#he's the lifeblood of the family in more ways than one

[violent138]

It'd be quite cool if Alfred was a universal donor and often saves the lives of one of the Bats when they're bleeding out.

[fushitoru]

sneak peek of bridgerton!nanami :3

tw: not edited, not all of this will make the final cut. posting this just for pooks who are curious as to what this series will look like (roughly)

The hooded figure walks through the streets of London, shaded by both the weathered buildings and the murk of night.The ancient stone edifices, worn by time and weather, cast long shadows beneath the pale gaze of the moon, which alone dared to illuminate the sky.  Yet, with unwavering certainty, the figure moved. With a purpose. 

To any onlooker, discerning the figure's build would have been an impossible task. Indeed, should any be so bold as to observe, they would perceive nothing more than the methodical rhythm of their footfalls. For this hooded figure was not merely hidden by the night; they were a master of stealth, a virtuoso of ambition.

They get closer and closer to the streets with lines and lines of presses and bookshops before finally stepping into one. The jingle of the bell rings as they open the door, cutting the silence like a knife to butter. The press boy looks up languidly from his desk, lazed back even if the hooded figure is tense, as if scared to get discovered. 

The figure uses their hand to get the hood out of their eyes, to reveal their face and level the boy with a firm stare. You brush your hair back and rummage through your cloak to get the draft out of your pocket You toss it onto the desk, your voice adopting the clipped tone of a forced French accent, as you make an attempt at a scowl. “My lady has a fresh edition for you. See that it is prepared for dawn next week. We shall tolerate no delays, unlike the last time. Do I make myself plain?”

At once, the boy shot to his feet, stiffening at the sight of Lady Whistledown’s errand runner. The mere mention of that name had a way of stirring the press into action. Her words, the most profitable the press had ever published, had lifted the establishment—and the boy’s own family—from the very brink of ruin. Lady Whistledown’s business was the press’s lifeblood, and as such, the boy offered a tip of his hat. “Whatever Lady Whistledown requires.”

Satisfied, you lift your chin, already turning to retreat into the night. Three blocks south, one north, where the footman awaits. Slip in from the rear entrance, climb the stairs in silence—especially near Naoya’s floor—and at last, embrace the comfort of your bed.

For heaven forbid that anyone in the Zen’in household should ever learn of this affair.

…

Nanami Kento was a man of method, clean-cut and sharp as a newly whetted blade. There is a formula for everything, and Kento will have it figured out as the situation deems it.

Yet even the most precise systems were not without flaw, for he found himself silently cursing whatever God governed such things. The cruel design of his personal formula now demanded that he sit up well past midnight, slaving over endless documents concerning his estates, and some infernal matter involving the mines his dukedom held in the Americas. For if there was one thing Nanami Kento loathed above all else, it was working late into the night, long after a sensible bedtime.

It’s not the least of his problems, no. No, indeed, a greater torment awaited him in the drawing room over tea each morning—a daily trial set by his dear, relentless mother.

"My darling Kento, when shall I be graced with the pleasure of a daughter-in-law?"

The question, as constant as the ticking of a clock, prompted Kento to reach for a cloth, which he draped over his eyes in an attempt to stave off the inevitable headache that brewed with her words. Leaning back in his chair, he stretched his legs, his tired frame aching with fatigue, and ran a hand through his hair as a soft sigh escaped him.

The age-old question, indeed. Before, it was easier to not feel rushed in finding a wife, for his trio of friends were all bachelors. But as soon as his mother got wind that his infamous rake of a friend Gojo got married—to a now Lady Gojo—he could only count the days before his mother went to the extreme, perhaps even hiring a band of kidnappers to haul him to the nearest chapel for a hasty wedding.

Perhaps there was indeed something Kento hated more than working late. It was being rushed.

Not that Kento had any disdain for the institution of marriage itself. Far from it. It was a fine and noble thing, love and matrimony. He would never deny the pleasures and stability it offered. No, it was the manner in which he was expected to marry. His mind drifted to the endless parade of eligible ladies he had met at balls, soirees, and tea parties. They were all pleasant enough, some even kind, but none had ever managed to intrigue him, none had done anything to stand out. The same conversations, the same rehearsed smiles. Every introduction followed the same pattern: languages spoken, instruments played, the latest embroidery project or song learned.

He could already picture it—another ball, another young lady offering the same colection of accomplishments as the last. It was all so dreadfully repetitive. They rarely discussed ideas or had opinions of their own, and when they did, they were inevitably interrupted by their eager mothers, who hovered nearby, eyes gleaming at the thought of his title and fortune. The moment any conversation strayed beyond pleasantries, there was always a well-timed intrusion, as if the mothers feared their daughters might accidentally reveal too much of their true selves.

He wanted something more.

Marriage, in Kento's eyes, ought to be built on love, on mutual understanding and respect. He longed for a partner who would challenge him intellectually, who would bring something new to his life. But instead, he was presented with the same tired formula—a woman who played the pianoforte, spoke French, and blushed prettily when asked about her embroidery. It was all so... predictable.

Another sigh escaped him, this one deeper, more resigned. He shifted in his chair, folding the cloth over his eyes, and let his mind drift toward the inevitable dinner tomorrow, where his mother would no doubt regale him with yet another list of eligible young ladies.

"My dearest Kento," she would say, her voice sweet as ever, "Lady Brentwood’s daughter is a delightful young woman. A touch excitable, perhaps, but from a good family, and her dowry—oh, her dowry, my dear, would be the envy of the ton."

Nanami could almost hear the words already. He had heard similar speeches before, all delivered with that same fervent enthusiasm, as though his mother were speaking of a prized mare, rather than a potential life partner.

What was worse, as soon as the mothers caught wind of his presence at any event, they nearly salivated at the chance to secure a duke for their daughters. The constant interruptions, the fawning over his title, it all grated on him. The daughters rarely had the opportunity to finish a thought before their mothers swooped in, ensuring that their prospects remained intact.

It was no wonder Kento had grown weary of the entire process.

He let out a low groan, rubbing his temples. Perhaps love was too much to ask for in his station. Yet, despite the pressure, he could not bring himself to compromise. He wanted a marriage that meant something—a bond of intellect and heart, not just convenience.

"Kento," he muttered to himself, "you are truly doomed."

sorry for starving you guys on bridgerton!gojo content haha this is a sneak peak for reparations. anyways lemme get back to the grind. if you ever want to track my progress, i keep my wips page updated :)

also thank you to the influx of bridgerton!gojo asks. they really motivate me to write. appreciate u all <3

oh and final note: will not publish this series until we're close to the end of bridgerton!gojo, i CANNOT do two series at a time

[mjrtaurus]

Modern AU

Luff comes to visit every once in a while, bringing friends he’s made along with him. One of said friends is a young woman named Nami.

He knows a thief when he sees one, but more-so than this, he knows a thief by necessity when he sees one. He knows Luffy is aware of it, he’s warned him of it. As much of a little hellion his youngest is, Dragon trusts Luffy’s judgement of character.

And Luffy is damn right about it, too.

He catches her trying to slip one of the bits and pieces of jewelry he ended up accumulating during his relationship with Crocodile. It’s a small piece, not as valuable, easy to miss. She’s practiced.

Poor girl looked like a deer in headlights when he caught her, looking for the quickest out she could find, shrinking in on herself as if she was expecting to be yelled at or worse.

No… no, this wouldn’t do at all.

Instead of her worst case scenario, he sits her down and talks with her. Asks her why she’s been having to steal to get by for so long. If she’s struggling with anything that she hasn’t been getting the proper support for.

Whether it’s the shock of compassion or the mortification of getting caught by her best friend’s father, Dragon doesn’t know. What he does know is the girl who just tried to steal from his home needed help.

Arlong.

He’s been in his profession long enough to recognize that slimy bastard’s name. A loan shark who went to poorer communities and wrung the life out of them. Turns out he’d been doing the same to Nami’s hometown.

A failing tangerine orchard that was the lifeblood of her community, and her adoptive family’s legacy. Mountains of debt in trying to keep it all alive, and this poor girl had taken it upon herself to pay it all off. And Arlong had been cruel enough to let it be.

Luffy tells him- once he finds out what happened- that he hoped he could help do something about it. Nami says there’s no way he can.

And that’s the thing about the Monkey D Family. Telling them they can’t do something is exactly how that something ends up getting done.

Now Arlong is a slippery bastard. Had always evaded the law whenever his name and face passed before a judge. If they wanted to take him down for good, they needed to fight dirty. And luckily for Dragon, he just so happens to still be pretty close with a certain someone who may or may not have a leg in the criminal underworld…

At the end of it all, Arlong gets sent to prison, and Nami finally gets to pursue her passions for oceanography and meteorology debt free.

He takes her storm-chasing one season. After three boys, he’s always wondered what it would have been like to have a daughter. He’s learning now.

[starkeven]

Glory & Gore.

Werewolf ! Rafe x Vampire ! reader.

warning : blood sucking, blood kink, HEAVY SMUT UNDER THE CUT, p in v, power play, teeth play ( LMFAO ? idk how to word it. ), family war. lmk if i forgot anything.

Both of your families were sworn enemies, bound by a hatred older than any living soul on the island. You had been here for ages, long before the world changed, back when your kind—vampires—ruled the island in its glory days. It was a time when the night belonged to you, vampires, when power flowed through your veins as effortlessly as the centuries passed. Until the Camerons came.

Werewolves—Camerons feral, proud, and relentless—challenged the natural order of things, turning the tides of power. Their arrival marked the beginning of a bitter war, one that stretched across centuries, leaving scars too deep for healing.

But that was long ago. The wars had quieted, the world had moved on, yet the weight of that ancient rivalry remained, shaping every glance, every interaction, reminding you that some things were never meant to be forgotten—even if the war itself had become a distant memory.

You were both born into this conflict, taught that their blood was your enemy, just as yours was theirs. The Camerons controlled the real estate market, their influence extending over the land itself—every house, every piece of property, every deal went through them. It was their stronghold, their mark of dominance, built stone by stone over the years.

Your family, on the other hand, had secured the island’s lifeblood: tourism. From the grand resorts to the quaint seaside cafes, the sprawling vineyards to the guided tours through ancient, haunted ruins, it was all in your hands. Your name was synonymous with the island's allure, drawing in visitors from all over, their money flowing into your coffers, feeding the empire that had once ruled uncontested.

It was a delicate balance, this division of power. Both sides kept the peace for the sake of the island’s prosperity, but everyone knew the truth—the truce was as fragile as a whisper. Beneath the polished veneer of business deals and territorial lines, the old hatred still burned, ready to resurface with the smallest spark.

Tonight was different. The air was thick with anticipation, charged with an energy that unsettled you more than the usual Midsummer gathering ever had. It was an annual event— a fragile tradition that dated back to the uneasy truce between your families. Every summer, the two clans came together to celebrate the so-called "peacetime," though everyone knew it was more for show than true reconciliation. Smiles were forced, glasses raised in toasts that carried the weight of centuries of grudges.

