#immune to the cold but not the violence . . . [ MUSINGS ]*

[frosthidden]

PICTURE YOU - CHAPPELL ROAN

mutuals may interact, do not reblog without permission (personals gtfo)

Iisa frankenstein cap cred goes to @byroncapped

[miracle-sham]

Frigid They Froze Midst Heart Thawing Woes.

| Daminette December |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [UwU] | | [OwO] |

| Everyone always thought Ladybug was unbreakable. That she was immune to negative feelings, unlike the rest of Paris. That she would never falter, never fail, never fall. And so no one could have expected when tragedy strikes and Paris falls at the hands of her once beloved hero. |

| Now who could save them all, from the icy clutches of a devastating Akuma? |

| And would anyone even try to save the once beloved hero, over the countless suffering civilians? |

———

| Word Count: 16,172. |

| Warnings/Tags: Akumanette/akumatised/hurt Marinette, Implied/referenced character death motif, Near death experience, Temporary character death, Not really character death, Major character undeath, Past character death, Grief/Mourning motif, Mind control/Mind manipulation, Mind control aftermath, Blood and Injury, Canon-typical violence, Minor violence, Snow/ice powers and theme, Frozen apocalypse/icy wasteland, Lovers to enemies, Enemies to lovers, Some Swearing, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and angst, Slowburn, Eventual happy ending, Angst with a happy ending, Reunions, and Recovery. |

———

| A/N: It's here! It's finally posted, only took a little over a year to complete this monstrosity of a oneshot! I would like to thank everyone who read the uwu-speak apwil fowols version and the massive amount of support you all showed for it, this meant the absolute world to me and really helped keep me motivated to finish this in full! I truly hope you'll all enjoy the original version, in it's entirety just as much as the apwil fowols version! |

| I'd also like to just say thanks to Saf and Rae as well, for their moral support throughout writing this! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. |

———

 Was it always doomed from the start? Marinette wondered hollowly, eyes flickering from frozen ruin to frozen ruin. Barely visible from within the seething flurry of snowflakes.

 Bleak.

 Blinding.

 An unending expanse of glistening and swirling snow and ice. Almost too bright and too obscuring to see anything else. Even despite the dullness of night.

 A white-out illuminated by the snowglow.

 Now, the only company she could keep were the immortalised frozen statues of the people who were unable to escape the devastation of the descending blizzard she wrought. Their silence of life was deafening.

 A chilling mockery of what had haunted her nightmares.

 Kicking her legs idly from her precariously precious position on the railings of the Eiffel Tower, the familiarity of the action almost burned as cold as the frigid city itself. Was this how Chat felt? She mused, staring at the bleached white and faded blue spots of her Ladybug?—Frozen Heart? Lady Blanc suit. Shaking her head, she couldn't help but curl her lips slightly in distaste. Maybe it's ironic that I didn't end up in black with red spots like all the false Ladybug Akumas.

 But her new colours are what she deserved. An echo of her once-partner; just as she was an echo of the hero she used to be. Especially in how the accents of her new Akuma suit echoed the old hero suit that the ice power-up had given her, with the crystalline and snowflake patterns covering the once-red-now-white parts, and the ice-blue crystals along her waist and around the yo-yo.

 Perhaps, there was some small comfort, in that the destruction she caused was little in comparison to that of Chat Blanc's. She tilted her head to the side and stared up at the night's snow glow-light clouded skies. Her moon was still intact for one, not that it was visible from here any longer, however. Though, not quite a small mercy so much as another chilling mockery, really.

 She clenched her fists so that the icicles clinging to the metal dug into her suit's gloves. For two, only her Paris had been affected this time. And for three, her death toll was significantly lower, what with only killing a huge swathe of Paris' population as opposed to, y'know how he wiped out all life except himself.

 Her Paris still had survivors lurking within the desolation. Treading tracks through bitter winds, clinging to slowly petrifying hope. Survivors that would scream and cry and yell and try ever so futilely to fight against her, whenever they saw her in her new form, reduced to a wraith of her former glory. They were the only sounds other than the crunch and crackle of ice and snow, or the tinkling of icicles in the wind.

 Not to mention, her Hawkmoth still lingered on. With his black ice glazed goadings that fractured her mind like her and Chat Noir's bones had, beneath his butterfly staff.

 A haunting reminder that she had fallen, failed them—Paris, that even their beloved little heroes weren't infallible.

 Scoffing to herself, Lady Blanc shook her head and shifted her position so that she could curl up into a ball and rest her heavy head upon her knees. Though, there was no crown to weigh her down, just the cold harsh wasteland that she had ruptured in rime.

 (It was almost ironic still, that the ice power-up suit she once wore so long ago, gave her a tiara of icicles but her Akuma form did not—the symbolism of this change, however, was not lost on her—after all what is a princess without her crown. Headless. That's what. As the suffering people decreed.)

 Nonetheless, Paris as it was and now is, had formed the freezing prison of her own making. Even with Hawkmoth's influence shattered like the ice of his statue's form, Lady Blanc was tethered—ice-bound—to Paris. A cruel twist of irony that with her frozen heart, Hawkmoth had ensured her weakness was the warmth, the heat. To make it so nothing would thaw her heart, especially not some pitifully desperate professions of love, friendship, and claims that the real her was still inside and that she just needed to fight him and his influence—control even.

 Biting back a bitter laugh, she ignored the near-silent whispers in the back of her mind crying those very same proclaims. Something that Hawkmoth hadn't anticipated. Especially seeing how her once-partner had turned out after so long in isolation. Would that be my fate too?

 In response, the creeping pernicious laugh of Hawkmoth rattled like hoar frost mantled chains in her head. It seemed to last an eternity before fading into the frore like everything else within Paris.

 Lady Blanc closed her eyes slowly in languish, thoughts drifting back to her once-partner. They might not have been meant for each other romantically, especially after she fell in love with a prince of her own. But perhaps Chat was onto something when he said we were meant for each other. Opposites in power yet our fallen fates are mirrored in white and blue and drenching loneliness.

 She sighed wearily. As if it would somehow ease the burden and the pain. Opening her eyes, she glared listlessly at the frosted-over traffic lights that would remain devoid of colour so long as her tyranny would reign. A mix of colours she wouldn't see together again unless she left Paris. Murmuring beneath her breath, “I never thought I'd miss that eyesore suit of his…” she smiled hollowly.

 Regardless of whether Hawkmoth made it so that leaving her gelid domain or destroying her Akuma object would kill her or not, it was not like going anywhere else would be viable after what she did. She'd be branded a criminal—a villain, like Hawkmoth—then locked up and be left to rot—languish—or well, melt. After all, like most Akumas, she'd become something a little less human. And in her case, a little more ice thanks to the akumatisation.

 What would her boyfriend even think of her now? A twisted reflection in the ice of the one he loved? Or perhaps just an obstacle between getting the one he loved back?

 Well, it wouldn't matter anyway.

 If Lady Blanc never strayed from within the reaches of the frost… It would be unlikely he'd see her again, especially as she was now. And at least by never drifting from the floes of Paris, she'd be able to put up a worthwhile fight against whatever self-proclaimed heroes and vigilantes would inevitably come knocking.

 Inevitably. Because an entire city had been glaciated for days, then weeks, then months with no signs of the calamity being undone. And whilst the Justice League and others had respected, that during Hawkmoth's reign she and Chat Noir held authority over who else could be active without being a potential Akuma risk; undoubtedly that respect would melt away like the snow and be soon forgotten. What with the sheer amount of destruction and a glaring absence of any heroes, temporary or permanent, really it would only be so long until someone would try to step in or investigate.

 And for all that her wretched hope was worth, she dearly hoped it wouldn't have to be Damian who would be sent to scout out and attempt to remedy the tragedy.

 After all, if other heroes or vigilantes infringe upon what is hers, then it's only fair they fall under her jurisdiction once more despite any revoking on their part. And unlucky for whoever the poor souls that would be sent to investigate turn out to be, Lady Blanc won't be allowing such a disrespect of her once-authority to stand, regardless of the current situation.

 And if he is sent… Well, then no matter how much the tiny shred of life-warmth-happiness, that is encased in layer upon layer upon layer within the ghost shell of her frozen heart, begs her not to. She will have to defend herself and her domain. Even if it means hurting him. And perhaps even killing him...

 The second Lady Blanc finished the thought, her resolve cracked under the weight of those pesky emotions of hers. Choking back a silent grieving sob, her shoulders heaved. It almost seemed as though the emotions might pass, when for the first time since the akumatisation, she genuinely burst into tears. A drowning surging wail of regret and loss and hurt and fear, all twisted together. But not even crying was spared from what she had become. For the wind howled in tandem with her wails, and the only tears she could shed were frozen ones. And as she cried her frozen tears, so too did the sky. Hail, falling from the sky and shattering onto everything in the air. Over and over and over again. Cascading shards of ice like relentless blades slashed into the surfaces. Leaving them covered in a blanket of icy caltrops.

 She scowled through the crystalline blurriness. The airborne hail shards swirled harmlessly around her whilst in the distance, faint yells and screams began to echo—a warning for those also trapped within the hailstorm to take shelter. Lady Blanc didn't need to patrol to know that bright vivid red splatters of blood would soon be painting the ice and snow. But patrol by heart she would. Any sight of bright colour amongst the white was now both a threat and a treat. As evidenced by Hawkmoth's gleefully maleficent croonings, in her mind.

 Uncurling herself from her position on the Eiffel Tower railings, Lady Blanc stretched idly before launching her yo-yo towards the sounds of screaming, and swinging over to follow where it may lead.

 It didn't take too long, despite being distant-sounding from up the Tower, the screams were actually rather close by. It was just that the sounds had been muffled by all the hail and ice wrought by the storms of her whims.

 Sticking to rooftops and balconies—not unlike how she used to—Lady Blanc arrived at the point where the screams originated from in under thirty seconds. It was almost too easy to find. Freshly glistening splatters of crimson on powdered white sparkled like a burning beacon.

 Settling softly like snow, upon a nearby roof that gave her a clear view of the painted snow, she focussed her attention on it. Not even bothering to check for the one who bled—as if Hawkmoth would allow her—she nestled on the shadowed drift beside a stone-cold chimney and stared at the rare sight. Futilely begged her hollow heart to feel something for the pain and suffering spilt.

 Even from her high perch, she could clearly see how the warmth of the blood had thawed the ice around it somewhat. The colour was already partially diluted and diluting further as more snowflakes fell. It wouldn't be long before the leeching frost claimed it and caused the colour to fade away to white like everything else that had once held vibrancy in this city.

 Another flicker of colour caught her attention, not far from the blood below. Red as well, though not the red of blood but the red of a bird raised by bats. She tilted her head to the side and listened for any sound beneath the silence of the crying cold.

 A sob pierced the air, followed by hushed whispers—promises—of safety, of help.

 That won't do, the crooning taunted.

 Lady Blanc gritted her teeth and forlornly tried to tune it out.

 The accent of the one whispering promises, was distinctly Gotham—a voice of bat wreathed in red, deep with a slight growl not unlike a cornered animal tending to an injured juvenile. Not him then, not as sharp and snappy as his accent could get. No, he was more likely to hiss than growl.

 The Bird below, most likely Jason from the voice—though Red Hood in his current attire—stepped fully into view and glanced skyward. Searching, seeking. For her.

 For but a split second, Lady Blanc felt the urge to call out in desperation, to reveal herself and beg for mercy, for forgiveness, for help...

 Your heart for power, reminded the inciting whims.

 Cold like coffin glass; she, in languish, conceded.

 Otherwise staying perfectly still like the statues she spent most of her time around these days, Lady Blanc narrowed her eyes and with the slightest will of her ghost-shelled heart, wrenched upon the lightly falling hail. And stirred the clawing blizzard.

 From hail to icicles, it rained.

 And the icicles, they wailed.

 Slashing talons of ice carved through the flurry of snow, piercing the bitter night.

 The sudden onslaught of shattering followed by cursing below did not, in fact, bring her any joy. Hawkmoth may have found it entertaining but that was all the more reason Lady Blanc hated doing it. But she couldn't let them see her, recognise her.

 A crash of bodies tumbling through a broken down door below, granted her the freedom to close her eyes and soften the storm back to a languishing lightness. But with it, revealed the blood-stained street whitewashed pristine once more.

 Scowling, Lady Blanc glared at where the colour had been. At least, she reminded herself, there will be another soon. Birds of a feather flock together.

 Yet no sooner had she thought that, a warning from her domain she heard.

 Warmth, whispered the writhing winds.

 And behind her, the familiar sound of a katana being drawn cut through the crackling silence of snow settling on ice. He was here; the verglas on the roof's metal railings hardly crunched beneath the ninja-light footsteps of him.

 “You, are not Ladybug.” Robin hissed oh so astutely. His katana raised; ready to slash at what he must clearly perceive as an imposter, a snowmelt simulacrum. Unhesitating. Still as ice not unlike his civilian-earned title. The Prince of Ice indeed.

 Lady Blanc tilted her head to one side, in mimicry of her once-partner. A billowing cloud of mist and ice burst from her blue lips in a frosty laugh. “No, no I am not.”

 He scoffed, and took another step closer. “Then who are you and where is Ladybug. Or Chat Noir.”

 “You're a detective, aren't you?” She responded noncommittally.

 “I am the son of Batman, of course I am!” Another step closer. Snarling, he added, “if you have hurt her—either of them, then I will make you pay.”

 Lady Blanc stood, swiping off the light dusting of snow that had settled on her as she had been settled in contemplation. She could tell him the truth. That she had hurt both of them dearly, froze them to the bone and stole the warmth—life—from their hearts, leaving them pale shells of frost and grief. But… that would be giving Hawkmoth what he wanted—the anguish of forcing others to hurt their loved ones, twisted and under the beck and call of a mad villain. Never mind, it was definitely already too late for those shreds of her morals to surface beneath the ice of her traitorous mind—considering not even ten seconds earlier, what she did to Red Hood. And that's not even counting what she's done to Paris.

 Turning to face him, her lips curled into a mocking smile. “So presumptuous. You don't recognise me. And yet…?” Pausing to chuckle as bitterly as the winds and shake her head slightly, she gestured sharply at him. “Some detective you are.”

 Delicately, she took a few steps back, until she was all but swaying over the ice-slick edge. Motioning to the swirling vortex of snow that reformed beneath them, her smile melted into a thin downturned sneer. “Why not take a look below. After all, I'd be more concerned about the other bird down there, than Ladybug and Chat Noir right now.”

 “Red Hood is handling the situation adequately.” Robin hissed, glowering at her with that desperately familiar expression of barely restrained violence borne from protectiveness. “What. Have. You. Done. To. Them.”

 Lady Blanc's lips curled into a wry smirk. “Mhmm, well I suppose if it's handled, then that's my cue to leave.” She teetered on the edge and swung her yo-yo idly as if in preparation to throw it. Quickly glancing back at him, her wry smirk faltered for but a fleeting moment as she briefly diverted the avalanche of languish and fear fueling her power.

 She swallowed a breath of chilling air thickly, a meagre attempt to keep the roiling emotions at bay for the fragile moment in which she offered him a silver lining of truth. “The only thing to happen to the heroes, was a fridged family reunion turned frosty. You're far too late to save them now.”

 Exhaling harshly, she tilted forwards and over the edge.

 Only for Robin to lunge after her.

 One. Second. Too. Late.

 The wind whipped around them as his fingers scarcely brushed through the space she had once occupied.

 A weightlessness cascaded over her as her feet left the roof and she began to fall. Her yo-yo, clasped closed within her hand. And distinctly, no grappling line extended.

 Faintly from the roof, she could hear Robin cursing in Arabic. He hadn't fallen with her, it seemed. How almost poetic it was.

 She was a fallen hero, and he was still stood safely atop his own heroic vigilante pedestal. Safe from being dragged down with her into the burning blizzard.

 The distance of said fall was roughly ten metres or so, and the snowdrift would cushion her landing. Harmlessly, though in no small part thanks to a side effect of her akumatised form and said snowdrift, she flopped into the snow like an ungraceful cat. Her limbs splayed in the mockery of a snow angel. Lady Blanc let herself stay as she had fallen, within the snow angel. Waiting patiently, she listened carefully for any sound that would signify where and what both the Birds could be doing. She would need the advantage on their next move in order to slip away dramatically and effectively.

 No less than half a minute passed before she once again heard the approach of Robin's steel-toed boots crushing the snow below with each furious step.

 Crunch-crackle-crunch-crunch. Crunch-crunch-crackle-crunch.

 Swish. The silver blade of the katana gleamed through the veil of white. It was easy to see that it was now aimed at her throat this time. Ready to strike should she bring him more strife, clearly.

 “Where are they?” He demanded immediately upon stepping within her sight, shoulders trembling. Whether from cold, panic, or fury, it was hard to tell.

 Lady Blanc cocked her head to one side, causing part of the snow angel surrounding her head to concave in on itself over her. Obscuring part of her vision with more snow, not that she really needed to rely on her vision anymore, what with her Akuma abilities. She bared her teeth at him, in the mockery of the smile. “Where the reunion occurred.”

 Scowling, Robin pressed the katana closer to her neck, in warning, all but hissing his next words. “And where is that?”

 “Where do you think?” She responded, raising an eyebrow behind her mask. Closing her eyes, Lady Blanc smiled wryly, a single stray tear trailed down her face, freezing and falling like lonely hail. Breathing softly, she exhaled slowly but deeply and in doing so, she began to melt back into the snow. The ribbons in her hair melted away first, causing her hair to fall from its signature pigtails. And as she became one with the snow, so too did the magic that kept her identity from being recognisable, thawing away just enough for connections to be made.

 “Stop!” Robin yelped, a brief moment of confusion and conflicted panic washed over his face as he began to piece it together; obvious in the way his eyebrows wiggled—jumping between furrowing and raising—in the way he gritted his teeth and pouted before biting at the insides of his lips then falling back into the gritted expression and then repeating the expressions again. In the way his fingers flexed in a specific pattern against his katana—a pattern that she knew he only did subconsciously when feeling conflicted or when losing his trust or faith in someone. In the way his—

 —His expression shuttered into neutrality.

 Lady Blanc couldn't help but note how it was the very same expression he would make every time him having fought family or friends was brought up in conversation. The muted flickers of determination, betrayal, grief, and reluctant resignation. The echoes of mourning the pain once more.

 A cascading avalanche of guilt slammed into her as she stared up at him with fracturing horror. And he came crashing to his knees before her, like an ungainly newborn fawn, in equal parts shock.

 Grimacing, Robin blinked slowly, clearly reassessing the situation. In a small, almost disbelieving—almost challenging voice, he whispered, “Marinette?” and winced immediately after.

 Lady Blanc would have snorted at his reaction, as he was no doubt remembering the 'no names in the field' rule but at that very moment, she was barely weathering the swirling storm of grief tearing through her mind.

 And in response, the storm outside of her howled like the shattering of her heart. The wind thrashed and flailed, ripping the fallen hail and icicles into the air once more in a deadly dance of blades and bludgeoning. The uppermost layers of snow were torn from the top and scattered into the air, blanketing Lady Blanc and Robin in the powdery pall of the blizzard.

 As if both were frozen into statues, neither moved a muscle. Eyes latched onto each other with all the desperation and dread of the too-thin cracking ice over a plunge into frozen waters; a splintering of the shards of their promises to one another unspoken.

 How long ago had it been, since they'd both whispered the words of comfort and safety to one another. Of agreeing to let the other protect them, and save them should it come to it.

 How long since she had last held him in her hands, and hugged him with all her might.

 How long...

 Another stray frozen tear fell from her eyes. Followed by another, and another, and another. Until the tears turned to streaks of ice cascading down her face. Two thin wobbly rimy lines from eyes to chin.

 Lady Blanc jerked forwards from where she was still half-melting into the snow angel, reaching one hand towards him in a frantic heart-wrenching attempt to hold him once more. To feel him beneath her grasp with the definitive evidence that he was real, that he was warm, that he was alive.

 The ghost of a smothering wail was wrenched from her throat as her fingers just barely brushed the side of his face and the bursting agony of his warmth scalded her. Her fingertips melted, dripping down into the snow. Her fingers, then hand, then wrist, then arm, swiftly followed but a second later in excruciating boiling pangs of languish. Pining in grieving love as she languished—fading and withering away—before him.

 The last thing she saw and heard, were his eyes scouring across the snow angel she had made, him swallowing thickly and choking out a near-silent heartbroken whisper. “Angel...”

 The snowdrift collapsed in on itself once more, covering up the space she had taken up and leaving it an empty snow-filled grave.

 Unbeknownst to her, Robin stared uncomprehendingly at the empty snow-filled grave—angel that she—what was left of Marinette—had just melted into. 

 “No... No-no-no-no!”  His voice dropped to scarcely a rasping raging whisper of mourning despair laid bare. “This can't be…”

 With a trembling hand and heart, he weathered the fading storm, reaching one hand to the place on his jaw where she had reached for him with her snow-light touch.

 “I will save you.” He vowed, for he had a wraith to put to rest and he would not be repeating the same mistakes again. He would follow her down this time, no matter the fall.

 ———

 Down in the depths below the Agreste manor, Lady Blanc reformed within Hawkmoth's now snow and statue-laden repository of a hidden butterfly garden. A languishing ache in her hollow heart.

 With her identity revealed, it would only be a matter of time before he and his family tracked down the lair to confront her. Now that they knew she was alive and she had failed, that she was weak even beneath the haunting frostbitten necrosis of Hawkmoth's influence.

 Pointedly ignoring the shattered and rotting remains of said villain—carelessly littered across the edge of the butterfly garden, halfway to tipping over the edge of the platform—she huffed to herself and paced the icy walkway. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to hours. Still, she did not relent. Though every so often… she caught her attention drifting over to the frore statue of Chat Noir, and her akumatised glacial ribbon—one that Damian had sewed for her, with delicate robins and ladybugs inexpertly stitched along it—clutched in the frozen outstretched hand. With every glance towards her object, the overwhelming urge to crush it with all her strength flittered through her mind, not unlike the Akuma within. It was a pointless urge, a snowmelt memory of what she used to do in the face of such objects. Destroy and free in order to heal.

 She's tried to, oh how she's tried. But her hands burn cold, and cataclysm could burn only in rot and rust. Neither would burn hot enough to melt the seal keeping her ice-bound in her wretched frozen form.

 A delicate chiming interrupted her thoughts. Her icicle warning system. The Birds had found her. The traps throughout the Agreste Manor, both Hawkmoth's and her own, were still active. But they wouldn't keep them from finding and entering the lair for long. And she could always deactivate her own traps for them...

 You know what you must do. Crowed Hawkmoth, in her head like the pinpricks of icicles dripping blood onto snow.

 Lady Blanc's steps faltered and she shut her eyes, tipping her head back and scrunching up her face. Letting out a heavy sigh, she gritted her teeth and continued pacing, fixing an aimless angry glare at anything and everything in sight within the lair. Reluctantly, she decided to verbalise her thoughts to herself in an attempt to help herself decide on her next course of action instead. “I… I can't let them destroy my object. It can only be destroyed by heat and if it is, then there's a good chance it will kill me. Just touching him hurt so badly… I can't… I can't go through that again. I can't...”

 Pausing for but a shallow wraith of a breath, she winced. “Furthermore, with me akumatised, the miraculous cure cannot be cast unless the earrings are stolen from me.”

 She sighed again and dropped her shoulders, one hand reaching up to brush her fingers against the miraculous within her grasp but hesitating at the last second again. Not daring to actually touch it. “If I try to remove them, like I tried with…” Her thoughts trailed off and a pained expression crossed her face. In the corner of her eye, she could see her reflection twisted and warped in the ice, the blue of her masked eyes almost glowing like her once-partner's cataclysm in the dim light.

 As she stared, a loud SNAP echoed through the lair. And one long thick crack spread across the reflecting ice. Starting from the neck of the reflection. The same place where Robin's sword had been aimed.

 A second crack shattered the silence.

 Whirling around on her heel, Lady Blanc turned to the direction it came from. Her heart dropped. Her thoughts ground to a halt. The ribbon, her akumatised ribbon, was now cracked. Just like the reflection. Just like her resolve.

 A wave of pain slammed into her. She collapsed to her knees. Head held in her hands, she stared desperately at her literal lifeline. “No, no, no, no!”

 The chimes echoed again. More urgently this time. And she knew, knew without needing to understand exactly what the chimes conveyed—one Bird caught in a trap, one Bird free and heading straight for Hawkmoth's vault where the lift to the lair was still hidden, even after all this time. And lastly, two Bats stalking and surrounding the estate—circling like owls waiting for the moment to swoop down and rip her apart with their talons.

 Time was running out.

 She could hear him, the haunting echo of Hawkmoth whispering in her mind, urging her. She needed to act. She needed to fight them. Protect her ribbon from being destroyed by them. She can't do it. Not like this.

 Lady Blanc swallowed thickly, desperation clawing at her throat. Glancing back over her shoulder at the distorted and cracked reflection, she wailed to herself. “I know, okay, I know I should've fought against this harder, I should've been able to overcome this. But it's only now that the ice is cracking. What changed? Why now? Was it because I cried today, for the first time since I failed?”

 Not unbidden, the answer comes to her mind wreathed in the malefic goading of Hawkmoth. And with it, a silent question too, one that she hadn't dared ponder in all this time.

 Bunnyx?

 It had to be. How else could the Bats and Birds have arrived within Paris without her domain warning her until she had stumbled across them by sheer luck. Why they arrived now and not sooner, not before she had started to crack and thaw. Why Robin's first reaction to her, was establishing she wasn't Ladybug—at least not anymore—and his next was asking where Ladybug was. And why Damian was so surprised by it actually being her and not yet another fake Ladybug Akuma.

 After all, it wasn't as if Bunnyx warned her that her once-partner had been akumatised when she was sent to that timeline to fix it. Just that she had to fix it.

 And now more than ever, she desolately wished she knew what truly happened to that timeline after the cure had been cast.

 Frowning, Lady Blanc threw herself to her feet. Hawkmoth's whisperings crescendoed like rupturing and shivering ice and frostbite within her mind; rotting all that remains of her.

 It didn't matter. Not anymore, she was not Ladybug, nor had she been her in such a long while. And despite the languishing guilt, she made her final decision. “I don't want to die… I can't let him kill me.”

 Her final stand.

 A shiver ran down her spine and that was her only warning that her time was up.

 He had arrived.

 Heralded by the swooshing of the lift descending into the frozen grave.

———

 The seconds passed ever so slowly as the lift moved ever closer to the walkway platform. Lady Blanc held her breath and kept her eyes shut. Held herself still as ice. Held her desperately melting plan in fracturing hands and hoped with all the frangible will she could muster. No matter how her resolve continued to waver still, under Hawkmoth's strengthened sway it was gradually refreezing. Though slower still than the lift's descent. And so she readied her yo-yo.

 She never wanted him to follow her, not now, not to here. But he did, and here he was.

 It felt as though the lift opened far too quickly; the silence shattering like the rime cracking beneath his boots as he telegraphed his steps across the walkway.

 “Marinette…” Robin's voice rang out, echoing almost hauntingly as it bounced against the ice-slick walls and ceiling of the lair.

 Marinette, Marinette, Marinette. Whispered the lair in imitation, intertwining with Hawkmoth's malevolent laughter; lancing pain crackled through her mind at the sounds.

 Lady Blanc grit her teeth. Opening her eyes, she immediately glared at him with all the hatred and animosity she could wrest. “Lady Blanc.” She corrected, like an icicle to the heart.

 His footfalls ceased, leaving behind the hollow wraith of an echo. “Lady Blanc, then”—hesitating for but a moment, he cleared his throat—“I do not wish to fight you.”

 “And I'm supposed to believe that?” Incredulity laced her tone as she snarled out the words and bared her teeth. Unable to do anything else but watch him warily as Hawkmoth's unrelenting laughter putrefied and compounded—rattling through her skull like the mockery of a heartbeat.

 Robin stilled, though not quite as still as her nor the frozen statues of Chat Noir and what remained of Hawkmoth. It was poetic again; an ice-warped reflection of their last moments before he had attacked her unprompted.

