‘cool’ aesthetic, and he can’t get over it.

“He looks like a Disney villain!”Roman raves.

Virgil silently agrees.

“And he’s just so smooth. Hepulls the look off so well, and he’s so smart! Why, if I was thirty yearsyounger . . .”

Virgil does not agree with this. Infact, Virgil very much disagrees with this and would like to stop talking aboutthis now.

Suffice it to say, there’s a lot ofhits and misses amongst the staff and old folk when it comes to the newphysical therapist. Lots of them fall for his charms. Others say he’s tryingtoo hard or the more religious elderly scoff in disdain at his looks and say,“He needs to go to church.”

As time goes by, Virgil finds outthat Dee is none of these things.

Okay, yeah, Dee is kinda trying toohard.

But more than anything, Dee’s justa huge dork.

Virgil catches him one day practicinglines in a mirror while he thinks no one else is around.

“Why yes, Patton. My hat really isname brand,” he says to his reflection in a silky tone. He frowns, adjustshis posture and tries again with a slightly different tone.

Virgil backs out of the room beforehe can be seen.

He walks away quickly, wonderingwhat he just witnessed.

Virgil never brings it up toanyone. He doesn’t know how to put what he saw into words anyway.

On a later day, Virgil is chillingin the break room getting his mac and cheese on.

Breaking news, the universe still hatesVirgil because Dee walks in to take his break as well.

Virgil pointedly ignores him.

Dee pointedly grabs his food fromthe fridge and sits down right in front of Virgil.

There are other seats in the room.

“Love the new eyeshadow, Virgil.Totally doesn’t make you look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“This . . . is literally the sameeyeshadow I wear every day.”

“Really? Guess I’ve never noticed.”

Virgil grips his plastic forktighter and imagines Patton appearing beside him to say, “Stabbing people inthe eye is wrong, Virgil. Even if they are rude meanie butts.”

Instead, Virgil stabs viciouslyinto his bowl of cheesy noodles.

“Cool gloves, Dee,” he‘compliments’ back. “Where’d you get them? Your grandmother’s kitchen?”

Dee eyes his gloves. “. . . yesss.”

It’s not so much of a conversationas it is a series of thinly-veiled insults.

They end their break with no realwinner.

“I so enjoyed our lunch together,”Dee says afterwards. “We should definitely do this again sometime.”

Virgil still can’t tell whetherhe’s being serious or sarcastic.

So he points a finger at him.

“You’re on,” Virgil declares. Hewalks down the hall backwards, pointing between his eyes and Dee in theuniversal gesture to show he’s got his eye on him.

Whenever Virgil doesn’t spend hisbreaks with Patton, Dee appears.

They verbally spar each time.

It becomes a thing.

And Virgil’s . . . kinda havingfun, to be honest.

He still doesn’t trust that snakeface though!

They don’t always trade barbsthough. Sometimes they just sit in silence, too tired to do anything but eat andstare at their phones.

Virgil looks up one day and seeswhat Dee’s looking at.

“Is that Steven Universe?” Virgilasks.

Dee slams down his phone hardenough to shake the table. He’s sitting ramrod straight in his seat, wide-eyedgaze pointed at Virgil.

Virgil stares back with equallywide eyes. “Dude, I think you just cracked your phone.”

“Totally didn’t crack anything,”Dee says completely unconvincingly.

He gives in and sneaks a peak athis phone screen. Virgil can’t see it from where he sits, but he can see theway Dee winces.

“Just the screen protector, I’msure . . .”

“Uh . . . you should probablycheck?”

“Marvelous idea,” Dee agrees andproceeds to sit there staring down at his phone.

“Okaaay.” Virgil decides to duckout. He tosses his trash away and sweeps out the room.

For some unfathomable reason, helingers outside the door, just out of sight.

He peeks in after a minute.

Yes Dee is still sitting therelooking sadly at his phone.

“My phone . . .” Dee murmurs sadlyto himself.

Okay, that’s just low, universe.You can’t make the smarmy charmy dickbag look all sad and junk.

Alright, so Dee isn’t that muchof a dickbag as Virgil originally thought.

Still doesn’t help that Virgil haslike zero comforting skills. He hurries away to find Patton in hisoffice.

“Uh, you should like, dip into yourcookie stash and give Dee one or something,” Virgil suggests.

“What do you mean?” Patton asks, startledat Virgil’s abrupt appearance and even more random request.

“He’s in the breakroom and he’s sad.”

Patton rises up from his seat witha purpose and a bag of cookies suddenly in hand. “Say no more.”