But this year, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen, something that would change everything. You knew he would be here. Rafe Cameron, the heir to the werewolf clan, and the one person who made your blood boil more than anyone else. He had a way of making his presence known, always in control, ruthless, handling everything that belonged to him with an almost brutal precision.

Rafe had a reputation. The kind that sent whispers through the crowd when he entered a room, the kind that told you it was safer to stay out of his way. He dealt with problems the Cameron way—swiftly and without mercy. Anything, or anyone, that threatened his family's power was eliminated, no questions asked.

You had chosen the crimson red dress for a reason. It was bold, deliberate—an unspoken declaration that tonight was different. A statement had to be made, though you weren't entirely sure what that statement was yet. The fabric clung to your figure like a second skin, the deep color standing out against the moonlit evening, drawing attention the moment you stepped into Tannyhill.

The sprawling Cameron estate was as grand as ever, every inch of it a reminder of their dominance over the land. As you crossed the threshold, the first thing that hit you wasn’t the lavish decor or the murmurs of the mingling guests—it was the smell. It slammed into you with an unexpected force, making your head spin and your breath hitch.

Someone was in heat.

It was unmistakable, the sharp, primal scent that clung to the air, seeping into your senses and settling deep into your bones. You weren’t sure who it was, but the effect was immediate. A dizzying warmth spread through you, unsettling and invasive. Every inch of your body seemed to react, a visceral response to the scent, sending a tremor down your spine.

This wasn’t just any night. Whatever had brought you here, whatever tension simmered beneath the surface of this fragile truce, was about to come to a head. And you had a feeling it had everything to do with him—Rafe Cameron. The predator in him was unmistakable, and somewhere in the depths of this house, you knew he was waiting. Waiting for you.

You knew, without a doubt, that it was all for you. The scent hanging heavy in the air, this shameless display of power and lust—it was a message meant solely for you. Your body remembered him before your mind even had the chance to catch up, and the memory of that night came rushing back with a heat that sent a shiver down your spine.

It had been a few moons ago, but it felt as vivid as if it were happening now.

The night Rafe Cameron had taken you, relentlessly, without holding back. His body pressed hard against yours, his skin burning with raw, primal heat as he pounded into you over and over, driving you past the point of control. Your fangs had sunk deep into his flesh, tasting the iron tang of his blood, marking him just as he marked you.

He hadn't just claimed your body that night-he'd claimed every part of you, leaving you so tangled in his scent and his touch that it was days before you could return to your own house. You could still feel the way his scent had clung to your skin, overwhelming every other sense, reminding you with every breath that you had been his, even if just for that fleeting moment.

It was intoxicating, dangerous-exactly the kind of thing that shouldn't have happened between two sworn enemies.

But it had. And now, standing here in the midst of the gathering, with his scent in the air and the tension coiling around you like a noose, you knew this night was no different. He was here, and he wanted you to remember everything.

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of memories that clung to your mind, and reached for the nearest crimson glass, almost as if it were calling out to you. The liquid was dark, rich, and you downed it quickly—one glass, then another, letting the warmth spread through your chest. By the third, the hum of the alcohol started to dull the tension twisting in your gut, but it didn’t erase the knowing feeling coursing through you.

Then, the sound of applause rippled through the room.

Straightening up, you wove through the crowd, your heels clicking softly on the polished floors, and that familiar sense of unease settled in once more. It was like you were on autopilot, following the sound, knowing what you would find.

And there he was.

Your father stood tall in the center of the room, his face the picture of nonchalance as he shook hands with Ward Cameron, the two heads of the families locked in the familiar dance of politics. But your focus wasn’t on them. No, your heart quickened because standing right next to Ward was Rafe. You could feel him before you even saw him.

He hadn’t looked at you yet, but you knew—he knew you were there. His eyes were scanning the crowd, but his focus was distant, almost strained. You could sense it, the tension in his posture, the way he held himself too still, trying to appear calm and composed, but failing. He was lost already, the scent of you in the room, the pull between you undeniable, even though he hadn’t even laid eyes on you yet.

You slipped through the crowd, watching him from the shadows, a smirk playing at your lips. You hadn’t come near him, hadn’t spoken a word, but you could already feel his need—the way he was unraveling. Even without looking at him, you had him. He was losing himself, and it was because of you.

But deep down, you knew the truth—you weren’t in a position of strength. For all your attempts at control, his scent was overwhelming, sending wave after wave of raw, intoxicating lust surging through your veins. Your breath grew uneven, your heartbeat erratic, no matter how hard you tried to focus. It was futile, especially when you felt it—the weight of his gaze burning into your back. The intensity of it was enough to send a shiver down your spine, like a spark igniting something inside you that you couldn’t hope to extinguish.

It almost felt like a shock, jolting you from whatever fragile hold you had on yourself. That’s when all your carefully constructed demeanor crumbled. The confidence, the smirk, the game you thought you could play—it all vanished the moment you turned around and locked eyes with him.

Slowly, deliberately, you faced him, your crimson eyes glowing in the low light as they met his. And there he was—Rafe. His expression was dark, predatory, but it was the way he licked his lips that made your pulse stutter. The hunger in his eyes mirrored everything you were feeling, and that’s when it hit you—you weren’t any stronger than him. You weren’t any more in control. You were just as lost, just as consumed by the pull between you as he was.

In that moment, it was undeniable. Whatever this was between you, it had already devoured you both whole, and there was no turning back.

And lost, oh, how lost you were. Every rational thought had disappeared the moment he touched you. Now, your body was pressed against the rough bark of a tree, your cheek flushed and your breath ragged as he pounded into you from behind. His fist was tangled tightly in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp, while his other hand muffled your cries, stifling the sounds that would've torn through the quiet night. But it was impossible to silence the desperate whimpers that escaped you, the way your body trembled with every relentless thrust.

Rafe was merciless, moving against you with an intensity that sent shivers through your entire being. His chest was hot against your back, his breath heavy in your ear. Then, you felt it-his tongue, teasing along the edge of your ear, sending jolts of pleasure through your already overwhelmed senses.

His voice was dark, taunting, the words dripping with cruel satisfaction. “ What would your poor daddy say if he saw you like this? ” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “ Getting fucked by a werewolf... reeking of him for days? ”

The shame of it should've burned you, but instead, it only fueled the fire raging inside you. You couldn't answer, couldn't think-only feel. The war between your families was nothing compared to the war inside you now-one you had already lost the moment he laid his hands on you.

The moment his hand released your mouth, a loud moan ripped free, filling the night air. You could hear him laugh behind you, low and wicked, as his pace quickened. His hands gripped your ass roughly, fingers digging into your skin, leaving marks you knew would last. His breath was ragged, matching the relentless rhythm of his movements, and you could feel your own body betraying you-your fangs revealing themselves as the primal pull between you grew unbearable.

His nails scraped against your skin, each drag sending a mix of pain and pleasure coursing through you. His voice, thick with lust, whispered in your ear-praises laced with degrading words that made your head spin, your mind teetering on the edge of submission and chaos. Every filthy thing he said, every breathless taunt, only pushed you further into the abyss.

You bit down hard on your lip, tasting blood, trying to ground yourself as the sensation threatened to overwhelm you.

Everything was too much. The rough scrape of the tree bark against your flushed skin, the aching pressure of his body pressing into yours, and the intense pleasure that surged through you as his fingers found your clit, playing you like he knew exactly how to unravel you. Pain and ecstasy merged, making it impossible to separate one from the other. Your body was lost to him, lost to the sensation, drowning in the dark, twisted pleasure that consumed you both.

You couldn't help it-your body reacted on its own, tightening around him as the pressure inside you built to an unbearable peak. That's when you heard his voice, cold and commanding.

“Don't fucking do that, ” he growled, his tone laced with warning, before his hand came down on your ass with a sharp slap that made you cry out, the sting of it burning through your skin.

The raw power behind his strike left you breathless, and you could only nod, trying desperately to hold on. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop the way your body clenched around him, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

It was building, the pleasure twisting tighter inside you with every relentless thrust, and finally, you felt it-the moment of no return. “ ´m coming... ” you babbled, barely able to form the words through the haze of lust and need.

“ Oh yeah? ” he asked, a cruel laugh slipping past his lips. He knew. He could feel it too, the way you were trembling, so close to shattering. You nodded frantically, seconds away from the release your body was begging for, every nerve alight with anticipation.

But just when you thought you'd finally fall over the edge, he stopped. Pulled back completely, leaving you empty, desperate, the sudden loss almost as painful as the pleasure had been. The shock of it hit you like a wave, your body screaming in protest as you hovered on the brink, denied the one thing you needed most.

“ Rafe-what are you doing? ” you protested, your voice shaky, your body still pressed helplessly against the tree, aching with unfulfilled need. You could barely stand, your legs trembling, but even then, you didn't move away. Some part of you was still hoping, still wanting.

He shrugged casually, as if what had just happened was nothing, his hand smoothing down his suit as he pulled his cock back into his trousers. That damned smirk played on his lips—the one that made your blood boil with anger and desire all at once. God, how you hated that smirk.

“ You gotta work better than that, ” he said simply, his voice calm, almost amused. The arrogance in his words left you breathless, your heart racing in frustration and disbelief. He knew exactly what he was doing to you, how close you had been, and now, he was walking away like it didn't even matter.

And then, with one last look at you, bent over against the tree with your dress still hitched up, he turned and started to run through the trees, disappearing into the shadows as he made his way back to the party. The sounds of the celebration drifted through the night, distant and surreal, as if mocking the raw, burning desire still coursing through you.

He'd left you there, unfinished, throbbing with need, and all you could do was catch your breath, knowing deep down that this was only the beginning. The night was far from over, and whatever game Rate had started, you were already too deep to pull yourself out.

let me know if you want part 2!

[beanghostprincess]

Trans buggy is my lifeblood and I am SO HAPPY YOU LOVE HER TOO and I'm feral I'm shaking the bars of my cage FUCK I LOVE WOMEN

Like. Yes. Absolutely, Shanks and Buggy have little bits and pieces of ALL their parents, specifically Ray and Roger but No Adult Was Safe From Their Assimilated Found Family, Alright?

Shanks does this one movement when he's showing off and being SILLY about it that he picked up from Oden. Buggy uses chopsticks more easily than forks and spoons, which is mind boggling to those who know her and how clutzy she is.

Crocus was the KING of unexpected and frankly terrifying threats, something Buggy learned like a damned religion. Shanks got his penchant for Gay Uncle On Holiday clothes and patterns from him.