 When he made no further reaction or response—in actions or words—she cocked her head to one side and re-evaluated him, eyes narrowing and snarl wilting—languishing—into a wry grimace.

 Lady Blanc deliberated for a moment, not quite hesitating—she then opened her mouth to speak, voice almost powder snow soft, as softly as she could be in this form—but despite that her voice still carried the sharpness of black ice. “Why are you here? Why now, why wait all this time only to investigate now?”

 He took another step forwards, as if taking that for a cue to approach and gently raised his hands in a show of being unarmed and following through with his intent. “You—Ladybug and Chat Noir never responded to the Justice League's calls after Paris became frozen over for beyond a week. Nor did you or anyone on your team respond further, after the League tried and failed to reconnoitre due to the impassable surrounding blizzard.”

 And if she hadn't known him as well as she did, she never would've noticed the strain and distress underlying his words. However, through her Hawkmoth knew as well and he made her well aware of the fact with his malicious gloating—it was obvious as to how very much so he was enjoying the negative emotions that Robin was feeling at this very moment.

 Lady Blanc tightened her grip on her yo-yo, refusing to show weakness by moving towards him or away from him. “Again, then why are you here now?”

 Taking yet another step forwards, Robin lowered his voice to that calming steady voice: the one that all heroes use when talking to victims. “We were recently given permission by a miraculous holder on your team to operate within Paris in regards to matters pertaining to the miraculous.”

 She snarled, Hawkmoth's fury amplifying her own. She had delayed long enough, and that was all the confirmation she needed to know Bunnyx had indeed decided to interfere. Swinging first, her yo-yo sliced through the stalemate between them.

 He raised his arm on instinct. Wrong move. Having seemingly forgotten this wasn't just another one of their spars. As the yo-yo lashed against it. Whipping around the armour and digging in tight.

 The white-outs of his mask widened almost comically. Before she wrenched on the wire. Sending him head over heels and crashing into the glass coffin of Emilie Agreste.

 Like the shattering of Hawkmoth's statued form so long ago now, the coffin burst into thousands of glittering deadly shards. Cascading down around Robin as they began to pierce into the kevlar armour.

 Hawkmoth's languishing howl roared within her mind like the white-out outside. Lady Blanc flinched for a moment that lasted an eternity of ice, ducking her head slightly and scrunching her face up in pain on instinct. Her grip on her yo-yo loosening for no longer than Robin's heartbeat.

 But it was enough. Enough for him to tear the wire from his arm guards and prise himself from the broken remains.

 A thin trail of blood trickled from a deep gash on Robin's cheek, just below where the eyemask's edge could have protected him. The white-outs were now down, and a determined glint in his eyes.

 The sight of crimson red dripping down and splattering on the iridescent glass and ice surrounding the coffin caused Lady Blanc to freeze.

 Hawkmoth's howling paused too, shifting like an avalanche into contemptuous delectation. That's it, he crooned in cloying praise, make him bleed for all he's ruined.

 She could almost feel the tender disquieting glazing of the butterfly silhouette upon her face. Though a quick glance at reflecting ice still showed only the cataclysm glow in her masked eyes.

 And yet, it was distraction enough for one of Robin's birdarangs to slash into her left ribs, carving deeply. The thin gaping wound spilt gushing snowflakes and ice crystals instead of blood, that splattered against the rime-encrusted walkway. Her miraculous suit only protected her so much in her akumatised form after all, and it wasn't as if she couldn't just reform once more—should she be defeated here and now, as inconvenient and painful as that would undoubtedly be.

 With the crack of the yo-yo wire, Lady Blanc retaliated. Aiming for Robin's throat in vengeance.

 He lurched into a roll. Diving away from the coffin and glass whilst launching a birdarang at the yo-yo.

 Crack.

 The two weapons collided midair. Clattering harmlessly to the ground in between them. Only for the yo-yo to melt into the snow. And ever dutifully, the rime reformed the weapon back into her hands.

 Robin cursed in Arabic, plucking his sword from his sheath.

 Two steps forwards, two steps back. The two moved in sync. For every swipe of her yo-yo, he parried with a single slice of his katana. A slash to his right leg. A dodge to the left. A stab to her collar. A simple flip backwards.

 Their blows quickly snowballing into a flurry, neither able to quite get an edge over the other.

 “Stop!” Robin begged—demanded, dodging another of her strikes with practised ease. “This isn't you! You're akumatised. Let us destroy your object so we can fix this!”

 Oh, but how much blood was on her hands and how many lives had she froze asunder? How could she live with herself even if it all was fixed and she forgot, all the pain and suffering undone?

 Scoffing, Lady Blanc shook her head as if to dispel the thoughts; dancing forward with another spin and slash of her yo-yo. “It's a little too late for that.”

 And with that, she wrenched upon the power her akumatised form granted her. Sharp icicle blades splintered and rose from the verglas pall across the walkway.

 Robin cursed again, more heavily this time as he began to frantically drop and dive and parry and slide. Forcing all his attention on avoiding getting skewered or pushed over the edge of the walkway railings, instead of solely on her.

 Strategically, Lady Blanc pulled back, letting the blades keep him occupied as she positioned herself between him and her glacial ribbon. It was a miracle he hadn't noticed it—or rather realised what it was—yet.

 He sent a languishing look towards her, weaving between the blades like snowmelt through the cracks in the ice. Fluid and graceful but swiftly running out of space to slip away.

 Turning her attention to the coffin behind her, she quickly analysed the damage. Despite everything, the corpse remained perfectly preserved and unharmed. Not even a single shard of glass had grazed the skin within.

 Hawkmoth's preening complacency at the sight, felt like the pricking of bare skin on hoar frost; sending blighting shivers down Lady Blanc's spine. It shouldn't have been enough to distract her.

 But it was enough. Enough for him to tear his way through the blades and throw himself at her back. Pinning her to the walkway in the clingiest hug learnt from his family that he could imitate. And gripping tight as she shattered.

 Your heart for power, Hawkmoth hissed.

 “No, no, no-no-no plea—!” But the sudden scalding pain of warmth wrenched a wretched scream from her throat. Agony flared across her back at the once comforting touch. The heat rending her apart in a fractal rupturing. All too acutely was she aware of the haunting SNAP-CRACKLE of her glacial ribbon fracturing with her. As everything she held back came crashing down around her. And oh so desperately, did she try to twist and prise herself from his burning grasp.

 “Let go, please! I don't—” She wailed despondently, words wobbling from the pain. “—want to—don't want to die…”

 “I'm sorry. This is the only way I can help you. Please, forgive me for hurting you.” Robin—Damian pleaded, clinging on tight, refusing to relinquish holding her in his arms despite the pain it was causing her. He couldn't. Even as her akumatised form began to languish, not melting this time: but thawing.

 As oddly enough, the warmth was enough to keep Hawkmoth's presence at bay for the first time since she became akumatised.

 She stilled again, the fight in her deliquescing as her body did. Frozen tears thawed into liquid tears as they spilled from her eyes. She trembled, choking on her own heart-wrenching sobs cascading from her lips.

 Yet despite that, the more Lady Blanc thawed, the worse it became. She—Marinette let out a chilling keening, half-melted fingers clasping at his neck as she feebly tried to return the hug in her final moments of clarity.

 Together, they held each other in their arms as her akumatised form languished away. Until all that was left was a hollow in Damian's chest where his heart lay, the snowmelt freezing him to the bone through his armour, and two inert plain black earrings on the ground before him.

 “I'm sorry.” He whispered in languishing repetition, to all that remained of her. “Please, forgive me.”

 She didn't reform.

 Damian waited.

 And waited.

 And waited.

 Still, she didn't reform.

 She was gone. She had to be.

———

 However, unbeknownst to him, the glacial ribbon had not fully shattered. Held together by the last crystals of ice clinging to the fraying threads of the original fabric.

 And further unbeknownst to him still, Marinette—Lady Blanc reformed imperfectly—still half-melted—from the ice and snow up at the top of the Eiffel Tower. It was the first place she could think of returning to that would be safe enough for her to untangle the frosty scalding flood of emotions tearing her apart at the seams. In the wake of her melting, all that was left of him were the snowmelt memories of him holding her, and a searing hollow emptiness where the connection to the storm had been boiled away by his warmth.

 Not even to mention how furthermore, that very same searing hollow emptiness was scalding her right where her miraculous had since been worn. Oddly enough, the lack of the earrings' weight felt heavier upon her ears.

 Yet again, it was almost poetic. That she had fled here to the tower in her panic after that tragedy of a confrontation. The place where the shattering had first begun.

 Gasping for shallow breath, she let the liquid tears fall like her languishing hopes as she collapsed to her knees. Dripping down her face almost in mimicry of how she had melted—was still partially melted—and carving grooves in her snow-formed skin from the tear-melt.

 It felt as though everything was conspiring against her, let alone both her body and mind thanks to whatever influence of Hawkmoth's Damian—Robin had ruptured.

 “How…” Marinette—Lady Blanc mumbled numbly, achingly so, “how did this go so horribly? I was supposed to—Why did I—Why didn't I—” choking on her words, she desperately hugged her arms around herself in a futile attempt to feel the warmth—any warmth—again. “Maybe I was right, earlier… maybe I really was doomed from the start?”

 But the only answer to her whispered words, was the silent absence of the blizzard no longer blanketing—shielding—Paris like a funerary pall.

 Hollowly, she noted that she'd need to move soon. Seek shelter not unlike how she had previously forced the surviving Parisians to do so. Because with no barrier between her and the outside world anymore, and the Bats already flocking the place. Not even to mention her miraculous forsaken from her. It would only be a matter of time until it was too late for her… for those fears of hers that she had mused upon only fleeting moments ago. Before she fell and shattered as though an icicle plummeting from the tower's railing and rupturing apart in a burst of rime upon colliding with the ground, regardless of how deep the snow drifts below were.

 The very thought only reigned to torment her further. Sobs wracking her frame, wrenched from her cracking throat as she wailed her languish, grief, and regret in a rending requiem.

 Her keening hung in the air, the tightened noose of the gallows throttling the silence until it fractured as she had.

 And though the blizzard may have melted from the sky, the silver clouds still swayed across the sky like the impatient blade of the guillotine—ready to bring the heavy blade down upon her neck in the name of justice. (As if he hadn't already silently threatened to be her executioner when he had held the katana to her frozen throat.) As if he hadn't followed through with it. As if he hadn't nearly succeeded…

 She couldn't return. Not anymore. Not to him.

 Marinette—Lady Blanc dropped her arms from around herself. “What do I do now?” She whispered to herself, staring at her hands as if they bore the answer.

 Wretchedly enough, she could hear a response in the susurration of the snow. There was only one answer left; haunting and rotting and all that remained. And though the blizzard no longer prevented those within Paris from escaping the freezing prison, Lady Blanc was still ice-bound to the donjon where her object stayed. She had no choice. No true final say.

 For the absence of any other option was deafening.

 And so, she held her head in her hands, and cried her heart apart.

———

 At some point, Damian lost track of the time, holding onto the snowmelt memory of her in his arms.

 A steadying hand grabbed onto his shivering shoulder, snapping him back to awareness.

 The first thing he noticed was the taste of iron and salt on his tongue, and the dried blood and tears on his face.

The second thing was that Black Bat and Red Hood were both now down on the walkway with him as well. Black Bat was further away than Red Hood though, investigating the broken glass coffin and corpse within.

 Red Hood, however, was squatting in front of him, helmet under one arm, his signature leather jacket missing and a look of concern engraved on his face. “You with us now?”

 Damian nodded stiffly. The faint rustle of leather against his neck gave him pause. He turned his head to look at his shoulder, only to see the missing jacket, as well as Black Bat's and Batman's capes, draped over him, though practically swaddled in the latter. The weight and warmth comforting in their familiarity. It was then, he noticed that his wet outer armour had been removed, leaving him in his dry thermal under armour.

 Red Hood pushed his hands against his thighs and stood up. “Good.”

 Humming, Black Bat sidled over to the two of them and nodded in agreement. “You gave us a scare.”

 “Yeah, when your comms and tracking beacon died and there was no response even after an hour once you went dark despite the weather clearing up outside, nearly gave B fucking heart attack.” Red Hood added, a false levity in his voice as he huffed. “Don't think I've ever seen him look that emotionally constipated.”

 Black Bat shook her head, a tenuous cheeky smile playing on her lips, then swiftly moved to boop Red Hood on the nose. “Not emotionally constipated, just scared,” then cocked her head to one side, the smile faltering slightly. “Like you.”

 “I wasn't scared for Robin.” He protested half-heartedly. Pausing to scan the repository again, he grimaced. “Especially not once we found you drenched and half frozen to death.”

 Before continuing, he took a slow breath, “fall through the ice into the water down there?” He tilted his head towards the edge of the walkway railings to indicate at the ice floe below, “or something?”

 “Or-somethin'…” Damian mumbled in languish, words slurring together slightly. He scrunched his nose up like Marinette used to, in order to show his displeasure.

 Black Bat frowned at him, her body language practically screaming concern and worry as she creased her eyebrows, curled her shoulders up and leaned towards him ever so slightly.

 Red Hood, on the other hand, narrowed his white-outs at him. “Right.” He said, tone practically dripping with suspicion and scepticism. “Well B's gone to grab you some hypothermia blankets and shit, so wanna share with the class what happened then?”

 Damian bristled, not even attempting to curb the slurring of his hiss. “Doess'it-matter?”

 “Yes,” Black Bat cut in, emphasising her words heavily so much so that they hung in the air—echoing lightly like windchimes in the ice-strewn room. Her gaze bore through the fabric encompassing him as he held her full attention. “Always, little brother.”

 Raising an eyebrow, Red Hood took a step back to give Robin more space. “Considering you look like you're gonna fucking keel over and join Chat Noir over there, yeah I agree with Black Bat and say it fucking matters.”

 At Chat Noir's name, Damian froze. He swallowed thickly and glanced up at the ice statue not far from his position on the floor, with the shattered but barely still intact ribbon in hand. Then he glanced down at the earrings—her earrings.

 “I found them…” He croaked, not taking his gaze from all that was left of her.

 “Chat Noir, and Ladybug, I can see that.” Red Hood muttered, voice softening considerably. “Did you manage to find the Akuma, the object, or Hawkmoth?”

 Damian scooped up her earrings with trembling hands. “No.” He corrected coldly, “The shattered statue isn't Ladybug.”

 Red Hood jerked back slightly, startled, then squinted at him. “What. Then what happened to her, where is she?”

 “Here…” Cradling her earrings in his hands, Damian finally looked up at Red Hood again with unshed tears shining in his slightly glazed over eyes.

 There was a pause as Red Hood stared at the earrings in Robin's hands and the surrounding puddle of snowmelt. “Shit, I'm sorry.” Stepping closer, Red Hood gently pulled him into a hug and tucked Robin's head under his chin.

 Black Bat quietly joined the hug as well, staunchly wrapping her arms around both Red Hood and Robin's shoulders. “It'll be okay, little brother. You have her miraculous…” She paused, tilting her head to one side as she tried to find the words she was looking for. “The cure. It can fix this.”

 “Sh-she was the Akuma…” Damian whispered, voice cracking in lament as he shivered. The cold kevlar of his siblings' armour was definitely not helping his situation despite the warmth of the hugs—and that very thought nearly set him off again. “She was weak to temperatures above freezing, from what I observed. Whenever we made contact, she would proceed to melt, causing her excruciating pain.”

 He shallowly swallowed a choking breath of frigid air. “I killed her.”

 Just before either Black Bat or Red Hood could respond, Batman swooped in (though not quite with the same effect as usual, due to the lack of the cape) from the lift with the cold weather emergency medical kit piled high in his arms. The pure anguished brooding demeanour laid bare across his furrowed face.

 Silence, barring the thundering strides of Batman approaching, permeated the air as the rest of his family grasped what Damian just admitted to.

 “B—” Red Hood started defensively, tensing and shifting his hug to more of a protective curl around Robin.

 Batman waved a hand—from beneath the armful of supplies—at Red Hood, grunted in acknowledgement and without missing a beat, deposited said medical supplies down a few paces from the hug. Close enough to be easily accessible but far enough away to still give the three some space. He then began meticulously sifting through the contents and pulling out what he deemed necessary.

 A foil hypothermia blanket was first, Batman immediately outstretched one hand to pass it to Red Hood. Followed swiftly by a travel mug, and a sealed medical-grade single-use plastic disposable drinking straw (for both sanitary and safety reasons).

 Black Bat temporarily extracted herself from the hug first, to allow Red Hood to grab the blanket and properly wrap it around Robin.

 In the meantime, Batman cracked open the travel mug and straw, bending the latter before plopping it in the mug. Causing the delicious aroma of hot chocolate with melted marshmallows to suffuse the air. Awkwardly, he shuffled closer to his children and slowly offered the drink by the bent straw to Robin so he could take a sip without needing to leave the hug or blankets. “Here you go, chum. Drink slowly, okay.”

 Damian nodded, hesitating before taking a small slow sip.

 By the time he was halfway through the drink, there was still no sign of Marinette having reformed, though strangely enough, the ribbon in Chat Noir's hand had begun refreezing over the cracks fracturing it, in the meantime. Despite the warmth of the drink filling him, it felt as though there was a cold dark pit in his stomach at the loss of her.

 Making sure to finish the hot chocolate in its entirety first, so as to not waste it or for any attempts at talking to be rebuffed by his family, Damian squinted at his father, choosing his next words carefully. “Are you… displeased with what I've done. I've killed her.”

 Batman stilled, closing his eyes for a second as he held his composure. “I know you have,” he began carefully, “and I won't lie that I'm unhappy about the situation that you ended up facing alone. I only wish one of us had been able to back you up sooner, so you wouldn't have this on your conscience.”

 Red Hood cleared his throat loudly, and glared at Batman from over Robin's head.

 Fidgeting under the glare, Batman continued. “But I could never be upset with you for protecting yourself in self-defence. Especially given what Ladybug has told us before in regards to Akumas and Akuma victims.”

 He paused, glancing towards Red Hood briefly. “And even if you hadn't killed her in self-defence, I would still regret that you had to fight someone you cared about alone. Regardless of the situation, you're my son, and I will always love you. Killing someone,” his gaze flickered up to Red Hood again, “doesn't change that fact.”

 “I—” Damian started, tears leaking through the corners of his mask. “Thank you, father.”

 Batman moved the empty hot chocolate mug off to one side and then leaned in, pulling Robin into a warm bear hug.

 Red Hood watched the exchange quietly, before glancing away, mouth twisted into a light frown.

 A long heartfelt moment passed before Batman released his Robin from the hug.

 Damian sniffled faux-haughtily, trying to smother the impending tears as he curled his shoulders up. “I suppose I should utilise the miraculous now, to bring her back.”

 Batman grimaced at the reminder of the magical artefacts afoot. “As long as you know how to safely use them, yes…”

 No sooner had the words left his mouth, the miraculous (still in Damian's hands) began to glow a bright bubbly pink.

 Damian's heart clenched at the sight of something that, he supposed should have been unsurprising, was so violently reminiscent of her.

 A bubble no larger than the diameter of an average rat or another small mammal perhaps, split off from the rest. It darted away, twirling through the air in front of Damian, not unlike something out of a children's fairy-themed show.

 The glowing bubble coalesced into a small red being that was vaguely evocative of a ladybird, if one squinted. And squinting, Damian was.

 “Hello!” It greeted with a cheerful sort of wariness and a strained smile. “I am Tikki, Kwami of Creation and the Ladybug Miraculous.”

 Black Bat pulled away from the group hug again. She grinned back with an equal edge of wariness—though somewhat tempered by her curiosity—and waved at the little thing, then dipped her head in a light nod. “Nice to meet you.”

 The other three Bats stared uncomprehendingly at the Kwami.

 “What the fuck…” Red Hood muttered, shaking his head slightly at the sight. “It's a fucking floating magic bug creature…”

 “It,” Damian hissed protectively, “just introduced herself with a name. Have some manners, Todd. Tikki and the other Kwamis, according to Ladybug, are divine spirit-like beings that grant her and the other Parisian heroes under her leadership, their powers.” He cleared his throat, and quietly and rather hastily added. “If it weren't for our current circumstances, it would otherwise be a pleasure to finally meet you.”

 The slight wariness faded from Tikki as her strained smile became even more so. “It's a pleasure to finally and formally meet you too, even under this situation. Though I must admit due to the nature of how us Kwami interact with the world, my knowledge of what has happened is unfortunately limited.”

 She glanced between the four vigilantes, and then towards the glass coffin, or more specifically the frozen statue of Chat Noir before it. Slowly taking in the full weight of the situation at the unmistakable signs of a powerful Akuma attack and her missing holder. Tikki's strained smile fell immediately as tears began to shimmer in her eyes. “Oh, Chat Noir…” She chewed her lip as she grimaced, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. Cautiously, as though afraid of the answer, Tikki looked to Damian, “and my holder…?”

 “Ladybug was Akumatised.” Damian answered her. “She has been… confronted and prevented from continuing what she was doing. If you could lend us your power so that we may reverse the damage done and return her to how she was before the akumatisation, it would be appreciated.”

 Before Tikki could respond, a chilling—wailing—wind sliced through the frozen repository.

 “No.” In a whirling flurry of snow, Lady Blanc (still donned in that same bleached mockery of the ice power-up suit despite the absence of the miraculous) fully reformed before the frozen form of Chat Noir. Ensuring that she had placed herself between the Bats and her akumatised object before they could even dare approach. Though she was no longer half-melted, the tear-melt grooves down her cheeks had only deepened. She swallowed thickly, shoulders trembling and hands gripping her yo-yo with the desperation of a lifeline. “I've warned you once before. I will not warn you again.” Glowering at them, she let the last of her power—that languishing frigid fury—drown her next words in haunting rime. “It is too late to fix what I have done.”

 “Marinette!” Tikki cried, darting towards her, “that's not true, the miraculous cure will work if you just let us use it on you! It's really not too late, I promise!”

 With the flick of Lady Blanc's wrist, the yo-yo swung towards Tikki, coming far too close for comfort to the distraught Kwami. Slicing through the air as it preceded an arc of blade-like icicles launching from the verglas-encrusted walkway, all of which were aiming not only at Tikki, but the Bats and Bird behind her too.

 Black Bat reacted first, in immediate response she flipped forwards and threw a volley of perfectly aimed Batarangs. Each Batarang struck a blade of ice, shattering them harmlessly between the living and statues.

 Neither Lady Blanc nor Black Bat moved as the ice cascaded onto the walkway with delicate clinks and chimes.

 Black Bat stared icily at Lady Blanc. “You will not harm them.”

 Holding his breath, Damian frantically attempted to scramble out of the blankets binding him and face her, himself.

 It was only thanks to Red Hood and Batman's trained reflexes and familiarity with wrangling him, that they were able to restrain him from doing so, seeing as he was still recovering and sorely lacking in the armour department. Though the prevention was not without a litany of swears muttered by Red Hood in the process.

 Lady Blanc eyed her two main threats: Black Bat and Tikki, ignoring Black Bat's words and the scuffle behind her. The others were less of a threat, as not only was the kerfuffle keeping them occupied but it was obvious they'd prioritise protecting Dami—Robin over targeting her object. Especially due to the fact he was surrounded by field medical supplies and unarmed— vulnerable. “The cure,” she snarled, taking one singular step forwards, “will not erase the experience, the memories of everything that has happened.”

 “That's not true…” Tikki repeated, quieter and more subdued this time. She hovered closer to Black Bat's right shoulder for safety. “You're akumatised, you won't remember once we purify your Akuma.”

 “But the survivors will.” Lady Blanc seethed, in wretched mourning. “And so will you. The cure won't fix the pain and suffering I've caused everyone. It won't erase the wrongs I've committed.” She paused, glancing between them all, eyes blazing like Chat-Blanc's cataclysms; just like her earlier reflection had shown. “But it will erase me. Permanently. There's a chance it could erase this entire timeline from existence. It's happened before.”

 “Before?” Black Bat asked, watching Lady Blanc with a careful curiosity and damning concern. Scrutinising her every expression and gesture for unspoken answers.

 “Besides,” Lady Blanc continued, pointedly ignoring Black Bat—gaze flickering passed her too quickly as she continued to glance between the rest— “even if you cast the cure, it won't undo the effects of my akumatisation… time will still have passed, people will still be traumatised, the damage will still have been done.”

 Faltering for but a second, she added on quietly enough that, had it not been the Bats as her audience, it wouldn't have otherwise been heard… “I will still be a villain once it all melts to nothingness.”

 “You're not a villain.” Batman calmly rebutted. “You didn't choose to become an Akuma, nothing you have done as an Akuma is your fault.”

 “Indeed!” Damian interjected, glaring at her in return, though the effect was dampened via the blanket, jacket, and capes still bundling him. “You were, and still are, under the effects of an emotionally manipulative villain. If you were to face judicial processes as other villains do, in a court of law, you would be excused under duress.”

 Red Hood snorted, muttering under his breath, “yeah, or excused under undue influence, y'know considering how you're reacting right now.”

 “I have slaughtered hundreds and thousands of innocents.” Lady Blanc hissed, stalagmites of ice surged from the verglas around her as her fury spiked. “Others have been declared villains for less.”

 Batman sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose and then raising both his hands as a gesture of peace. “Even if you are a villain, as you say you are. That doesn't mean you're beyond help. Contrary to popular belief, I don't dress up as a bat and beat up criminals because I think they're beyond help. If that were the case, I, Batman, would kill. But I don't. Because everyone deserves a second chance and the help needed to change.”

 “Would you give Hawkmoth a second chance? Or the Joker?” She scoffed.

 A moment of silence crackled through the frozen repository with all the grandeur of a guillotine's blade released.

 Red Hood death-glared at Lady Blanc, mouth twisted between utter bewilderment and the curl at the corner of his lips that betrayed the downright chilling wrath lurking beneath. His eyes almost seemed to glimmer green in the reflection of the ice. “Are you seriously fucking comparing yourself to the fucking Joker?”

 There was no response.

 Inhaling deeply, he then hissed through his teeth and gesticulated violently in tandem. “Did you not fucking listen to everything we just fucking said?”

 Lady Blanc stilled sharply, shoulders jerking back into a tense and more defensive position; teeth accidentally snapping down onto her tongue in the process. Snowmelt pooled in her mouth from the wounds, instead of blood. She swallowed thickly, grimacing as she glanced aside—unable to bear looking at any of them for any longer.

 “Further fucking more,” Red Hood continued, “you've only fucked Paris up. One city. That ain't shit compared to how many places those bastards have fucked up.”

 She flinched, thoughts spiralling back to her once-partner's akumatisation. Shaking her head stiffly, her eyes caught on the statue of Chat Noir once again. “You should have seen what preceded me. It could've been far worse...”

 “But what could have been, is not what is and has happened.” Damian cut in, cautiously. “Does that not speak of the person you are, regardless of your own akumatisation?”

 Her hands trembled—shivered, only slightly but just barely enough to be noticeable. Fingers curling and uncurling around the yo-yo like the staccato of her heartbeat. “No. You're wrong.”

 “Why? Why are we wrong?” He demanded, not unkindly but unrelenting in his determination. “You say you could have done worse, ergo you actively chose to limit the destruction you've unwillingly caused due to factors outside of your control.” Damian scrunched up his nose and tilted his head to one side. “Something which many Justice League members ought to aspire to when they're under the control or influence of outside forces. Therefore you have achieved something wherein even seasoned heroes and vigilantes, whom are known globally for frequently saving the world, could not.”

 Gritting her teeth, Lady Blanc swung her yo-yo out towards the four of them. Arcs of glacial blades lashed out in waves.

 Immediately, Black Bat, Red Hood, and Batman slipped into defensive stances in front of Damian. Blade by blade the ice shattered. Batarangs and bullets tearing through them.

 And in the chaos of the attack, Damian freed himself from the blanket and cape cocoon. Sprinting down the walkway, he dodge and weaved between both friendly and not-so-friendly fire—or more aptly, frost.