 _______________________________________________________________

General Tag List: @spectralheartt @a-pastel-pan @notalwaysthevillian @rose-gold-roman @ijustrealizedhowdumbmynamewas @katie-the-noble-fangirl @yourroyalydramaticanxiousness @aroundofapplesauce @merlybird500 @beach-fan @jemthebookworm @whats-going-on-kiddos @randomsandersides @gamerfreddie @unring-this-bell @analogicallythinking @lilygold23 @levy-the-b00kw0rm @tacochippy @accio-hufflepuff-power1 @just-another-rainbowblog @georganabanana @grey-says-heck @crookedlyoptimisticdestiny @thesynysterunknown @idont-know-what-im-doing @idioticsky @fadingglowcloud @whizzie72 @theinvisiblespoon @greyyy523 @opaque-puppet @just-fic-me-up @wowimsogoddamnoriginal @sos-fandoms @loganeatsbooks @trust-is-overrated @theitalianalchemist @im-crunchie @mourning--star @4amanxiety @hogwarts-my-love @enby-phoenix @justanotherpurplebutterfly @internet-or-sleep @absolutesandersidestrash @seaspider10 @nonasficcollection @satanblessi @an-absolute-failure @analogical-mess @noisyeggpizzapatrol @hamilsandersfam @cefinitely-rolo @thgjclw @knight-shives @no-no-no-no-6 @savingshae @rabbitsartcorner @buddypallady @midnight-tragedyy @007ardra @fandomloverangel @dorkoverse @moodytrash06 @mirrorz-n-starz @idunnosong @lcrnbw @ollyollyoxinfree @cuter-on-the-inside

Nursing Home List: @thirteenashmctrash @figurative-falsehood @oddball-wqri @comicsimpson @hit-or-mish

[nicklloydnow]

"But there is something rather curious in being Whitman in the nineteen-thirties. It is not certain that if Whitman himself were alive at the moment he would write anything in the least degree resembling Leaves of Grass. For what he is saying, after all, is ‘I accept’, and there is a radical difference between acceptance now and acceptance then. Whitman was writing in a time of unexampled prosperity, but more than that, he was writing in a country where freedom was something more than a word. The democracy, equality, and comradeship that he is always talking about are not remote ideals, but something that existed in front of his eyes. In mid-nineteenth-century America men felt themselves free and equal, were free and equal, so far as that is possible outside a society of pure communism. There was poverty and there were even class-distinctions, but except for the Negroes there was no permanently submerged class. Everyone had inside him, like a kind of core, the, knowledge that he could earn a decent living, and earn it without bootlicking. When you read about Mark Twain’s Mississippi raftsmen and pilots, or Bret Harte’s Western gold-miners, they seem more remote than the cannibals of the Stone Age. The reason is simply that they are free human beings. But it is the same even with the peaceful domesticated America of the Eastern states, the America of Little Women, Helen’s Babies, and Riding Down from Bangor. Life has a buoyant, carefree quality that you can feel as you read, like a physical sensation in your belly. It is this that Whitman is celebrating, though actually he does it very badly, because he is one of those writers who tell you what you ought to feel instead of making you feel it. Luckily for his beliefs, perhaps, he died too early to see the deterioration in American life that came with the rise of large-scale industry and the exploiting of cheap immigrant labour.

Miller’s outlook is deeply akin to that of Whitman, and neaarly everyone who has read him has remarked on this. Tropic of Cancer ends with an especially Whitmanesque passage, in which, after the lecheries, the swindles, the fights, the drinking bouts, and the imbecilities, he simply sits down and watches the Seine flowing past, in a sort of mystical acceptance of the thing-as-it-is. Only, what is he accepting? In the first place, not America, but the ancient boneheap of Europe, where every grain of soil has passed through innumerable human bodies. Secondly, not an epoch of expansion and liberty, but an epoch of fear, tyranny, and regimentation. To say ‘I accept’ in an age like our own is to say that you accept concentration camps, rubber truncheons, Hitler, Stalin, bombs, aeroplanes, tinned food, machine guns, putsches, purges, slogans, Bedaux belts, gas masks, submarines, spies, provocateurs, press-censorship, secret prisons, aspirins, Hollywood films, and political murders. Not only those things, of course, but, those things among others. And on the whole this is Henry Miller’s attitude. Not quite always, because at moments he shows signs of a fairly ordinary kind of literary nostalgia. There is a long passage in the earlier part of Black Spring, in praise of the Middle Ages, which as prose must be one of the most remarkable pieces of writing in recent years, but which displays an attitude not very different from that of Chesterton. In Max and the White Phagocytes there is an attack on modern American civilization (breakfast cereals, cellophane, etc.) from the usual angle of the literary man who hates industrialism. But in general the attitude is ‘Let’s swallow it whole’. And hence the seeming preocupation with indecency and with the dirty-handkerchief side of life. It is only seeming, for the truth is that ordinary everyday life consists far more largely of horrors than writers of fiction usually care to admit. Whitman himself ‘accepted’ a great deal that his contemporaries found unmentionable. For he is not only writing of the prairie, he also wanders through the city and notes the shattered skull of the suicide, the ‘grey sick faces of onanists’, etc, etc. But unquestionably our own age, at any rate in Western Europe, is less healthy and less hopeful than the age in which Whitman was writing. Unlike Whitman, we live in a shrinking world. The ‘democratic vistas’ have ended in barbed wire. There is less feeling of creation and growth, less and less emphasis on the cradle, endlessly rocking, more and more emphasis on the teapot, endlessly stewing. To accept civilization as it is practically means accepting decay. It has ceased to be a strenuous attitude and become a passive attitude — even ‘decadent’, if that word means anything.