A lot of Shanks' attacks and swordplay was taught to him by Roger and Rayleigh, so his style is a mix of their own with a TWIST that's all him. Buggy wasn't as interested in swordsmanship, but she certainly isn't a novice at it. The forms and katas to her are meditative, and she can't really sit still for normal meditation ((AuDHD Buggy my beloved)) so THIS is her way of grounding. Her knife fighting is also derived from Ray's style, with quick, devasting blow that focus more on backlash damage, Haki and agility.

Buggy and Shanks both have Roger's grin, and when Rayleigh sees them, grown and side by side and beaming and greeting him so warmly, part of him breaks and heals and splinters and oozes love. He of course will not show weakness and instead teases them, as is his love language.

Also consider Cross Guild adopting the Seraphims. Stuff's normal at first until they give the kids some children's books. Cue "what is a dad? What is a mom?" questions. The adults answer them, and the kids simply nod before wandering off again.

Then, a few hours later, Buggy feels a tiny hand tug-tug at her pants. It's two little dark haired tykes, big saffron and violet eyes staring up at her. She blinks. "What's up, munchkins?"

"Mother, we want a snack and fathers are busy."

"Oh. Yeah, sure thing, sweeties, let me ju- WAITWHAT-?!"

Shanks is frothing, seething, crying in the window like a Victorian woman betrayed when he gets word that Buggy and the other two have "sons". He then proposes they have a baby too, to be fair.

Then the kids call him uncle or father twice removed and he is suddenly living his best life wdym he's gonna be the BEST uncle ever, hey kids wanna go harass people-?

Buggy is BEYOND flustered but she's also.... really flattered? Shanks wants a baby? With HER?? Like a real, whole ass baby. Wow. And she already has two sons! Maybe. Her little Birdie seems a tad unphased by the concept of gender anyway, so she won't push. She has two kids. And Shanks wants a third. Wow. Wow~ ♡

And then Crocodile has to go and ruin it by suggesting the kids stay with "auntie Al" for the weekend, while the guys see if they can get that baby idea rolling~

Buggy proceeds to blush so hard she's STEAMING and promptly faints.

I FUCKING LOVE WOMEN TOO!!!!!!!!!!! SCREAMING THIS EVERYWHERE I GO!!!!!!!!!

Both of them having traits of all their parents and role models and keeping them with them forever,, When Rayleigh sees them again he's so fond of their little gestures and :(( He loves them so so much.

Also, the whole thing about Cross Guild adopting the Seraphims is just so so cute. And them calling Buggy 'mom'??????? Crying and sobbing, idk. Cute family that is not dysfunctional but pretty much not normal my beloved.

Honestly, Buggy as a mom just feels so right. But especially as an adoptive mom, you know? She just keeps seeing outcasts and understanding them so well and wanting to take care of them. Tbh, Shanks and Buggy should just,, Find a kid in a treasure chest and keep the baby.

[riftfic]

17. Epilogue

The end is here.

Thank you, everyone, for staying with me till now. I've made two additional illustrations buried in the text below. :)

Happy Anniversary, Undertale. 💙

< Load | RESET

An incandescent future unfolded over the course of that year. Though far too familiar events repeated with frustrating familiarity, they arrived in new packages: some in bright and colorful wrapping, some in grossly damaged bags. Even if confusing and often jarring, most monsters expressed gratitude to have familiar yet unfamiliar lives awaiting. The additional security and a world more accepting allowed them to press on with more comfort than expected. 

Not all were as fortunate. Several returned to lives in pieces. Lost relationships. Humans that knew them, loved them, and had aged beyond them. Photographs of small children they might never conceive. Tombstones engraved with names of the living . . . sometimes their own. 

At first, Asgore and Toriel tried to shield you from the responsibility. This level of accountability, they said, should not rest on a child’s small shoulders. No one needed to know about your hand in the broken clock. 

You didn’t see it that way. Not knowing why their lives had been stolen, left wondering if their relationships could be undone again, only festered the wound. So you explained to them what had happened and why, and swore that it would not and could not happen again. Amazing, how forgiving monsters could be—not that they all were. 

For three months, HEART continued its search for monsters left behind. The moment Sans had recovered, he had jumped at the chance to join Papyrus and Undyne among their ranks. His unique teleportation magic served them well once he had a feel for those snaking, unfamiliar shafts and pathways. Places once difficult to reach suddenly became accessible. Dozens of monsters and their families owed him thanks, especially those trapped deep in the Ruins. 

None of them were Wingdings.

With this and all else he had set in motion to free them, monsterkind quickly came to love and respect Sans in a way he had never truly experienced. Sure, he had been a recognizable face in the local comic scene, the friendly smile at Grillby’s every other night, the playful hotdog peddler in Hotland, sentry and judge for the royal family, but never . . . this. If the swath of gifts and well wishes in his hospital room hadn’t been enough proof, Asgor went far enough as publicly honoring him. He hadn’t knighted him, thankfully—a fact Sans could not celebrate more—but he did proclaim something more touching than that. 

He named a star.

As a human, the first mention of this honor had underwhelmed you. Humans named stars all the time for science, for romance, for shits and giggles. What you hadn’t understood was that, to monsters, this meant far more than looking up and picking a distant flicker. 

Their people had evolved from stardust. While humans had a touch of this magic in them, monsters churned with this fire as their lifeblood. The celestial bodies, their very beginnings, were esteemed with enough reverence to be gods. 

Their banishment to the Underground had been especially cruel for this fact, and after such a long separation from the sky, marking their reunion with a new light was more than fitting. After all, when someone’s name was thought with enough intent in so many hearts, a star wasn’t only named; it was born. 

It was bright and it was beautiful. When viewed through his telescope, it nestled in a pocket of blue and gold fringed in red, much like the Ring Nebula, only light years from a star they had once named after you. 

“i don’t get it,” he admitted to you after the fact. “all i did was make up for somethin’ i did wrong. my motivations weren’t exactly heroic either.”

“Not all knights wear armor, Sir Sans the Star.”

“heh . . . and just what’re you gettin’ at, fair frisk the fart?”

You laughed. “It doesn’t matter why you did it,” you said. “You still did it. You brought back the dead, Sans. You deserve to be thanked for that, don’t you?”

You knew Asriel hadn’t been the one he wanted to resurrect. Even after the members of HEART had disbanded, he delved into the dark in search of Wingdings until his phalanges bled and his magic ran dry. All of you had begged him to relent, Asgore more than anyone. Not until every inch of the Underground’s remains had been scoured did he finally lose hope.

At least now, his brother’s name did not wither from memory like a dream in the morning light. For the first time, he could mourn him freely. He could share memories with those who knew him, find understanding in kindred spirits, and heal.

As one year on the surface came to a close, he finally found the courage to destroy the machine.

The spring sun crisped dewdrops from dandelions as you and Sans strode across his overgrown lawn. The skeleton brothers’ house, a cozy little two story chalet, stood half embedded in the steep hillside behind you. Its stilted, elevated porch overlooked miles of green forest and a babbling river inlet at the knoll’s foot, just as he had remembered. A long road wound atop the hill’s peak, passing from driveway to driveway to outline a comfortably spaced neighborhood. In the distance, Mount Ebott reached among smaller peaks for white clouds in a gold and pink sky. 

Under your arms, you each carried a folded mesh lawn chair. Matte black aviator sunglasses masked Sans’ eyes, though a cyan glow smoked behind the left lens. A pair of bright purple shields blocked your own. Following behind in a cloud of blue magic, the rusty, tattered block of a machine he called a “temporal flux manipulator” hovered helplessly a meter off the ground.

A safe distance from the coyote bushes dotting the property line, Sans shook out his chair and tossed it down beside a patch of naked buckwheat. You followed suit and plopped into your seat.

“countdown?” Sans requested.

Before you could start, he had flung the machine unceremoniously upward, nearly thirty feet into the air. At its very peak, he voided his magic. It plummeted into a satisfying cacophonous crash of metal and glass, as if a double decker had smashed into a brick wall.

“Three,” you said.

Two Gaster Blasters materialized over his shoulders.

“Two.”

Their unhinged jaws pooled white-hot energy in their gullets.

“One.”

Those wild-eyed dragon skulls unleashed two furious jets of dangerous magic. The light reflected in your sunglasses. Screams of raging power overwhelmed the once peaceful ambiance of nature. You both watched impassively, but perhaps just a little smugly, as what had once been a marvel of science was pummeled down into a flaming mess. 

The blasters dissipated, appeased. Both natural and magical fire burned high like a bonfire in front of you. You popped open a bag of marshmallows. Sans, meanwhile, emptied an old yellow envelope into the flames, then shrugged and tossed in the sleeve as well. Blueprint after blueprint shriveled away to embers, never to be crafted again.

“erase that, ya fat gameboy,” he muttered. 

Just as he reclined in his chair, a sputter of laughter spooked him out of it again.

“That was five years of our lives and 20 million G in government funding you just blew up.”

Sans whipped around, eye sockets wide and empty. You followed his gaze. The uncooked marshmallow you had been too impatient to wait for fell from your lips.

A lanky skeleton stood somewhat removed behind your chairs, clinging to a small paper bag and his own wrist. An orange laminate wristband hung above his bony palm, rugged from wear, and another rested alongside it in white. The sleeves of his loose, plum colored button-up had been pushed up to his elbows; the buttons down his torso had been fastened incorrectly, off by one. Something like apprehension and hesitation lit the small lights of his eyes, so similar to Sans’ and yet worlds apart. 

Sans’ hand shook audibly as he peeled the sunglasses from his face.

Wingdings looked exactly the same as he had nearly a century ago—no longer melted, his body whole—even if those awful cracks still split his skull. They had been mended, only scars now behind a thin but large pair of lopsided circular glasses. Though he had seemed joyful a moment ago, his smile slowly slipped away. 

At his heels, a small white dog panted happily. Far behind, at a bend in the road, a black Lincoln idled in park. Asgore stood leaning on the car door, watching from afar.

“I guess,” Wingdings eased past the silence, “it worked. Kind of. In a roundabout way. Basically, I was right; you were wrong. Congrats to me.” A small smile split his face again and his shoulders twitched upward. “Hooray,” he lilted weakly.

Sans had been creeping cautiously nearer, trembling, tracing that silhouette with the star of his left eye. Only inches apart, he touched the wristbands. The white one listed his name, his species, a mental hospital, and an admittance date—almost nine months ago. The orange band simply stated, “SUPERVISION REQUIRED.” 

Sans’ face was wet before he realized why. Every thought and feeling had been swept away until now.

“did you really come all the way from the void,” he hardly breathed, “just to rub it in my face?”

Wingdings stared down at him a long moment before his eyelights circled up into a cinched brow. He shrugged again. “Yes?”

Sans bubbled with laughter then, and Dings bubbled back. Next thing you knew, they were piled in each other's bones on the ground, happy, relieved, home. The Annoying Dog danced joyful doggy circles around them with a wildly flapping tail. 

From his vantage point, Asgore smiled with relief and found the resolve to approach.

“Oh, hey,” Wingdings said brightly when he noticed you nearing. “One sec.” 