 “Robin!” Shouted Batman, noticing just a split second too late. His head turning to face his son and hand reaching out but unable to fully draw his attention away from the slashing of the reforming blades.

 Blade after blade, the arcing waves continued. Though every blade that sliced towards Damian, melted before it could dare hurt him. Step by step he approached unharmed. Icemelt puddles formed in his wake, swiftly refreezing into bitter black ice.

 Lady Blanc took a hesitant step back. The shivering was worsening now, as though she was affected by the cold, despite her akumatisation having granted her immunity to such a thing. “Don't.” She warned.

 “No, I will not give up on you.” He insisted as he kept making his way towards her. “I made a mistake in the manner of which way I approached and tried to save you earlier. And for that I am sorry but I promise to do better this time.”

 She scoffed wetly, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes once again. “I'm not the same as the person I was before. No amount of talking or powder snow promises will change that.”

 Lashing out with the yo-yo again, it barely skimmed by his neck. But its effects were instantaneous; his footsteps halting. If her aim had been true, it would have wrapped around his neck like a noose. Faltering at the realisation, she backed away closer to the shattered glass coffin.

 Yet another mirroring of their most recent fight.

 Accidentally, she bit the insides of her cheeks and once again, snowmelt flooded her mouth. She swallowed it thickly, throat constricting as if she had hung a noose around her own neck instead.

 Another stalemate had been reached.

 Back and forth.

 Stopping and starting.

 With every step forwards, a step taken back.

 A deadly dance, wherein all actions either party could make, were missteps.

 They were going in circles.

 Again, and again, and again.

 And it was obvious to all, that it could not be kept going for much longer. One side would have to give out, crack and melt, and languish away.

 Lady Blanc had been on the back foot since their arrival, no thanks in part to Bunnyx's machinations. Hissing through her teeth, she sighed. “It's rather telling, isn't it? How you all keep beating around the bush and going on about fixing this, saving me, and undoing everything! And yet not a single one of you has come up with a refute to what I've said. To the undeniable truth that the Miraculous Cure isn't as all-powerful with its "limitless"—” pausing, she made air quotes with her fingers without letting go of her yo-yo or the wire, “—healing as everyone seems to think it is capable of. It can't cure the time that has been lost, the painful memories made, the suffering endured.”

 The following silence from both Tikki and the Bats spoke a thousand words.

 “Why?” Lady Blanc's shoulders shook heavily as her breaths quickened in time with her rabbiting pulse. “Why can you still not understand, after everything I've said and done? Why can't you understand there is no salvaging what has been broken with my akumatisation? There's no undoing of what's been done unless Bunnyx herself goes back into the past to prevent the timeline from forming in the first place!”

 Tikki tsked. “Marinette, please. You don't have to repeat yourself. There's always a—”

“—Is there?” Lady Blanc cut her off icily, seething, chest heaving, teeth bared. “Is there really? Because so far all you've done is said that it can be and then not given any evidence!”

 Damian hummed inquisitively, narrowing his eyes at her. “Does it matter?”

 “Robin!” Reprimanded Batman.

 “Are you fucking kidding me?” Red Hood snarled, not a second later.

 “How can you say that?” Tikki asked, brows furrowed and mouth twisting as though biting into something sour.

 Black Bat, barring Lady Blanc, was the only one to not immediately react in outrage at his words. His sister merely frowned and began slinking around the edge of the walkway towards the akumatised ribbon, whilst the rest were distracted by him. Just in case they all failed to talk her down peacefully.

 In contrast, Lady Blanc's own reaction was one of suspicious bemusement. Though she made no attempt to move neither closer nor any further away, that didn't mean she wasn't still a threat.

 “Because why does it matter?” Damian lifted his chin up and took a step closer to Lady Blanc, challenging her. “What makes an akumatisation so vastly unique in comparison to say any other tragic mass villain attack?”

 He turned to stare at his father and brother, equally daring them to argue against him. “We have faced villains who have rewritten the universe before, villains who have caused mass extinction events that we fixed before, and we have helped victims who have been labelled villains due to various reasons beyond their control no matter the damage they may have caused.”

 Puffing out his chest like an indignant robin as he took yet another step closer again, Damian continued, not letting a word in edgeways. “Why should an Akuma be treated any differently to those similar situations? And despite the time lost, trauma and pain suffered, and the damage remaining, the world still turns. The survivors still live, and the days still pass. And most importantly, those who were victims, are given a chance to heal after the tragedy.”

 Lady Blanc stood frozen in place as she listened and contemplated, face etched in distress.

 Taking his chance, Damian drew further towards her still, until he was between her and the ribbon.

 “As you said, the miraculous cannot fix anything. But no one, not you, nor the survivors, can heal until we undo or mitigate as much of the damage as possible. A wound will not heal if what caused the wound has yet to be removed.” Slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, Damian reached out to offer her his hand, nearly begging. “Please, will you let us help you heal?”

 With trembling hands, and a languishing resolve,  Lady Bl—Marinette—reached back. Wincing preemptively, she fragilely grasped his offer like a withering lifeline and clasped his hand in her own. A final sob tore from her throat when for the first time since becoming akumatised, the warmth did not hurt her.

 It didn't burn. She didn't melt. Nor thaw. Nor languish.

 But unbeknownst to Marinette, the ribbon did. The unyielding ice that had protected—sealed, guarded, trapped, imprisoned—it for so long finally thawed, leaving the Akuma inside vulnerable.

 Her knees buckled and it was only thanks to Damian's impeccable reflexes, that he was able to catch her before she could hit the ground. Causing the tension in the air to fracture and fade.

 “It's okay, you're safe now.” He assured her, as he held her in his arms. “It will be over soon.”

 Marinette shook her head, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, listening to the steady beat of his heart in one ear. “'M sorry, 'm sorry, 'm sorry, 'm sorry.” She gasped out in an avalanche, tears choking her words.

 He hugged her tighter in response, channelling how his family's hugs always made him feel—beloved and safe.

 Giving her a moment to recover herself, Damian soothingly rubbed her back in circles and gently asked. “Can we free you from your akumatisation, please?”

 Unable to immediately bring herself to words, Marinette nodded, cold tears trickling down her face and onto his shoulder.

 “Thank you, my beloved.” Damian responded, voice tinged by the hints of a warm smile as he stared at her in relief. Momentarily, he turned his head to nod at Black Bat and shifted his arm away from the hug just long enough to pass the Ladybug Miraculous over to her.

 He spared Marinette one more quick glance before returning his attention to his sister. Who, in a swift and elegant motion, tugged back her cowl and carefully fastened the earrings in place.

 Though Damian was soon distracted by tapping on his other shoulder in rapid succession: two short, two long, a pause, three short, three long, one short—one long—one short, one short—one long—one short, one long—one short—two long. A beat passed, and then the pattern repeated.

 “You don't need to apologise.” He muttered as gently as he could muster, turning his gaze back to her and continuing the soothing ministrations of rubbing her back. “Perhaps, you should focus on matching my breathing instead?”

 Marinette shook her head but ceased tapping nonetheless. Inhaling shakily, she tried to copy his breathing by the calming rise and fall of his chest. Soon, her cries softened, and her grief and fear melted—draining away like her will to fight had before. “Since when did you get so good at… this.”

 Sniffing haughtily, Damian hid his grin. “What are you talking about, I've always been excellent at comforting people.”

 “Yeah, only if we're calling animals people now.” Red Hood butted in.

 “That reminds me, Hood. From henceforth I shall be referring to all my pets as my "fur babies".” Damian replied.

 Marinette wheezed, not quite able to manage actually laughing yet.

 “Don't you dare! You used to agree with me on this!” Red Hood argued, staring at Damian aghast. “B, c'mon back me up here!”

 Sighing wearily, Batman shook his head, more focussed on gathering up the forgotten medical supplies, and re-equipping his own cape. “If Robin wants to do that, then so be it.”

 Red Hood's yelped in mock betrayal. “How could you!”

 “I shall name my next pet in your honour, father, in gratitude for your support,” Damian announced, nodding sagely. “And,” he continued dramatically, “a Furby in derision of Hood's lack thereof.”

 “See! Look at what you've done!” Red Hood hissed, throwing his hands up in exaggeration and turning around as if to leave. However, he moved only to grab his jacket and shrug it on instead.

 Marinette let the conversation lull before nudging Damian with her shoulder and staring at him quizzically. “You didn't actually answer my question?”

 He sighed, closing his eyes for a second. “After Paris remained frozen over for more than a day, I became very… worried for you. When the situation persisted beyond that first week and the Justice League failed to get in contact with you or any known heroes, yours or theirs, active in Paris at the time. Well, father put his foot down and convinced me to attend therapy.” He paused to take a deep breath. “It has helped significantly, suffice to say.”

 “I see,” she responded, voice pitching up on her next words in uncertainty, “that's good?”

 Damian nodded in agreement. “It is.”

 The conversation lulled to a stop again, as Black Bat and Tikki conversed softly in the background.

 Though Marinette still could not help the trembling gasp that escaped her, as she heard the words of the transformation echo in the repository. “Wait—”

 This was it.

 This would be her last moment before her memories would melt away as with how her akumatised form shall. Her last moment as Lady Blanc. As—

 She should do something. Anything. Before she loses it all and the timeline is prevented by Bunnyx, once again. No! She can't let this happen again, she can't let Hawkmoth win after this, after everything. “When you cast the cure…” Marinette started, words sticking to her tongue like ice, “Hawkmoth will—!”

 And yet, the indecision struck, paralysing her as though she were just another frozen statue in the repository. She struggled desperately to get the final warning out. “Don't let him—!”

 “We know,” He soothed, “we won't. It will be okay.” Damian promised, holding her carefully. “I promise you, cross my heart, Habib Albi.”

 Darkness rippled at the edges of her vision and distantly she watched as her icy suit began to boil and bubble that blackish-purple viscous magic of corruption. Desperately, she clawed through the lingering decision paralysis to pull away from Damian's shoulder.

 So that the last thing she saw, was the concerned but affectionate look in his eyes and the warmth of his smile, before being consumed by the bright purifying magic.

 A languishing wraith finally laid to clement rest.

———

 The first thing Marinette noticed, as the darkness and disorientation faded, was the familiar tingling of the Miraculous Cure having been cast. She froze, heart plummeting in her chest as she began to tremble.

 Quickly she took stock of her immediate awareness and blurry memories. One, she didn't remember casting the cure. Two, she wasn't transformed, she was in her civilian clothes. Three, her Miraculous was missing, her earrings were gone. Which can only mean, she couldn't have cast the cure. She had failed. And she can't remember what had happened—Oh, oh.

 The memories before the darkness sharpened in clarity, painfully so and Marinette nearly keened in distress as she connected the dots. She really did fail. Chat Noir and herself had confronted Hawkmoth in his lair and—

 —Her chest heaved as she gasped for breath, struggling to breathe with what little air her shallow breaths brought her.

 “You're okay, just breathe with me.” Damian's voice cut in, through the confusing fog of de-akumatising. Cradling her hands in his own. His hands were warm and gentle, grounding.

 Jerking her head in a shaky nod, she tried to match his breathing. Unsuccessful at first, but getting closer with each following breath.

 As she did so, Damian slowly and softly began to rub soothing circles on the back of her hands.

 Seconds passed like the gentle melting of unsettled snow overnight. And once her breathing finally evened out, she hesitatingly glanced up and towards where his voice had come from, to see him sitting in front of her on his knees. “What,” she paused to find her courage, “what happened? I remember Chat and I finally facing Hawkmoth. We had him cornered and then—”

 A sob tore from her throat as she spoke, cutting off her next words.

 Sighing deeply, Damian glanced away from her for but a brief moment as if to compose himself. “As you are most likely presuming, Hawkmoth akumatised you. We're not sure what was the inciting catalyst as you didn't announce it during our responding presence. Chat Noir does not appear to adequately remember what exactly occurred before your akumatisation either, nor was he conscious throughout any part of it.” He paused, tilting his head to gesture over his right shoulder and at Black Bat, who was lurking a few paces behind. “Before you worry, we dealt with Hawkmoth as soon as Black Bat cast the cure, all remains of what was affected by the akumatisation has been undone, healed.”

 “Oh…” Was all the response she could immediately muster, the numbness of the situation settling in like the first frost of a winter's morn.

 “Indeed,” he nodded, “if it brings you any comfort—”

 —Before Damian could continue, Red Hood cut him off with a lungful cheer from somewhere on the other side of the repository based on the faint echo—“AYY, CHAT NOIR KICKED HAWKFUCKER IN THE BALLS!”

 Which was unsurprisingly followed by Chat Noir making quite the strangled from-mild-embarrassment yelp. “I take back everything nice I've ever said about you, Hood!” Grousing, a slap echoed throughout the repository. From the sounds of it, he had either dramatically flung a hand over his face, or he had slapped Red Hood in the face; though it was most likely the former rather than the latter considering there was no further yelling. Sighing loudly, Chat Noir continued, voice growing more and more distanced as his footsteps faded away. “Let me,” pausing most certainly for the dramatics of it, “become one with the ice again and melt into oblivion so I never have to hear what you just yelled ever again. 'Kay, thanks, bye!”

 If the sudden patter of footsteps followed by the swoosh of the lift were anything to go by, he had truly just up and skedaddled away from Red Hood—perhaps he did actually slap him.

 Huffing lightly in laughter, Marinette cracked a small and hesitant smile up at Damian. “At least things are returning to normal then, right? Since they're both… they're not… y'know.”

 “About that,” Damian closed his eyes slowly and breathed in slowly, when he opened them again, his gaze was one of languishing guilt. “Habibti, you were akumatised for far longer than any previously known victim.”

 And oh, how for a moment she could hear her heartbeat pounding in her chest, like the echoing of an avalanche crashing down around her. Leaving her breathless in a wretched sort of deathless, with the whispers of snow-melt memories that had since rotted into nothingness. Intangible yet frangible as it slipped through her freezing cold fingers. A wraith of what she had become.

 “How long?” She asked, not quite begging—not quite reluctant either. Nevertheless, the words hung heavy in the air as though they were the executioner, readying the guillotine's blade over her neck.

 “Marinette,” he started, voice laden with an uneasy tinge of desperation. Biting his tongue, Damian grimaced and shook his head slightly, gaze flickering away from her to fixate on a point behind her. But still, he swallowed a breath of air thickly, and pulled out the calming hero voice. “My beloved, no one blames you. It was not your fault.”

 Pursing her lips, Marinette prised her hands out of his and curled them into fists upon her lap. Brooking no dispute, she repeated once more, words hanging heavier still. “How long?”

 Damian sighed, flicking his gaze back to her. “You were akumatised for four months before we could purify your Akuma. I'm sorry we couldn't reach you sooner.”

 “It's fine,” Marinette answered automatically, without hesitation, “you tried your best.” She licked at her lip quickly, before chewing at it. “But no, that confirms it.” Lightly shaking her head, she huffed near silently. “Not the longest Akuma then.”

 “What?” Damian cut in, brow creased and lips curling downwards in confusion and concern.

 Giggling humourlessly, Marinette shut her eyes and shook her head again—more forcefully this time—what remained of her earlier smile twisted into something hollow—a ghost shell. “Blanc was akumatised for over half a year.”

 At her laugh, Damian couldn't help but tense and lurch back. Mentally, he rattled through every known Akuma recorded on the Ladyblog or mentioned by Marinette or another Miraculous wielder, but all his answers came up blank. Cautiously, he reached his hand out and gently set it over one of hers. “Who is this Blank? There is no record of an Akuma by that name.”

 “No.” Sniffling slightly, she clasped at his hand like a lifeline, blinking her eyes open for but a second only to squeeze them shut once again as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “No, there wouldn't be. He's the one who preceded me, from before. But it's fine now, he's gone, and the cure fixed it, fixed him, freed him. It's fine. It's—” her breath hitched, “—fine.”

 Softly, he tsked, tenderly rubbing circles into the back of her hand once more. “But you're not fine.”

 “Please,” she whispered, heart breaking audibly like the cracking of ice, “don't. You know I can't afford to not be.”

 Damian was reminded violently of Lady Blanc, the ghost shell of her heart, and the words she spoke during their final confrontation—the slips of truth never elaborated upon, and forgotten memories stolen away by the purifying magic—he shook her hand gently to emphasise. “Not anymore, you do not have to. Hawkmoth has been apprehended—Red Hood and Chat Noir are transferring him to the local authorities as we speak—and his Miraculous has been confiscated, which is currently being overseen by Wonder Woman. You are safe now, beloved. You can rest.”

 A sob was wrenched from her throat, tears spilling down her face as she shook her head. “I'm Ladybug,” she scarcely breathed, trembling beneath the weight of the words, “I'll never be safe, not whilst I bear this burden alone.”

  Delicately, he pulled into yet another gentle hug, trying not to think of how easily he could almost hear Lady Blanc uttering the same in devastation.

 Making a small noise in his mouth, Damian lifted one hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “There is no need for you to be Ladybug at this moment, and regardless of whether you continue wielding the miraculous or remain under the mantle, you're not alone. You have myself always, and Chat Noir along with your other chosen Miraculous holders, both our families, Wonder Woman, and the rest of the Justice League. You need not continue to carry your burden alone, my dear.”

 “You make it sound,” Marinette paused to sniffle again, inhaling sharply, heart stuttering, “so easy, mon chou.” A heavy grief drenched her words, clinging like winter's final frost.

 “Because it is, Angel, I know it may not seem like it but it's true. Though it may take time for you to accept this, as I've said, I will be by your side always. If you need a helping hand, then I will lend mine to you. If you need protection, then any of us would happily offer to shield you. If you need a shoulder to cry on, then you have ours to lean upon. It will not be easy, regardless of your choice going forwards, but you will never be alone again, I promise.”

 A hundred heartbeats passed in silence as Marinette chewed her lips before she spoke again. “Is that a promise you can keep?”

 Damian huffed, reaching out to hold her hands once more, with a gentle shake for emphasis. “Not even my last dying breath could keep me from fulfilling this promise, I swear upon my life.”

 As he finished speaking, he placed her hands over where his heart lay in his chest. “I swear, Ya Hayati.”

 “I—” Marinette started with a whisper, she swallowed her words and her breath, feeling the beat of his heart in her hands. “—Okay. Okay, I trust you, Mon Cœur.”

 He nodded his head, still clutching her hand upon his chest as a small smile graced his face. “Thank you, my dear.”

 Then, he leaned towards her until their foreheads met, hers far cooler to the touch than his.

 It was Marinette's turn to huff, in faint amusement this time, her own equally small smile growing the longer they stayed like this.

 They held each other in that loose embrace for a few minutes, before Damian interrupted the sombre silence surrounding them. “What would you say to a kiss, my beloved?”

 “Oh? Well, that'd depend on the kind of kiss, wouldn't it, hmm?” She teased back softly, eyes twinkling in the low light of the lair. And though she tried to hide it, a sliver of sorrow still shone beneath that fragile lightness of relief held within.

 Damian moved to lean back, squinting at her with a furrowing brow and pursing lips. “If you do not—”

 “No!” Marinette cut in frenetically, eyes widening and squeezing at his hand to pull him back in close. “No! No, I do. I really do.” She chewed her lip and swallowed, gaze casting downwards for a moment. “Sorry, I'm still…”

 Exhaling slowly, Damian's eyelids fluttered closed. “You do not need to explain yourself to me, we have plenty of time for you to recover from this ordeal. As such, we can always kiss later, should you still be willing.”

 “No, no, no, it's okay, I promise. I would like one, I would like a kiss from you,” glancing back up to face him, a hint of nervousness to her voice. “That is, if you're still offering?”

 He inhaled just as slowly as before and blinked open his eyes to stare at her unrelentingly. “Are you certain?”

 Nodding, she squeezed his hand again, gently. “Yes.”

 “Then you are okay with me kissing you now? Upon the lips?” He questioned just as intently but no less softly.

“Absolutely.” Without hesitation, she uttered as she nodded once more, lips curling into a small soft smile.

 “Okay then.” He answered.

 Ever so slowly, Damian gradually leant in once more, giving ample time for her to interrupt or stop him if she desired.

 But she did not. She, instead, also leant in.

 And so hand in hand, cradled against Damian's heart still, their lips met. Ever so warmly did they tenderly kiss.

 After a few moments, they parted, leaning back from one another again, neither out of breath so much so as the kiss had come to its natural gentle end.

 Marinette's shoulders shuddered as she drew in a breath. Tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I love you.” She whispered under her breath.

 Damian, on the other hand, seemed just as unshakeable as usual. He frowned at her, “are you okay, beloved?”

 Wordlessly, she nodded once more, sniffling slightly as the pricking tears began to fall.

 Alarmed, Damian let go of her hand like it burnt, desperately hunting for a tissue or for something—anything—else that could help.

 Only to be interrupted yet again, as Marinette darted forwards, head falling into the crook of his neck, and arms wrapping around him in a tight hug. “Thank you.” She whispered, with a voice trembling just as much as her body. “I love you, Mon Cœur, so, so, so, so much.”

 He hesitated, frozen in position like a dreaded ice statue, before slowly wrapping his arms around her in return. “And I, you, Ya Hayati.”

 Damian rubbed soothing circles into her back. “When you're ready, the others are waiting for us outside in the courtyard of the Agreste manor.”

 Marinette sniffled. “I don't know if I can face everyone, not after this.”

 He faltered for a moment, hands stilling as he was sharply reminded of the near similar conversation they had had earlier, whilst she was still akumatised. “You may not remember but you implied something not dissimilar to that, as an Akuma.”

 “I did?” She asked, blinking back tears, an edge of morbid curiosity and dread in her voice.

 Humming in confirmation, he continued to try and soothe her. “You did. You didn't believe that you deserved to be de-akumatised—forgiven—for what you had done under Hawkmoth's influence. But you're not the first person we've cared for, who's been forced to hurt others because of the influence of another. The others won't hold it against you. Nor will your city. You've told me before, how the other heroes have all been akumatised before, Chat Noir and yourself included now.”

 He paused, both in breath and movement, to let his next words sink in. “No one will blame you, you tried your best and it worked out in the end. It's over, Hawkmoth has been defeated thanks to you.”

 Unable to hold back the tears of relief, she sobbed into his shoulder. “Thank you.”

 “Of course.” He answered gently, resuming the soothing motion.

 A good five minutes passed, of him cradling her in his arms, before her sobs and shaking faded to faint sniffles and drying tear tracks.

 Breathing in slowly, she squeezed her eyes shut and nodded in determination. “I'm ready.”

 “Are you certain?” Damian checked, leaning back and dropping his arms to his sides.

 She opened them again and looked him in the eyes. “Yes, I am, Mon Chou.”

 “Good.” Damian responded, already moving to stand, offering a hand up to her as he did. “Then let us go join the others.”

 Hand in hand, he lead her back across the walkway (they had fought upon it, how strange that it felt like a lifetime ago already), over to the lift.

 The walk from the lift's exit in Gabriel's study, to the courtyard was quiet and uneventful but it was comforting just to have Damian by her side. Waiting in the middle of said courtyard, was the unmistakable sight of the Batplane.

 With hesitant steps, Marinette let herself be led into the batplane's interior, a warm rush of air greeting her from the vents of the vehicle. And there, within, with gentle smiles of relief, stood them.

 Batman, at the emergency medical bed of the plane, pausing in the packing away of the medical kit and containment of used supplies to look up at her, relief etched into every wrinkle not hidden by the mask. He nodded at her firmly, and hummed in consolation before returning to his task.

 Nightwing, lounging across the pilot's seat improperly so that he was facing both his family and the console screen of the plane's controls, seemingly in the middle of contacting Oracle. He spun around in the seat, grinning dazzlingly at her, as he waved a hand. “Hey! Good to see you back!”

 Oracle, though not in person; her symbol on the console screen flashed brightly for a second. “Marinette! We've all missed you. Hopefully, you're feeling okay now?”

 Cass, stepping forwards from the shadows by the passenger seats on one side, and offered out her hand; in which the ribbon, that had been Marinette's akumatised object, and the ladybug Miraculous earrings lay. A requiem.

 Jason, smirking at Tim and Adrien from his seat next to her, turned his attention to her and cocked his head to one side, staring at her unperturbed. “You're looking a hell of a lot better than you were earlier. Good for you.”

 Tim, nursing a travel mug of coffee, smiled tiredly and waved at her with one hand for a second, then continued listening idly and patting Adrien on the shoulder in a sort of awkward half-hug of commiseration.

 Adrien, huddled on a seat, still clearly mortified from earlier apparently, as his face was in his hands until he heard her footsteps. His face pinched, a thousand words left unsaid as the weight of their heroics pinned him in place. “M'lady…” He grimaced though the corners of his lips twitched up into a little grin, tearing up slightly as he watched her. “I'm glad you're safe now.”

 Damian, behind her, took her hand and squeezed gently, offering a tender smile.

 If she hadn't already cried her heart out minutes ago, then undoubtedly she would have burst into tears once again, at the warm and welcoming sight.

 She was home, happy, safe, loved, and warm.

 And at the end of it all, she had been wrong; it was never doomed from the start.

———

| Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this long oneshot! Comments, Kudos, and Bookmarks are much appreciated! |

| If you want to try braving the shorter uwu-speak version, see the [UwU] and [OwO] links here, or at the beginning! You will not be compensated for any psychic damage taken due to reading that, however! |

| Feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I’ll be more than happy to answer! |

| However, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

| Lastly, if you want to create fic, or art, or podfic, or anything else based on this fic/au, or use it as inspo then feel free too, just as long as you tag me (if on Tumblr), or (if on Ao3) use Ao3's inspired by option, as I'd love to be able to see it! <3 |

| Once again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading! And I hope you have a wonderful end to the year, and a happy new year! |

[vuldak-juneau]

Her peer's criticism of her did not particularly impassion Juneau. Maybe a month ago, she would have felt shame for hiding her head in the sand and failing to rise to the occasion. Not now. The events of the Last Night were not a battleground for Juneau, they were something meant to be survived. And she had. She didn’t come to Nornwatch to preserve Iskaldrik–she came to preserve herself long enough to ultimately make it to Lysara. She didn’t plan to mince words regarding that objective for the sake of other’s feelings. 

Unbeknownst to her conversation partner, her particular skill for finding hiding places had enabled her to deliver dozens of unfairly persecuted souls to the haven of Lysara’s borders. If Juneau cared about this woman’s opinion of her, she might have explained, but she didn’t feel beholden to qualify much of anything to her. “Perhaps if your precious Iskarans hadn’t taken such relish in trying to kill me a few weeks back, I’d be a little more inclined to give a shit,” Juneau mused vaguely. At this point, the threat of the mines felt intangible and empty. Alluding to being something other than human held far less weight than it used to.

Had every Iskaran in these walls been the one to torment her beyond the veil that separated life and death? No. Were the ones who did here taking refuge? Juneau didn’t know. But it was an underlying culture that led to their acts of violence, a pervasive culture that from her perspective every filthy human on the continent contributed to. Since the humans insisted on believing she was something to fear, she would be. Since they had already decided she was monstrous, she might as well be. Perhaps it would be fun, being a self-fulfilling prophecy and all. 

“Which is it?” Juneau asked, her brows knitting together. “If I go out there and I freeze to death? Are you going to eat me, or are you going to try and fight me? Seems like an awful big waste of energy, putting your precious skills to waste trying to fight a frozen corpse and leaving your very brave Isarkats to their own devices.” 

Mouthy as she was, she wasn’t interested in picking a fight. Keen to grift what she could, especially in present circumstances where so many were so distracted, the quality of the woman’s weapons, those more and less apparent on her person, and her armor weren’t lost on Juneau. Nor was the threat of the dire wolf at her side. These were not potential marks. Juneau kept her loose body language, the only thing sharp about her was her too-loose tongue. She was perhaps still learning that just because she refrained from throwing a fist herself didn’t mean she was immune from (or undeserving of) being on the receiving end of a blow from someone else.

Juneau didn’t know much about how she could die in this new form of being, what she might be immune to versus what she was as vulnerable to as ever. But she’d known cold and she had known hunger and exposure to the elements. Real danger was not much of a stranger to her. She had stuck her neck out for others more times than she could count, and in the current moment, all she saw that had earned her was abandonment and anger. The last person she cared to take advice from was someone interested in defending the sniveling humans pushed to the edge of this wretched corner of the world.