But precisely because, in one sense, he is passive to experience, Miller is able to get nearer to the ordinary man than is possible to more purposive writers. For the ordinary man is also passive. Within a narrow circle (home life, and perhaps the trade union or local politics) he feels himself master of his fate, but against major events he is as helpless as against the elements. So far from endeavouring to influence the future, he simply lies down and lets things happen to him. During the past ten years literature has involved itself more and more deeply in politics, with the result that there is now less room in it for the ordinary man than at any time during the past two centuries. One can see the change in the prevailing literary attitude by comparing the books written about the Spanish Civil War with those written about the war of 1914-18. The immediately striking thing about the Spanish war books, at any rate those written in English, is their shocking dullness and badness. But what is more significant is that almost all of them, right-wing or left-wing, are written from a political angle, by cocksure partisans telling you what to think, whereas the books about the Great War were written by common soldiers or junior officers who did not even pretend to understand what the whole thing was about. Books like All Quiet on the Western Front, Le Feu, A FArewell to Arms, Death of  a Hero, Good-bye to All That, Memoirs of an Infantry Officer and A Subaltern on the Somme were written not by propagandists but by victims. They are saying in effect, ‘What the hell is all this about? God knows. All we can do is to endure.’ And though he is not writing about war, nor, on the whole, about unhappiness, this is nearer to Miller’s attitude than the omniscience which is now fashionable. The Booster, a short-lived periodical of which he was part-editor, used to describe itself in its advertisements as ‘non-political, non-educational, non-progressive, non-cooperative, non-ethical, non-literary, non-consistent, non-contemporary’, and Miller’s own work could be described in nearly the same terms. It is a voice from the crowd, from the underling, from the third-class carriage, from the ordinary, non-political, non-moral, passive man."

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey! I was wondering if you could recommend me some johnlock fanfics, smut (better if there is one based on the scene of TSoT when Sherlock and John were drunk) but short, just to read like in and hour or kind of. I have never read one so waiting for you answer!

Hi NONNY OMG I’M SO SORRY!!!

You’ve been waiting a long time and I LEGIT just found this post in my inbox. I’m so sorry!!!

AHHHHH okay, ah, you just reminded me that I need to do my “Johnlock for Newcomers” fic recs that I was asked for AGES ago, and because the previous asks were for non-smut, I’m going to use this opportunity to do the SMUT ONES. But I’ve a lot, so…. let’s go with shorter fics, since you want quick reads!!

Ah, this is exciting, and I hope that you are still around and I am SO SORRY for being a dick and missing this ask…. it’s giving me something for today’s Fic Rec Sunday because I didn’t have any other long lists ready so YAY.

Hope you enjoy, and let me know if you need anything else!!

These are just my suggestions for what a newcomer may enjoy :)

I also have these lists for you too if you’re looking for some other Short Reads:

MY LISTS:

Ten Fave Short Johnlock Fics (Easy Reads April 2018)

Fics Under 2000 w. 

Fics Under 2000 w. Pt. 2

Hurt / Comfort Pt. 1: Under 5K Words

Morning Sex (Short Fics)

Short Fluff and Pure Love (Masterpost)

Angry Sex Shorter Fics (Masterpost)

OTHERS’ LISTS:

Quick Reads Before Bed (Alexx)

Short Porny Fics (Alexx)

Other People’s Faves 2018: Short Fics / Self Recs (swissmissficrecs)

JOHNLOCK FOR NEWCOMERS (E-RATED / SMUT) Pt. 1 

UNDER 20K WORDS

Caught by Salambo06 (E, 1,859 w., 1 Ch. || Frottage, First Time / Kiss, Bed Sharing, Wet Dreams, POV John, Masturbation) – A hotel room. They’re here for a case, hadn’t planned to spend the night and ended up sharing a room. No, sharing a bed. Suddenly John is very much aware of his own hand closed around his hard cock and the ragged breathing next to him. Closing his eyes for the briefest second, John dares to turn his head just enough to confirm what he already knows. Sherlock, on his side, watching him.

A Study in Lace by KarlyAnne (E, 2,320 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Crafty Sherlock, Tiny Lace Panties / Lingerie, Domestics, Experiments, Oral, Masturbation) – “Why do you suppose he was doing that?” “Why do I suppose who was doing what?” “The room. The lace. The secrecy. He was playing with fire in everything he did, and didn’t care one bit. But he had a secret chamber, carefully concealed, solely for the purpose of making lace lingerie. Obviously for personal use. Why?“ Part 1 of The Unintentional Crafts of Sherlock Holmes

Where You Are by Mazarin221b (E, 2,478 w., 1 Ch. || Beach Sex, First Time, Fluff, Smut, Holidays, Pining) – He can admit he’s secretly a little glad Sherlock didn’t come with him. He needs a break. Sherlock is a handful at the best of times, and the near-constant apologizing, fixing, dealing-with, and following up on is exhausting. The near-constant unrequited attraction is a bit exhausting, too, to be honest, and John could really use a tiny bit of rest from the relentless hammering on his brain and heart.

What He’s Like by magikspell (E, 2,919 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confessions, Fluff, First Time, Inexperienced Sherlock) – Realistic first time. They love each other so much.

Pillow Talk by 221b_hound (E, 2,925 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, Est. Rel., Preening Sherlock, Limpet Sherlock, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Sex on Furniture, Scent Kink, Masturbation, Fluff, Soft Sherlock) – John gets home late from work and Sherlock is nowhere to be seen. John walks through the flat, distracted by memories of all the excellent sex they’ve been having, and finally finds Sherlock asleep in the upstairs room - apparently having fallen asleep mid-wank while inhaling the scent of John’s pillow. Well, you should always finish what you start, John thinks… Part 3 of Lock and Key

Bathroom Accessories by Evenlodes_Friend (E, 3,324 w., 1 Ch. || Sex Toys, Butt Plug, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Horny Sherlock, John’s Patience Wears Thin, Humour, Bottomlock) – John discovers that Sherlock has been playing with some very adult toys in the bath.