He opened the paper bag and rustled around inside. The sound of pill bottles jostling like rain sticks only distracted you a moment before he surfaced something both considerate and serendipitous. Chocolate. Your favorite. A big, thick bar of the good stuff, the kind that melted in the mouth and made for soft and perfect s’mores. Your mouth salivated as you took the brick into your hands. The two of you were going to get along fine.

“One square at a time,” Asgore instructed you firmly.

You nodded.

“nine months?” Sans lamented playfully, tugging at the band around his brother’s wrist. “i coulda given birth by now. what happened? where were you? why . . .” Joy siphoned out of him. “why didn’t i know?”

At this, the anxious guilt Wingdings had forgotten sprang to life again.

“I’ll explain.” Asgore’s broad shoulders blocked the sun like a monument. His large though gentle voice stilled them all. 

“Your majesty, I can . . .” 

“I am no longer ‘your majesty,’” the great boss monster interrupted Wingdings with a smile. “I am your friend.” 

Dings relented, then, even if he fidgeted with the tags wrapped around his ulna and radius. Sans took his hand hostage.

Shortly before Sans had joined HEART, a small team had discovered Wingdings deep in the remnants of Waterfall. They had nearly given up their search when an annoying white dog barked after them ceaselessly. It led them to a dark alcove behind watery curtains, where Wingdings lay huddled in a corner, confused and nearly starved. 

“I was all bone,” Wingdings interjected shyly, but no one smiled. 

When he received the call that yet another skeleton had been unearthed, Asgore had raced to meet them almost as fast as he had run to meet you—but what he found was not the reunion he had hoped for. His smart, clever friend had been whittled down to a frightened creature with an ever fracturing hold on reality. With the breaking of the barrier, more than his grip on the rift had slipped loose. His mind had lost its bearings into a whirlwind of relentless psychosis. Excluding his early years in the void, Wingdings could not remember enduring an episode darker than this. 

Though warned of Wingdings’ catatonia and incoherency, the king of the underground immediately requested to visit him. He was glad he did. Something about seeing Asgore snapped Wingdings out of his stupor and into a brief moment of clarity, long enough to ask for help . . . and beg for the news not to escape, not even to Sans. 

“I didn’t want to be seen like that, marbles all over the floor,” Dings said. “And if I couldn’t be helped, well . . . I thought it would be better to stay forgotten.”

‘i didn’t forget you.” Sans’ grip on his brother’s hand tightened. “i mourned you. i thought you were dead.” 

‘I’m sorry.”

“I should have told you, Sans,” said Asgore. “Right away. I was torn . . . and the longer I put it off, the harder it became.”

Sans took measure of his heartache and decided it wasn’t worthwhile to blame them, not now. He had learned to forgive Asriel; he could absolve his brother and Asgore of this one misstep. He let the warmth of that metal bonfire and the sight of Wingdings’ tired face smooth over his soul.

“you don’t gotta apologize,” he sighed. “it sounds . . . scary.”

Windings nodded meagerly, but did not elaborate.

Asgore had placed him in a special care ward under the brightest human and monster minds he could assemble. Thankfully, humans had already researched three years ahead on this front. With their combined understanding of monster and human anatomy, they found a combination of physical and magical treatment that worked enough to stabilize him. The rest relied on therapy. 

“I’ll have sessions twice a week,” said Dings. “Asgore already agreed to take me, so if you have reservations . . .”

“reserva—the hell are you talking about?” Sans said. He had gripped his little brother by the shoulders, then, harsh at first but quickly gentle. Tears beaded in his eyes. “you think a little hot water’s gonna scare me off? you’ll be lucky if you get me off your heels!”

“It’s not over,” Windings said shakily. “I’m not cured. Something like this doesn’t just go away. It . . . sleeps.”

Sans deflated, then softly clutched him to his chest. Dings lowered his eyes, melting touch-starved into arms he had once lost hope in feeling. 

“i know,” Sans answered calmly. “and when it wakes up you don’t gotta face it solo. you’re not alone in the dark anymore. you’re home.”

Sans inhaled deeply, mercifully, as if he hadn’t truly breathed since the day he lost him. Saying the words aloud had released something inside him like puncturing a balloon. Everything felt pure and new: the weight of his brother in his arms; the scent of him intermingled with the neighbor’s freshly-cut grass; the warmth of his breath amid the late summer sunlight bleaching his skull; the glow of his eyes against the bonfire flickering strange their shadows. Nothing would let him forget this, not even the stars that began to glimmer out of hiding. 

“you’re home,” he said again, and this time his voice rattled with joy.

Wingdings held him very tightly then, desperately, and with it Sans knew he shared the sentiment. He smiled truly, deeply, never more whole, and hid it for himself in folds of wine purple cloth. 

“you made it.”

The End

Hear me now, hope you're listening It's been centuries, least what it seems to me I've been on this road, my eyes glistenin' Our past don't matter, I'm much stronger And fly much farther, soar overseas Finally, see, I'll keep on climbing Ridin' the lightning and I am sure

At times, I really didn't show What was wrong with me, wrong with me I told myself I cannot grow Without lovin' me, lovin' me But this is just the hell that lives inside Tell me now, where to? Please be my guide

I've been goin', goin' in circles Reoccurring dreams, talkin' in my sleep Then I'm floatin' up to the surface I can finally breathe, I could do anything And I don't know why it's all right And it's not at the same time Then I look up at a blue sky And I know

At times, I really didn't show What was wrong with me, wrong with me I tell myself I cannot grow Without lovin' me, lovin' me This is just the hell that lives inside Tell me now, where to? Please be my guide

"Lovin' Me" - Kid Cudi feat. Phoebe Bridgers

That's it. That's the end. :')

This has been an amazing journey. Thank you, thank you so much for reading through to the end.

I've been considering starting a new fic, a part two so to speak, that follows Wingdings as he reconnects with family and friends and learns to navigate his new life. Plus healing, as well as his mental health and trauma from the void. Maybe romance??? idk. A wholesome slice-of-life thing, much lighter in tone. I have scenes in my head already.

Thank you again. I have a surprise in store, so please don't unsubscribe just yet. ;)

< Load | RESET

[thedeviltohisangel]

i feel like the more feral i get, the more feral you get. i've never had a writer be so intuned to my fanfic needs, like you're genuinely reading my mind. so please forgive my spamming you 🙏🏻

but back to your prompts:

"love, don't hide your face, don't.." hands gently removing yours from your flushed face. "you make me flustered. " you say, but they kiss you through those words and mumble against your lips, "you fluster me more, sweetheart."

is such a bucky and cass thing it makes it hard to breathe. like maybe it's her realizing how much bucky egan just NEEDS her during the beginning of their relationship or them as official newlyweds after the war? just explicit smutty goodness i beg

KISSING PROMPT ERA

this is one of the best compliments I could have ever received. I am honored to try and match your feral nature and will continue to strive to do so. please never apologizing for popping into my inbox or DMs because it is my lifeblood and I love you for it.

this was giving freshly arrived in south carolina vibes. and we don't talk nearly enough how I think these two are exhibitionists.

warning: smut

The whiskey was good, at least he could admit that. The fancy club that the Cooper family was having dinner at that night seemed to be dripping with wealth. Everything from the wood floors to the silverware to the different glasses on the table were polished to the point he could see his reflection. Someone had taken Cass' jacket in the foyer and she had worn silk gloves and diamond earrings and he couldn't find a way to get comfortable in these chairs.

"Everything alright?" Cass rested her hand on his thigh as she dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a cloth napkin. Her hair was pulled back into some intricate clip that he couldn't quite understand. His fingers twitched to pull and let it loose.

"Just don't know which fork to use," he muttered as he twined his fingers through hers.

"Start far away from the plate, then work your way in with each course."

"Got it," he nodded but squeezed her hand tighter. Cass hid her mouth as she made eye contact with her older sister across the table and giggled.

"Don't worry, John, you look exactly like you belong," Olivia smiled around her martini. She had been struck by the handsomeness of her sister's husband. Had noticed every woman at the club that night tracking his movements as soon as he had entered. Olivia knew John Egan would be the talk of every lunch and tea and beauty salon in South Carolina for the next few days.

"Most handsome man is this stuffy, mothball of a place," Cass whispered as she indulged in a chaste kiss on his lips.

"Your husband," he whispered back. It was more important that people know he belonged to her than anything else.

"And you get to marry me all over again soon." John hummed and opened his mouth to hers, Cass ignoring all her training in manners to groan against him.

"Cassandra Ann." Her mother's voice rang out from the end of table. "Mind your posture." Cass' back straightened on command and she returned to picking at the food on the plate in front of her.

"Yes, mama," she replied with a smile. "My love, I think I left my compact in the pocket of my coat. Will you accompany me to look for it?" Olivia smiled wickedly as she read between the lines of her younger sister's words.

"Of course, Mrs. Egan." Cass thinks she heard her mother's heart constrict.

"Make sure they don't wait for us to eat," Cass said to her sister as John pulled out her chair and pressed his hand to the small of her back, guiding her back towards the coat check.

"How long have we got to say we are looking for your compact?" John asked, ducking his lips to brush against her ear as his wife surveyed the hallway before sneaking through the coat clerk's entrance.

"As long as we want. I don't care about the stares and whispers. Not anymore. Not when I've got you to keep my mind preoccupied." Her fingers gripped around the lapel of his suit jacket as she walked backwards and pulled him deeper and deeper into the racks of coats until her back hit a wall.

"Just your mind?" he asked as his fingers pulled up the hem of skirt, his mouth water as he found the clips of her stockings and kept moving up. His middle finger found the front of her panties and stroked up and down until she tingled all the way down to her toes.

"Actually, you might be better at clearing my mind," she smiled. Deftly, he tucked the lacy undergarment to the side and moaned into her mouth at the feeling of her soft and warm and wet with no barrier.

"How long have you been wet for me?" he teased as he traced featherlight circles over her clit.

"Always wet for you," she whimpered. She spread her legs wider as he slipped two fingers inside of her with little resistance, his kisses increasing with urgency at the feeling of her walls contracting around him.

"How wet?" Cass could read that exact glint behind his eyes. He curled his fingers deliberately against the front of her and her suspicions were confirmed.

"John." His name came out in a whine as her hips moved in tandem with his fingers.

"Come on, baby, make a mess for me." His thumb worked against her clit as his fingers pulled and stroked and pulsed against the sensitive front wall of her pussy, Cass' breath coming in pants as she closed her eyes to focus fully on the sensation.

"Oh, John. Oh, fuck that feels so good. Please don't ever stop." She searched for something to hold onto and she settled for the front of his jacket again, John's forehead falling against hers. He tapped his nose against hers sweetly, in direct contrast to the sinful movements of his fingers, a sweat collecting across her chest as her breathing came quicker. It skipped slightly at the sound of the clerk opening the door.