"I see," Thora deadpans, intending to leave it at that. However, heat welled in her throat and she found herself continuing on. To what end? That was unclear even to her. "The cowards approach, hide like a babe in a drawer while civilians weaker than you stand their ground as Iskaran's do." Thora fought for more than just her vows now. If Iskaldrik was to be reclaimed then the survivors would need to remember their roots.

They were the descendants of vikings and warriors, brave forebearers who faced war with firm resolves. Surviving these times would only make them stronger, and when they could regroup to march on their conquerors again they'd do so with the ice cold fierceness that flowed through their veins. Thora had lost so much already, but the fire of revenge burned even more intensely in her heart than the pyre.

Kari bore teeth in a snarl, a reflection of Thora's inner turmoil despite the composure she presented. "You may as well go ahead then. Actually be of use and trek the Wastelands ahead of us. If we're lucky, we'll stumble upon your frozen corpse and might get a meal out of it. I'm personally sick of vermin, I think I could stomach you," she says, her own snarl matching her dire wolf's. "It's your best option really. The sight of cowards makes me sick. Who knows how that will impact my swordstrokes during the next calamity. You might find yourself in real danger then."

[archxngxl]

Muse List

1. Lana Aries, 30 - 35, Heterosexual, Assassin

FC: Sasha Luss

Information:  Warning - Mentions of murder, death, child abuse

Lana Aries was born on December 28th, in Paris. She was born to Renée Aries and Vasili Ivanov.  Renée was a French Secret Service agent, she engaged in an affair with Vasili when he was working as an informant for them. Lana also had a twin sister, Nicolette. After the twins were born, Vasili ended up betraying Renée. He went after  Renée for a long time, but  Renée managed to escape Paris and settle in England for a while. When Nicolette and Lana were five years old, Vasili found Renée and killed her. Hew took the twins back to his organization, where they would be trained to be the perfect weapons. Vasili never cared much for his daughters, he put them through rigorous training and torture if they failed. Nicolette would die at the hands of her father on a fateful winter night. She had failed to do some drills while they were training, and the punishment was staying in the cold without a jacket, blanket or anything. Nicolette was ten, and it served as a permanent reminder of failure to Lana. Lana would escape her father and the organization when she was twenty, and she lended her services to many criminal organizations since then. Her ultimate goal is to kill her father, but that would have to wait.

Verses: None (Yet)

2. Josephine 'Jo' Ledger, 20 - 25, Heterosexual, Actress

FC: Madelyn Cline

Information:  Warning - Mentions of cheating, child neglect, suicide, alcoholism

Josephine Ledger was the only child born to Montgomery and Camille Ledger. Montgomery was on tour when she was born, but Montgomery made up for it by flying out the next morning and meeting his daughter. He even wrote a song called ‘Sweet Josie’ for Josephine, which became a number one hit. But, Montgomery was far from the best father. He missed birthdays, recitals, anniversaries. Either he was really late or didn’t show up at all. Camille took care of Josephine as best she could. When Montgomery began his affair with Grace Williams, Camille had already filed for divorce. Grace became pregnant, and left her newborn son with Camille and Josephine. Josephine didn’t understand what was going on. Camille fell into a deep depression, despite trying her best to hide it from her kids. When Josephine was sixteen, Camille had taken her own life. She turned to alcohol to cope, and it eventually destroyed her.

Verses: None (Yet)

3. Valentina Sanchez, 30 - 35, Bisexual, Detective

FC: Emeraude Toubia

Information: W.I.P

Verses: None (Yet)

4. Talia King, 25 - 30, Pansexual, Actress

FC: Laura Harrier

Information: W.I.P

Verses: None (Yet)

5. Laura Di Vittorio, 25-30, Heterosexual, Second in Command of the Di Vittorio Crime Family

FC: Victoria Pedretti

Information: Warning - Nepotism, Sexism (Kinda), Domestic Violence

Laura was born on December 22nd, in Marsala, Sicily. She is a twin, she has a brother named Vincent (Vincenzo). He is ten minutes older than Laura. Laura was often ignored by her father, who turned his attention to her brother. Laura suspected that this was because she was a girl, since her father often berated her mother for not giving him more sons. But, Vincent always had her back. He wasn’t immune to their father’s temper, and they would often protect each other.

Verses: None (Yet)

6. Renata Reyes, 30-35, Bisexual, Chef

FC: Adria Arjona

Information: W.I.P

Verses: None (Yet)

7. Aaliyah Razek, 30 - 35, Heterosexual, Historian

FC: May Calamawy

Information:

Aaliyah was born on October 31st, in Cairo. Her parents moved to England when Aaliyah was about  a year old. Aaliyah was the daughter of Omar and Menna Razek. Both Omar and Menna were accomplished individuals. Menna was a doctor and Omar was a historian and professor at Cambridge University. Aaliyah always had a deep love of history, it was fed by her father and mother. Aaliyah studied history in college, and was able to travel the world through the years. Because of this, she became fluent in a few languages, such as French, Spanish, and Russian.

Verses: Supernatural (Vampire)

8. Brianna Cohen, 30 - 40, Bisexual, Assassin

FC: Jessica Chastain

Information: Warning - Mention of parent death, birth and crime

Brianna was born in Brooklyn, New York to Andy and Saoirse Cohen. Her mother was Welsh and Irish, so she gave her daughters names from back home. Andy agreed, since he thought the names were beautiful. Andy was involved with the Irish mob in Brooklyn, while Saoirse tried to keep her distance. Brianna has a younger sister, Rhiannon, who she loves with all of her heart. On the day that Rhiannon was born, Brianna and her parents got into a car accident while on the way to the hospital. Andy and Saoirse passed away three days later, but Rhiannon survived. Brianna took the responsibility of naming her sister since her mother had previously mentioned that she loved that particular name. Once they got back home, they were taken care of by the mob (surprisingly). The girls were taken care of by Brianna’s godfather and their father’s best friend, Brian Finnegan. Brianna started her assassin work when she was twenty, and she’s worked like that ever since.

Verses: None (Yet)

9. Rhiannon Cohen, 25 - 27, Heterosexual, Journalist

FC: Sophie Skelton

Information:  Warning - Mention of parent death, birth and crime

Rhiannon was born in Brooklyn, New York to Andy and Saoirse Cohen. Her mother was Welsh and Irish, so she gave her daughters names from back home. Andy agreed, since he thought the names were beautiful. Rhiannon never really understood her father’s work, until her sister would explain it to her many years later. Rhiannon came to understand that ignorance was sometimes bliss. Rhiannon admires her sister and loves her greatly, Brianna has always been a role model to her. Rhiannon took a different route when it came to professions. She worked hard in school and went to medical school in her to become a doctor. However, her education was placed on hold when their criminal past came back to bite. Rhiannon learned and learned though, since the skills she could have would come in handy.

Verses: None (Yet)

10. Lisa Grant, 25, Bisexual, Monster Hunter

FC: Hailee Steinfeld

Information: W.I.P

Verses: None (Yet)

11. Caroline Brandt, 30 - 35, Heterosexual, Surfer/Model

FC: Phoebe Tonkin

Information: Warning - Mentions of abandonment, cheating, child abuse

Caroline was born on August 26th, in Australia. She was the daughter of a woman named Alison and a man named Patrick. Patrick was the CEO of a tech company, and already married when Caroline was conceived. He payed Alison off with a lot of money, and she took it. Caroline and Alison lived by the sea, and Caroline started surfing at the age of nine. She used it as an escape from her mother, who was usually yelling or berating her. Caroline starred modeling at age sixteen, when a scout spotted her surfing and asked to take a photo of her. Caroline left home at eighteen and has not spoken to her mother since. She made no attempt to speak with her biological father, but she does know that she has a sister and a brother. 

Verses: None (Yet)

12. Elena Vargas, 30 - 35, Heterosexual, Doctor

FC:  Alice Braga

Information: W.I.P

Verses: None (Yet)

13. Leila Jimenez, 35- 40, Heterosexual, Lawyer

FC: Sarah Shahi

Information: Mentions of suicide, depression and grief

Leila Jimenez was born on September 11th to Carlos and Daria Jimenez. She had an older sister named Marisol. Mari was three years older than Leila, but they had a close bond. Leila had decided early on what she wanted to become, and that was a lawyer. She studied a lot and what picked on for it when she was younger. Leila eventually entered Harvard law, where she finished her education. Leila was in her first year at a law firm when her mother called her in the middle of the night. Her mother told her that her sister had taken her own life, and Leila booked a flight to Texas an hour later. Leila fell into a deep state of depression when Mari died, and heavily blames herself for not noticing that her sister was hurting. Leila still carries her death with her, and is more observant towards those she loves.

Verses: None (Yet)

14. Barbara Soares, 25 - 30, Heterosexual, Stripper

FC:  Bia Arantes

Information: Warning - Mentions of illegal activity, kidnapping, murder

Barbara Soares was born in Santos, Brazil. She was the only child of Rodrigo and Alicia Soares. The family moved from Santos to the US when Barbara was ten. They settled in Florida, where Rodrigo and Alicia opened up a convenience store. There was a gang in their neighborhood, one that demanded protection fees from the residents. One day, one of them entered the convenience store, with the goal of taking the money that was owed. Rodrigo tried to reason with him that he needed one more week, but he was shot on the spot. Alicia was shot shortly after, passing away almost instantly. The gang took Barbara and the police never found anything. Barbara spent her teens with the gang, she was home schooled by the wife of one of the gang members, named Cristina. Cristina taught her everything she needed to know. Cristina was the only one who showed Barbara kindness in the gang. When Barbara was nineteen, Cristina was caught in the cross fire of a shoot out, and she died on the spot.

Barbara got pregnant when she was around twenty-three, it was the result of a one night stand with a man named Leo. Leo was a affluent gang member, and was notorious for his temper. Barbara was at the end of each of his outbursts, always coming out with other end with bruises and busted lips. The decision to keep the baby didn’t protect her from Leo’s wrath. Cristina Alicia Soares was born on November 3rd in Miami, Florida. As soon as Barbara laid eyes on her daughter, she knew that the baby deserved the best mother. The last straw for Barbara was when Leo had left Cristina in a very cold room for half an hour when Barbara was out grocery shopping. Luckily, Cristina was fine for the most part, but Barbara knew that she couldn't stay with the gang or Leo anymore. She snuck into Leo’s room that night, aiming to kill him. Leo fought back, he managed to slash Barbara in the stomach but Barbara managed to stab him in the throat. Barbara got help from the gang’s doctor, who never said a word about what happened. Barbara took her daughter and never looked back.

Verses: None (Yet)

15. Andrea Navarro, 25, Heterosexual, Fashion Designer

FC: Alexa Demie

Information: W.I.P

Verses: None (Yet)

16. Laurie Knox, 35 - 40, Pansexual, Warlock

FC: Natasha Lyonne

Information: Warning - Mention of abandonment, premeditated murder

Laurie Knox was born on May 19th in Queens, New York. Laurie has never met her father, all she knows is that he was a human named Tom. Her mother was a witch, and she did not want any children. So, she ended up abandoning Laurie near a foster home for humans. Laurie stayed there until the age of thirteen, until she accidentally hurt one of the other kids with her magic. Laurie left that foster home and was alone for about five years. When she was eighteen, she joined a coven and she slowly started to call them family. Now, Laurie has always been more of a lone wolf type of character, so she often got in trouble with the coven. When Laurie was 25, her coven tried to kill her by tying her up in chains and throwing her in a pool of water. Laurie managed to break free and she killed three of the witches that planned it all. Laurie officially betrayed her coven and took the title of warlock. Laurie has been alone since then, learning and growing her power on her own, but she can’t decide if she likes it or not.

Verses: None (Yet)

17. Daisy Booth, 25 - 30, Heterosexual, Journalist 

FC: Deborah Ann Woll

Information: W.I.P

Verses: None (Yet)

18. Dilara Sadik, 35 - 40, Heterosexual, Fashion Designer

FC: Nesrin Cavadzade

Information: Warning - Mentions of neglect, emotional abuse 

Dilara Sadik was born to Elif and Denis Sadik on December 13th. Dilara lived a privileged life style since birth, since her parents were both extremely wealthy. However, that life style was far from happy. Her mother bullied her about her weight for a long time. She would often criticize what Dilara was wearing, her hair style, her makeup and anything else she could find. Her father wasn’t any better, he preoccupied himself with golf or his much younger girlfriends. Dilara often wondered how her parents were still together. During her teenage years, her mother would constantly call her worthless and ugly, which left a mark on Dilara. Dilara did well in school and eventually got her degree in finance. Leaving home was the best day of her life, and she tried to stay away as much as possible. Her mother’s constant abuse left Dilara insecure and bitter, she can often come off as mean and cold, but deep down she just wants to be truly loved. 

Verses: None (Yet)

19. Veronica Castillo, 40 - ???, Heterosexual, Vampire

FC: Maite Perroni

Information: W.I.P

Verses: Human

20. Aida Davtyan, 35 - ???, Heterosexual, Vampire 

FC: Angela Sarafyan

Information: W.I.P

Verses: Human

21. Alice Robinson, 28 - 30, Heterosexual, Medium/Librarian

FC: Oliva Cooke

Information: Warning - Mentions of gaslighting, cheating, death of family members, abandonment, depression, exorcisms

Alice was born in London, to Olivia and Vernon Robinson. She was the youngest of two, she has an older brother named Luke. From a young age (around three or four) Alison would say that she could see her grandmother around the house. Her father was worried, since he was a devout Catholic. Later, Alison would see more and more people around her home. Uncles and aunts that had passed, even some that she did not recognize. Later, Alice would discover that she was a medium, when she discovered the term online. When she was ten, her father and a priest performed an exorcism on her, despite her mother’s protests. In her teens, Vernon even threatened to take her to a psychiatric hospital. Olivia died in a car crash when Alice was sixteen. Alice tried time and again to see her mother, but she never appeared. Her brother and father abandoned her shortly after that, left her some money and left her in a foster home. Alice was alone, but not for long. She met a girl named Rosanna and they became thick as thieves. They went to college together, where Alice studied literature. After college, Alice met Robin. Robin was a lawyer. Charming, thoughtful and kind. She was head over heels. Even Rosanna liked him. Alice told Robin about her gift, and he did not believe her. Alice would see people around him, eager for to send him messages but he always brushed them off. Two years in, Robin became distant and missed/cancelled many dates. Alice walked in on him and Rosanna sleeping together. The two jumped to defend themselves, but Alice cut them off completely. To top it all off, her brother had written a book where the main character’s sister was ‘nutcase’ that could see ghosts. Alice isolated herself, cut everyone off and locked herself in her room for a good few months. Alice did get better though, she moved away from London and started a new life. She still uses her gift from time to time, but keeps it to herself mostly. 

Verses: None (Yet)

22. Arden Kang, 25 - 29, Heterosexual, Tattoo Artist

FC: HoYeon Jung

Information: W.I.P

Verses: None (Yet)

______

1. Dante Novak, 30 - 35, Heterosexual, President of an MC

FC: Charlie Hunnam

Information:

Dante is the eldest of three brothers. He was born in Hell’s Kitchen, New York to George and Matilda Novak. George was part of a gang while Matilda was a school teacher. Despite his ‘work’, George was a good father. Strict, but good. He taught his sons self defense at a young age, and taught them how to protect their family. Dante and his younger brother, Ray, followed in their father’s footsteps and joined the business, but their youngest brother, Austin, made it clear that he wanted none of it. Austin left to pursue his music dreams, Dante still has some guilt over not trying to change his brothers mind.

Verses: None (Yet)

2. Lorenzo Rossi, 35 - ???, Heterosexual, Vampire

FC: Ben Barnes

Information: W.I.P

Verses: Human

3. Abel Prince, 30 - 35, Heterosexual, Private Investigator

FC:  LaKeith Stanfield,

Information: W.I.P

Verses: None (Yet)

4. John Monroe, 35 - 40, Heterosexual, Assassin

FC: Sebastian Stan

Information: W.I.P

5. Raymond ‘Ray’ Dawson, 40 - 45, Pansexual, Monster Hunter

FC: Maharshela Ali

Information: Warning - Mentions of murder, death and gore

Ray was born in Los Angeles, California to Barbara and Leon Dawson. Leon was an English professor and Barbara was a baker. Ray had a happy childhood, filled with laughter and love. His parents were always supportive. Leon was a little strict, since he wanted to teach his son about discipline and things like that. Sadly, when Ray was around ten years old, his parents were brutally killed a vampire. Ray didn’t think that they existed, but they did. Before the vampire could tear his fangs into Ray, he was saved by a vampire hunter named Rhonda. Rhonda took Ray under her wing and became a second mother figure for the young boy. Rhonda trained him on how to be a hunter and how to save people from suffering the same fate as his parents.

Verses: None (Yet)

6. Vincenzo Di Vittorio, 25 - 30, Heterosexual, Head of the Di Vittorio Crime Family 

FC: Drew Starkey

Information:  Warning - Nepotism, Domestic Violence

Vincent was born on December 22nd, in Marsala, Sicily. He is a twin, he has a sister named Laura. He is ten minutes older than Laura. Vincent was placed on a sort of pedestal from his father, simply because he was a boy. His father wanted Vincent to be like him, and would often fight with his father about that. The fights were physical most of the time. Vincent always protected Laura, and she would do the same.

Verses: None (Yet)

7. Santino “Sonny” Caputo, 30 - 35, Heterosexual, Gang Leader

FC: Casey Diedrick

Information:  Warning - Mention of illegal activity, alcohol, drugs and murder 

Santino Caputo was born in Brooklyn, New York to Angela and Giovanni Caputo. Angela is the sister of Clarice Di Vittorio, the mother of Laura and Vincenzo Di Vittorio. Angela is the twin’s godmother, so the trio would see each other often. The family did grow apart as the children got older, Sonny got caught up in his own groups. At age seventeen, Sonny’s father died. He drowned in a bath tub while extremely drunk. Sonny took that part of the business when he turned twenty, and he got it back into the Di Vittorio family’s good graces. His cousin had become acting boss by that point, so Sonny was at an advantage. Sonny killed for the first time when he was sixteen, when he broke a guy’s neck for attacking his friend with a knife. Sonny now works with distributing and managing product for the crime family, all the while having a gang of his own. 

Verses: None (Yet)

8. Naveen Pinto, 30 - 40, Bisexual, Jewel Thief

FC: Dev Patel

Information:

Naveen was born on December 12th, in Birmingham. He was the only child of Sai and Alia Pinto, and the family lived a happy life. Sai was a history professor and Alia owned a flower shop near the university. Tragedy struck when both Sai and Alia were killed in a bus accident on their way to work, leaving six year old Naveen all alone. Naveen was taken to an orphanage shortly after, where he spent life until his adult years. When Naveen turned 18, he left the orphanage and wandered around for quiet a while. Naveen committed his first theft when he was sixteen. Naveen aligned himself with criminals, but the robberies were always committed solo. His first successful jewel heist occurred when he was 20, and his career had been booming ever since. Naveen only had one cardinal rule. He would only steal from those who wouldn't go hungry.

Verses: None (Yet)

9. Christopher Yang, 25 - 30, Heterosexual, Boxer

FC:  Lewis Tan

Information: W.I.P

Verses: Supernatural (Vampire)

10. Serkan Yavuz, 35, Heterosexual, Assassin

FC: Can Yaman

Information: W.I.P

Verses: Supernatural (Werewolf)

11. Michael ‘Micki’ Ledger, 25 - 30, Heterosexual, Lead Singer of the band ‘The Saints’

FC:  Dylan O’Brien

Information:  Warning - Mentions of abortion, cheating, child neglect, suicide, alcoholism

Michael Ledger was born in Las Vegas, Nevada to world renowned singer Montgomery Ledger  and his mistress, Grace Williams. To his knowledge, Montgomery had initially paid his mother to abort the baby but Grace threatened to expose the affair to the press and his wife. Montgomery  agreed and Michael was born on the 12th of May. Montgomery never acknowledged Michael, he was never around. It was funny how Montgomery tried to keep his family stable, considering all the affairs he would have later on. When Michael was around ten months old, Grace showed up at Camille Vega’s door and left Michael with her. Michael is forever grateful that Camille took him in and loved him, despite of what her husband had done. Michael also got an older sister, Josephine, who he adored. Unfortunately, Camille turned to alcohol to deal with her depression and ended up taking her own life when Michael was fourteen and Josephine was sixteen.

Verses: None (Yet)

12. Kerem Yildiz, 35, Heterosexual, Assassin

FC: Çağatay Ulusoy,

Information:  Warning - Mentions of death, blood, illegal activity

Kerem Yildiz was born on January 12th, in Turkey. Their primary residence was in Bursa, but his family had a small farm in the country side. They weren’t rich by any means, but both his parents worked to make the money they wanted. His mother was a nurse, and his father was a lawyer. What Kerem didn’t know was that his father was the lawyer of a large criminal enterprise. He figured that out when he was thirteen, when he eavesdropped on a conversation his father was having in his study. When Kerem was fifteen, his parents were executed by said criminal organization for suspected collaboration with the police. Kerem watched it all unfold before him, and before they could put a bag over his head, Kerem fought them off and escaped. Kerem ran and ran, until he stopped to rest in a nearby town. There, he met a boy named Serkan, who was the same age as him. Kerem wanted nothing to do with him at first, but the two became inseparable over time. Thick as thieves. Kerem performed his first kill when he was twenty, on a local gang leader that was causing trouble. When he found out that he could be paid for that, he worked hard on his skills and became one of the most ruthless assassins around. 

Verses: None (Yet)

13. Edward Archer, 40 - 45, Heterosexual, Ex-Criminal/Mechanic

FC: Richard Madden

Information:  W.I.P

Verses: None (Yet)

14. Shay Sullivan, 30, Heterosexual, Singer

FC: Jack O’Connell

Information:  W.I.P

Verses: None (Yet)

15. Dallas Washington, 30 - 35, Heterosexual, Boxer

FC:  LaRoyce Hawkins

Information:  W.I.P

Verses: None (Yet)

16. Asher Morrison, 25, Pansexual, Warlock

FC:  Joseph Quinn

Information:  W.I.P

Verses: None (Yet)

17. George O’Neill, 35 - 40, Heterosexual, Irish Mob Enforcer/Pianist 

FC: Oliver Jackson Cohen

Information:  W.I.P

Verses: None (Yet)

18. Erik Karlsen, 35 - ???, Heterosexual (???), Vampire

FC: Michiel Huisman

Information:  W.I.P

Verses: None (Yet)

19. Burak Ozdemir, 35 - 40, Heterosexual, Detective/Cop

FC: Ekin Koc

Information:  W.I.P

Verses: None (Yet)

20. Raphael Colombo, 45 - 47, Heterosexual, Assassin

FC: Keeanu Reeves

Information: W.I.P

Verses: None (Yet)

21. Jason Carter, 20 - 25, Heterosexual, Surfer

FC: Rudy Pankow

Information: W.I.P

Verses: None (Yet)

22. Abraham Crowley, 40 - 45, Heterosexual, Exorcist 

FC: Cillian Murphy

Information: Warning - Mentions of tuberculosis, death

Abraham Crowley was born in England, circa 1880. He was the son of a preacher and a midwife. They were both devout Catholics, went to church every Sunday and Abraham followed suit. His parents both died when he was 20, from the illness known as consumption. Abraham would join the army when the First World War started. He almost died in the battlefield, until he met an angel. The angel of death to be more precise. However, Abraham wasn’t ready to die, so he struck a bargain with the heavens. That bargain would expose him to horrors that were unimaginable. Abraham became an exorcist, approved by the Vatican and now spends his new immortality hunting and expelling demons from the world. 

Verses: None (Yet)

23. Benjamin “Booker” Davis, 40 - 45, Heterosexual, Detective/Cop

FC: Matthew McConaughey

Information: Warning - Mentions of serial killers, murder, religious abuse 

Benjamin “Booker” Davis was born in Memphis, Tennessee to a man named David and his wife, Angela. David was a very devout Catholic, and a very paranoid man. David would often beat Booker with a bible and threaten the boy with eternal damnation. They went to church almost every Sunday, unless one was sick and couldn’t go. His mother ran off with some accountant, leaving Booker alone with his father. At the age of fifteen, Booker ran away from home and went to Texas. He went to his uncle’s place, where he laid low for a while. Later, he would find out that his father never reported him missing. David’s reasoning for it was that his son was consumed by sin, and God finally removed him from David’s holy household. Booker hasn’t spoken to his father in two decades. Booker joined the force in his mid twenties, in Austin, Texas. His biggest case was the case of the Boogieman, a serial killer with a violent M.O. It was in this case that he met Mira Reed, the sole survivor of the viscous serial killer. The two bonded after that, and remained in contact still. 

Verses: None (Yet)

24. Diego Alvarez, 35, Heterosexual, President of an MC

FC: Alfonso Herrera

Information: W.I.P 

[bluebellhairpin]

No More

Fantasy AU!Levi Ackerman X Fem!Reader

Part One - No Feelin’ - Part Three - No Regrets 

A/N: SO I wrote a piece for a Discord Event and ummm I wrote a part two? instead of anything else I have backed up? In my drafts? And ask box? Oopsie? - Nemo

Summary: A year past, and word from you has been scarce to none. After leaving Levi high and dry last time, he’d been preparing for your return ever since. What he didn’t expect was to see you so suddenly - sitting atop the throne he was supposed to protect. 

Warnings: Violence. Language. Character Death. Blood (I feel I should emphasise this one, it’s... gorey. For me). Mentions of rape. Slight Misogyny. More of my bad poetry. MC says Zeke has a small pp. 

Listening to: ‘MORE’ by K/DA (slowed) - ‘When I go it’s for gold yeah, they cool but I’m cold. I don’t fit in the mold, I’m a rebel.’ 

Series Masterlist

Masterlist 

There was something about the eerie silence that followed your first ‘visit’ that set Levi on edge. 

He remembered how quiet you were as his subordinate. How you stood back and watched when you could, but managed to surprise everyone when you had to get in and get dirty like all those others training to be a knight. He wondered what he could’ve done to change things, to have stopped you from becoming that monster he fought in the throne room. 

He knew there was nothing he could do about that now, but something about those last words you spoke to him - ‘find your advantage’ - they just stuck with him. 

He knew the sword he was given was special. That it had abilities that no human blacksmith could’ve given it. It gave him strength. Immunity. It could heal, rebuild, and it gave him the ability to endure. Yours was not like that.

The people the King put in charge of studying it said it was destructive. That everyone who tried to wield it in the past had suffered nothing but pain, and in trying to control the power it held they’d only succeeded in killing themselves. 

Levi knew that you were not like them. Not before. Not a year ago. He knew, not now either. 

“You’re very diligent in welcoming me back, Little Captain.” 

And how he hated it. 

He was left frozen in shock, watching you as you sat atop the throne - legs crossed, the fingers of one hand tangled in the hair of the old king’s body-less head, while the other held that damn sword. The crimson of his blood matched your tainted skin, dribbling down your arms to match your bright veins, and the color of your dreaded blade. 

It was like the color of corruption was red, and you were so soaked in it that it stained the floor. With that thought he could almost fool himself into thinking it wasn’t the king’s blood at all.

Except for the stench of it. It was like he was punched in the face with the reek.  

“Oh don’t look so surprised,” you said, tutting at him and waving the kings head in his direction, “I thought you would’ve been preparing for my return.” 

“You weren’t supposed to come back.” 

“Oh, but the king was sitting so nicely on his throne just then, I had to.” You said, letting the head drop to the floor. It rolled down the stairs, meeting it’s limp and pale counterpart. “Can you just imagine my joy when he was here to welcome me with a pretty little concubine between his legs. I couldn’t help myself!” 

“You’re insane!” he said, taking his sword in his hand and rushing up the stairs to be met with the tip of your sword at his throat.

“Ah ah,” you said, “You pledged your life to the crown, to serve and protect. I killed the old king, now the crown is mine.” 