Come home. by hudders-and-hiddles (huddersandhiddles) (E, 3,763 w., 1 Ch. || Texting / Sexting, Lonely Sherlock, Nude Photos, Pining, Fluff & Smut) – When John leaves for a medical conference, Sherlock tries to entice him back home.

Happy anniversary by Salambo06 (E, 3,772 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Vulnerable Sherlock, Wedding Anniversary, Anal, Texting, Lingerie) – John inhaled deeply, feeling his cock pulse under the silk gown, and he let his eyes travel on the lean body in front of him. Sherlock was kneeling on the bed, their bed, and the picture had been taken so John could perfectly see his bare chest and pelvis. But what mattered most, what made John harden rather quickly, was the pair of panties Sherlock was wearing in the picture. Black, string over each hip and laces that outlined Sherlock’s erect cock barely hidden under the soft underwear.

Coldness/Heat by agirlsname (E, 3,790 w., 1 Ch. || Cuddling & Snuggling, Body Heat, New Year’s Eve, PWP, Bedsharing, Frottage) – The inn is booked up on New Year’s Eve. The train home is cancelled because of the snow. The only option is to sleep in the non-heated guest room of a client, and John and Sherlock are freezing.You know where this is going. Part 1 of New Year’s Kiss

Upon Waking by joolabee (E, 3,901 w., 1 Ch. || Mild Dub Con, Magical Realism, Angst, Somnophilia) – It sets on slow: John can only be awake while Sherlock sleeps, and vice versa. Their lives are codependent, but never meeting. Like a set of scales.

Love and Hair Dye by WhimsicalEthnographies (E, 3,920 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Body Worship, Self Conscious John, Voyeurism, Idiots in Love, Smutty Smut) – Self conscious John decides to cover the greys on his head, and the colour isn’t what he thought it would be. Now he’s more self-conscious than ever.

Someone Else’s Heart by thisprettywren (E, 4,188 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, H/C, POV Sherlock, Caretaking John, Pining Idiots) – A crime scene, a rainstorm, and something they both should have known all along.

See Recipe for Details by pandoras_chaos (E, 4,981 w., 1 Ch. || Oral / Anal Sex, Food, PWP, Fingerfucking) – John knows Sherlock’s mouth will never water over the sweet smells of baking chocolate biscuits or a lovely roast chicken, but he’s watched Sherlock nick mince pies out of Mrs. Hudson’s fridge often enough to deduce that the man does have taste, albeit confusing and obscure. So John makes a list: Things Sherlock Likes

Every Little Thing by the_beekeeper_of_sussex (E, 5,066 w., 2 Ch. || First Time / Kiss, Fluff, Frottage, Come as Lube, Embarassed Sherlock, Porn With Feelings) – When Sherlock walks in on John making tea wearing nothing but a tight pair of boxer-briefs things get a little heated…physically and emotionally.

Nothing So Sweet by alexxphoenix42 (E, 5,275 w., 1 Ch. || Shopkeeper AU || Beekeeping, Sussex, Alternate First Meeting, Awkward First Time Sex, Self-Consciousness / Body Insecurity, Fluff, Hand Jobs) – In an alternate universe, Sherlock is busy keeping to himself, tending his bees, and selling lovely jars of honey when a soldier limps into his life quite unexpectedly. Part 1 of The Sweetest Things

a very soft epilogue (my love) by darcylindbergh (E, 5,395 w., 3 Ch. || Retirement, Domestic Fluff, Dancing, Dogs, Grumpy Old Men) – Across the pillows, Sherlock shifts and hums, the creases of his face deepening and then smoothing before settling. John watches him wake up, his chest swelling with affection and fondness, and thinks he’ll never get tired of Sherlock in the mornings, sleepy and soft. It’s been some forty-odd years, and John hasn’t gotten tired of it yet. Part 5 of things fairy tales are made of

Caffeine and Adaptive Programming by DemonicSymphony (E, 5,540 w., 1 Ch. || Androids AU / Bond Fusion || Android Sherlock, Coffee Shop AU, Pining John Hinted Bond / Q, Toplock) – Sherlock is a coffee shop android slowly falling for a regular customer. But he’s not supposed to be able to feel emotions.

Tease You Till You Come by phoenix089 (E, 6,090 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Clueless Sherlock, Sexting/Texting) – Initially, Sherlock was rather put out by John’s lack of presence on the case. But then he starts to receive pictures, several of them, of an unexpected nature. The case is forgotten rather quickly after that.

My First, My Only, and My Forever by vintagelilacs (E, 6,220 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiB, Virgin Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Bum, John’s Scar, Sherlock POV, Body Worship, Fingering, Bottomlock, Promise of Forever / Proposals, Misunderstanding, First Kiss/Time, Loss of Virginity, Virginity Kink, Seduction) – Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He was missing a vital piece of data, he was sure. John had been looking at him oddly ever since they left Buckingham Palace, and the ensuing incident with Irene Adler had only exacerbated his erratic behaviour. What was it? Why would he care that Sherlock was a virgin? There was nothing reminiscent of mockery or pity in his gaze. And then it hit him. John Watson was aroused.