"Is he going to learn how pretty my wife sounds when she comes?" Cass could barely nod as the words were trapped in her throat. She could hear and feel just how wet she was. Knew her orgasm was about to explode out of her. A whine left her lips as he buried a third finger to the hilt and a grinded the heel of his hand against her clit, her slick leaking out of her and coating his hand, the skin of her inner thigh and rolling down her leg. With a breathless laugh, she brought her hands to her face and covered her enflamed cheeks. "Love don't hide your face, don't..." He wrapped his hands around her wrists and gently pried her hands away from her face.

"You make me flustered," she laughed, her legs quivering as John wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her flush to his chest.

"You fluster me more, sweetheart," he mumbled against her lips. "I love you. I love you so much, Spook."

"I love-"

"Hello? Is someone back here?" With a giggle, he took her hand they were off. Off to cause chaos in another corner of the world.

[slutburn]

can we the people have your catton quick headcanons can be nsft if you like or just seperate felix and oliver headcanons i hunger for them. 🛀🏼

cheers

x

sorry this took so long, i wanted to give you good ones! cattonquick is my lifeblood atm, those will be at the end:

oliver:

oliver didn’t decide on a big grand plan to lie to felix beforehand. he’s more just impulsive than some kind of evil mastermind. felix wanted to know about his family & because he felt they were unremarkable, oliver made stuff up. it snowballed into something much bigger when felix pulled away and he felt the need to continue lying. we saw how the professor responded to his background — he’s probably gotten this response all his life when he’s talked about himself to people he wants to impress. oliver didn’t think that felix would be invested in their friendship long enough for his lies to matter.

oliver is a bottom. this is just an infallible truth in my mind. i don’t want to elaborate or overanalyze it lol

oliver is gay — the only reason he makes any romantic or sexual advances towards women is because of their connections with felix. i don’t think he really thinks about sexuality, he just gets impulses and all of them are towards men

oliver has to masturbate a lot. being around felix who’s constantly teasing and flirting with him is rough. every day is a challenge, especially at saltburn. does he lock his own door? that’s for you to decide..

farleigh is the first out lgbt person oliver has known who’s not made to be an outcast because of it. it’s another reason he’s jealous of him.

felix:

felix is bad at kissing and bad at sex. emerald fennell said this herself. he doesn’t need to be good at any of it because girls (and guys) will still want him regardless. but i like to think that sex between him and oliver changes things bc im a romantic at heart lol.

felix is truly, genuinely unaware of how much he takes advantage of people. his life has always been made easy so why would he not just enjoy the attention? it’s not like he’s forcing people to be do things for him, they’re offering themselves up to him. no need to overanalyze why people love you so much.

felix went to boarding school — i’ve always assumed this means it was an all boys school. this is why he’s so good at unabashedly, publicly flirting with oliver. felix had his first kiss with a boy and he’s had all kinds of experiences with boys. maybe he even lost his virginity to a boy.

CATTONQUICK:

JSYK @leiflitter’s you’re almost home has basically become canon fix-it in my head so read these with that in mind. also if you want a1 cattonquick headcanons, i reblogged theirs a few posts ago

once people know that they’re together, felix and oliver are always holding hands or touching each other. but you’ll never see them kiss in public.

felix is the one to propose. it’s only appropriate given oliver’s insatiable need to be wanted, and this would be the truest form of want and love that felix can give to him after keeping him at a distance for so long.

felix loves for oliver to wear his clothes. we know this. even when they’re married and live together, with their OWN CLOSETS, felix will hand oliver his own sweater to put on after they have sex and he’s going to pee. oliver doesn’t protest.

oliver loves when felix ties him to the bed. he can stay that way for hours, felix giving him sips of water in between sessions of whatever he’s decided to do to him

they love movie dates. oliver always wants to pick a scary one because felix is easily scared & it’s hilarious to watch this 6’5” man yelp and spill his popcorn in the theater over jump scares

[fancyfeathers]

Thinking about William with an author darling again…

She is wealthy because of her books, extremely so, she is apart of the upper class but she is new money. Because she is new money she is more wealthy than most of the old money because their fortunes have been passed down from generation to generation, but unlike then she does not know how to spend the money she receives, some of it gets sent to her family to take care of them but the rest of her fortune just builds up. Many authors of the time did have horrible addictions, the price of fame, using smoking and drugs to numb the pain and shut the world out when it becomes too much to take. Many of her friends cope with the same addictions lingered in her friends who are also not use to the pressure of high society life, none of them are proud of it but none of them judge one another for it because they understand the stress of their lives. The mystery author is a genius of the highest order but still a person and only began writing for her enjoyment and now that her work has named her a mystery author her readers expect that each books holds the same genius as the one before but the thing is when someone writes and thinks about that much depravity it has a way with the mind and one person can only handle so much.

Then when the Lord of Crime starts mimicking her books she absolutely cracks, she has no enjoyment in writing anymore and begins hating herself for it all. Then when she marries William writing becomes that much harder and she has absolutely no teeth big to numb the pain anymore like the addictions she suffered from during her time as a free woman.

Sometimes during her late night writing sessions, she snags a cigarette from William’s study while he is on a mission and she will sit on her own desk, looking out the window at the moonlit city while having a smoke. Normally she puts it out and opens a window before William returns so she can get rid of any evidence but this time she does not. Her feet dangle just above the carpet as she sits on top of her desk when she hears the door open and a heavy sigh from her husband. William walks over and grabs the cigarette from her and drops it in the cup of tea that had long gone cold on her desk while she just looks out the window.

“I believed we talked about your bad habits before, dear.”

“I know, I just… don’t care anymore about anything… William, I… I genuinely do not think I can live anymore… I cannot live with myself or my mind.”

“Perhaps a bit of sleep will clear your mind, after all it is almost four in the morning now, love-“

“No, this is something that has plagued my mind for years… when you are good at something, people begin expecting that one thing from you and completely overlook everything else about you. I am known as this genius author whose mind rivals the nation’s smartest, but no one cares to remember that I am a person who has friends, family, and honestly never wanted any of this.”

“You never wanted any of this? But you told me once that writing was your lifeblood.”

“It was once but not anymore, I used to write for myself but now it just feels like- no it is something I do just to make others happy. Once that first mystery book was published that is what people put me to, but that is the only book I wanted to write like that but people expected me to write what they can not fathom, to go deep into the minds of the wicked with no regard to my own mind… I actually know how I would commit the perfect crime if I wanted to, but it all just means nothing to me anymore, just a means to an end… honestly I would give it all just to go back home, live with my family or just be that little girl again who made stories for fun… I just want to numb it all.”

Then after that she just breaks, something snaps inside of her. It is difficult to get her out of bed in the morning and then William has to help her get ready and honestly it takes firm reminders from Louis or someone else in the house to get her to eat and drink…

Then one day William hers the faintest of crying from his darling’s own study and when he goes in to check on her he has to stop and look at the sight before him. She is just standing there, looking down at the fireplace where her unfinished manuscript burns.

“I can’t do it anymore, William… hopefully with this gone society sees no use for me anymore and throws me aside… that would be nice because then I could be me again.”

[natalieh0490]

Dc/Dp Prompt - Ritual Sacrifice and Consequences

Danny Fenton and Damien al ghoul are full brothers and raised together. Danny is five years older and is the perfect heir. He believes in everything that Ra’s tells him just like Damien, but sometimes he breaks the rules in order to be a good brother in secret. However, one day Danny goes on a mission and doesn’t return. When Damien asks what happened to his brother, Ra’s tells him that Danny’s name is to never be mentioned again. He failed and is to never be remembered. Damien goes on to continue his life as normal, but the pressure that he was under to never mention Danny after his failure and how everyone acted like he never existed made it so he never mentioned Danny to his father.

What happened to Danny was far more complex than failing a simple mission. In fact, he never went on a mission at all. You see, several centuries ago when Ra’s al Ghoul was young he made a deal with Pariah Dark. He would provide Pariah Dark with souls of the people he valued most to feed upon and in return Pariah Dark would grant Ra’s a Lazarus pit for as long as that person was supposed to have lived before they were cut short far to early. Ra’s al Ghoul doesn’t truly care about anyone so he was happy about this deal, but it was a little annoying at times to lose assets. This time it was Danny’s turn to be the sacrifice. Danny fought hard, but he was only ten while Ra’s was ancient. So Ra’s won, giving Danny a mortal wound before tossing him into the Lazarus for him to sink into its unending depths while he refilled and tainted it with his lifeblood. However, Danny did manage to leave Ra’s with a facial scar to remember him and this betrayal by. Because Danny refused to be separated from his precious little brother without a fight even though he failed at the end.

However, instead of being delivered to Pariah Dark like all of the sacrifices before him, he was intercepted by Clockwork. Clockwork ended up catching on to the deal between Ra’s al Ghoul and Pariah Dark during the last sacrifice who was Nyssa al Ghoul, who he managed to save before she was completely consumed. Because of those, Clockwork was ready to intervene before Danny truly died and Pariah Dark could consume his soul and become strong enough to escape the sarcophagus of forever sleep. Danny was grateful to be saved, and then demanded to be returned to this brothers side at once in order to protect him from their twisted family. But, Clockwork refused because the would be interfering in the timeline in a way that would make things worse. Damien al Ghoul Wayne was meant to be the only blood child of Bruce and Talia, and the best timeline possible would result from that remaining that way. Also, Danny was needed elsewhere, because while the timeline didn’t need/was actively hurt by Daniel al ghul, it needed Danny Fenton. Then before Danny could react, Clockwork wiped Daniel al Ghoul min from existence and then filled his mind with memories of being Danny Fenton.

There are two choices here. Either their already was a Danny Fenton who was supposed to live the life of cannon Danny Fenton, but didn’t mange to survive long enough and got replaced. Or there never was a Danny Fenton, but Clockwork knew that the Fenton parents lacking attempts at safety would result in another hafta eventually, and he placed Daniel al ghouls there and made everyone believe the Fentons always had two children because the timeline needed a halfa hero. Whichever method, when the newly minted Danny Fenton arrived in Amity Park, clockwork manipulated everyone’s minds to make it seem like he had either always been there, or had never died

So Danny and those close to him know something is off, but they don’t notice something is truly wrong until he becomes a halfa. If he replaced someone else it is obvious that he suddenly had new interests, but nobody cared really to notice. But something being off becomes really obvious when Danny becomes a halfa and has to deal with fighting ghosts and ghost hunters because he knows how to fight without knowing how he learning. The experience also started the slow process of him getting his stolen memories back. Sam and Tucker may start to become uneasy around Danny due to how viciously he fights in what seems like a fun situation where they get to play heroes because they are kids who don’t understand the danger they are in yet. Jazz is more supportive and is willing to believe Danny when he says something is off about his place in Amity when absolutely no one else will believe him and helps him to investigate. Ellie and Danny see each other as siblings, and because of that Danny encourage Ellie to run away from Amity, subconsciously thinking of Damien and wanting to protect her from the dangers of Amity because she is still extremely naive/innocent because it made her easier to control.