He grit his teeth, cursing himself for not noticing. For not being fast enough. Then, and now. 

“Bow. To your new Queen.”

Levi would never admit how easily he obeyed you.

Despite knowing he had the power to over-power you, he didn’t dare use it. 

The old King - Fritz - had not been laid to rest. As far as he knew you had him turned to garden mulch. Him and anyone who decided you weren’t fit to wear the crown. 

He had to say, the rebellion that broke out once your position was made public - from those that wanted you gone, and those who thought that meant they could break the law because you did - was silenced much quicker than he’d seen a rebellion be silenced in his whole life. 

You slaughtered those who stood at the castles gate, pushing those who wanted you gone with a heel to the back of their heads. They who rebelled against you had a choice - die like those who banged on the drawbridge, and have their blood and innards join the muck in the moat, or submit like the knights. 

Then you took to the streets and made those who deserved it pay back what they had taken. If they stole from a market stall, they returned with interest. If they decided to rape, their manhood was taken. If they decided to kill, they paid with their own lives in turn. 

So despite your aloof yet demanding nature, your lack of empathy, and love of - putting it lightly - a hunt, you made peace reign over the kingdom. That was something all the knights could admit.

“She’s kinda hot though.” His eyes snapped over to a newer knight, Flotch, who was muttering to Jean, who was in turn doing a very good job of ignoring him. “You know, if you take away the creepy eyes, and those nasty veins on her arms. I’d tap that.” 

He had to resist from groaning. Of course there’d be people lewding their new ruler - a murderous one no less - and one of such people had to be one of his subordinates. 

“Seriously though, look -”

“- Watch your tongue, young one.” A voice said, and Levi did a doubletake to find you behind Flotch with a clawed hand around his throat. “Diminish me to a piece of flesh like that again and I’ll brand your forehead with a big fat ‘M’.”

“W-what’s that supposed to mean?” he slurred, his own grip now ghosting over yours.

“‘Misogynist’.” you hissed, tightening your grip on his throat before withdrawing, leaving dripping red marks behind. He stood still for a few short moments, then doubled-over, clutching his neck and letting out garbled noises of pain. 

“Serves him right.” Jean said, stepping past Levi and over Flotch’s legs to follow you as you walked away. 

“Something needs to be done about him.” you mused. 

“I agree. For once.” Levi said, stepping to his side to face you before mumbling an addition, “I bet his ass looks as hairy as an ape.” You barked out a laugh - loud, and as smooth as whiskey.

“That would account for the little monkey he’s hiding in his basement.” you said, leaning down to hush the comment in his ear. Levi could tell that there wasn’t an actual monkey, nor a basement, and a rushed glance down Zeke’s body also told him it wasn’t entirely true, however you had been everything but subtle about anything anymore. 

“Do you want war?” Zeke asked, covered eyes narrowing over at you. You tutted him, reminding Levi about the time you directed such an action at him - taunting with his failure of protecting the old king. 

“Would you go to war over a dick joke?” 

He wouldn’t. That Levi knew. No one was petty or childish enough to go to war with another whole-ass country just because it’s ruler said your dick was small. But Zeke was unpredictable. 

“I’d advise against it, personally.” you said, tapping your nails along the oak table, “It’s so mediocre. If I were to go to war with you I’d do something much more grand.” 

“Like what?” 

You smiled, wide and wicked, and Levi was reminded again of who you were. You’d beheaded the old king like he was just an unneeded piece of paper. You’d painted the castle moat red. Despite the good that was no doubt still there - somewhere - you were still very much evil. 

You were still corrupt. 

You raised a hand, performing a universal signal that meant to wait, and then a man came in. Huffing and sweaty, with eyes wide and broken. 

“Ze- you highne- Sir.” 

“- What?” Zeke asked, turning in his chair. Clearly unimpressed.

“Our capital. They… She attacked it!” Zeke turned back around, now looking much angrier.

“What?”

“Oh, it’s nothing major.” You said, waving him off as if he were just a child complaining about his socks not matching. “But your place of residence might have a few scorch marks now.” 

Zeke stood abruptly, drawing his sword, and causing a chain reaction. You mirrored him, drawing your own - abhit longer and glowing red in aggression. Levi drew his, as did the other guards, Erwin and Miche. And the two with Zeke drew theirs as well. 

There wasn’t a single person in the room that didn’t have a sword on them, and not even Levi could say he wasn’t on edge. But you? You just laughed, lowering your weapon.

“Okay, this is stupid. Let’s just -” 

“If you call burning my city ‘stupid’, then I’d love to know what you’d call me lathering your streets in your blood.” 

“Oh,” you cooed, “Looks like I struck a nerve. Or maybe you’re on your period?” 

“Quiet!” He yelled, pushing his sword closer to you. “Or do you want me to slice off your tongue.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

He tried. 

And much like anyone else who crossed your path, he was lucky to have just left with his tail between his legs. However, him being Zeke, had to leave behind something to be remembered by. 

This particular time it was in the form of a huge gash, spanning across your shoulder and up your neck. 

Despite your all-powerful nature, the power your sword gave you was not one that could heal. It took what it was given, and it corrupted it. So even if all Zeke gave you was a scratch, the power of your sword meant it took that scratch, and made it into a cut. Oozing blood, and pulsating with a pain that made you wince with every heartbeat. 

You skulked away towards your chambers, a bottle of alcohol in your hand, and closed the door behind you. 

Levi knew that it could very well kill you. That’s what you were warned of. It would give the kingdom a chance to regain a sane ruler. It would be good if you died. 

‘From chaos to healing, is where to gain the sealing; 

Where they be kneeling, you’ll have no feeling.’ 

Those were the words you told him the first time you met. But later, after you started ruling and he became your own personal guard, you told him there was more. There were ruins. Books. A whole civilization even. Those two phrases were just a part of a whole. A whole that you knew. 

‘The one who stops the war, to try and reach the core;

Along the gentle shore, they will gain more.’

There was more to that sword than just corruption, and there was more to his sword than just healing. 

Leaning against the wall outside your room, he took his sword in his hands, watching as the symbols along it’s blade glowed up at him from the interaction. 

He could save you, but would it be worth it? 

[writingfromkitchenator]

The Demon, The Hunter, and The Halfblood

Masterlist

Crowley x Original Female Character

Chapters: One

Series Warnings: A/B/O series, some Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alpha x Omega, obligatory smut warning here (as usual, no under 18′s please, specifics will be within chapter warnings as needed), violence, blood, fluff, angst, major character death, possession, swearing

Chapter 2

Words: 2,742

Madelyn was furious, and if there was one thing that no one ever wanted to do, it was piss off an Omega, especially when they were a hunter.

These demons were going to get what was coming for them.  It wasn’t the first one’s she’d dealt with and she doubted it was going to be her last.

Her teeth bared in the dark, eyes watching at the several demons patrolling, her hand lose on the angel blade in her hand, trying to work through her anger on what was going to be the best way to deal with this.  She’d managed to kill two of the ones that had entered her home, but these were the ones that had gotten away, and gotten away with something that Madelyn cared about deeply.

She could be angry at herself and Crowley later for this happening.  For now, she had to focus on them.

Two demon voices reach her and she looks over at them from where she was currently hiding.

“Why aren’t we just using ‘em against Crowley now?”  One asked. “Surely one’s enough?”

“Come on dude, surely you know that the more we have on Crowley, the better.  If those idiots inside hadn’t fucked it up so bad, we wouldn’t need to be so on guard with this.”  The other said coldly.  “I wouldn’t have thought it would be that hard to capture a hunter and a kid.”

Madelyn’s eyes flash and she creeps forward, being careful not to be seen.  She hadn’t spent all her life hunting to be taken down by a couple of demons, especially when she had a few tricks of her own now.

The two guards didn’t know what hit them, her blade moving fast and silently, igniting them both from within and leaving them as nothing but cold corpses on the ground.  Those two were pointless, the ones she was really interested in were the ones inside.

The ones that had her daughter.

Crowley had been overdue, Madelyn getting increasingly worried.  She’d been about to text him when the demons had somehow gotten around all the defences set up, and that was when she’d told her to run.  

Madelyn had fought, and as she’d fought, she’d heard a scream, a scream that no mother wanted to hear. With terror, she’d realised that she had run to her safe space, her room, and the demons had found her.

The demons were quick to leave, leaving the ones that Madelyn had killed, and she’d spent the last several hours tracking them down to here.

Now the demons were going to pay.

Breaking into the building felt too easy, as did silently moving through the halls, but the closer she got, the more she knew that this was going to end right now, one way or another.

They knew she’d be coming, if they were any sort of smart, they would’ve suspected that she’d be coming with Crowley, but from what she could tell, they were barely any sort of prepared.  Clearly they were as half brained as Crowley always made out.

There was another demon in the hallway and her angel blade launched and lodged in his throat before he could make a noise, dropping quickly to the ground.  Madelyn took the blade with hardly a thought and burst into the next room.

“Mummy!”  Casey screamed from a chair in the middle of the room.

Madelyn didn’t have a chance to respond to her, several demons launching at her at once, and with a furious growl, Madelyn didn’t hesitate to engage.

The first one went down easily, making the mistake of trying to get to her alone, the next closest two learnt from the first, taking her on at once.  Madelyn was fast, and the blade moved easily in her hand, but what gained her the real advantage was the immunity to a third demons power.

She couldn’t help it, shooting him a grin as he tried again and again to throw her across the room only for nothing to happen.

Her body took a few hits, especially as the third finally decided to give up and charge into help, but she didn’t waste time, slitting the throat of one of the original two, letting them drop, her gun came out and shot the other, staggering them back and giving her enough time to brace for the third.

Except he was better, he caught her movement as she went to stab him, moved out of the way of her gun as she fired and sent it flying from her hands.

Madelyn cursed as she was grabbed from behind, the other demon having recovered, and for the briefest of moments her grip loosened just a little too much on her angel blade, allowing the other demon to take it.

Her head cracked back into the demon behind her, smashing his nose in a shower of blood, making him scream, but he doesn’t let go.  The other demon came back in with the blade, aiming for her stomach, and she just managed to grab his hand, stopping it just short.

A brief standstill came to pass as Madelyn struggles to both hold back the angel blade and to fight against the one still holding her.

She might have had some extra skills at her disposal, but that wasn’t always useful.

The blade slipped forward and Madelyn barely held back a grunt of pain as the blade began to sink into her stomach.

“Mummy no!”  Casey shouted and then a high pitched scream left her.

The effect on the demons was instantaneous, the three remaining in the room, the third by Casey’s chair, all covering their ears to try and block out the child’s scream. Madelyn let out a breath, feeling the echo of power, the scream hurting her ears but not debilitating her.

She pulled the blade free from her stomach and made short work of the distracted demons.  Three quick movements and the demons dropped dead, and Madelyn hurried to Casey.

“Casey.  Casey!”  She said loudly, dropping to her knees in front of her, trying to get her to stop. “It’s okay baby, they’re all gone.”

Casey stopped and instantly started to sob, throwing her arms around Madelyn, who pulls her close. “They hurt you!”

“I’ll be okay,” Madelyn said, quickly picking her up, ignoring the burning pain from her stomach. “I can sort that out later, we just need to get somewhere safe.”

“Where’s Daddy?” Casey asked, her voice trembling through the sobs.

“I don’t know baby, but we’re going to find him okay?”  Madelyn does a quick scan around outside, making sure that there aren’t any more demons. “We just may need some help to do that.”

Madelyn broke into the first car she found, quickly getting Casey securely into the back seat, telling her to get some sleep while she drove.  Before she jumped in herself, she removed the jacket she had on and tied it as best she could around the still bleeding wound in her stomach.  If she didn’t have Casey with her, she would’ve gotten herself to a hospital, or even stitched the wound over herself, but right now, getting Casey to safety was top of the priority list.

Darkness seemed to give away to dawn far too quickly for Madelyn’s taste, tiredness setting in over her, mixed with exhaustion and blood loss from the fight.  She knew that there wasn’t far to go, but she also knew that the daylight made them more exposed.

She wasn’t looking forward to the coming explanation either, but she hoped they could hold from that until she at least found Crowley.

Bobby’s house hadn’t changed as she pulled up as close as she dared, the sun still rising in the early morning.  She sat back and drew in a couple of deep breathes, not really knowing where else to go, and for a moment she glanced back at Casey still sleeping in the backseat.

After all this time, she didn’t have any other choice.

Sighing, she struggles her way out of the car, the wound burning away and her vision swayed for a moment.  She was cutting this far too close for her liking, but she struggled up the stairs anyway.

Madelyn knocked on the door. “Bobby?”

She knew that he would likely react with all sorts of tests, but she hoped the bleeding wound in her side would also put a stop to that.

It was hard to tell who was more surprised when the door opened however, Sam staring a little open mouthed at her.  “Maddie?”

Madelyn smiled weakly at him, even as there was crash from another room.  “Hey Sammy, don’t suppose you want to help your sister out after all this time?”

Sam caught her as she stumbled forward, his expression instantly turning grim at the sight of the blood and then the wound.  Dean’s anger followed him to the door, but died instantly when he saw her pale expression.

“Holy shit Maddie, who the hell have you been fighting?”  Dean said, taking her other arm as they half carried her into the lounge.

“Just the usual demons,” She said, giving half a laugh as they sat her down, Sam hurrying off to find a med kit.  “One of them got lucky with an angel blade.  Can’t say it’s a fun thing to be stabbed with.”

Dean grimaces, keeping pressure on the wound until Sam got back.  “You better go wake Bobby.”

“Before you do,” Madelyn lets out a low hiss as Sam pulls her jacket and shirt away from the wound. “I don’t suppose one of you’d care to go and get the little girl out of the backseat?  I can’t imagine how she’d respond to waking up alone.”

Sam and Dean shared a look that Madelyn missed, her eyes jammed shut from the pain, but Dean nods. “Yeah…sure.”

A little while later, Dean comes back in with Casey in his arms, her black hair mused from sleep and rubbing her tired green eyes, quickly finding Madelyn.

“Mummy?” Her voice trembled a little and she started to squirm in Dean's arms.

Madelyn quickly hid the pain in her face but held up a hand to stop her.  “Hey baby, it's okay, I'm going to be okay, you just have to stay with Uncle Dean there for a little, alright?”

Casey stops squirming and blinks at her, looking to Sam, then Dean, and then Bobby as he entered and froze in the doorway, wondering what the noise was.

“Casey,” Madelyn drew her gaze back to her.  “Do you remember me telling you about Uncle Dean, Uncle Sam and Uncle Bobby? Do you remember what I said?”

Her bottom lip trembles a bit, but she nods.  “You...you said I'd be safe with them.”

“That's my girl,” Madelyn smiles at her, ignoring the pain from the wound as Sam does his best to clean it.  “”You're such a smart girl.”

Casey sniffs. “Where's Daddy?”

Madelyn didn't miss the shared looks between Sam, Dean and Bobby.  “I don't know baby, we'll sort that out when Uncle Sam's got me all patched up, okay?”

She nods, but still looks unsure.

Madelyn glances over at Bobby.  “Uncle Bobby, you have eggs?”

Bobby finally seems to move, frowning at her.  “Yeah?”

Madelyn smiles.  “Do you think you could cook Casey up some scrambled eggs for breakfast?  It’s been a while since she’s eaten.”

He blinks for a moment but then his expression softens on the little girl in Dean's arms.  “Yeah…I can do that.  You want to come with me sweetie?”

Bobby holds out his arms for Casey, who looks at him for a moment before going to him, quickly disappearing into the kitchen.

Madelyn lets out a sigh and her expression screws up in pain.

Sam watches her, worried, but keeps cleaning over the wound.  “How old is she?”

Her eyes shut.  “Not longed turned four.”

“Four?” Dean cut in first before Sam can say anything.  “You have a four year old daughter and you didn't think-" He cuts himself off, the anger returning to his expression.  “Screw that!  You've been alive all this time and you didn't think to tell us!?”

Madelyn opens one eye to peak at him, unperturbed.  “I had my reasons Dean, and in all honesty, I'd prefer it if you go let Crowley out of whatever hole you've put him in first before I offer any sort of explanation.”

Dean's expression darkened. “What makes you even think we have that slimy bastard?  Are you seriously telling me that that little girl in there is half demon?”

Scoffing, but then thinking better of it because of the pain, Madelyn rolls her eyes.  “I know all of your tells.  You were all very quick to react when she mentioned her father, and I figured by your other reactions that you'd already put two and two together.  As for the half demon thing, and please keep your voice down about it, we don't need the whole world knowing and we don't want to scare her any more than she is.  I would've thought that would be obvious.”

Sam cut over Dean then, quickly breaking the tension building in the room.  “Maddie, we need to get you to a hospital.”

Madelyn shakes her head. “No can do, Sam, with angels and demons hunting her, I can't take that risk.  They'll keep me in there longer than I can be.”

“The wound is too deep-"

“Patch it as best you can, my body will do the rest.”  Madelyn waves a hand.  “As long as I'm not bleeding anymore, that's all that matters.”

Sam still looked at her concerned, glancing at Dean, but it was clear that nothing was going to change about the situation any time soon.  Sighing, he pulls out a needle and a thread and started to stitch the wound together.

“How can you be so nonchalant about this?”  Dean asked coldly.  “How can you even just lie there like nothing has changed?”

“My previous comment about Crowley still stands.”  Madelyn said, her eyes drifting shut again.  “And I do suggest letting him out before a half demonic four year old learns that you've been keeping her father prisoner.”

“No,” Dean said before Sam could say anything.  “He owes us answers.”

“He owes you squat Dean, and I promise you she will tear this house apart if she finds out.”

“Can we just cut the shit, please.” Sam said firmly, glaring between the two of them.  “None of this is going to help either of us get what we want.”

“But-"

“Go take a walk Dean,” Sam said, a little angrily.  “Go and cool off for a few minutes.  We hardly need a fight in front of Casey.”

Dean's mouth opened and closed a few times before he rolled his eyes and huffed, storming away.

“Good to see not much has changed.”

Sam shot her a look before going back to stitching the wound.  “You certainly don't help.”

“Well, we can't all be winners.”  Madelyn sighs, the pain still clear on her face as Sam finishes but it's clear it's somewhat eased.  “So why do you have Crowley here? I'm trying not to be mad over what I've just been through with Casey, so an answer would be nice.”

Sam places gauze over the wound.  “We're trying to find out how to remove something Crowley helped Dean get. He mightn't have answers directly, but he might know someone who does.”

“Hmm?” Madelyn opens her eyes again to look at him, a slight frown creasing her brow.  “You're talking about the Mark of Cain right? And Rowena, charming mother in law she is too, but I can promise Crowley's been looking for her too, much as I disagree.”

“You...you know all about it?”

“Of course I do,” Madelyn shifts and sits up, holding her side for a moment and letting out a slow breath.  “Or did you real think Crowley wouldn't keep me up to date on my brother's?  Although, I usually have to work through the smart arse comments.”

Sam watches as she stands, draws in a deep breath, and make her way into the kitchen, the pain dying before she came into view of Casey.  “You enjoying your breakfast?”

A worrying feeling was starting in the back of his mind, but he just wasn't overly sure how to deal with it.

[undermounts]

Bound—Chapter 11: Jump

AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: The hunters become the hunted.

Pairing: Gaius Augustine/Diana Leigh (BB MC)

Chapter warnings: blood and violence

                               Oslo, Norway, 2042

Diana stood below a large split-flap display, comparing all of the departing ferries from Oslo. She rubbed her eyes as the small white letters came in and out of focus and leaned into Gaius’s side. After a seven-hour train ride, they finally stood in the ferry terminal in Oslo, trying to find the next departing boat.

“The next ferry leaves at four for Copenhagen,” Diana noted, her thumb absently brushing over the back of his hand. “But we won’t arrive until around noon.” She glanced up at him. “Can you…?”

Gaius’s jaw was tense and he didn’t exactly look too happy about their prospects, but he nodded. “I’ll be fine. I can manage until we find a place to go. The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

Diana nodded, squeezing his hand once before pulling hers out of his coat pocket. She turned towards the ticket office. “I’ll go get the tickets. Just sit tight, alright?”

Half an hour later, they stepped off the gangway from the terminal and onto the ferry boat, ready to settle in for yet another long trip. As they entered the main seating area, Diana paused, cringing as Gaius swore beside her.

Massive windows lined the sides of the boat, looking out at the dark blue sea and the gradually lightening sky beyond. Windows were not a problem for Diana, but Gaius on the other hand… 

Diana bundled his sleeve in her fist and pulled him forward, out of the entryway. “I’m sure we can find someplace without any windows.”

They circled the entire room twice in a fruitless search for a pair of seats that weren’t in view of the wide windows before giving up, settling for a cushioned booth tucked into a far corner whose view was at least partially shadowed by the wall and a structural pillar. Scowling, Gaius slid into the booth first and Diana followed, setting their bags on the floor before them.

“You’re just going to have to keep your hood up, Gaius,” Diana advised, tugging on the material of his coat for good measure. “And if you feel any sun just tell me and I’ll try to block it.”

Gaius huffed and gently slapped her hand away, readjusting his hood and shoving his hands into his pockets. Diana rolled her eyes. Apparently, he could fuss over her but didn’t like when she did the same.

Diana studied his profile as he glared at the floor, jaw clenched, and got the sense he wasn’t just irritated because of the long ferry ride or the oncoming daylight. She nudged his shoulder, her voice taking on a softer tone. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

Sighing, he lifted his head and folded his arms across his chest, glancing at her sidelong. Honestly?

Diana nodded, resting her hand on his knee.

“Things could be better,” he admitted, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the chair’s headrest. 

“Because of what the woman said,” Diana inferred, biting the inside of her cheek. The First will walk again, Second Son, and you will pay for your betrayal. In your blood and hers. A reiteration of the old prophecy, one that had already come to fruition and found resolution. But still, recalling it sent a shiver down her spine. “About Rheya.”

“Yes.” Gaius rubbed his temples and a muscle in his jaw feathered. “The Daughters want to bring her back.”

Diana pursed her lips, toying with her necklace as she stared out the window at the rolling waves. They had begun to move. “But they can’t. Even if they got the…” Her eyes strayed to the duffel bag that contained the Vessel. “They don’t have her ashes. Those dispersed years ago.”

“I imagine they’re aware of that. They clearly know what the Vessel is, what it does, and what it requires,” Gaius said under his breath, speaking lowly. “And yet they still want it. Which makes me wonder if they’ve found a way around it. Or a remedy to it.”

Diana’s frown deepened and she pulled her hand away, slouching in her chair and resting her ankle on her knee as she thought.  “They wanted the amulet, too. The Mercurian Compass”

Gaius’s brows drew together, a crease forming between them. “Mercurius... He’s a Roman god.”

“Of?”  Diana tilted her head. She didn’t know much about Roman mythology. After seeing how important the history of Ancient Rome was to her now, she was starting to regret not taking Classics in college.

“Many things,” Gaius hummed, picking at a loose thread in his coat. “Wealth, commerce, communications, trickery, merchants, thieves…” Gaius’s shoulders suddenly tensed. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Travelers and boundaries.”

Diana sat forward, sensing the shift in his focus. “You’ve realized something. What is it?”

“The Mercurian Compass.” Gaius raked a hand through his hair and readjusting his hood, then slouched down, his posture mirroring hers. “Mercury and a compass, two symbols related to traveling. My guess,” he mused, gaze lazily swinging to the duffel bag on the ground, “is that if our amulet is aptly named, its function has something to do with transportation. Specifically, traversing boundaries.”

Diana tugged the amulet out from beneath her sweater and studied it, chewing hard on her lip. Gaius stiffened beside her and she heard his rebuke in her head. You’re wearing it?

I thought it best to keep it close. Diana barely spared him a glance as she drew its chain over her head and weighed it in her hand. Its power still lay dormant, unresponsive. Diana held it up, dangling it by the chain, and watched as it swayed in time to the boat’s gentle rocking motion, the pale green stone shining in the fluorescent lights. 

“You think it can… teleport people?” Diana raised her eyebrows. Even saying it aloud sounded absurd. But she supposed stranger things had happened. Much stranger.

“Distance is just another sort of boundary.” When she glanced over, she saw that Gaius was watching the Compass swing back and forth, his face drawn. “As is time.”

Diana wrapped the chain around her hand, gripping the pendant in her palm as she narrowed her eyes and sat up straight. “No. If you’re saying what I think you’re saying… Absolutely not.”

“It’s just a theory,” Gaius scowled, although the expression lacked any fire. He just looked weary. He exhaled, head lolling to the side so she couldn’t see his expression. “It would make sense. Why they want it.”

Diana glanced between him and the Compass, an ache starting to form behind her eyes. Although this pain, she knew, was not the result of an oncoming vision. This was fatigue and frustration, pure and simple.

Scowling, Diana looped the amulet back around her neck, tucking it safely beneath her clothes. The metal felt warm against her skin, its weight comfortable atop her chest. “Well, whether your absurd theory is true or not—and for the record, I think it isn’t—the Daughters of Rheya won’t get it. I won’t let them.”

“That much,” Gaius murmured, “we can agree on.”

Diana smirked and shook her head, pulling out her phone to entertain herself. “Get some sleep while you can. You’re going to need all of your strength to face the sun.”

Gaius didn’t seem inclined to listen. He shifted in his seat, studying her face. “What do you know of the Roman gods, Diana?”

Diana’s brows lowered and she glanced up at him. “Not much. Why?”

“Your name,” he replied, tone thoughtful. “It’s Roman.”

She locked her phone and dropped it into her lap. “Is it?”

“Mm. There’s a Roman goddess named Diana. Goddess of the Hunt, Mistress of the Night,” he tilted his head, the gesture purely feline as his lip quirked. “Perhaps you were fittingly named,” Gaius wondered aloud and Diana’s lips drew into a frown. As if he could sense her displeasure, he straightened, giving her a look of cool appraisal. “That makes you uncomfortable. To be compared to the gods. You didn’t like it when the Little Folk revered you either.” His eyes narrowed, assessing. “Why?”

Oh, Diana did not like his tone one bit. It sounded as if he thought that he knew something about her she didn’t.

“The last two people I met that claimed to be gods were power-hungry sycophants,” Diana snapped, expecting him to scowl but his face remained impassive.

“Rheya and I were fools, yes,” Gaius admitted, his voice carefully neutral as he regarded her. “We had the power, but not the sense or the means to wield it properly. But you…” His eyes were fixed on hers, gaze unwavering. “You do. Twenty years have gone by and it has  not consumed you.”

“You said it yourself. Twenty years is nothing in the face of eternity.” Diana shuddered, drawing her coat tighter around her although she knew that it wasn’t the cold air that chilled her bones. “Rheya ruled with a steady hand for a while, but we all know how that turned out. I could end up like her one day, with or without Demetrius’s influence corrupting me.”

“No,” Gaius said simply. “I don’t think you will.”

Diana stared at him for a long moment before she scoffed, carelessly waving her hand in the air between them. “Well, surely, now that you think so, it can’t possibly happen. So, thank you, Gaius, for your vote of confidence.”

Diana knew she was just being coarse because she was irritated and tired of all of these damn mysteries, but to his credit, Gaius didn’t seem bothered by her attitude. He merely raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between her hand and her face. She wondered if his immunity to her attitude developed because he could be equally gruff and knew how to put up with it or because he knew what it was like to be at your worst and feel out of control. After all, he’d been trapped at that point for three thousand years. 

Have you ever had a bad day? he had asked her once, long ago on another boat in the middle of the South Pacific. I don’t mean a day that was bad. I mean a day when you were bad. When you were cruel and short-tempered? When you lashed out at those you loved? When you woke up the next morning and thought, ‘god, how could I have done those things?’

“You think having that much power is a bad thing. You’re scared of what it will do to you and what you will do with it.” Gaius’s voice was soft but not weak. He wasn’t accusing her, just stating the truths she already knew but was unwilling to face.

Diana stared at him, jaw clenched, but did not disagree.

“You don’t have to be afraid of your power,” he went on quietly. “Not all gods were cruel and indifferent. Many were protectors. Diana was a protector. A protector of nature, of women and children, of slaves and the oppressed. And I think that could be you, too, when you come into your own.”