Just a Touch by MissDavis (E, 6,248 w., 4 Ch. || Bed Sharing, Masturbation, First Time/Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Sharing a Room) – John has trouble falling asleep these days. There’s one thing he can do that always seems to help, but he’s stuck in this hotel room with Sherlock and doesn’t think he’ll get the chance. How will he ever find relief and a good night’s sleep?

The Effect of Memory by testosterone_tea (E, 6,430 w., 1 Ch. || Praise Kink, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Smut, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Confused Sherlock) – John has temporary amnesia coming off of anaesthesia after an operation and not only does he not recognize Sherlock, he starts flirting with him! After John recovers, he doesn’t remember the incident at all. But Sherlock does. Confusion ensues.

The Death of Doubt by Gingerhermit (E, 6,584 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate Canon, BAMF John, POV Sherlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Hurt/Comfort, Angst/Drama, Meddling Mycroft) – Mycroft asks for John’s help in rescuing Sherlock from his Serbian captors.

An Interpretation of Viewing Habits by akitsuko (E, 6,653 w., 1 Ch. || Porn Watching, Masturbation, Anal, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Jealous Sherlock, Fantasizing, John in Denial / Internalized Homophobia, Bottomlock, Pining Idiots, Sherlock Has No Boundaries, Cockblocking Sherlock) – John watches porn. It’s a perfectly normal thing to do. If every video he watches happens to feature actors with remarkable physical similarities to his flatmate, well, that’s no one’s business but his own. Or: John is in denial, until his infatuation with Sherlock is impossible to deny anymore.

Fa Subito by kim47 (E, 6,659 w., 1 Ch. || Suit Porn, Cockblocker Mycroft, Obsessed Sherlock, PWP) – John wears a suit. Sherlock finds it extremely distracting.

Inside by magikspell (E, 6,757 w., 1 Ch. || Loss of Virginity, Anal / Rimming, Fluff, Humour, Awkwardness, Shy Sherlock, Bottomlock) – "Being inside someone. Feeling someone inside you.”

Abatement by WhimsicalEthnographies (E, 6,816 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Retirementlock, Fluff, Sherlock’s Self Esteem, Grumpy Sherlock, Idiots in Love, PWP, Fluff and Smut, Bottomlock) – “What’s wrong with you? You love the cottage,” John glances over to the passenger seat, then quickly turns his eyes back to the road. Driving was still not his forte, but considering Sherlock still couldn’t properly bend and lift his new knee enough to press and release the clutch, he had to make do. Not that Sherlock hadn’t tried to argue his way into the driver’s seat. “I love the cottage for a week or two, John. Don’t be deliberately obstuse,” Sherlock grumbles, sinking further in his seat. Well, as best he can with a four-week-old knee replacement. “And that’s all we’re going for, love,” John says out loud. But what he’s thinking is, shit. He knows.

Full Disclosure by Itsallfine (E, 7,032 w., 1 Ch. || Bars & Pubs, Fake Relationship, First Kiss / Time, Love Confessions, John’s Army Mates, Three Continents Watson, Semi-Public Sex) – John’s army mates get together for the first time post-discharge and invite John “Three Continents” Watson to join them. If John shows up alone, he knows he’ll be the object of non-stop ridicule all night. Sherlock plays along. John tests the waters.

Of Razors, Pipes, Red Notebooks and Rugby Jerseys, Or: Sherlock Doesn’t Like His Doctors Clean Shaven by allonsys_girl (E, 7,313 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., PWP / Porn With Feelings, John’s Beard / Beard Kink, Roleplay, Love Declarations, Banter, Rimming, Anal, Domestic Fluff / Bliss, Idiots in Love, Emotional Lovemaking, Pet Names, Obsessive Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Bottomlock, Cranky Sherlock) – John grows a beard. Sherlock really likes it. Part 1 of Consulting Husbands

I can’t pretend by Salambo06 (E, 7,692 w., 1 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Victor Trevor, Jealous John, Miscommunications, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Anal, BJs) – They had arrived more than a hour ago, and the moment they had walked inside the hotel reception, John had understood why Sherlock hadn’t wanted to come. Two men, posh suits and expensive watches on their wrists, had come to greet them with sharp remarks and badly hidden mockery, and John had seen red. Sherlock hadn’t said anything, mostly ignoring the two men entirely, and without thinking twice about it, John had slid an arm around Sherlock’s waist and introduced himself as his husband.

My Life for His by QuinnAnderson (E, 8,816 w., 1 Ch. || Guardian/Protector, Greek Mythology || Growing Up, Sex, Religious Themes, Suicide, Minor Character Death) – It began when Sherlock was eight, and he attempted to climb all the way up to the highest branch in the old willow tree in his back garden. He’d thought he was still small enough that it could support him, but the second he’d grabbed hold of it to pull himself up, the branch snapped, and down he went, plummeting a solid twenty metres.The odd thing was, he never actually hit the ground.

With This Ring by Quesarasara (E, 9,121 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Marriage Proposal, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, Embarrassing Hospital Visits) – Sometimes even the best of plans go wrong. And sometimes wrong turns out to be exactly right.