No one contacted the Justice League because Amity is a small town that doesn’t have much exposure to the Justice league in the first place. Also, the attacks from both the ghost hunters and ghosts escalated slowly, like boiling a frog, so no one noticed how truest dangerous things were getting until it was too late. This happened over a course of six years and started when Danny was fourteen. Then, out of nowhere, when the GIW had enough information they stopped acting incompetent and inflicted a devastating blow on Amity Park managed to capture many ghosts included Danny. After this brutal loss, the experiments that happened as a result exposed Danny as a ghost to his “parents” and exposed him as being Daniel al Ghoul resulting in him being abandoned and tortured by them. This experimentation lasted for several months to a year before a successful rescue. Jazz, Sam, Tucker, and Ellie ended up staging a rescue that ended up being a success, but in the process they also find out the truth about Danny. Sam and Tucker are horrified about his part of being an assassin whether it was willing or not and abandon him in their horror. Because after all they were taught that taking a life was the worst thing you could do no matter what. Meanwhile, Ellie doesn’t care cause he is still her original and Jazz still sees him as her little brother. In the massive fight that occurs, Jazz becomes a shadow-cored halfa and manages to use shadow travel to teleport Ellie, Danny, and Jazz away to safety.

When they arrive at their new location they decide that there is no point in preventing the war that the Anti-Ecto Acts have been trying to trigger for so long anymore. The humans have gone to far, and their is no way to keep both sides safe anymore with the horrors the GIW has show that is willing to do with full approval from the US government and seeming approval of the Justice League and the UN. So they decided that if the humans really want this war this badly they won’t stand in the way anymore.

After, they make that decision Danny asks if they can go confront Ra’s al Ghoul, his grandfather, for what he did to him. Yes, it was clockwork who erased his mind, but is was Ra’s who sacrificed him and he wants revenge. It is also unlikely the the would succeed at getting revenge on an ancient, even though he will never trust that ancient again. At this point Danny is a mix of two full lives and it hurts and he hopes that this will help, and if it doesn’t it will at least feel good. So he confronts his grandfather and finds his reasons stupid and shortsighted and kills him in his rage because he stole his life for such a selfish reason. And then he decides that he is too broken to be allowed to interact with Damien. He would be safer with their father and without him in his life, so the three of them return to the ghost zone to join the preparations for war with the humans.

Meanwhile, Damien has been morning his brother a lot these past 10 years. Things have gone for the bats the same as canon, and they are just as dysfunctional as ever. One day during one of Jason and Bruce’s arguments over the Joker and Jason’s death, Damien has an out of character meltdown. He reveals the existence of Danny and wonders if Danny would hate him the way Jason hates Bruce for failing to avenge him. He tells this to Alfred, because the bats are allergic to emotions and Alfred drove them away so he could comfort Damien properly. But the bats spied on the conversation cause they are the bats.

Bruce decides to go confront Ra’s over the son he would never get to meet, but when he arrives he has been brutally ripped to shreds and is barely recognizable as human, and the Lazarus pit is gone like it has never existed. He calls in the Justice league Dark and they say it is the work of the Infinite Realms and a very bad sign. Then, they start getting report of different eldritch beings going on rampages across the worlds that are unable to be hit or hurt and have the weirds rants from being to being that make no sense.

The war has begun.

So the GIW, Fentons, and other ghost hunters get to the Justice league and convince them that the ghosts are not sentient/sapient and all that can be done is extermination. But as they follow that path, the war gets worse and worse instead of better. Members of the Justice league also slowly begin to catch on that something else is going on here than what they are being told. They decide to capture/summon one to get the other sides perspective, and then they realize the truth. And then they try to stop the war the only way it truest can be stopped. By proving the humans and the ghosts can live in peace. After they get rid of the GIW and the ghost hunters and the Fentons, they summon the halfa. They do this because they need a halfa to end the war. The ghost royalty can only make choices about the ghost realm. Halfas get to make choices about the relationship between the two realms. They end up summoning Danny.

Luckily for Danny. Only Jason is there when they do so. They are trying to get on his good side to get him to end the fighting. They end up having a discussion and they agree to end the fight as long as the humans stop their hunting. Then Danny slips up and reveals that he is Damien’s older brother, so Damien comes running from where the bats were hiding in case Danny ending up being malevolent and demanded he return home at once and explain what he has been up to all this time. Danny explains everything after a bit of hesitation and expects to be rejected but instead the is welcomed home by his father and siblings, and those siblings say that his clone and adopted sister are welcome. So he gets Jazz and Ellie and the three of them move to Wayne manor somewhat cautiously. Then the two groups learn how to be a family through their multitude of issues cautious.

Also, halfa can never be rulers of the ghost zone because they are to alive, but pariah dark isn’t the king during the war either because he is too evil.

If anyone writes something with this please credit me and provide me a link in the comments so I can read it.

Thanks.

[bluegekk0]

Does the Grimmchild exist in your FPK AU?

(sorry if this was asked before-)

Yes, but not in the way most of the fandom sees it. It's not a child of Grimm, it is simply one of the stages in his physical body's cycle. The name is meant to differentiate between his mature form and its previous stage, so it's not meant to be taken literally as "Grimm's child". It doesn't grow gradually, instead it morphs into the full form once it consumes enough nightmare essence. The way I imagine it is that it gets engulfed by flame and then the fully mature body appears in its place. Then Grimm's old body burns down and its flame gets consumed by the new one.

The Grimmchild itself is an incomplete body, and although it shares the mind with Grimm (as does any physical manifestation of NKG, as they're all the same being; The Nightmare Heart is simply a source of power, so it is also technically part of that being), it is more like a drone than a living being at that point. It does what it was created to do - to consume flame and grow into its final stage. It can't speak and simply follows whoever holds the Grimmchild charm. As for the charm itself, it works a bit differently than in the game. It's more like a mark than a way to spawn the Grimmchild, and anyone tasked with helping with the ritual wears it to signify their mission. However, if the charm breaks, the Grimmchild loses focus and if it doesn't find its way back to Grimm, it gets destroyed to make way for a new Grimmchild (to prevent Grimm from wasting time trying to bring it back). This is why the Grimmchild that followed Ghost for a while ceased to exist after they entered Godhome and defeated The Radiance. Grimm was forced to complete the ritual elsewhere, as the additional nightmare essence collected by the Grimmkin during the ritual was not enough to restart it.*

So in short, Grimmchild is a thing in the AU, but it's not a separate being. And since the ritual happens outside of Dirtmouth, it doesn't interact with the rest of the family.

---

Some additional rambling below the cut, not really related to the question:

* - I say collected by the Grimmkin since in the AU they do that every time a ritual takes place. Extra nightmare essence comes in handy since it speeds up every ritual, allowing Grimm to get a hold of a fresh new body way sooner. But it's not enough for a complete ritual, which is why he's forced to travel to other lands, with dead kingdoms/towns being perfect territories as that's where the essence tends to linger. The essence is primarily attracted to nightmares, which is why it can be found in smaller amounts in places that aren't dead, but it tends to linger and swarm in places which experienced death and tragedy. Using Hallownest as an example, the death associated with the infection attracted the essence, which made it a very good ritual ground. However, as it slowly returned to life after The Radiance was defeated, it stopped being a breeding ground for the nightmare essence. The essence can still be harvested from the bugs living in it as they experience nightmares, but it's not enough for a ritual, which forces Grimm to travel elsewhere to collect more once it's time for a ritual.

I'm also toying with the idea that Grimm's relationship with the essence is kind of similar to a predator-prey interaction. I do love the idea that the nightmare essence, as well as other similar concepts like the dream essence, soul, void and lifeblood, were there first before the existence of their corresponding gods. I'm still brainstorming the details so I'll leave that for another time. But in short, since Grimm relies so heavily on the essence (unlike other gods which evolved to draw their power directly from their higher plane), he has to make sure the essence remains in balance, which is why he chooses lands with an excess of it as ritual grounds. It's like how overhunting can negatively affect the ecosystem, there needs to be a balance between the predator and prey populations. This might be a bit convoluted now, but I want to sit down and properly explain it in the AU info page

---

Also as a little additional note, the wings and long tail on Lewk are inherited from the Grimmchild form. I'm not exactly sure how the genetics would work there, but perhaps those traits are still present in his final body as some kind of recessive gene (or an equivalent of it), making it possible for his biological children to inherit them. The extra fluff all over the body could also be one of those traits, as his mature form has fur only on his limbs, tail and face.

This is different to what's present in Vyrm's new form. His new body is basically like a new organism, instead of the old form morphing into his current body. This is why he left a carcass of it behind after changing forms. For that reason, none of his children show traits found in the rest of his species, such as elongated bodies and the weird mouth structure.

That being said, there are some traits still found within his new form, which makes sense since he used the old body as a base for his reduced form. For example, since he's leucistic and wyrms are normally brown in the AU, I like the idea that this is one of the genetic traits that remained in his new body. Perhaps that's why Asta has dark brown fur all over her body - instead of that color coming from Grimm, she inherited the gene for dark skin from Vyrm, which results in a much darker fur than her two brothers.

[seaemberthesecond]

Let me say how much I adore and am in awe of your writing! I find myself going back to your work again and again. With that, what are the chances of you ever returning to write more about Gojo and Megumi because wow did that fic just break my heart in so many good ways.

Thank you!

asdffhdhsjshlsfjdgs I'm SO flattered by this, you have no idea. You've inflated my ego to a dangerous size XD Thank you so much, I'm so incredibly pleased you like my writing <3

That being said, you sent this ask at the right time lmao. If you'd asked me even a week before, I'd have said that while I like jjk, its really not my primary fandom and I got what I needed to out of my system with Baby Mine. BUTTTTT, it's not a week ago and I have been in a jjk kind of mood lately and actually started writing a little bit of a fic even before you sent in this ask. Will it ever be finished? Who knows, but I sure hope so.

And because your incredibly kind words motivated me so much, here's 1k and change of a snippet. I hope you like it!

Warnings: Unbeta'ed and also Gojo's unhinged childhood

Gojo Satoru is a god.

On December 7th 1989, the heavens crack open and he rips his way out of his mother’s womb; his blessed, divine eyes open and blazing.

The world swings off its axis.

When he takes his first breath, the surge of cursed energy is so strong it kills the woman whose body he’s been pulled from and all her midwives. Her name is erased from clan records, her husband’s too – the man’s throat slit before he can lay an eye, much less a finger, on his baby. Before he can despoil that godly flesh with his mortal hands. 

Gods are not begotten. They have no mother and they have no father. He is Gojo Satoru of the Six Eyes and the Limitless. He is Exalted.