Diana opened her mouth to protest, to tell him he had too much faith in her, when she heard his voice in her head. Just… think about it, Diana.

She pursed her lips but nodded anyways. Diana tugged on his hood once more, concealing his face from the rising dawn. “Get some sleep, Gaius. It’s been a long night and it’ll be an even longer day.”

His eyes roamed over her face for a long moment and Diana couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he saw when he looked at her like that, as if he could see right through her. But then he nodded and turned away, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Diana settled into her chair and scrolled through her social media for a while before deciding to draft up a brief email to Adrian, Kamilah, and Jax, letting them know she had a run-in with the Daughters of Rheya but was otherwise safe and on her way to Denmark. Then, feeling more than a little homesick, she swiped through her photos of her friends and family back at home until the ache in her chest subsided, just a little bit.

                            Diana woke up to the warmth of the sun on her face. 

She squinted, holding her hand in front of her eyes to block the glare of the light reflecting off the frothy sea beyond the window, and angled her face away, her cheek brushing something light and feathery.

Oh.

Gaius’s face was tucked into the side of her neck, his hood pulled up to shield him from the sun save for the tufts of hair that tickled her jaw. As Diana came back to herself, she realized she had been leaning into him just as much as he had been leaning into her. His warm breath, slow and steady ghosted along her collarbone, sending shivers down her spine.

As if they were acting on their own accord, her fingers swept through his dark curls and for a moment, she marveled at how silken they felt against her skin. Then she gently brushed them back from his forehead and pulled his hood into place. Diana sat there, trying not to think too much about the sudden tenderness she felt in her chest as she rested her cheek against the crown of his head and watched the sunlight dance across the crashing waves.

                            Copenhagen, Denmark, 2042

“This place is incredible,” Diana breathed, gaping at the colorful buildings around them, their reflections rippling in the still sea, disrupted only by the gently swaying sailboats that lined the docks. Diana inhaled, her mouth salivating at the scent of grilled meat. Several sausage stands were set up along the waterfront, and Diana was momentarily reminded of the hot dog carts at home, even though these looked significantly more appetizing. “I never thought to visit Copenhagen, but I am so glad we’re here now.”

“Glad to hear it,” Gaius deadpanned and Diana turned to face him, unable to stop the grin that tugged at the corners of her lips.

Oh, he looked positively miserable, with his hood drawn and his coat buttoned all the way up to his throat. Diana couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but she had a feeling he was glaring at her.

Diana schooled her face into one of neutrality, just to humor him and checked the directions on her phone to the hotel she had booked on the ferry. “Come on, it’s not far.”

Gaius merely huffed and begrudgingly followed her through the streets of Copenhagen, only snapping at her once when she lingered too long at a street food cart. As they got farther away from the waterfront, the streets grew quieter and less populated, leaving Diana to marvel at the peaceful atmosphere. At one point, Diana shed her outer layers and couldn’t help but smile at the way her skin warmed beneath the sun, its rays unobstructed by clothing or even panes of glass.

You’ve missed this, Gaius observed and Diana glanced back at him, shifting her backpack on her shoulders.

Yes, she replied, leading them around another corner. But I didn’t even realize it until now.

Why do you keep the night hours? Gaius matched her stride, now walking beside her. If you can go out whenever you want?

Diana half shrugged. Habit. Back in New York, all of my friends didn’t have a choice but to only go out at night, and I wanted to be with them, so…

A beat of silence, then, You know, just because I have to avoid the sun doesn’t mean you have to stick with me. You don’t have to stay up all night dealing with my memories.

Diana raised her eyebrows at him, then looped her arm through his and offered him a bashful smile. I know. But I want to.

Gaius’s step faltered beside her and Diana watched his brow knit behind his glasses, his Adam's apple dipping tantalizingly beneath the collar of his coat. Then he huffed and kept walking, pointedly staring straight ahead, although he didn’t bother to shake her off.

They turned down an isolated sidestreet overlooked by wrought-iron balconies decorated with potted plants. They were about halfway down the block when Gaius slowed, his arm stiffening against hers. Diana felt his wariness wash over her.

Diana…

Diana just barely detected the softest of thuds and began to turn when something punched through her knee, the shock settling in milliseconds before the pain. She cried out wordlessly, her grip on Gaius and her bags loosening as she fell to the ground, glimpsing the crossbow bolt that jutted out of her leg. As Diana’s vision whited out, there was a rustle of fabric, a grunt, and then—

“Traitor.”

Hearing that ignited something in Diana’s blood and her anger overwhelmed her pain. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to get to her feet, about to rip the bolt out of her knee as she turned, snarling, “You know, I’m getting really sick of you guys and this ‘traitor’ bullshit—”

Diana halted in her tracks, grimace falling from her face.

Dressed in slim black pants, a white-sleeved shirt, and a cloak of emerald green was Serafine Dupont, a crossbow strapped across her back, one gloved hand holding a dagger, the other outstretched. But not towards her.

Diana’s heart plummeted. “Gaius!”

Gaius was on his knees at Serafine’s feet, back curved like a bow as he hunched over, hands splayed on the ground before him. He was breathing hard, swearing, as he fought against Serafine’s control. His hood was shoved back, glasses discarded so that his skin was fully exposed to the sun. There were yet to be any serious effects, but Diana could sense his discomfort through the bond, harsh and stinging.

Diana glared at Serafine, her hands clenched into fists. “Stop this, Serafine. Now.”

“Give me what I want,” Serafine countered, breathless. She was winded, a blush high in her cheeks as if it were taking everything she had to keep Gaius down. “The Vessel of Gabal and the Mercurian Compass. I know you have them.” Her dark eyes scanned Diana. “I can sense it.”

“No.” Diana shook her head, drawing her power up, feeling it roil beneath her skin, begging to be released.

“Don’t!” Serafine’s eyes widened and she clenched her fist, causing Gaius to grunt and collapse to his elbows. “If you even try to touch my mind, I will shred his, Diana, I swear it.”

Diana stilled, eyes narrowing. She was almost certain that she could easily overpower Serafine and stop her from doing any real damage but… She glanced at Gaius and felt her chest crumple. It wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.

“Think about what you’re doing, Serafine,” Diana pleaded, meeting her gaze. “You want to avenge Rheya—”

“I am going to bring her back,” Serafine snapped with such fervor, Diana almost winced. This was the woman who had helped her, Adrian, and Jax. Who had given them shelter when they needed it and came to their aid in New York when the city was in ruins. She wasn’t supposed to be her enemy. “And I have thought long and hard about this—about him,” she waved the dagger in her other hand at Gaius, “the Second Son who betrayed our Goddess—and how he will pay.”

“Yeah, well I’m the one who killed her,” Diana said coolly, subtly testing her weight on her injured leg. It couldn’t fully heal because the bolt was still lodged in it, but the pain had subsided enough to provide some mobility. “So let him go.”

Serafine’s eyes softened for just a fraction and Diana had the inclination that the other woman didn’t want to fight her either, although Diana knew she still would. “You didn’t know better, Diana. You still don’t. If you help me bring her back, you’ll see it was all a misunderstanding and—”

Serafine cut herself off, her eyes suddenly widening. Her gaze fell to Diana’s neck, following an invisible line that trailed to her chest and traveled just below the hem of her shirt. Serafine’s lips parted and she breathed, “The Compass.”

When her eyes met Diana’s once again, Diana knew there was no reasoning with her anymore. 

Diana held up a cautioning hand. “Serafine, I don’t want to fight you—”

Diana watched in horror as Serafine brutally twisted her fist, jolting her wrist up, and Gaius went sprawling to the ground, limp and unmoving. Diana felt his presence in the corporeal plane extinguish like a match in the wind. No.

Serafine launched herself forward, slashing at Diana’s outstretched hand with her knife. Diana distantly felt the blade’s sting as it sliced through her hand. She took a half step back as Serafine ran at her, protectively covering the amulet with her bloodied hand while the other swung up, emitting a psychic burst of energy. 

Several things happened at once. Serafine was thrown back, body colliding with a nearby wall. Diana felt horrible pain flare tear through her very soul, radiating from the bond she shared with Gaius, who still had not moved. And the Mercurian Compass flared to life, steadily emitting a brilliant light.

Diana watched Serafine shakily get up on an elbow, her eyes widening at the spectacle.

There was a voice—no, thousands of voices that spoke all at once, all of them cold and ancient. It sent a violent shiver through her body as it asked, Where?

Diana had the sudden sensation that her body was being pulled in every direction. Meanwhile, waves of pain continued to roll through the bond, tearing Diana’s focus into two.

Where? the voices repeated, louder this time, and Diana had the suspicion that if she didn’t give them a destination, they would pick one for her. Another flare of pain radiated through the bond and Diana gasped aloud, pleading, “Somewhere safe!”

Diana barely had enough time to scoop up the duffel bag containing the Vessel and dive for Gaius, her arms pulling him against her chest before she disappeared in a flash of light.

                            Somewhere

Diana felt the impact of her knees hitting hard-packed earth and fought back a scream through gritted teeth. Distantly, she heard the end of the crossbow bolt snap and her vision went red. Everything hurt. Everything—

Clarity struck Diana like a blow and she remembered Gaius, heavy in her arms. She gazed down at him, his body half in her lap, still unconscious, his breathing shallow.

“Oh, god,” she croaked, her eyes blurring. Looking at him, so unresponsive, his presence in the world dim, she felt as if her soul were being torn in two. She lifted his head, brushing some straw away from his face—apparently, they had landed in a pile of hay in some sort of barn. Diana heard chickens cluck somewhere nearby but she blocked out her surroundings, focusing only on the man in her arms. She pressed her forehead to his and followed the pain that flooded through their bond, all the way back to its source, and dove into his mind.

Diana is back on the battlefield, in the hellish dreamscape of the first nightmare she’d ever seen of his.

Without even taking a moment to orient herself, she takes off running, following the tether in her chest to its anchor, the other half of her whole. Fires are blazing and dying men reach out, brushing her bare ankles as she hurls herself forward, unwilling to stop for even a fraction of a second.

Diana finds him kneeling amongst the dead, head bowed and shoulders rigid. She sees herself, bleeding out in his arms, watches as her bloody hand covers his on the hilt of a knife and begins to push the fine tip against his chest.

No. 

Diana rips the blade out of their hands, stopping it from piercing flesh and collapses to her knees. Her other self dissolves on a phantom wind and Gaius looks up at her, his eyes, red with grief, widening in surprise.

“Diana,” he whispers and she takes his hand, holding onto it like he’s her only lifeline, and pulls.

Gaius gasped, his chest heaving with deep, gulping breaths. His eyes looked around wildly, taking in the rustic interior of the barn they somehow found themselves in, miles away from Copenhagen, before they finally settled on Diana.

His fingertips skimmed over his own chest, then brushed against her cheek. “Diana.”

Diana sobbed, both in relief and joy, and threw her arms around him.

                            Tags: @bachelorettebound14, @somin-yin, @mkamra2355, @dorkylittleweirdo, @bigmemesplz, @choicesplayer101, @xbobbatea, @mindlesschicca, @vesselsynths, @mikewawazoski

[aquaticalay]

Centurion .Chapter Six.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Sequel to For Something Greater

Summary: (Y/n) is an active duty Navy SEAL Commander, the first and only woman to ever become a SEAL. After successfully stopping a genocide with the help of the Avengers, she becomes a bridge between the military and the earth's mightiest heroes. But even as her relationship with Bucky grows, she decides not to tell him about the nightmares and trauma that haunt her. Both their secrets begin to unravel when Bucky accidentally stumbles upon a piece of dangerous information about (Y/n) that she doesn't know about herself— something she must never find out about.

Genre: Action, Drama, Romance

Warning/s for the series: cursing, violence, death, eventual smut, PTSD

Warning/s for the chapter: cursing, graphic-ish violence, blood, death, description of a panic attack

Word count: 2.5k

Note: The plot is heavily inspired by the song 'in the dark' by Bring Me The Horizon, and 'Mercy' by Muse. So yeah, go listen to it if you want to :)))  I'll post a new chapter every two days.

Let me know if you want to be in the taglist!

(Taglist will be reblogged)

THIS IS A SEQUEL TO 'FOR SOMETHING GREATER.' IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THAT, THE MASTERLIST IS IN MY BIO.

TRIGGER WARNING! THIS SERIES REVOLVES AROUND POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER. (Including, but not limited to: anxiety/panic attacks, extreme mood swings , nightmares, intrusive thoughts, insomnia, irritability, hypervigilance, and hyperarousal)

That evening, when Bucky and Sam embarked on their small mission to New Jersey, you went through the files on the USB in the privacy of Bucky’s room. You locked the door and deactivated Friday in his quarters just to make sure no one finds out. At this point, you couldn’t risk being exposed, not a crime of this level. Not even to the Avengers, no matter how close they were to you.

You took a deep breath, hands shaking as you plugged the USB in. You managed to open the files you took from Fury’s computer. You skimmed the overall files, then went straight to his personal background.

His photo was blurry, a brown scan of an old worn out photo. It was recognizable, but it wouldn’t work for facial recognition. What you realized was then he had big eyes, and it was weirdly familiar. Where have you seen that before?

You read his short biodata, and one thing caught your eye. He was born in 1926, but the papers say he is alive as of 2017. 

How is that possible? Did Hydra give him an anti-aging serum? 

Michail Petrov’s files show that he didn’t seem like he was anything out of the ordinary, or at least not that different from other Hydra scientists. He went to renowned college and came out on top of his class, graduating with flying colors. A brilliant student, but something, or someone, lead him astray.

One of the few things intriguing about his profile is that he seemed morally grey, at least by your standards. According to the papers, his genetic engineering research had good intentions, a good heart with ruthless determination. Unforgiving pride. He wouldn’t let anyone stop his mission, whatever it maybe. To a degree, you saw yourself in him. 

If it was true, if he was still alive and you had to face him yourself, you knew you could fight pride with pride.

Like fighting fire with fire. An anger that rages within you knows that your deadliest sin is pride, and you cannot change it. It may be dormant now, but when the time comes, nothing can hold you back.

You were dangerous that way.

Your eyes glued to the screen, you read his goals.  He wanted to make a perfect world where people aged slower and lived longer, as well as leading countless research to make the human immune system better than it already is, making the human species ultimately resistant to diseases and delaying natural decay. It was almost unfathomable, impossible and ethically ambiguous science, but he found something that could theoretically work. It was brilliant, and to an extent, it had an equally noble purpose.

The way he did it, however, was bloody and murderous. He had, at the very least, a hundred people killed to try to achieve his goal, and in his papers, he had described them as ‘sacrifices for the greater good of mankind.’ 

He had most of his victims killed to study them, turn them inside out and reverse engineer them as if they were lifeless machines turning with cold gears instead of living cells. He did this in order to study everything that is unknown about humans, and from what your read, he did not care how he did it as long as he succeeded.

His ultimate goal was to create a new breed of supersoldiers that could integrate with the existing society, but he had failed. You did not blame him. It was too high a goal. However, from the same experiment, he managed to make fully-functional human beings using synthetic cells, grown in womb-like tubes. That remained his greatest achievement. 

And that was called Project Mercy.

As you delved further into the details of Project Mercy, you learned more. 

There were 21 living human beings that was the outcome of Project Mercy, which meant the floating, marble-white skinned girl that you found lifeless in Ukraine was the last of them.

Bucky was right. According to the files, almost all of them were dead. Most of them were euthanised when they developed some type of terminal illness, like cancer. Most of them were caused by their uncontrollably rapid mutation on a cellular level. Others were forcibly killed when they weren’t mentally sound, and you quote, 'impossible to control.'

Curiosity came over you, and before you knew it, you unknowingly came across a black and white security camera footage you wished you hadn’t clicked on.

It was a video of a young child strapped to a bed, a boy not much older that fourteen, in a cement-plastered room. If you were in there, you would have been claustrophobic. 

The boy was thrashing around, trying to escape his constricting leather confines. You noticed a scientist tinkering with surgical items in a stainless steel table. He had syringe in his hand. It was small, but the boy seemed to be was terrified of it. 

“Stay still, Mercy,” said the scientist calmly, only a slight russian accent on his otherwise american sounding voice. Stoic and emotionless. The boy did not answer. He let out a growl, primal and terrified. 

“Stay still, Mercy,” he repeated once again, this time in a sing-song voice, perhaps to comfort the boy, to lull him. The scientist smiled, and to your surprise, it seemed sincere.

The boy did not calm down. If anything, he only became more desperate to escape.

The scientist sighed sadly, “Just know that I did not want to do it the hard way.”

He hesitantly grabbed a surgical hammer, swinging it two times, three times, four times, to the boy’s skull until you swore you heard a deep crack in his skull, a drop of blood rolling down his forehead.The screams were fucking unbearable. You could hear the fear in his voice, laced with helplessness and horrific screeching. 

You wanted to look away, your body flinching and your eyes closing in instinct, but you can’t. If you wanted more information you had to see every waking second of it. You had to endure this to fully understand what Project Mercy was, or is.

So you forced your eyes open. 

Suddenly, his screaming stopped, and the boy limped.

He was unconscious, but still alive. His life support was still running. His heartbeat on the monitor was slowing, but not gone. 

The scientist dipped the needle of the syringe in his neck, pushing the white fluid in. “Goodbye, Mercy Three,” he said, a deep taint of regret in his voice, "You have served well, and I will make sure the world is thankful of your sacrifice," he stopped talking for a while, then leaned closer to the limp body. He whispered,  "I love you, my child."

 The boy flatlined, the pitch of the monitor ringing in your ears.

You gasped, hands in front of your mouth in shock. You let out a string of curses, hands buried in both your hands.

A wet tear streamed down your face. You could feel the boy's silence haunting you. You let out a sob, the cries you were unable to let outripping your heart apart, piece by piece.

What did you just watch?

In a twisted sense, you felt like you were watching a childhood story ruined. Like Geppeto putting an end to Pinochio's life because he had done too much damage.

The damage, however, was disturbingly unclear.

You whole body started shaking, and your esophagus felt like it was starting a gag reflex.

Focus, you thought to your time, breathing to calm yourself down. 

With quivering hands, you managed to paused the video, zooming into the scientist’s coat, at his name tag.

Michail Petrov.

You studied his facial features, which was clearer here than it was in the profile photo. He had fair skin, and a long, sharp nose. He had a symmetrical eyes, thin lips pressed into a line and a buzz trimmed hair. 

You didn’t know what you expected, but he looked normal. 

If you passed him in the streets of New York, you wouldn’t have looked twice or even bat an eyelash. 

That terrified you.

Your observation was disturbed by a sudden knock on the door. 

Surprised, you quickly changed the screen into a new tab. 

“(Y/n), I’m making soup. Would you like some?” Wanda called to you from the other side of the door.

“Sure,” you replied hastily, heart thumping. Your fingers were tense and trembling, still in shock.

“Okay,” Wanda replied, and from the sound of it, she did not suspect a thing. Thank god.

“I’ll let Friday know when I’m done,” she informed.

“Thank you,” You breathed, relief dripping out of your voice when you hear her walk away.

You reopened the tabs and braced yourself for more unexpected information. You started reading more.

Like Bucky said, you read that Mercy 1 and 2 were alive and last seen in 2014, but their profiles has been deleted. No photo or files or anything. You were in the dark, not a clue, at least for now. Knowing what you do now, you know the chances are Mercy 1 and 2 are alive and well are pretty good.

You looked into his lab in Kaunas, Lithuania, tracking down the exact location of his private laboratory. If there was any physical clue to where or who Mercy 1 and 2 two might be, it would be here, which means you had to go there.

You saved the coordinates, writing it down on a piece of paper just in case, so you won't lose it.

This was it. Your last chance at tracking down every last drop of Hydra.

You would let nothing get in your way. 

And you would make sure Petrov doesn't make it out alive.

From the other side of the room, your phone rang. You yelped in your seat just a little, before quickly grabbing the ringing device.

It was Diego Miller.

Shit, you thought to yourself. He had called you in Fury's apartment, why didn't you call him back? You could only hope he did not suspect a thing.

"Hello," you said through nervously gritted teeth.

"Commander," he said, "You're okay! I was worried when I saw the news— I, you did not answer your phone this morning."

"Yeah I… had things to do," you explained yourself, "what's going on? What happened this morning?"

"I was just checking if you got to New York safe," he told you, "you usually tell the team where you are. And you did not, so we were worried. Especially with what's on the breaking news"

"Oh," you let out a breath that you did not realize you were holding. Your breath hitched again when you processed what else he was saying. "Wait. What's in the news?"

"You haven't heard? It's breaking on all channels right now. It has been for the past one or two minutes." He sounded disturbingly surprised you didn't know.

Sensing the worry in his voice, you turned the TV on.

The screen greeted you with big bold letters on the foreground of an eerily familiar apartment block that was completely engulfed in flames— Nick Fury's.

"SAM WILSON REPORTED MISSING IN CIVILIAN MISSILE STRIKE, 24 REPORTED DEAD." The headline read.

"Shit," you cursed, "I— I gotta go."

Miller did not say anything, understanding how you must've felt.

Hands shaking  you hung up and tried to call Bucky. 

A million of negative scenarios ran through your head. Sam was missing, but Bucky's name was nowhere in the headline.

Suddenly, a series of loud knocks were heard on your door. "(Y/n)!" you recognized Clint's distressed voice, "You need to see this!"

You wanted to shout to Clint that you know what was going on, but the words were held back by an invisible force in your throat.

When you didn't respond, Clint started banging the door, "Are you in there?" He asked urgently, "Are you okay?"

You wanted to answer, you really did. But you can't.

Your focus was on your phone, trying to get hold of his number, but your hands were trembling so much that your phone fell to the ground.

You choked on your tears, trying to hold back your increasingly loud beating heart.

You kneeled down, trying to reach for your phone.

You felt the panic begin like a cluster of fireworks in your stomach. Tension began growing in your face and limbs.

The loud banging of the door and the chaotic bustle of the breaking news on the TV suddenly became deafening, too much for you to handle. 

Your legs failed you, and you fell to the ground, curling your body. "No," you whispered, "No, please."

You thoughts were speeding in your head, unrecognizable nightmarish memories clouding your head. Oliver Jones' and Ian Lawson's untimely deaths  the violence that you faced in King-Carver's ship. The hurt, the pain.

The thought of losing Bucky.

It was too much.

You breath came in gasps, feeling that you will black out. The room spun like a hurricane.

"I'm coming in, alright?" Clint asked, and you heard him at the back of your mind.

He easily bypassed the door, overriding Friday's security protocols via the emergency setting.

He came closer to you, worried when he saw you writhing on the floor, holding to a bedpost for dear life.

"It's me," Clint tried to calm you down, "It's Clint. Calm down."

Your voice slowed, but not by much. You managed to sit up.

"W-what— Sam and— and Bucky! They—" You gasped out.

"Yeah—" Clint started to say, but he was cut off by the ring of your phone.

You glanced at it, trying to read it and it was— Bucky!

Breathing an overwhelming sigh of relief, you scrambled for the phone.

"(Y/n)?" You hear him call from the other end of the line. Hearing the slight voice of the former winter soldier, Clint's shoulder released all his tension.

"Oh, god," you choked out, "You're okay!"

"A few bruises only," he reported to you, coughing microscopic degree out of his lungs. "I'm with firefighters right now."

"Sam? What about Sam?" Clint asked, and Bucky heard his voice in the background.

You set your phone on loudspeaker.

"He was taken," Bucky announced, frustration in his voice, "After the missile attack, I saw someone take him through the smoke. They were gone before I could get there."

He blamed himself for his best friend's disappearance, you could tell.

"Do you have any idea who did this? Who took Sam? Who ordered the missile attack?" Clint demanded.

After a heartbeat, Bucky answered, "no." 

He was lying. You know by his voice. Whenever he was lying, the edge of his voice drops a few notes lower. Barely noticeable, but you know. Clint, however, believed the lie. He sighed, shutting his eyes for some relief.

Bucky knows that it must be Michail Petrov, and you did too. Who else would it be?

Maybe he had a software to track where his profile was opened. 

But then why did it take so long for the missile to arrive?

A million questions swirled inside your head.

You had to find out why. You had to find Sam.

You convinced yourself that this mess was all because of you.

~

[frosthidden]

tag drop !

[supervalor]

Lose You To Love Me [Fanfic, one shot]

Title: Lose You To Love Me

Pairings: None (implied Karamel, mentioned Kelly/Alex)

Summary: Lena crosses a line and Kara realises that their friendship isn’t what she thought it was. Warning: Though Lena is in character, she doesn’t get redeemed. The writers did say it was a Luthor/Superman story.

Lose You to Love Me

“You got off on the hurting when it wasn’t yours”

“This dance was killing me softly, I needed to hate you to love me”

Lose You to Love Me – Selena Gomez

 Kara knelt on the floor, crippled with pain from the kryptonite cage that she was currently trapped in, courtesy of her former friend Lena Luthor. Oh how she had wanted to believe that the CEO had been misguided, that she was blinded by the pain from Kara’s betrayal. She wanted to think it was just a blip, a stumble that Kara could save Lena from herself from before it was too late. Now she knew she was wrong. She had so badly wanted to save her friendship, save the woman that she had been so close to previously but now she was finally being forced to accept that Alex was right. Lena was beyond her help now. Still, she had to try to get through to her at least one more time or she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.

“Lena, stop…you don’t…have to do this”, the blonde panted through the agony.

Cold green eyes glared at her from where she stood by her machine that was filled with an altered version of myriad. Of course myriad would never affect Kara which was why, as Lena had explained to her earlier, she had made a trap to keep Kara from preventing the launch. “I’m saving the world. You should be grateful. I’m a hero, Kara. I’m not hurting anybody, I would never do that”.

The worst thing was that Kara knew that Lena honestly believed what she was saying. But from everything she knew about her older brother, Lex had been the exact same way. In his own mind, he was the hero. “Please, Lena. Mind controlling the world, stripping people of free will, their ability to make their own choices…it’s slavery, it’s not saving the world, it’s imprisoning it”.

“People’s ability to make free choices has led to violence and death and pain and betrayal. I’m saving people from themselves” Lena snapped. “I’m removing those urges. They will be honest, kind, good…there will be no more evil, no more crime, and no more war. The world won’t need Supergirl anymore”, her dark painted lips twitched upwards into a smirk as though the idea of making the heroine obsolete was pleasing to her.

“And you…are you going to be part of this mind hive?” Kara winced as she stumble into the kryptonite infused bars and crumpled over.

“Someone has to make sure that the control holds. I made myself immune to the process”.

Kara forced herself to pull herself up despite her pain and look her once friend in the eyes. “And…what will you do about me? You can’t control me, myriad doesn’t work on me and I will never allow you to get away with this. I know you think this is for the best but making the world into your own mindless drones, taking away their ability to think for themselves, their imaginations…you’re going to strip away everything that is good about human beings!”

“You raise a good point”, Lena ignored the rest of Kara’s speech and sat down on a stool in front of her work station. “I…I don’t want to hurt anybody, that was never my intention. I made it a point to not kill a single person. Heroes don’t kill after all. However…if I let you be, you’ll figure a way out of that cage…I know you will. I’m not Lex, I’m not stupid enough to underestimate you. And then you will get in the way. That makes you a bad guy. You want to prevent world peace…I’m going to have to do whatever it takes to stop you”, Lena mused out loud, a gleam coming into her eyes and Kara’s heart dropped to the floor. “You have to die. It’s the only way”.

“You’re going to kill me? After everything?” tears filled Kara’s eyes as it settled in once and for all that her friend was gone. In front of her was a Luthor, one just as dangerous and delusional as Lex. There was nothing Kara could do to stop her. She had been pleading with her for hours ever since she fell into her trap, trying to get through to her. It hadn’t worked. And no one knew where she was to save her. They were in a secret underground lab that Lena had borrowed from her brother.