Inked in Memory by 221b_hound (E, 9,716 w., 2 Ch. || Post-HLV, Tattoos, First Kiss / Time, Anal, Cuddling, Scars, Captain John, Kissing, Switchlock) – John has been back at Baker Street for a year, following the debacle that ended in Mary’s death. Things are good. Back almost to what they used to be. Sherlock might wish they were something else, now, but he only has himself to blame, he thinks. It’s too late, now, for the things he first denied before he’d ruined any chances he might have had. Sherlock also thinks that people who get tattoos are idiots. But perhaps he’s about to learn a thing or two, not least of which might be it’s not as late as he thinks it is. Part 1 of Lock and Key

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder by cypress_tree (E, 10,669 w., 1 Ch. || UST/RST, For an Experiment) – John helps Sherlock with an experiment: for an entire month, they are not allowed to touch each other and must remain at least one metre apart at all times.

Of Course I Forgive You by allonsys_girl (E, 10,735 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confessions, Canon Divergence, First Time, Frottage, Wall Sex, Infidelity) – What if things had gone differently on that train car?

Iris by slashscribe (E, 11,948 w., 1 Ch. || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Post-S3) – Sherlock does his best to make John happy when John comes back to 221B with his new baby after the events of Season 3, but Sherlock has a track record of getting things wrong in this area. This story is an exploration of their gradual shift from friends to lovers, told from Sherlock’s perspective, full of a lot of pining and lack of emotional awareness.

Take My Breath Away by Quesarasara (E, 14,240 w., 1 Ch. || Emotional H/C, Angst & Fluff, Toplock, Smut, Lingerie) – Sherlock opens his eyes and looks at his friend—his best friend—and slowly tips his chin down until his forehead rests softly against John’s. They stay that way for a long moment, lips just a whisper apart, warm puffs of air mingling as each of them struggles to breathe. It’s no wonder they ended up here, really, locked in this breathless moment balanced on the cusp of something new. They’ve spent years taking each other’s breath away…

Pattern Behaviour by SilentAuror (E, 14,835 w., 1 Ch. || POV First Person Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Stroppy Sherlock, Light Humour, Friendship, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Wall Kisses, Fluffy Angst, Happy Ending) – Sherlock doesn’t even know why he resents John’s dates so much. Until the day he does know. Slight angst, unrequited feelings (but don’t let that scare you off!)

Merlot by Itsallfine (E, 14,844 w., 17 Ch. || Christmas, Pining Sherlock, Wine, Slow Burn, First Kiss / Time, Love Confessions, Wine, Holmes Family) – Sherlock and John work toward becoming something more as they prepare to host the Holmes parents at 221B for the holidays. Part of 25 Days of Fic-Mas 2015.

A Silver Sixpence by _doodle (NC-17, 16,400 w., 2 Ch. || LJ Fic || For a Case / Case Fic, Fake Relationship, Humour, Romance, Marriage Proposal, Awkward Idiots, Cuddling, Touching, Kissing, Love Confessions, Bed Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fake Until It’s Not, Schmoop and Fluff, Bottomlock) – “John, we need to get married. It’s for a case, not any romantic notions on my part pertaining to our partnership,” Sherlock said, with brutal honesty, and without even looking up.

A Hundred Thousand Ways to Say the Name John by Jberry (E, 16,825 w., 1 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Fake Marriage, POV John, Pining John, Cruise Ship, Angst & Fluff, Case Fic) –  John Watson and Sherlock Holmes must solve a case on a cruise ship. To get close to the crew and passengers, they must get married for the case on the Baetica. However, their relationship hits rocky seas both due to the case and internal conflicts. Part 1 of Baetica

About Sleep and Coffee and the Existence of Fate by Atiki (E, 17,426 w., 6 Ch. || Fluff, Marriage Proposal, Humour, 5+1) – Naturally, John was startled when suddenly the ultimate solution occurred to him: Marriage. This was, of course, a bit of a fundamental problem rather than an actual solution. One didn’t simply use the words “Sherlock” and “marriage” within the same sentence. Not even in a hypothetical context. Five times John kind of wanted to propose to Sherlock, and one time he didn’t have to.

John Watson doesn’t have a Boyfriend by naughtyspirit (E, 18,932 w., 7 Ch. || UST / URT, Fluff & Smut, Voyeurism, Masturbation) – John’s date has gone very well. Sherlock requires tea. John wishes he hadn’t resolved that their relationship was strictly hands off and isn’t about to address it. Unless he has to. Smut, fluff and shower time for a naked John Watson.

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Sussex, Bees, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you’re living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

A Life Well-Lived by Kate_Lear (E, 20,121 w., 1 Ch. || Original Male Character, Sherlock Woos John, Jealous Sherlock, Reluctant Bi-John, Past Abuse, Insecure John, Reassuring / Caring Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Understanding Sherlock) – John got scared off men by an abusive past relationship. Sherlock has to try and woo him while not scaring him off with protective possessive rage.

[mediaeval-muse]

Video Game Review: Assassin’s Creed Rogue (Ubisoft, 2014)

Genres: action-adventure, third person, open world

Premise: During the mid-18th century, Assassin Shay Patrick Cormac uncovers a First Civilization temple in Lisbon and unwittingly triggers an earthquake that kills thousands. Desperate to keep the Assassins from finding more of these temples and harming more innocents, he joins the North American Templars, whose hold over the British colonies is starting to grow. In the present, research into Shay’s memories triggers a server failure at Abstergo Entertainment, and the unnamed employee from Black Flag must help restore the system.