He sits alone at an elevated podium during mealtimes, the rest of the clan arrayed below him. They wait for him to begin, even the Clan Head. The servants prostrate themselves when they pass him in the hall, foreheads pressed to the tatami, lips moving in ecstatic prayer. When he is ten, the Clan Head’s children and their families present themselves before him and commit seppuku so he may ascend to his rightful place as heir. Their blood runs red and their cursed energy gutters and goes out, forgive us Rikugan-sama, for trespassing against you.

 He is raised by attendants and elders and tutors – the best of the best of the best. He can mould his cursed energy before he can talk, is taught theoretical mathematics before he loses his first tooth, learns Nihongo and Kugo and Putonghua and English till he can switch between them in his sleep.

But more than anything else, he is taught about jujutsu – about curses and cursed techniques; about the history of their world; about the great clans, of which they are the greatest, and the weaker ones that were exterminated for daring to cross them. Strength, his teachers croon, is the lifeblood of the universe Rikugan-sama. And he will be the strongest. It is destined, they tell him, it is ordained, written in the very stars. He is what they have been waiting for for so long – the first Six Eyes and Limitless user to be born in five hundred years. He will reclaim the glory of days past, remind the Zen’in and the Kamo what it is to quake beneath the might of the Gojo, take their clan to heights greater than any ever imagined.

He is Gojo Satoru, between the heavens and the earth, he alone is the Honoured One. He has no equal –

Except –

The Ten Shadows.

His teachers speak of it with pursed lips and tight voices. They assure him that the prized technique of the Zen’in holds no candle to his majesty in one breath, and in the same, drill him relentlessly on its capabilities. Something about the Ten Shadows worries them, though they try not to show it. Fools. There is no hiding from his eyes.

At night, when they think he is asleep, he sneaks from his room to the library – that grand collection that holds in its recesses all the secret and profane knowledge of the jujutsu world – and seeks what his caretakers don’t want him to know. The Ten Shadows is the anti-thesis of the Six Eyes, he learns – its counterbalance. Through time and space, history and myth, they are tied together. Where one appears, the other follows not long after. They find each other, always.

Where the Six Eyes is a supernova, the Ten Shadows is a black hole.

Where the Six Eyes is the blinding light of all the universe’s knowledge, the Ten Shadows is the dark seething underbelly of which nightmares are made.

Where the Six Eyes can manipulate the very atoms that make up the fabric of existence, the Ten Shadows deals with the absence of matter entirely.

Yin and Yang. Matter and Dark Matter. Equal and opposite forces, that together, balance the world.

He becomes obsessed. He plumbs the depths of the Gojo’s extensive collection for anything even tangentially related to the Ten Shadows – he pores through tomes of history and genealogy, researches the shikigami and their abilities like a boy possessed and comes up with strategy on strategy on how to defeat each one, memorizes the names and biographies of each user of the technique ever recorded, turns them over in his head till he feels like he knows them. And maybe he did. In another life. When he dreams, he dreams of wolves the size of horses with teeth like swords, of snakes large enough to swallow the sun, of the creak of an eight-handled wheel turning turning turning. He wakes, shivering with anticipation, a smile burned across his face.

 Somewhere out there exists his match, the only person who can truly challenge him. Someone the universe has crafted for him specifically. The thought settles the gnawing hunger in his chest that eats at him whenever the wind carries the laughter of the other clan children to the cold and quiet training salles where he spends his days. It soothes the splintering fractals of pain that race along his nerves when it all becomes toomuchtoomuchtoomuch and even candlelight blinds him till he’s throwing up and his head feels like its collapsing in on itself. Soon¸ he reminds himself, soon we’ll find each other. It is destined.

But years go by. There is no news of the Ten Shadows. Not even the wind brings any secrets to their walls.

At first, the elders gather in their dark rooms and hiss in worried whispers about Zen’in plots – they must be hiding him, they argue, raising him in secret to become the ultimate weapon against Gojo supremacy; plans must be hatched, contingincies must be made. No threats to Rikugan-sama’s safety will be borne, they insist in furtive murmurs as they hire spies and assassins and saboteurs. They all return empty-handed.

More seasons pass. Paranoia recedes like the ebbing of the tide. The elders no longer talk in hushed whispers. They no longer feel the need to. Naobito doesn’t have the prescience to pull off a long con, they agree smugly over cups of tea and rice wine, still in their dark rooms. The Gojo have triumphed once again. It is to be expected, of course, victory is their birthright. But still, it is good to be proven right so definitively. The cycle of reincarnation must have broken when the last Rikugan-sama killed their Ten Shadows, one speculates. The Zen’in have been punished by the heavens, another crows. Whatever the reason, one thing is clear: there will be no Ten Shadows to challenge Gojo Satoru. Outside, with his ear pressed to the wall, he listens as they laugh and congratulate themselves. His all-powerful eyes burn and he rubs at them as he slinks back to his room.

He feels scraped clean – hollowed out. There is something that feels strangely like betrayal sitting heavily in his gut, like a cherished promise has been reneged upon. How could you? he thinks, turning over on his side, tears wetting his pillow, blanket clutched tightly to his chest. How could you? I was waiting for you.

He is Gojo Satoru. He alone is the Honoured One. He is unequalled, inimitable, peerless. He is a god.

He grows stronger than his teachers, bats aside curses that kill men thrice his age, masters techniques faster than any of the Six Eyes and Limitless users who came before him. Even measured against them, he is something else – the shining star of the Jujutsu world. A world that will be forever out of balance, tipped too far out of equilibrium by the weight of his power.

Mere weeks after his thirteenth birthday, he wakes with a jolt, gasping. It is the darkest, coldest hour of the night. Something pulls tight at his chest. His attendant shuffles in from the antechamber, asks if he needs anything. He shakes his head and falls back into uneasy slumber.

It is December 22nd 2002.

Gojo Satoru doesn’t know it at the time, but the world just swung back onto its axis.  

[angelasscribbles]

The Crown and the Shield Chapter 7: All Fall Down

Series: The Crown and the Shield

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Constantine x Jackson

Word Count: 740

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: Gun violence, blood, death

My other stuff: Master List.

The king of Cordonia approached the podium to thunderous applause. The negotiations had been successful. He was one press conference away from the end of this trip, and the beginning of a new life.

He was nervous, but excited, to confess his love for the head of his King’s Guard to his wife. Jack was right, Eleanor was nothing like Helena. She hadn’t married him for the crown but for their shared love of Leo. She was kind and loving and there was no way she would abandon her child the way his first wife had abandoned hers.

He would tell her about himself and Jackson and she would understand, like Bianca had. He could be more freely himself, Jack could be a bigger part of his life. Everything was going to work out. He just had to get through his part of the press conference.

The peace accords had gone far better than expected and he was confident about the future. He shot a discreet glance at Jackson as he took his place at the podium and cleared his throat.

His parents and his wife were seated on the stage behind him, along with the heads of state of all the attendee nations. Rivala, Auvernall, Monterisso, and Vallenheim. All of them hereditary monarchies. All of them targets of the anti-monarchy terrorist group The Liberation Core.

“I’d like to start by thanking the Spanish government for hosting this summit,” Constantine turned his head to nod politely at the king of Spain. He smiled broadly as he opened his mouth to compliment the culture, the cuisine, and the hospitality they had been shown.

The words never made it to his lips.

Gunshots shattered the bright June morning. Screams erupted from the audience, from the stage, and from the security teams as people scattered and dove for cover.

The crowd that had gathered for the historic announcement descended into complete chaos as panicked people trampled each other in an effort to escape.

The government officials and their families that had been seated on the stage seconds before were being drug from the area by their security teams or already lying on the stage floor, bleeding.

Security team members stumbled and slid through the wetness that now covered the floor as multiple people lay dead or dying.

Seconds stretched out like an eternity as Constantine turned his head wildly trying to find the source of the gunfire. Before he could react, a body hit his full force, tackling him to the ground.

There was a loud ringing in his ears, the gunshots and the screaming sounded dim and far away as darkness clouded the edges of his vision. He blinked rapidly trying to clear his senses as every survival instinct he possessed screamed at him to stay conscious.

He turned his head to the left and felt bile rise in his throat. The king of Auvernall lay mere feet away from him, unseeing eyes fixed and empty, his queen next to him gasping for air as her lifeblood ran out of a gaping hole in her chest.

His eyes swept the stage in horror searching for his own parents. The ground was covered in blood. Bodies lay everywhere. He spotted Eleanor being pulled from the stage by the head of her security detail, hands clutching at her stomach as blood soaked the fabric of her dress.

“No!” The scream tore from his throat as he began to struggle to get free. He had to get to her, to all of them. Why couldn’t he move?

His attention shifted to the body that lay motionless on top of him. Time suddenly sped up again as he gazed up into the face of the man who had shoved him out of the line of fire. The man who wasn’t moving. The man who was bleeding out on top of him.

Hot, sticky blood covered them both, but Constantine wasn’t bleeding.  

“Jack! Jack!” Terror clawed at his insides, panic washing over him as tears and snot smeared his face, “Wake up! Wake up!”

Then he was being pulled off the stage by another member of the King’s Guard as he fought with every ounce of strength he possessed to get back to the man he loved.

Three more guards joined the first and he lost the battle. He was pulled away from the danger as his lover lay in a puddle of blood, limp and unmoving.

[fancifulplaguerat]

I have further spare Aglaya thoughts. Cannot stop thinking about how whenever Aglaya mentions her hatred towards Nina it's predicated on Nina's cruelty/disregard for others contrasted against Aglaya's lines like “To this day, I've been paying for my kind-heartedness,” “It's a pity that everyone sees an enemy in me. Such is the bias against inquisitors. I only wish to do good; not specific, targeted good, like that Clara, but overarching good,” “I am a humanitarian. My duty is to save people, not kill them. I only condemn a few to death for the sake of the many.” That “I've been paying for my kind-heartedness” and “It's a pity that everyone sees an enemy in me” just make my heart hurt for her because I do sincerely believe her. Yes she is cruel towards Clara and deceives Daniil but I've said it before I will say it again: 1) I love Daniil so very much but *everyone* warned him not to trust her and 2) nearly every Patho character is an opportunist and/or trying to act after being dealt and incredibly shitty hand, which often results in deception and cruelty towards others. Aglaya is no different in my mind.

Also a particular detail in her dialogue which caught my eye is when she remarks that, “For a moment, I thought [Block] was driven by the same feeling that I am: a great man, when unexpectedly betrayed by the people he loves, will often seek to fill the whole universe with his blind spite. Yes, the feeling is indeed familiar...” I wonder what this refers to. My first thought is presumably Nina, but I can't quite imagine Aglaya feeling betrayed by her? It seems like they were too opposed? Like. I have no idea if I can articulate this well, but: Nina and Aglaya seem so alike yet fundamentally different that I just imagine tension would be endemic in their relationship. Also the way Aglaya characterizes her in the quote “Nina was the embodiment of absolute evil. The charming, intoxicating, beautiful evil, the evil that can drive you mad. The graceful and elegant evil that is fast to capture anyone in its web—even those who stand up to evil till the very last.” She calls Nina evil constantly. It is the lifeblood of her motivation—to destroy what her sister created. But that betrayal lines makes me think about what sort of uncomfortable love one can only have towards a family member that they fucking hate, like Aglaya does indeed think Nina is evil but also she is her (little?) sister and presumably grew up with her and I doubt Aglaya could see her as just wholly evil. That entire mess. Just compels me, particularly in how it adds another aspect to Nina.