A somewhat apologetic expression came over Lena’s face. “It’s the only way. I don’t want to kill you but I have to. If you would only stand down…but then again, I couldn’t trust that you would mean it”. The black haired genius walked over to a vault in the wall and typed in the code. She pulled out a black case and put it out on her work station. Opening the case, Kara saw a gun and a green bullet. Her heart began to beat rapidly as she realised what it was.

“Good thing that Lex always keeps one of these in every one of his secret locations”.

“Lena, please!”

“I’m doing this to save the world. It’s the only way”, Lena lowered the bars of Kara’s cage but Kryptonite remained in a circle around her, preventing her from trying to escape or fight Lena. Kara remained on her knees, pain flooding every single cell in her body. Her blue eyes landed on the gun that her friend turned murderer was holding and the way it was pointed straight at her head. In that moment, Kara knew that she was going to die. She closed her eyes, not wanting the image of Lena, the person she thought was her best friend, holding a gun at her to be the last thing she ever saw.

BANG! A shot rang out but Kara felt no pain, to her surprise. She opened her eyes to see the gun on the floor, the green bullet in pieces and Lena on her knees. “Alex!” Kara exclaimed, shocked to see her sister in front of her with a rifle in hand. The red head gave her sister a worried look before glaring back down at Lena as DEO Agents filled the room, fully armed.

“How did you know to find me?!”

“We got a note from the future with these coordinates, warning us that you were gonna die tonight if we didn’t come”, Alex glowered at the unrepentant Luthor glaring back at her.

Kara blinked in confusion. “Wait…what?”

“The note appeared out of nowhere, unsigned but I recognised Mon-El’s handwriting. Thank goodness he sent us that or you…you’d be dead by now. Lena was going to kill you”, Alex’s eyes filled with tears. “I nearly lost my sister”.

“I’m sorry Alex. You were right. I thought…I thought I could get through to Lena…but the friend I knew is gone…if she ever existed in the first place”, Kara looked one last time at Lena but the woman wouldn’t meet her gaze. Alex helped her out of her restraints and removed the kryptonite so she could stand before turning back to their former friend.

“Lena Luthor, I’m placing you under arrest for kidnapping and the attempted murder of Supergirl. You are also under arrest for conspiracy to harm billions of civilians with stolen technology”.

Kara looked away as Alex cuffed the L-Corp CEO and handed her over to a team of agents. She watched as Lena was led away, feeling a large lump form in the back of her throat. All this time she had been feeling this helpless sense of guilt, taking the full blame of Lena’s decisions and actions onto her own shoulders but now she knew that it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t force Lena to do any of these things. She had been doing shady stuff behind her back for years, long before she felt betrayed by her. The only thing her finding out she was Supergirl had done was force her dark side into the light.

“I’m sorry, Kara. I know you didn’t want it to come to this”, Alex swung an arm around her shoulders as tears began to leak out.

“I didn’t but you were right. All of Lena’s actions are Lena’s, I didn’t force her into any of it and all this guilt will do is weigh me down and affect the decisions I make and I don’t want to live like that anymore. I mean I broke the law for her because I felt guilty and wanted to make it right. I should never have done that. It’s time that I accept our friendship is over and Lena is not the person I thought she was…I hoped she was”.

“You did what you could. You’re the paragon of hope, remember? You held out that same hope for Lena. Don’t ever lose it. It has made a difference, it has saved the world even and though it couldn’t help Lena it’s one of the best things about you. It’s your greatest super power”.

“Thank you, Alex. I needed to hear that”, Kara held her sister tightly before flying them both back to the DEO to write down their reports of what had occurred…or almost occurred.

 Three Years Later

 It had been a while since Kara had seen her. As she stood outside of the large prison, she took a deep breath. Quite a lot had changed since their showdown where Lena had almost managed to kill her. Kara’s long blonde hair had been chopped into a wavy bob, the fringe was gone and she had left her job at Catco. Alex had married Kelly and the two of them were talking about adopting. Kara was happy for them and she hoped that she would be able to come back and visit her niece or nephew at some point.

She was officially leaving National City. At least National City of 2023. Superman would be taking over full time with the justice league as the resident heroes of Earth 38, present time and she was heading to the future to help the Legion since they were down a few heroes and there were too many threats for the team to manage on their own. And besides from that…she wanted to be with Mon-El. He had been coming back for visits sporadically ever since the note he had sent had saved her life and they had reconnected. She was looking forward to giving them a real chance.

But first…she needed to see Lena one last time. For the past few years, Kara had been harbouring feelings that came dangerously close to hate. After all, she had been stabbed in the back, used and gaslighted into thinking she deserved it several times by someone she cared for and found out that the woman was willing and capable of killing her. Kara had struggled to get over pain and hurt that had lingered and now she was ready to just put it all behind her and move on.

Kara went into the prison, gave them her ID and was led to a visitor’s room. A little while later an orange clad Lena was brought in and seated across the table from her. “Supergirl…what do I owe this visit?” she smirked at her sardonically with a perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised. “It’s been a while…”

“I came to tell you that I’m leaving National City” Kara replied calmly. “I know you are due to be released in less than two years but I’ll still be around for visits. And then there’s the Justice League and Superman…they will be keeping an eye on you when I can’t…but what I really want to say is that I have hated you for a while now”.

Lena barely blinked at this admission. “You did more than just betray me with lies, Lena. You tried to kill me, you physically and emotionally hurt me and all while I thought we were friends. But I realised that holding onto hate isn’t doing me any good. I’m better off without you, I realise that now, but I also don’t hate you anymore. You don’t get to have that power over me. I forgive you for everything that you did but I’ll never forget and I would never trust you again ever.  I just don’t want to be burdened with these feelings that are just holding me back in every way”.

“Are you done?” the other woman asked, coolly, not moved in the least.

“That’s all I came here to say”, the superheroine confirmed as Lena looked at her curiously.

“Where are you going? I thought National City was your home”.

“National City is my home. Just not in the right now. I’m going where I’m needed”.

“Will I ever see you again?”

To Kara, it almost sounded like Lena cared but it was a little too late for that.

“I hope not”.

With that said, Kara stood up and walked out of the room, not looking back even once.

[get-your-fics]

Violent Delights - Chapter Six

The Path the Blade Follows

Summary: Bruce Wayne is addicted to a lot of things to distract from his dark urges, but his addiction to you might only increase them.

Pairing: dark!Bruce Wayne x reader

Series warnings: Violence, language, smut, rape/non-con, stalking, kidnapping, underage drinking, drug use, torture, abuse

CHAPTER FIVE

When I came to, I was laying on a hard, cold, stone slab. I sat up, my whole body aching. I slowly blinked, clearing my blurry vision to take in my surroundings. I was in a dark, damp network of underground caves lit up by candles lining the walls. Water ran down the side of wrought iron gates sealing off some of the archways and trickled to the ground.

“Bruce...”

My head snapped to identify the source of the voice. Ra’s al Ghul turned the corner and stood at the edge of a hallway. He stalked towards me with a curved dagger in his hand, the silver steel edge glinting in the dim light. I hopped off of the slab and readied myself to fight. “Where am I?”

“Beneath Blackgate Penitentiary. Alfred Pennyworth and Jim Gordon are upstairs.” He glanced at the ceiling for a second before focusing his attention back on me. “In the company, unbeknownst to them, of my men.”

I drew my thick brows together. “Let them go. They have nothing to do with this.”

“Still playing the white knight, Bruce?” He smirked at me like a crocodile barring its teeth before eating a meal.

My eyes widened as realization hit me. “You replaced the guards before I got here.”

“I’m sure your friends can fend for themselves.” His tone was patronizing.

“You applied for diplomatic immunity, knowing I’d hear about it and come for you.”

“I wanted the knife, but nor for the reason you think.” He looked down at the blade in his hand with admiration. “It’s been ages since I first held this dagger. It was given to me moments after I was bathed in the Lazarus Pit.” He turned away from me and held his hand out under a stream of water dripping from the ceiling. “Submerged in the waters, suspended between life and death.” He stared at the dirty water filling his palm, mesmerized. “I saw a vision of you, my heir.”

“You’re insane,” I spat. “I’m not your heir. I don’t even understand what that means.”

He faced me, and before I knew what was happening, he grabbed my clenched fist. “It means that you are the only one who can end my suffering.” He forced the handle of the blade into my hand. He stared at me with desperation in his eyes. “Please.”

I furrowed my thick brows. “You want me to kill you?”

He let go of my hands, leaving me to hold the blade. “Set me free.” I lowered my gaze to inspect the dagger in my grip. It felt heavy, like it was weighing me down and dragging me to the center of the Earth. “This may be hard for you to understand, but I have walked this Earth for centuries waiting for you, Bruce. Only you can kill me, and only with that dagger. That is my curse. That is the meaning of my vision.”

I lifted my head to glare at him. “I don’t believe you.”

He walked closer to me. “Believe me.”

“This is just another manipulation.” I clenched my jaw.

He drew his brows together, and my skin crawled under his intense gaze. He looked like a predator stalking its prey, and I wasn’t sure if he was about to devour me or not. “See. Look.”

He gestured down to a dip in the stone floor where a puddle of grimy water was gathering. On the surface, I could see his reflection, but it wasn't him. He still had all the same features, but ashy, gray skin was pulled taut over his bones. His face was creased with deep wrinkles and lined with purple veins. His hair stuck up in gray, wiry tufts on his head. His eyes were dull with deep, shadowed circles around the sockets. He looked like a ghastly wraith, but instead of being intimidated, I couldn’t feel anything but pity for him. He looked tired and sorrowful, like he just wanted to lie down, fall asleep, and never wake up.

“My true form,” he mused. “Every moment of my life is agony.” He looked back up at me. “End my suffering.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Whatever your curse is, you deserve it for what you’ve done,” I seethed through gritted teeth.

“You’re angry, Bruce. I understand.” His tone was almost placating. “But unless you strike me down with that blade, you will never be free.”

“No!” I cut him off, shaking my head. “I won’t.” I turned my back on him and walked away. An uncomfortable silence settled over the room, and I could feel the pressure mounting.

“Then allow me to tell you what will happen if you don’t kill me.” His voice sliced through the tension like the blade in my hand. “I will disappear and let you live your life. You will follow the path of light, grow into a fine man, become a husband, a father. There may be a day when you forget I ever existed.”

I felt a single tear leak out of the corner of my eye and roll down my cheek. It dripped off my chin and landed on the floor with a satisfying drop.

“But then, I will return.” His tone darkened and turned sinister. He crept closer to me, and I could hear the sound of his footsteps click against the floor. “And I will kill everyone you love. Just as you watched your parents die, just as you watched me slice your friend’s throat, I will slaughter your wife and children before your very eyes, and there will be nothing you can do about it,” he hissed directly into my ear.

Rage surged within me, and I spun around. I stabbed the blade firmly in his chest; the feeling as it sunk into his flesh was unforgettable. His eyes bulged, nearly popping out of his skull, and he let out an airy groan. “Die!” I growled and shoved the blade in deeper. His painful howls increased in volume and echoed off of the stone walls, piercing my ears.

I finally pulled the blade out. Its silver surface was stained with his dark, inky blood, but his shirt was spotless. He ripped open his shirt and revealed the concavity where I had stabbed him, but there was no blood. Instead, there was a fiery, burning ember exploding in the hole in his chest. His skin paled, and black liquid ran through his protruding veins, making them look like bolts of lightning. A wave of ash stemmed from the wound and ate up his flesh, singeing it until it resembled char.

He collapsed and leaned back against the stone slab in the middle. “Yes,” he sighed.

My whole body trembled as I watched his eyes sink into his sockets and glaze over with lifelessness. His skin shriveled until he was merely a sack of bones. He was completely unrecognizable from the man he had been a few moments before. He looked like he had been a dead, decaying corpse for centuries.

I heard footsteps behind me, and I whirled around to see Alfred and Jim Gordon standing in the archway, guns drawn. They lowered their guns when they saw me. Their gazes drifted down to Ra’s, and their eyes widened when they saw him, or what was left of him. My cheeks felt wet; I hadn’t even realized I had been crying. The blade slipped from my grip and fell to the ground with a reverberating clang.

I wonder what it would be like, if I hadn’t have killed him. I wonder what would’ve happened if I had met you and didn’t have blood staining my hands. Maybe I wouldn’t have hurt you; maybe he would’ve instead. Alfred always thought that the reason I turned to the partying and the drugs and the drinks and the girls was because I felt guilty for killing Ra’s, but that wasn’t true.

It was because I had enjoyed it.

-

“Bruce! Bruce, wake up!”

I jolted awake in my bed. My body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, the white sheets and my mess of dark curls sticking to me. My chest heaved up and down at a rapid pace, and I turned my head to see Grace sitting up in bed next to me. She held the sheets close around her bare body.

“Are you all right?” She leaned forward and caressed my cheek. “You were screaming in your sleep. Did you have a nightmare?”

“I’m fine,” I wheezed, swatting her hand away. I was shaking, and I hugged my knees to my chest. “You’re still here.”

She furrowed her brow. “Yeah, of course.” She tilted her head to the side. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

My breathing started to slow. “I don’t know. I thought you would be mad at me for last night or something,” I mumbled.

Her gaze lowered to the covers. “Oh, yeah. That.” She scratched her arm nervously. “Well, I know you’re going through a tough time right now. I want you to know I’m here for you.” She smiled and rested a gentle hand on my shoulder.

I ran my hands down my face. “God, I don’t want your pity.” I shrugged her hand off of me. “You’re not Mother Teresa, Grace. You’re just some horny chick who thinks she can chain me to her. You can’t help me, or fix me, or whatever the fuck you think you’re trying to do.”

Her expression contorted. “What?”

“I mean, how desperate can you be?” I laughed. “Did you really think I was gonna want to take you out to dinner and a movie just because I fucked you a few times?”

Her jaw hung so low, I thought it would hit the floor. “God, you are such an asshole, Bruce.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “You push away anyone who gives a single fuck about you.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just get the fuck out before I have to drag you out.” I gestured vaguely to the door before swinging my legs over the side of the bed away from her.

I held onto the edge of the bed, my shoulders square and my back tense. She didn’t say anything else, just gathered her clothes and cursed under her breath. I heard the door swing open and slam shut with a resounding bang. Then, I was all alone.

Now I was having night terrors even with someone else in bed with me. The darkness was growing stronger. None of my usual behaviors could quell this insatiable hunger inside of me anymore. I needed to do something, something to stop the consumption before it ate me alive and transformed me into a hollow shell of the person I once was.

I needed to make a sacrifice, and I knew just the perfect candidate.

-

I followed Brant Jones from his townhouse uptown all over Gotham City. Unlike you, he didn't do much. He went to a few lunches or to the mall here or there, but besides that, he mainly stayed at his home. He didn’t do anything interesting until one night, his town car pulled up in front of an old bar. I parked down the street in my classic, black Cadillac. In this instance, I didn’t think I could pay my chauffeur enough to keep his mouth shut.

I followed Brant into the bar, the hood of my leather jacket pulled up so it cast shadows over my face. However, it was so dark, it was hard to see anything anyway. The main staple was a giant, oak bar along one side of the room with a glittery neon sign above it. On the other wall were stuffy, tufted booths made out of red leather. The bar was packed. All of the stools were taken by people waiting to get their drinks, leaving everyone else to stand, and a large crowd occupied the booth in the back corner.

Brant headed straight for that booth, tugging on the lapels of his navy blazer and running a hand over his slicked back, brown hair. “Hey, guys!” He beamed, revealing two rows of bleached white teeth.

He was greeted with a series of “Hey, Brant”s in return. Several people in the group came over and hugged him. One of the stools opened up, and I immediately slid into it. I had a perfect view of everything that was going on at the booth, but it was hard to hear what they were saying over the chatter and the jazz music drifting out of the speakers.

“Happy birthday, man!” Brant shouted and wrapped his arms around a rather tall boy that I didn’t know. He patted him on the back, and when they pulled away, he produced a small box wrapped in paper out of his blazer. I assumed this was a birthday celebration of some kind.

The group sat down in the booth, and he took his place next to a girl I recognized as Emma Hsueh. She also used to attend Anders Prep with me, Tommy, and Grace. She and Brant smiled at each other before he slung an arm around her. It was done so casually, but I raised an eyebrow nonetheless.

They drank and talked for a while before they started opening presents. Brant got the birthday boy an expensive-looking Rolex, of course. Then, they drank and talked some more until the birthday boy footed the bill. I followed them as they spilled out of the booth and onto the sidewalk, mostly in pairs. I observed Brant as he walked out of the bar, his fingers covertly intertwined with Emma’s. Everyone departed from one other, each town car that pulled up to the curb a carbon copy of the other.

When no one was looking, Brant tugged on Emma’s hand and pulled her into a nearby alley. I chased after them and pressed myself against the brick wall of the bar. I leaned back and kicked one foot up on the wall so that if anyone walked by me, it wouldn’t look like I was eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Are you sure you can’t come over tonight?” I heard Emma ask in her whiny, high-pitched voice.

“No, I have something I gotta do,” came Brant’s reply. “But I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay, babe?”

“Okay.”

They went quiet, and I leaned in a little closer, my ears straining to hear what they were doing. Then, I heard it: the small, telltale sound of lips against lips.

He was cheating on you.

As if he wasn’t already bad enough, he had the audacity to cheat on you, and why? Because you had been a little busy lately? Because you couldn’t spend every waking second by his side since you were raising money for people in need? How selfish could he possibly be? I would never do something like that to you. Hell, I could hardly bring myself to touch Grace, and you weren’t even mine yet. You would be more than enough to satisfy me.

Emma walked out of the alley, and I lowered my head as she passed me. I pushed myself off of the wall and turned into the alley just as Brant was walking out. My chest bumped into his, and I stumbled back slightly. He lifted his head to make direct eye contact with me, his eyes widening.

“Brant?” I pulled my hood down and forced a smile on my face. “I thought that was you in there, but I didn’t want to interrupt whatever you guys were doing.”

“Oh, hey, Bruce.” He avoided my gaze. “Yeah, we were just celebrating a friend’s birthday.”

“Nice.” I nodded and shoved my hands in the pockets of my jacket. “What are you up to these days?”

“Nothing much.” He cleared his throat. “Bruce, I just want to clear the air. I know I was a total jerk to you the last time we spoke, and I’m not that person anymore. So, I just want to say I’m sorry. No hard feelings?”

Not the same person? Right, ‘cause you weren’t a total jerk for cheating on your girlfriend just now with someone completely inferior. “Of course. No hard feelings.” The frozen smile on my face didn’t reach my eyes.

His smile was genuine. “Great.” He looked over my shoulder. “Well, it’s getting late. I should probably go.”

He tried to sidestep me, but I blocked his path. “Why not stay a little while? We can catch up.” I tilted my head to the side. “We can talk about how you’re cheating on (Y/N) (Y/L/N) with Emma Hsueh.”

His eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Cheating on (Y/N)?” He shook his head, a slight laugh escaping his lips. “Bruce, it’s not what you think.”

“Oh, save it.” I moved forward, forcing him to back up further into the alley. “I was watching you two in there, being all lovey dovey under everyone’s noses. You thought no one would see you, but I saw you. I saw everything.”

“You were watching me?” He furrowed his brows. “Have you been stalking me?”

“Don’t try to turn this on me.” I jabbed a finger into his chest. “You’re the one cheating on your girlfriend when not too long ago you told her you love her.” My whole body was shaking. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, and my heart was beating so hard in my chest, I felt like it was going to burst. “You don’t love her like I do, and you’re never going to love her. Never again.” “Bruce, what... what are you doing?” he stammered. “You’re scaring me.” His pupils were blown out with fear, his irises mere rims around them. I smiled, for real this time. “Good.”

I took the switch knife out of my pocket and flicked it open. Before he could react, I clamped a gloved hand over his mouth and sunk it into his gut. He screamed into my hand, and I pulled the knife out only to shove it back in. I gritted my teeth as I stabbed him a few more times. I saw red as I plunged the blade into him, relishing in the noise the knife made as it sliced through his flesh.

I finally pulled it out, and vibrant, red blood dripped off of the edge and dotted the concrete ground. I looked down at his stomach; the fabric of his shirt was completely soaked in dark blood. I removed my hand from his mouth. His lips parted, but he was in so much pain that no sound came out. His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground in a pool of his own blood. His skin paled, and I watched the life fade from his eyes as red liquid bubbled from his lips. I would’ve spat on his corpse if it didn’t mean the cops could tie me to the crime.

I flipped the blade back in and tucked it into my pocket. I bent down and took his wallet out of his blazer. I would toss it in a dumpster a couple of blocks away. I didn’t bother to move the body; I just left it there. I pulled my hood back up and walked out of the alley. Someone would probably discover it in the morning, and by then, it would be too late to connect me to anything.

My only regret is that I didn’t made him suffer longer.

CHAPTER SEVEN

[dulcedecorums]

—    BASICS.

▸     IS    YOUR    MUSE    TALL    /    SHORT    /    AVERAGE ?

levi’s on the taller side of being a female, 5′7″ / 170cm !!

▸      ARE    THEY    OKAY    WITH    THEIR    HEIGHT ?

to be fair, leviara’s not that self-conscious of her height. it doesn’t bother her, and it shouldn’t bother anyone else.

▸      WHAT’S    THEIR    HAIR    LIKE ?

her hair depends on whether she wants to switch it up. for the most part, leviara’s hair switches between bleach blonde and brown + jet black. it’s long, just reaching the mid of her back and is mostly straight with exceptions for heat making it curl or wavy.

▸     DO    THEY    SPEND    A    LOT    OF    TIME    ON    THEIR    HAIR     /    GROOMING ?

being a neurosurgeon, there’s really little time but she’ll make some effort to do something to her hair, whether that’s braid it back,  flat iron her hair or tie it in a ponytail. if she’s going out to dinner, she might curl her hair and pin it back.

▸      DOES   YOUR   MUSE   CARE   ABOUT   THEIR   APPEARANCE   /   WHAT    OTHERS    THINK ?

depending on whether it’s her coworkers or friends. at work levi is meticulous with her appearance; expensive blouses and well fit jeans with no rips. at the bar, with friends she’s less conservative, often going as far to wear revealing shirts, short dresses or ripped jeans. either way, it’s taken care of not because she cares what humans think, but because it was ingrained in her as a princess that you have to look proper for people to care about your opinion.

—    PREFERENCES.

▸     INDOORS   OR    OUTDOORS ? ▸     RAIN   OR    SUNSHINE ? ▸     FOREST    OR    BEACH ? ▸     PRECIOUS    METALS  OR    GEMS ? ▸     FLOWERS    OR    PERFUMES ? ▸     PERSONALITY  OR    APPEARANCE ? ▸     BEING    ALONE    OR    BEING    IN    A    CROWD ? ▸     ORDER   OR    ANARCHY ? ▸     PAINFUL    TRUTHS   OR   WHITE    LIES ? ▸     SCIENCE    OR    MAGIC ? ▸     PEACE    OR    CONFLICT ? ▸     NIGHT   OR    DAY ? ▸     DUSK    OR   DAWN ? ▸     WARMTH    OR    COLD ? ▸     MANY   ACQUAINTANCES    OR    A    FEW    CLOSE    FRIENDS ? ▸     READING    OR    PLAYING    A    GAME ?

—    QUESTIONNAIRE.

▸      WHAT    ARE    SOME    OF    YOUR    MUSE’S    BAD    HABITS ?

anyone who knows levi, knows that she tends to overindulge in alcohol and drugs when she’s not at work; she’s found that some alcohols she has an immunity and enjoys testing that limit. otherwise, she tends to be pessimistic about the government and humanity and so doesn’t trust people easily. it’s unfortunate and many people tell her that she should open up more but she’ll refuse, slinking away to one night stands and conversations that’ll get lost in her mind. she smokes as well, but she doesn’t consider it harmful to her body, despite the looks that she’ll get from her human coworkers. to her, it settles any anxiety that bubbles in her stomach. there’s a few more but i can’t pin them right now!

▸      HAS    YOUR    MUSE    LOST    ANYONE    CLOSE    TO    THEM ?      HOW    HAS    IT    AFFECTED    THEM ?

levi has lost 3 people that are important in her life: her real parents & younger sister during the loss of nenia ( the planet she comes from ) from their star dying and becoming a black hole, a void ready to destroy anything in its path and nenia was first. this has negatively impacted leviara; she’s a lot more protective of people close to her & goes as far as being ready to kill people for them. leviara is extremely protective and now loyal to her earth family, repressing memories of what happened to nenia and the old life she used to have. there’s times where she’ll crack and break down though, and it’s not a pretty sight. she’ll shrink away and pretend she doesn’t exist for a while until it passes over. it’s not healthy.

▸      WHAT    ARE    SOME    FOND    MEMORIES    YOUR    MUSE    HAS ?  

the day she admitted to her earth family that she isn’t human. they took it strangely well, in levi’s opinion but they were loving and welcoming, her little sister looking at her in wonder and her parents keeping her secret. that day felt like a huge weight coming off her shoulders and she’s in a very tight bond with her family because of it.

▸     IS    IT    EASY    FOR    YOUR    MUSE    TO    KILL ?

if you shoot a glance to her bio, you’ll notice she fought in a war on her planet. maybe blood spilled on her hands despite it being unintentional, whether fought with melee weapons or magic but it was her fault and therefore it’s safe to say she’s capable of killing. being a neurosurgeon on earth doesn’t help matters because she’s only gained expertise in anatomy and knowing the fastest way to kill. would she do it? it’s not a common thing for her to do. maybe only if someone asked her to. and not for money either, only if it’s someone who she adores and they desperately need help.

▸      WHAT’S    IT    LIKE    WHEN    YOUR    MUSE    BREAKS    DOWN ?

her breakdowns usually appear in the form of an incapability to control her magic, tearful eyes and accidentally setting things on fire with a feeble attempt to stamp it out with her hands. because of this, she mostly breaks down in front of someone who knows she has powers, if that ever happens. there’s violence, mainly in hurting herself. a fist against a wall, breaking knuckles. pain is euphoric to her when she’s broken down and so she’d probably do it again and again until someone stops her. when someone stops her from doing it, she’d collapse in their arms and just cry wordlessly.

▸      IS    YOUR    MUSE    CAPABLE    OF    TRUSTING    SOMEONE    WITH    THEIR    LIFE ?

she has trust issues so letting someone else’s life in their hands would be difficult. if she’s in adoration or love, perhaps maybe then.

▸      WHAT’S    YOUR    MUSE    LIKE    WHEN    THEY’RE    IN    LOVE ?

in love, she’s soft and protective ! in a different way than the way she is around friends though --- levi would go ride or die just to make the person she loves happy. so in a way, the person has melted her heart & they’re deserving of her love. when it comes to gifts, she doesn’t push for details, but she will make mental notes of things that they adore and maybe keep that in mind for valentine’s, their birthday or christmas. she spills pet names, showering them in love that she wanted to give so badly but wasn’t capable of doing because she was scared. 

tagged by: @lavtiena / @bubbledsoul and @witchtyranny​ thank u all <3 tagging: anybody who wanna do it tbh !!

[letstalksymphogear]

Symphogear, EP.7 (Cont.)

“i have not now, nor ever, liked this creepy ass church elevator.”

“kanade please get out of my head, just because im hungry doesnt mean you have to tell me every time i am”

Hibiki finishes getting a full body X-ray. She’s fine.

“that anime protagonist immunity is really kicking in well!”

“by the way, your wife is here! and she’s looking mighty miffed., as opposed to me, mighty milfed.”

“you dont strike me as a mother figure but ill play along for now”

“i just hope miku’s okay...”

“oh, she’ll be fine! see, i’ve seen these kinds of plots before. big secret revealed, another lover is shown, the victim watches as they’re thoroughly cheated on, and they get to lik-”

“please stop breathing”

Genjuro’s wasting away again in Margaritaville. Looking for some daughter to adopt. SOME PEOPLE SAY THAT THERE’S A, WOOOOMAAAAAN TO BLAAAAAAAAAAME, BUT HE KNOWS

XYLOPHONE RIFF

THAT’S IT’S ALL HIS FAULT

XYLOPHONE RIFF

“i hate it when he gets like this. jimmy buffets not a good look for him.”