Platform Played On: PC (Windows)

Rating: 4/5 stars

***Full review under the cut.***

I am evaluating this game based on four key aspects: story, characters, gameplay, and visuals. Because I played this game on a PC, I will not be reviewing the Remastered version, which is only available for consoles.

Content Warnings: violence, blood

Story: Assassin’s Creed Rogue primarily follows Shay Patrick Cormac, an Irish Assassin-turned-Templar who operates during the French and Indian/Seven Years War in North America. Starting as a member of the Brotherhood, Shay is sent to Portugal by Achilles Davenport (the mentor of the North American chapter of Assassins) in order o recover a First Civilization artifact. Unbeknownst to Shay, removing the artifact from the temple triggers an earthquake, killing thousands of innocent people. Furious that Achilles (and perhaps other Assassins) knew this would be a possibility yet refusing to tell Shay, Shay leaves the Assassins and joins the Templars in order to prevent the Brotherhood from accessing more temples and artifacts and from harming more innocent people.

I really liked the overarching story because it gave us clear goals and a clear structure. Shay has one purpose: prevent the Assassins from gaining access to the next First Civilization site. To do that, Shay has to track down and neutralize all of his former Brotherhood colleagues, which adds a level of personal involvement and angst. Structurally, I think this plot made a lot of sense and was well-done, and though it wasn’t as involved as a headliner game (like Black Flag), it did present the player with a straightforward narrative.

The Seven Years War/French and Indian War was an interesting backdrop, though it didn’t have the same entanglement with history as headliners. Shay isn’t really involved with any landmark historical events, but he is responsible for the Templars gaining a foothold in North America, which serves as the setting for Assassin’s Creed III. In that sense, I think this story is more meaningful for people who have played both Assassin’s Creed III and Black Flag. I also think this plot works better for those who intend to continue to Unity, since the end of Shay’s story serves as the beginning for Arno’s.

The main thing I didn’t like was the game’s treatment of Native Americans. While I don’t think it was outright offensive, there was a point in the narrative where Shay had to rescue an Oneida tribe from Assassin thugs, and Shay does have to confront and kill one of his former friends, who is Native. In that sense, Rogue may be triggering for some people, but I personally didn’t find it egregious like the brutal scenes in Assassin’s Creed III. Rogue does contain some missions where Shay has to seek out Native “totems” to unlock some special Native armor, so that could be appropriative, but I’ll defer to Native gamers on that issue.

I also just wish the game was longer, mainly because it’s the only one where we get a full Templar perspective, and it had interesting missions. If it had been a headliner and gotten the amount of time and resources other headliners receive, I think this game could have done really well.

The present-day Abstergo arc continues to be less compelling than the Desmond Miles frame from previous games. I didn’t find the system failure to be very exciting, nor did I think the unfolding narrative about Otso Berg was communicated in a particularly engaging way. I do think the idea of the Assassins confronting the flaws in their belief system is an interesting one, but we barely see any Assassins in the modern day arc, so it’s difficult to feel like there are stakes.

Characters: Shay is a compelling protagonist in that he has complicated motivations and grey morality. He’s obviously very concerned for ordinary people, even as a Templar, and is very conflicted over the prospect of confronting his former friends. I liked that he seemed to have legitimate concerns about the Assassins and the way their hierarchy is constructed, which made his turn to the Templars more understandable. I liked the opportunity to see why someone might join the Templars, especially if that someone wasn’t completely on board with the authoritarian viewpoint the Order holds.

Shay’s Assassin companions are interesting in that they each seem to have their own combat abilities, which made for unique confrontations. Hope, for example, is an Assassin who is skilled with poisons, and Liam is pretty precise with a firearm. Encountering them, therefore, felt like several different boss fights that avoided repetition. I also think Shay spent enough time with each person at the beginning so that confronting them felt like an emotional challenge. I think the emotional stakes could have been enhanced if the game was longer and contained more time for character interactions, but with what it had, I think Rogue used its time effectively.

Shay’s Templar companions are also well-used in that the game makes clear that Shay feels an emotional bond with them. Shay first grows attached to Colonel George Monro, and it’s clear from the outset that Monro’s fondness for Shay is what motivates the latter to devote himself to the Templars, not necessarily the Order’s ideology. I liked this personal dimension to Shay’s Templar companions because it parallels how people in the modern day become drawn to harmful ideologies or groups: they mainly stay out of fear of being socially rejected. It was a pretty nice touch, and I think it worked better than just having players experience a “gritty” game centered on being unambiguously evil and just wreaking havoc and misery everywhere.

I also liked that we got some familiar faces, such as Achilles Davenport and Haytham Kenway. The conflict between Shay and Achilles serves as background for why Achilles is so broken in Assassin’s Creed III, and I think Rogue does a good job in showing how Achilles’ motivations are just as complex and grey as Shay’s are. Haytham continues to be ruthless, and I liked the budding mentor-mentee relationship between him and Shay. It served as a nice counter balance to the lack of affection between Shay and Achilles, while also giving us more of Haytham’s witty banter.