I often think about how Nina is this object of terror and adoration more than a character in Patho Classic. Even sometimes, in my opinion, more an embodiment of utopia as Simon is for creation. Everyone close to her or who merely knew her as Mistress absolutely reveres her, perhaps even more after her death (which I think is the point, but, I digress). So to me, Aglaya and Maria have the most interesting dynamics with Nina because only through them does Nina feel more "real" to me, insofar as a character can. The dichotomy between Aglaya and Nina nicely contrasts this to me. Yes other characters allude to Nina being terrifying and so forth, but Aglaya's declarations that Nina is evil aren't accompanied by any reverence or respect or adoration that often does other characters' discussions of her. And it's yes Maria idolizes her, but as a child idealizes their parent. That is entirely separate from other characters who appear closest to Nina in Patho Classic: Victor, Andrey, and Peter, all of whom presumably had some sort of romantic attachment to her (if to various degrees and requitedness). Maria looks up to her, and in her words, “shall become her, [...] shall overcome her...” Maria interests me in that vein, that she aims to surpass her mother, and thus her idealization is necessarily different than others' who solely worship her.

I did not intend to write that much but this is what thinking about the Kaina-Lilich women does to a motherfucker. Apparently.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

A Perfectly Normal Schoolgirl, part 7

Part 1 here, Part 2 here, Part 3 here, Part 4 here, and Part 5 here, and part 6 here. Thanks for reading!

It was a trap, as expected. What I did not expect was to get thoroughly caught in it. As soon as I stepped out into the open, a net descended upon me. I suppose it was entirely my fault, because I thrashed enough to get Dane caught in it too. The two of us fell into a heap of netting and limbs, and only L had the sense to back away. As I was forcibly pulled into the light by sharp-nailed hands, I watched my brother press himself against the wall, blending in with the darkness. 

“Well, isn't that a sight?” Mrs C. sneered down at me. “The Kat got dragged in this time. I could've sworn it was typically the other way around,” she purred.

I detangled myself from Dane and prepared to launch myself at her. “Nuh uh,” she hissed, aiming a sharp kick at my stomach. “I'm afraid someone's watching.”

She was right, damn it. The unflinching red of a security camera watched me from a corner of my vision. I dared do no more than bare my teeth and hiss at her.

Beside me, Dane stumbled into a semi-upright position. “Kat,” he hissed, confused and helpless as a newborn kitten. “What's going on?”

I forced him back down. Damn that boy, always piping up at the wrong time. Hoping it would distract her, I met Mrs C's triumphant grin with a look of pure hatred. “Cheng Kai Ling, eldest of eight,” I began, feeling the camera's stare burn me. “Born 1890 as the child of two poor immigrants. Taught to read and write by the nuns at Saint Joseph's Convent. You had a penchant for mathematics, they realised, and set you at the book-keeping of the church. That was how you put your youngest brother through to university. He was far dumber than you, however, and you all knew it. But what could you do? You were the eldest, and a girl besides.”

Her facade wavered. “How the hell do you know that?” She grabbed me by my lapels, shaking me roughly. “Hmm? Tell me, little witch.”

Was that what she thought I was? I gave her my blandest smile. “It was a dark night, just before a hurricane hit, that a stranger showed up at your door. He was cold and pale and you were kind, so you let him into the convent. He offered you a chance to see the future, didn't he? A chance to live a life beyond the boundaries of the church and your books.”

“Kat,” Dane repeated, tugging at my skirt. “Maybe you should stop upsetting her?”

We both paused, and I winced. With nigh-inhuman speed, Mrs C swept Dane up and tossed him against the wall, ripping the wire net as she did so. I watched my friend smack against the wall with a crack. He didn't stir, and I hoped he had nothing worse than a concussion.

“Yes, little Katherine. You should shut up, just like your little boyfriend,” Mrs C concurred. “Perhaps if you beg for forgiveness now, I will make your and your love's deaths swift.” The grimace on her face said otherwise.

I gulped despite myself, and continued. “In some ways, I don't blame you. I sacrificed so much for my freedom too, you know. But-” I crossed my arms. “To sacrifice your entire family? To give up your sisters' lives and burn your home down to ash? To gulp down their lifeblood to sustain yours? I think you crossed one line too far.”

Mrs C's eyes glowed ever-so-slightly red, just like the camera. “You insolent bitch! You think you know anything about my life? You think you’re worthy of judging my choices? You're nothing but a feckless child, and I'm going to drain you dry,” she snarled, baring teeth.

“Sure you will,” I drawled. “You're not any more intimidating than you were when you told me off for not handing in my homework. Less so, actually. At least then you had a leg to stand on.” There was, in fact, a tinge of panic to my voice. I tried to control it, as far as I could, but truth be told, I really had no idea how to get out of this one.

Bad enough that I was trapped, but Dane was a massive liability, fragile as he was. L was never going to dare the camera's attention, even if my life was on the line. Or was he?

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement. I suppose L had been smarter than I gave him credit for, because he snuck directly beneath the camera, right under its blind spot. I dared not look closer, for Mrs C had leaned in so close that I could smell the blood on her breath.

“Oh, you are so dead,” she snarled. “I am going to rip you limb from limb, right after you watch me eat your little boyfriend alive. If you're lucky, his screams will be the last thing you hear.” Her fingers dug in sharp against my shoulders, and I prayed she would not notice the lack of blood.

“Is that so? Aren't you worried you'll damage your dentures?” I sneered at her. “Perhaps you should just check yourself into an old folk's home instead. Wouldn't want to give yourself a heart attack with all the excitement you've got going on.” 

It was a shot in the dark, but it hit home. She tossed me harder she had done Dane, a blow that would shatter any lesser being's limbs. Playing innocent, I lay limp as a ragdoll, listening to the clacking of her footsteps. Curses, but we were still trapped under the camera's gaze. 

Her breath came in harsh gasps, the last traces of her facade of humanity evaporating. With fingers like needles, she hauled me up to eye level. “Foolish girl,” she began, but I was having none of it. 

I raised my head and met her eyes. With a deliberate hawk, I produced a glob of saliva.

Then I spat it in her eye.

The effect was immediate. She released me with a howl that was more animal than sapient, clawing at her face. Her body rippled as it shed its guise, revealing what lay beneath. Her canines sharpened, sliding out of her mouth like sabres. Bones crackled as they slid out of her skin as jutting spikes, two rubbery wings ripping her dress as they flared up like a cape.

Finally, her transformation was over. Head brushing against the ceiling, Mrs C looked down at me with eyes that were a pure red. Her tongue flickered out, split in half. “Gaze upon me,” she growled with a hundred voices. “Gaze upon me, little witch, and know true fear.”

On my knees before a monster and watched by a camera that would gleefully end me, I laughed. “You know,” I said, giggling like a schoolgirl in the face of her blinding wrath, “You really should look behind you.” 

(hehe cliffhanger)

Taglist:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch @ramwritblr, @urnumber1star, @fortunatetragedy, @bigwipscholar, @ratedn

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@finicky-felix, @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou (Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[emmedoesntdomath]

emme i am in need of assistance.

i need to be dragged kicking and screaming back into the newsies fandom, please and thank you

you know what? fine, sure, let’s do this. 

in this fun little drag-you-by-your-ears-and-force-you-to-listen-to-me, we’ll be talking about javey. 

obviously, javey is the lifeblood behind most of this lovely fandom. look at your own account. besides the synchronized dance numbers, it’s about the most the majority of us agree on (with a few exceptions, but we love them anyway <3333 /j)

but why is javey such a phenomenon to us? why is it that big of a deal? let’s explore that. 

javey is, in simple terms, something that can quickly become revolutionary. 

don’t understand what I mean? consider it-

most of us headcanon jack to be a person of color. whether he’s black, or of latinx descent, jack is not normally white. in a lot of cases, people don’t even believe english to be his first language. with these very intentional choices, you are already taking marginalized groups, and giving them a voice. groups, that for most of history, have been shunned, or outright ignored. and to see jack kelly, a character not defined by his parentage or skin color, simply *living*. making choices, mistakes, wrong decisions, without being turned into a performative political message by a major corporation. he’s just jack kelly. and his existence speaks louder than words ever could. 

and all of this can be said before we even mention what else he could represent, could mean to all of us. 

he’s a kid from the streets, or the more modernized foster care. he’s not the sad, lonely, discouraged orphan kid that needs saving. no, jack kelly is going to get off his ass, and do it himself. he’ll run away. earn a living. he is our defiance, he is our rebellion and independence. 

he has dreams, big ones. ones that we relate to. he wants to run to santa fe? well, guess fucking what? we do, too. wants to be given a little respect, a little worth? maybe we relate to that. 

he is the poster child of found family. and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re all pretty big on that in this fandom. 

so, let’s put it this way- jack is a lot of us. most of us, maybe. 

but so is davey. 

davey is a canonically (or maybe not, but I say it’s canon) jewish character. in a world that reeks of antisemitism, that is ridiculously important. he, too, represents more than just himself. there is a whole history of a people hated and brutally punished for simply existing. he is another character who isn’t restricted, forced to be but yet another stereotype or one-note idea, but who just exists. you don’t realize how huge that is. representation and the explicitness of modern media is great, and very much needed. but it is just as powerful, if not more so, to let a character be without making it a display. 

to compound this all, he is the epitome of religious struggles. our davey has internalized homophobia, self-hatred, and more crises in faith than he has time to count. and I would say at least half of the people that I have met in this fandom can identify with one or more of those things. that’s valuable. especially when you consider that a lot of those things are essentially taboo in a number of regards. 

he’s from a working class family. he’s not rich, not swimming in bills. he’s missing school every day to go to work so his family might eat the next week. and that’s a reality for a lot of people. 

putting them together, we have- a man, a person of color, who has seen the shit end of life that a lot of other people do, falling in love with another man, one burdened with mental struggles and a heritage that carries just as much weight as the heaviest, in a time period when it was literally illegal to do so. 

they are people. they are representations. they are silent messages to the world. they are love. they are queer. they are happy. they are a family. they are revolutionary. they aren’t wrong. they aren’t broken. they aren’t hate. 

javey thrives because they are us, and by letting them thrive, we are hoping we will, too. 

(newsies, with more layers and deeper meanings than one could have ever hoped for since 1234)

ta da.