“for once you and i agree. seeing the commander sulk like this like a middle aged perma-tourist is genuinely miserable”

“hey homies! im back and i brought some bitches! oh, jesus, why does this place smell like mistakes in miami?”

“its me. im sorry. every time i feel like i failed as a dad, my anti-dad energies manifest. imagine every midlife crisis rolled up into a single ball, smacked into the face for eternity. thats the depth of my pain for failing this girl.”

In a moment of positivity, the friendship between Tsubasa and Hibiki is cemented.

> Tsubasa has joined the party.

“FRIENDSHIP!”

“fweindship.”

“uuuuhhhhh... dadship? yeah thats close enough.”

“WE’RE ALL GOOD FRIENDS!”

“ya tiddies are ringing again, better go get it”

Ryoko also points out that Hibiki’s relic is fusing with herself at an alarming rate. This is important to keep in mind.

Meanwhile, at night.

Miku is posing in the motherly “you done fucked up, where have you been young lady” position. A cold scolding is coming.

“.........................hey miku......”

“you can come in. are you worried im gonna bite? you suplexed a car. that shouldn’t be an issue anymore.”

“miku, i.... i wanted to tell you.... but.... the plot wouldn’t let me, miku....”

“should’ve told the plot to fuck off anyway. now you’re gonna live with that. you’re sleeping... on the bottom bunk.”

“b.... b..... b...... b.... b...... bottom bunk...?”

They slept separately that night. God, this is so stupid. All of this is so goddamned stupid. “I’m so mad at you even though you saved my life.” This is just so. AUGH. THIS IS DUMB. KANEKO WRITE BETTER ANGST THAT MAKES SENSE THAT ISN’T THIS.

Meanwhile, far away from this garbage...

Chris, having been evicted from Fine’s McMansion, wanders the streets of mumblemumble aimlessly. Don’t be fooled by her new fancy dress. Basically, she’s a combat-competent hobo.

“no food. no home. no victories. this sucks. whyd you do it, fine? we coulda been great together. but no. ya fired me. now i look like im prancing the red light district with a highly advanced superweapon around my neck.”

“no... hibiki’s to blame. ever since that genderbent little mac showed up to fight me, it’s been all downhill. fine thought me a laughstock because i couldnt take out her oversized boxing gloves, and now she beat me while i had nehushtan. god... i wish i never met that damn hamster faced chubby cheeked nerd.”

“wait, whats that crying”

Chris spies two kids talking to each other, one of them crying. Chris immediately makes an assumption, believing the big bro is bullying his sis.

“hey! stop nicking her lunch money, twerp”

Chris currently is a firm believer of corporeal punishment.

But the sister deflects the blow. Chris can’t even defeat children right now. Truly, this is a record low for her. You know you blew it when even kids are schooling you on basic morality. She then tells the little girl to stop crying, ironically mirroring her brother.

The infamous double T-Pose maneuver. Chris, you might as well get a shovel and start digging your own grave.

“i keep doing bad things badly, and now im doing good things badly... when fine said i was bad... did she just mean im not talented?”

Chris, finally, does a good thing and helps these kids find their parents.

“yeah. hibiki saved a kid when she got her gear. guess what? bam! im saving two! that’s fifty percent more kid per kid saved. take that, weirdo.”

The kids call her out on Chris singing unconsciously, and Chris gets flustered over it. Dawwwwww.

Chris manages to get them to safety to their Dad...

...while brutally lying about it, making Chris look like a predator. There’s a very crushing irony at play here, given who Chris used to serve.

“ugggggggggggggggghhhhhh hes not even gonna payyyyy meeeeeee why the fuck did i dooooo thiiiiiiissssss”

“hey, you know. you kids have a really nice relationship with one another. care to give me tips on how to be an empathetic human being capable of making friends?”

“maybe we’re born with it”

“maybe its maybeline”

“maybeline...”

Meanwhile...

A cold wind blows through Lydian Apartment 69-L. (I don’t actually know if that’s their room number, I just made it up.)

“jesus take the wheel, because i’m jumping out the passenger seat to save this current wreck of a relationship”

“miku please i saved your life, doesnt that count for anything”

“you already killed me the moment you lied. also im taking the bottom bunk so i dont have to see your face coming down the ladder.”

“miku you cant hide in this depression den forever. i know i hurt you and im sorry for it, but please understand i literally couldnt do it. you saw there were punches and violence and stuff... i didnt want you tied to that...”

“what was that? i cant hear your apologies over my incredibly loud snoring. SNOOOOOOORE. SNOOOOOOOORE. SNOOO- fuck, i just swallowed my spit, fuck”

“i hope this cocoon of displeasure you’ve made for yourself lets you erupt into a butterfly of acceptance so i can fly with you again.”

“......thats not fair. you cant say those beautiful metaphors and get away with it. let me be mad... sniff... let me be mad...”

Sadness wafts in the den of lies Hibiki has been forced into.

No music plays. There is only heartbreak, and woe.

In the midst of this pain...

Ryoko loredumps about how the Symphogears work and are immune to the noise on her blog, ‘hornyonmainforscience.org’, her hybrid science journal slash kink zone. It’s mostly a recap with some pretty good soft techno beats in it.

“i made a custom brew of red bull, five hour energy drink, coffee, and cream. i call it gamer girl piss.”

“damn. that’s some good piss.”

She muses about how Hibiki has managed to break the limitations of her Symphogear, making her a totally unique specimen. Wait, where have we heard this before...?

Hey... Ryoko... let’s just... cool it a bit with the Hibiki pictures... come on...

Ryoko touches upon the Custodians and the Curse of Babel. We ain’t touching that shit until later, because that’s another shitfuck box of crazy just ready to jump us in a dark alleyway to rob us of our wits.

Back to Lydian:

“miku whats the answer to the first three multiple choice questions”

“B. A. D.”

“oh, thanks. huh, BAD.”

“yeah. you are.”

“mmm. taste likes dissapointment. just like my life.”

“hey table for two haha get it cause there’s two chairs and miku for the love of god, please, forgive me”

“ive surgically removed my eyes and drew eyelashes over them with sharpie so i dont have to see your bird bangs.”

“thats very rude to both me and my hair. also, wig.”

Even Hibiki’s meal is judging her. Mainly for not eating it. Fucking look at this. God, that looks amazing. Fuck, why did I write this while I was hungry.

“miku you cant do this forever. i might die and youll end up crying on my tombstone going ‘oh god, why, oh god’, and really, i cant live with myself if that happens. mainly because id already be dead by then”

The Anime Janai crew show up to break some icebergs with a goddamn sledgehammer. As the self-aware Gods of this realm, they got very tired of this poor display of angst, and have decided to directly intervene.

Nevermind. They came for her kneecaps, and they most certainly got them.

PLEASE. I’M BEGGING YOU. END THIS GARBAGE PLOT THREAD.

“look. imma lay down the facts. yall are gay. yall are in love. yall are angry for the wrong reasons. its nobody’s fault here but the writer. so please kiss and make up. pretty please.”

“kaneko... you fool... we all know what the original sin is. its your hack writing making this stupidity in the first place. let the pencil go, asshole!”

They bring up the fact that Hibiki isn’t doing her work and wonder if she has a job on the side, which isn’t allowed by the school. Miku gets annoyed and bails, with Hibiki running after her. Unfortunately, Miku runs faster...

“oh god miku not the rooftop whatever you’re thinking just dont do it! please!”

“no. i came here to angst, since this is the Maximum Angst Zone.”

“i..... okay! okay, that’s fair! rooftops are the perfect place to look sad while getting proper air ventilation, thats fine”

It really would have been better played if it was played off that she felt hurt not because of the lie, but because she felt like she could have helped her better having known the truth, and it being a self-loathing sort of scenario for not being there better for her and not fully understanding the risk at play.

But no, instead, we get this.

Absolutely obliterated. A heart ripped, shredded, and sent to the Shadow Realm.

The episode ends on that note, but has a post credit scene.

Naked. On an old timey telephone. On a computer. Wearing stockings and long gloves.

The main antagonist of the series, everybody.

She’s talking the best English possible to some random-ass American when suddenly bursting through the scene is none other than:

“I WANT WORKERS COMPENSATION YOU BITCH, BEFORE I UNIONIZE YOUR NAKED ASS”

“AND I WANT A GOOD REFERNECE FOR MY FUTURE EMPLOYER, AND ALSO A SEVERANCE PACKAGE SINCE I’M FUCKING HOMELESS”

“i paint my eyelashes with mascara made from the tar of freshly carbonated corpses manufactured through noise, what on gods green earth compels you to think id give a rats ass about you?”

“so you never cared, huh! you’re just a nasty naked hedonist trying to- trying to- what the fuck are you even trying to do?!”

“i want to live the dream every spicy little fossil like me yearns for.”

“I WANNA FUCK GOD!”

“how- what? what? how do you even- what? are you- do you want to be the pope? is that it? does the pope get to fuck god? are you- is this a larping thing? you’ve really been into larping lately! i don’t like this!”

“youve never read the old testament, have you. ass out, pussy bare, hips up and barefoot. that’s how god’s always liked it.”

“now get lost, punk. you tipped off my hand to genjuro and now you being here is going to ruin everything. if you still feel any semblance of devotion, eat one of your own bullets and call it a day.”

“it’s 2012 bitch, if the mayans dont get you, I WILL”

“what god gives, He takes away, and so do i. i built you from the ground up. your relic, which was good for jack shit on you. the nehushtan, which you failed to do anything with except zap a couple hundred people. stop wars? you’re a walking war, waged by me, for me. and your cartridge has just run out of bullets.”

“uh oh! hand’s acting up again! better bail before i send you back to smacktown where all the bitter little shittalkers like you strut around spending their lives being useless as hell.”

“ah fuck, im not dealing with no manos: the hands of fate bullshit again”

“and guess what else i got on motherfucker”

“i see the union efforts have officially been busted. understandable, have a nice day ma’am”

“LEAVE.”

“I’M GOING, I’M GOING”

[dr-hoffmans-mechanic]

8 people I’d like to know better!

H’okay, @jenserr tagged me here, which is kinda out of the blue, but “hi!”. I’m not going to tag anyone because I don’t like to wonder if I’ve made anyone feel any undue pressure to do something they’re not inclined to. Rest assured, however, that I’m immune to such considerations myself (on tumblr at least), so no-one ever need worry about that.

I’ll stick the rest of this under a cut, so folks don’t have to wade through my rambling to get to a puppy video.

Well I genuinely haven’t noticed this doing the rounds, so I’m going to assume the questions are as you answered them.

Name/Alias: Kat. Feel free to use it if you wish.

Birthday: Early September. I’m not being coy, I’m just wary of releasing too much personal info out into the wild.

Zodiac: Virgo. Am I “typical”? No idea. I guess you’d have to ask someone who knows me and is interested in astrology.

Height: 5′4″ 

Hobbies: Currently reading and writing fanfic, Watching movies, though not as much as back when I wrote “weird movie” reviews. Playing video games, mainly RPGs but I like a puzzle game now and again. My son bought me a selection of indie horror games and puzzlers recently and I’m currently playing Baba Is You, which is awesome if you’re looking for something really original and pleasantly challenging.

Favorite colors: Depends on my mood really. Yeah, I’m fascinating so far eh?

Favorite books: Too many to list. But if I just go by number of times re-read then probably Cold Comfort Farm, and Out by Natsuo Kirino. The latter is a breathtakingly great thriller. I’m astonished that no-one has tried to make a film based on it, honestly. Four great female protagonists of various ages and backgrounds. Really compelling and well worth your time. Though TW for sexual violence.

Last song listened to: Ohne Diche by Rammstein.

Last movie watched: Hmm, arguably Silent Hill. No hear me out <G> I was having trouble sleeping a couple of nights ago and this is my go to film for falling asleep to. But I don’t really watch it, I just doze off listening to the audio. So I guess it wasn’t the last that I “watched”. That would have been The Favourite.

Inspiration for muse: Not really sure how to answer that one so let’s move on.

Dream job: I actually had my dream job for about twelve years. It was teaching art and CDT to Key Stage 2 kids (that’s 7 to 12 years old and I think they’re great at that age) They say it’s not work if you’re enjoying it, and I can vouch for that. No matter how much my personal life was descending into chaos at the time, there was never a day when I wasn’t at least a little bit excited to go to work. I had to quit when real life problems made it impossible to continue in a job where I was only paid for half my time. Currently I’m not in paid work because my wife’s health took a dramatic downturn that required someone to be with her all the time, but damn that was a cool job.

Meaning behind my URL: Okay. You know, no-one has ever asked. But I was setting up an AO3 account, mainly to make it easier to comment on folk’s stories, but also to dip my toe in posting stuff myself and I wanted a new “name” that was totally unconnected to anything I’d ever posted before. And with the usual careful consideration that I give to such things I looked around where I was sitting and there was a copy of The Infernal Desire Machines Of Doctor Hoffman by Angela Carter sitting on the table, so I was like “That’ll do”. Then I figured, “bit arrogant to cast yourself as the Doctor, Kat.” So I settled on Mechanic. And oddly it seems like very few people actually register the “mechanic” part anyway <G>

I realise that there may be some confusing info littered through those answers, so just to clarify. I’m a lesbian, with a son from an early, horrifically misjudged marriage to a man. Husband was dreadful. Son is awesome.

I live in Cheshire in the UK. In one of the not particularly nice parts that’s surrounded by charming bits. I’m married to a Mexican-American woman who is originally from Seattle, but who emigrated over here to be with me.

And I’m one of the older generation on here. In my early 50s as of last birthday and whilst I don’t generally feel like it, I've got to say I do sometimes feel even older when I amble through tumblr.

Anyway, I’m pretty laid back and affable most of the time so no-one should ever be afraid to drop by and say “hi”.

[rapeculturerealities]

The seemingly unassailable world of the male creative genius seems to be crumbling: Roman Polanski and Bill Cosby were recently expelled from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Junot Diaz stepped down as Pulitzer Prize chair after multiple women have spoken out about his pattern of harassment; and, 10 years after David Foster Wallace’s death, Mary Karr is reminding the world of his persistent abuse and stalking. In this unique social and political moment, a previously untouchable artistic archetype has finally become something close to vulnerable.

Genius is power. It is unquantifiable, uncontainable, and like beauty, exists in the eyes of the beholder. Genius enhances access—sexual, social, economic, political. It is a collective agreement—or, in many cases, a collective lie—that grants boundless latitude to those we anoint with the title.

But genius is also an indelibly gendered currency used by men—almost always men—of means and success to purchase license. The lie of genius is inextricable from the lie of meritocracy: Culture dictates that these men have risen to fame and success because of their unstoppable genius. But now that so many geniuses stand accused of abuses of power including sexual assault and violence; and as debates about separating the art from the artist spill into every corner of media and pop culture, the aesthetic alibi that artistic genius exists unfettered by lowly considerations like morality may no longer hold up under scrutiny.

With the rise of auteur theory in the mid–20th century, film joined the ranks of other fine arts, like painting and writing, that have long cultivated the mythology of the genius. Auteur theory, originating in French film criticism, credits the director with being the chief creative force behind a production—that is, the director is the “author.” Given that film, with its expansive casts and crews, is one of the most collaborative art forms ever to have existed, the myth of a singular genius seems exceptionally flawed to begin with. But beyond the history of directors like Terrence Malick, Woody Allen, and many more using their marketable auteur status as a “business model of reflexive adoration,” auteur worship both fosters and excuses a culture of toxic masculinity. The auteur’s time-honored method of “provoking” acting out of women through surprise, fear, and trickery—though male actors have never been immune, either— is inherently abusive. Quentin Tarantino, Lars Von Trier, Alfred Hitchcock, Stanley Kubrick, and David O. Russell, among others, have been accused of different degrees of this, but the resulting suffering of their muses is imagined by a fawning fanbase as “creative differences,” rather than as misogyny and as uncompromising vision rather than violence. Allegations that Tarantino forced Uma Thurman, for instance, to disastrously perform her own driving stunt in Kill Bill: Volume 2—as she put it, part of a dehumanization “to the point of death”—is not dissimilar to Alfred Hitchcock’s torment of the actress Tippi Hedren, both dynamics masquerading as artist-muse relationships transcending common sense. As Imran Siddiquee writes of genius directors and abusive behavior: “Many of the ‘greatest’ artists in our most influential visual artform continue to be celebrated for their own obsessive, often abusive exercises of power and control.”

Daniel Day-Lewis’s temperamental dressmaker Reynolds Woodcock in 2017’s critically lauded Paul Thomas Anderson film Phantom Thread has all the makings of a genius: He is successful; he is considered a visionary by the elite; he is messy; he is twisted; and he preys on young women. Phantom Thread was a frontrunner in the Oscars race this year, along with Darkest Hour, a character study of of Winston Churchill at the dawn of Britain’s entry into World War II. Gary Oldman (alleged wife beater), won Best Actor for his role as Churchill; elsewhere at the Oscars, Kobe Bryant (charged with sexual assault in 2003) won for best animated short. Guillermo Del Toro took home the Best Director Oscar for The Shape of Water, which also won Best Picture—and while the film’s win is notable given that no film with a female protagonist has won the award in 14 years, Del Toro’s explicit supportof Roman Polanski (accused of sexual assault by five people; charged with drugging and raping a minor and then fleeing the United States to avoid sentencing) make his position as a supposedly progressive director a tenuous one at best. The Academy Awards have always been deeply entrenched in establishment capitalism and Hollywood liberal lip service, but amid the flurry of the #MeToo and #TimesUp movements, the 2018 awards offered an instructive example of what still holds primacy in the film industry: the sometimes difficult and troubled, often abusive, and always male genius.

Men like Polanski retain artistic cred and social license because gatekeepers and fans argue that their cultural contributions outweigh their individual transgressions and crimes. It is not that passive consumers of art don’t recognize that their idols may be flawed: It’s that genius is imagined as a separate faculty that exists beyond ethics and morality. Genius is unemotional and objective, elevated beyond such paltry concerns. Of course the generous leaps of imagination and apologism offered to men of genius do not apply to women and gender-nonconforming creators, so if the latter should distinguish themselves, it is not because they are genius, but it is because they are “different.”

Superlative women have always been encouraged to believe they are notable because of an inherent “difference” from other girls; this difference is what distinguishes them in creative fields dominated by white men. I once thought I had the “androgynous mind” Virginia Woolf says is necessary to creativity. Mary Wollstonecraft, in her groundbreaking 1792 treatise A Vindication Of The Rights Of Woman, wondered whether the “few extraordinary women” in history were indeed “male spirits, confined by mistake to female frames.” Even Ursula K. Le Guin, whose revolutionary fiction challenged contemporary humanity’s preoccupation with gender, said some strange stuff about her own conception of herself as a “generic he,” a “poor imitation,” and a “substitute man.”

While we know it is both reductive and essentialist to reason this way, it’s historically understandable. The cultural misogyny that underlies the archetype of the male genius has ancient roots. According to Christine Battersby’s 1989 book Gender and Genius: Towards a Feminist Aesthetics, the 19th-century reworked an “older rhetoric of sexual exclusion” from Renaissance ideas about sexual difference in the arts (which were themselves based on the ancient Greeks and Romans). But the Romantics contributed something unique to “anti-female traditions”: While emotionality and expression—traditionally “feminine” attributes—rose in prominence, women themselves were further downgraded as artistic inferiors. Notes Battersby: “The Romantic artist feels strongly and lives intensely: the authentic work of art captures the special character of his experience.” And his art became his individualistic expression.

Originality and creativity wasn’t always inherent to artistic practice. Greeks thought of art as mimetic; the poet as a prophet; painting and sculpture pretty facsimiles of the natural world. The Middle Ages similarly viewed the artist as ungod-like, simply an imitator rather than a creator. The term “masterpiece,” had less to do with terrific originality and more to do with the “piece of work produced by an apprentice who showed sufficient skill.” A master was a “trade-union leader”—and women were active in these guilds as well. “Hostility towards women in the arts only increased when the status of the artist began to be distinguished from that of the craftsman…suitable only for the most perfect (male) specimens of humanity,” writes Battersby. She dates this change to when artists began gaining patronage during the Renaissance, freeing artistic creation from religious restrictions. In other words, when a great deal of money entered into the equation, art became profitable and it suited men to push out competition.

The modern term “genius” comes from the melding of two words: “genius,” a symbol of fertility represented by a little boy, and “ingenuity,” or skill. While Renaissance women lacked genius, they were artistic inferiors because they lacked “ingenium”—according to Juan Huarte’s 1575 Examen de Ingenius, men, in the Aristotelian fashion, were hot and dry; women, cold and wet, were a “lesser man.” (Aristotle also thought women were “flower pots” and sterile—creativity and procreativity both being male attributes.) Huarte’s physiological reasoning, though widely discredited, was later referenced by Schopenhauer, whose argument that women “lack all higher mental faculties” is a good example of Romantic reworking of cultural misogyny. (It might be worth noting that Schopenhauer is a well-known touchstone of Woody Allen’s many autobiographically based neurotic male protagonists.)

Further, madness and deviance were idiosyncrasies worked into the masculine artistic template. Artists, once expected to uphold societal values, became “countercultural” around the time of Lord Byron, who was once described by an ex-lover as “mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” The image of the antihero, the messy, the eccentric, the intoxicated artist persisted from the Romantic period through today. And while craziness was celebrated in the elite men, “female madness” was stigmatized. As Vox writer Tara Isabella Burton notes, the male artistic establishment begets the tortured, unruly genius sex: “That female flesh is the reward for a male job well done is not an uncommon cultural phenomenon in any field, but in the arts, that dynamic often takes on a faux-spiritual aspect.”

Even as the #MeToo movement picks up momentum, famous men who have sustained public critique in the past few months are already plotting their comebacks, with ample assistance from industry media. Tarantino, a man accused of choking Thurman and Diane Kruger for the sake of on-camera authenticity; who told Rose McGowan he used to jerk off to her; and who publicly defended Polanski, has unveiled his latest enterprise: a movie about Charles Manson. Charlie Rose has reportedly floated a comeback via a talk show in which he would interview men like Louis C.K. brought down by#MeToo—thereby facilitating their own comebacks—and Matt Lauer apparently hopes to be back on television screens as well. Despite the recent spate of high-profile falls from grace, the culture of media and art world are arranged such that neither whisper nor lawsuit will be able to fell geniuses for long.

Those who try to separate the art from the artist are setting up an illogical argument: The art was alwaysseparated, which is why these male auteurs had the the license, the support, and the cover to victimize as they did and still make more celebrated art. In the aftershocks of predatory unveilings, we have seen multitudes mourn the loss of the genius of these men. We need to now consider that we have elevated what we’ve inscribed as genius at the expense of the humanity and potential of people they silenced, erased, and preyed upon. We need to examine the destruction wrought by the archetype, and acknowledge that we have let it fuel rape culture and sexual exploitation. We need to acknowledge that genius has been a construct all along—that it may not actually exist.

[ircnlace-blog]

{ SOFIA BLACK-D’ELIA, 27, cis female, she/her, muse an } welcome friend! you know, i just saw ANDROMEDA “ANDY” WILLIAMS in town. it’s good to see them. they’ve been staying in town for ONE YEAR and making a living as an ASSISTANT MANAGER OF THE BOWLING ALLEY. not too bad. i hear they can be a bit CRASS, but LOVING. so, really who blames them? i hear they’ve been thinking about SETTLING DOWN AND FINDING PEACE. good for them. { it’s ash, y’all }

here she is, finally, the chaotic bisexual who likes to ruin lives, under the cut you’ll find bio info and some wanted connections !! suicide mention and death and severe poverty tws below. like this or just hit me up for plotting !! 

info:

andromeda roselle williams was born in nyc in 1919 to very wealthy parents, her father being old money

only child

she’s born on halloween

her childhood was very lavish and she was wanting for nothing ever

she had the pony, the private tutors, the friends, she had everything 

ever since being very small, her parents valued her education and by the time she was old enough to walk practically, she was being tutored in french, german, italian, russian, and japanese 

she also loved spending time in her father’s office when he was working, trying to make sense of the stock business

she never liked going by andromeda, and instead preferred her father’s nickname of “andy” 

her life was just short of perfect until late october of 1929

everything was lost

everything, her family had nothing come the 29th of october and that night, her father killed himself

her mother was distraught and andy was numb, not understanding fully what was happening

her mother tried to send her away to her aunt’s house, she wasn’t too bad off yet, and her mother didn’t know how to raise a child by herself and she just wanted the best for her daughter

andy didn’t understand this, and grew angry with her mother, so on the train to her aunt’s house, andy snuck off and disappeared into the night

she was an incredibly smart child, so she made it work

chores and favors here and there for people for food or a place to sleep

when that didn’t, she stole or conned for the the things she needed 

to get around, she rode the rails, hitchhiked, walked, she one time even found an abandoned horse in the dust bowls of oklahoma and she rode him to minnesota before finding him a good home

met the worst and best of people on her travels 

and andy met who a little boy who basically grew to be her little brother and she took care of him 

his mother was sick, but took care of him and when andy landed on her doorstep, she took the girl in too

the dad was long gone

the mother ended up dying, but andy promised to take care of the little boy 

and she did

she took him on all of her travels and they grew to be a real family, just the two of them

she took care of him and fiercely loves him

the issue is now she was another mouth to feed and he’s even less useful that her for work, so stealing and conning it is

she got really good, like could make only her fool good 

as they grew, they became the scoundrels of the tracks, but they had each other 

one snowing night in 1937, now 18, they found themselves in new york city

her brother wanted to see the sights, and andy finally grew enough courage to go back to her hometown

while exploring the poorer parts of the city, she found a person she never thought she’d see, her mother 

and her mother was on her death bed 

they reconciled and andy held her hand as she died 

the loss of so many friends and family was beginning to take a toll of the girl, and she started going down a darker path, blackmail, threats, and injury were no longer things she wouldn’t do to survive

she killed her first man 1938 when he tried to hurt her brother 

she didn’t like it, but she also felt absolutely no remorse for him

her and her brother never spoke about it

the heists, the cons, the embezzlement, all of it started getting riskier

as things were improving in the late 30′s and 40′s, so did their lives, but andy wasn’t keen to give up her way of life, she just really didn’t know any other way and change terrified her because change had very rarely ever brought the girl anything good

change came for her though, two days after the bombing of pearl harbor

she was arrested off the streets and brought to building she hoped never to see, the headquarters of the fbi in new york city

her language skills, her proclivity for violence, her insane wit, and her skill set didn’t go unnoticed 

she was given a deal she couldn’t refuse, she was given immunity for her numerous crimes and her and her brother would be made legal family, he’d be taken care of, and he’d be given immunity from the draft if she served as a spy and assassin for the military in their most delicate cases

if she didn’t she’d definitely be going to jail and he would be drafted immediately

there was quite literally no other choice 

so, the was recruited into the early form of secret services

when they were doing weapon training, discovered what a deadly shit andy was

she helped get important info the d-day invasion, intercepted a lot of plans and cargo lines

has over 150 confirmed kills 

was entrusted to do spy work and take out high, sensitive, and valuable targets

as well as intel gathering and transporting high priority and highly sensitive messages and info

she has been personally thanked by the heads of the allied forces for her service

earned a reputation for being a cold blooded and terrifying killer, and a nickname, the red butcher

after the war ended (she was involved with the manhattan project and man, does that keep her up at night), she and her brother moved out to redwater for a fresh start

she’s working as an assist manager at the bowling alley mainly because would you tell her no? 

she’s tired man, she’s just tired and wants a break

does not care what you think

is mysterious

wanted connections: 

alright, here we go

she’s... a loose and fast lady, so friends with benefits, girl, boy, whatever, doesn’t matter, but also, rip if you kiss and tell with her, she likes being discreet and likes the less known about her as possible

drinking buddies, she goes out at night and dances and gets drunk

someone come fight with her, she loves a good fight

people to go shooting with tbh

outdoor activity buddies in general, she loves hiking, canoeing, fishing, hunting, horse back riding, all of it

a friend that like, they actually cuddle and she opens up to and has a good relationship with 

if you are looking for more characters, then her brother and the other half to her plot would be awesome!!