I will say that I am conflicted on whether or not this game did Adéwalé justice.  Adéwalé was an NPC in Black Flag and a playable character in Freedom Cry, so players who have completed both will have some investment in the character. Since Adéwalé is one of the companions Shay must track down and confront, it may seem like an unfair end to Adéwalé’s story, but again, I’m conflicted - mainly because Shay is supposed to be something of a villain.

Gameplay: The core of Rogue’s gameplay is not that much different from Black Flag’s: players explore the open world using Shay’s ship, the Morrigan, uncovering chests as well as collectibles, such as Templar maps (which are functionally the same as Black Flag’s treasure maps), animus fragments, pieces of a Viking sword, totems, shanties, and others. The Morrigan is upgradable, just like the Jackdaw, and Shay can use it to attack French ships to acquire resources such as wood, stone, metal, and cloth. Doing so will raise Shay’s notoriety, just as in Black Flag, but instead of lowering Shay’s wanted status by defeating enemies, Shay can only reset his wanted level by leaving an area until things quiet down. This made for a scaled-back version of ship combat and exploration, but it wasn’t a huge drawback to my gaming experience.

I did like that even though Rogue borrowed heavily from Black Flag, it did put its own spin on several gameplay elements to make them feel more integrated with the setting. For example, the weather at sea revolved more around cold weather than tropical weather, so instead of thunderstorms and cyclones, Shay was subject to icebergs and freezing water. Shay could also go hunting and craft like Edward, but the wildlife included new animals such as polar bears, arctic foxes, narwhals, and other North American or Arctic creatures. On land, Shay can intercept assassin contracts instead of accepting them, so instead of killing a target, Shay will have to protect a target by getting to the Assassin(s) before they can complete their mission.

Players are also able to unlock zones on the map by capturing forts, just like in Black Flag, but there are far fewer of these than in the game’s predecessor. Rogue relies a bit more heavily instead on “Assassin gang hideouts,” which function something like the Borgia towers in Assassin’s Creed Brotherhood or the forts in Assassin’s Creed III. For each hideout, Shay must complete a number of objectives (like kill the gang leader, cut down the flag, sabotage a poison barrel), which will then unlock the area’s harbormasters and general stores. Doing so will also unlock renovations, which Shay can complete to increase his revenue, similar to how renovations gave Ezio an income in previous games.

Shay can also gain income by managing a fleet, similar to Edward’s fleet in Black Flag. Players capture ships via boarding them during gameplay, and then send them out on missions to “progress the Seven Years’ War.” Aside from the resources, which change a bit, this aspect of the game was functionally the same as Black Flag, so it was fairly familiar and didn’t take long to pick up.

In terms of weapons, Shay has access to the staples: hidden blade, pistols, smoke bombs, rope dart, etc. Shay can dual wield with a sword and dagger (rather than Edward’s two swords), but the change is mostly aesthetic. Shay also has access to sleep darts, berserk darts, and firecracker darts via an air rifle rather than a blowgun, but again, the change is mostly aesthetic. The biggest change to equipment is probably the grenade launcher, which can fire sleep, berserk, and shrapnel grenades to affect multiple enemies, and the presence of gas as an environmental weapon (the effects of which Shay can mitigate on himself by using a gas mask).

In terms of combat and stealth, not much is different. Shay can use eagle vision, hide in bushes or tall grass, whistle to draw enemies closer to him, etc. The only thing that’s tricky is that Assassin gang members will hide randomly in the environment, ready to take Shay out as he passes through. Shay can avoid attacks by listening for “whispers” and using eagle vision to spot Assassin thugs before they jump him.

I think that in sum, the lack of innovation regarding mechanics isn’t as bothersome as some people make it out to be. Because the “flavor” of the mechanics changed, I do think Rogue did a good job adapting what it could in the short amount of time it had. Enough is the same where picking up mechanics is easy if the player has completed Black Flag, but narratively, enough is different to make the experience at least feel tailored to the setting.

Visuals: Rogue’s primary strengths in terms of visuals lies in the unique settings and Shay’s Templar aesthetic. Although Rogue doesn’t have the beautiful tropical waters of Black Flag, I do think it rendered the snow-covered mountains well and made the world feel like a cold environment. It took the best elements of Assassin’s Creed III (the trees, the city layouts) and combined them with the spirit of exploration from Black Flag. I particularly liked exploring the shipwrecks, which were not underwater, but fused with ice to create fun sites where I felt like I was playing “the floor is lava” (the lava, in this case, was freezing cold water that could kill you).

I also really loved Shay’s Templar aesthetic, which consisted of a lot of fancy 18th century coats and vests, combined with a strong black and red color scheme. Everything from the Morrigan’s sails and captain’s cabin to Shay’s “house” in New York repeats this color scheme, which was a nice change from what we typically see of the Assassins. I also liked that a lot of Shay’s design contained nods to his Irish heritage, from the Morrigan’s hull to the knotwork details on his coat. It was a nice touch which made everything feel a little more personal.

In terms of animations, I didn’t notice anything that set Rogue apart from other games. Shay didn’t have appealing finishers, nor did I encounter a lot of bugs that affected my impression of the game. There are some here and there, but I’ve come to expect bugs in every Assassin’s Creed game, so...

Final Verdict: Although Assassin’s Creed Rogue replicates much of the gameplay from its predecessors, the complex protagonist, solid narrative structure, and unique settings make it a memorable game that gives players new insight into the Assassin-Templar conflict.