#late night writing

[bitchcakegreen]

Thank you Nicola Coughlan for that scene. To finally see someone with the same body type as me in a scene of love like that, was moving and important. Bridgerton

[flowersforfrancis]

The sun watches what I do but the moon knows all my secrets. - J.M. Wonderland

[everythingloveandanimated]

Okay I REALLY HATE that I’m thinking about this.

At some point in a future book, Murtagh and Thorn confront the Eldunarí for not intervening more in Murtagh’s life. The two come to the conclusion that Murtagh was written off and abandoned by them and by extension, Thorn was too for hatching for Murtagh. Neither of them are happy about this.

Eragon and Saphira, if feasible Arya and Firnen, are present when this goes down.

Saphira is frustrated because Murtagh played a big part in saving her, Eragon and Arya and went to the Varden even though it was dangerous for him. Arya and Eragon agree that it shows poor thanks for Murtagh’s help.

The Eldunarí defend themselves saying the wanted to see how alike Murtagh would be to Morzan. Murtagh all but demands to know what evidence, in full context of any given situation supports the assumption that he’s like his father.

His treason was forced, he’s shown regret at killing Hrothgar, he spared Eragon and Saphira at great cost to him and Thorn. He’s protected younglings, is willing to forge relationships with souls of other races. He has proven himself to be brave, noble, and a man of his word. He doesn’t delight in cruelty…

Thorn invites them to look into his soul and when they have, Thorn points out that he hatched for Murtagh, and is surprised, though does understand their distrust for Murtagh, that they aren’t willing to trust his judgement on Murtagh’s character through his hatching.

The Eldunarí say they couldn’t be sure. Anything could happen to make Murtagh into the ruthless monster that his father was.

Murtagh shares that he’s only ruthless against opponents who threaten or harm what is precious to him or what he deems as worthy of his protection. He, backed up by Eragon, then accuses them of writing him off and abandoning him to suffer in Galbatorix’s court because of things he didn’t do.

Things get heated and then the bomb is dropped. If Murtagh proved to be a threat the their safety and the future of the dragons and Riders, the Eldunarí would strip Thorn of his name.

Shock echoes around the room before anger explodes. Murtagh is LIVID!!! Thorn recoils in fear before baring his teeth but his bite has fear in it since he knows that act of the dragon’s can’t be undone. Saphira, Eragon and Arya take the Red Pair’s side. Calling the act uncalled for and cruel given what the two of them had been through.

Saphira and Arya scold the Eldunarí saying that their threat spits in the face of the lives that Murtagh has saved, including their own. They add that stripping Thorn of his name would irrevocably turn Murtagh against them. Saphira vows to protect her brethren from their callous cruelty.

Eragon is reeling that the Eldunarí would do something so cruel when the number of dragons and riders is already so small. They watched Murtagh and Thorn suffer, did nothing to save Murtagh from the Twins when they had done so much to aid Eragon. They gave Murtagh and Thorn a compliance test after Galbatorix was defeated. Failed to aid them against Bachel (if there was anything they could do in the first place). Now they threaten to banish the name of dragon who hatched when/because his chosen rider was a captive of their greatest foe?!?! (Beep) that!

Eragon puts his foot down at that.

Murtagh and Thorn, Arya and Saphira and Eragon are still fuming from the encounter. Underneath Murtagh’s rage is a fear that the Eldunarí could make good on their threat. Murtagh doesn’t know where their line is. He won’t attack them until they strike first, and even then he hopes he can overpower them before Thorn’s name is erased.

Eragon, Saphira and Arya are appalled and disappointed (and some level of ashamed and embarrassed?) by the Eldunarí. Arya points out that if Thorn’s name was erased and Murtagh attacked them, it would give them an excuse to eliminate Murtagh so they wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore. Privately, she questions the history of riders that she’s known her whole life

Eragon is seething that they would dare harm his family member like this… and then it dawns on him. They had to know Galbatorix would want Eragon in his clutches for being a free dragon rider. They had to have known what kind of forces he would send to Carvahall to retrieve him and Saphira. They had to have known… and they did nothing to protect what was precious to Eragon. Not his uncle and childhood home, not the people of Carvahall, not even Murtagh who needed protection far more than Eragon did. A sudden terrible realization hits him… if all of this is true they didn’t care about Roran either! Even worse… did Selena die because the Eldunarí didn’t want to run the risk of her secret being revealed and Eragon being found. Did they turn a blind eye to her when she got sick? Was it punishment for marrying Morzan and giving him a son even though she had ultimately sided with Brom and had borne Eragon?

It is acknowledged that it’s not outside the realm of possibility. This is too far for Eragon. The Eldunarí meddling to save themselves has cost him most of his family, his loved ones, the leaders he respected and has damaged the relationships with the family he still has.

Eragon breaks down and eventually comes to the conclusion that, like Murtagh before him, he can reclaim his life and autonomy.

As punishment, all the Eldunarí on display are placed in the pocket in the wall with the corrupted Eldunarí. Eragon decrees he will not bring them out until their brethren are healed. He changes the magic on the pocket so that the Eldunarí combined can’t escape. He deems it a lesson in caring for others.

That night Murtagh and Thorn flee. Through lingering panic, Murtagh asks Thorn to say his true name, which he does. Murtagh asks him to repeat it several times until Thorn says it like a mantra lulling Murtagh to sleep.

The green and blue pairs find the red pair.

Eragon apologizes to Murtagh and Thorn for initially siding with the Eldunarí, and that he couldn’t stop Murtagh from being taken by the Twins, and he’s sorry for leaving in the first place instead of waiting for them to return so they could clear their names together.

Arya apologizes for not being able to save Murtagh and thus condemning him and Thorn to months of grueling torment and slavery. She vows to make up for her failure.

The trio and their dragons agree that they need to find a way to undo the memory erasing spells and stripping of names spell of the Dragons. The blue and green pairs promise to do their best to protect Murtagh and Thorn and affirm Thorn’s value and choice in his rider.

[thespilledink]

Words whispered

in bedsheets

made me believe

we were in love

-h.h.

[tmntxthings]

Yk that dude who almost always gets run over whilst crossing the street in Rottmnt? Yeah.

You swallowed. Thinking to yourself as you looked across the street, that this would be the day. Today, you were going to make it.

The sign changed to green, the picture of a figure moving. Your left hand tightened its grip on the grocery bag you held. You wouldn’t continue to live in fear. That was a horrible way to live.

Without leaving your house. Choosing to never go outside again. Or more accurately, to never be a pedestrian again. Well…

You had tried to bike it before, but that had ended just as similar as the rest. Getting rushed from what seemed to be all around by a cacophony of noise. Sometimes you were freezing in place or being tossed around.

Each time had put the fear of death in you. Squeezing your eyes shut, holding your breath, only to count to three and New York’s street bustle was back to normal again. The sign changed to red, a raised hand took the place of the figure.

No villains being chased by mutants. Not almost getting sideswiped by huge vans. Each “miracle” as everyone would call it, was you being impossibly left unscathed.

Damn miracles. It was a curse. To constantly be on the verge of a heart attack! Seriously, no matter which street you crossed as long as it was in New York, you were doomed to the inevitable.

A free ticket to see your life flash before your eyes! Shaking your head you knew exactly what this was. You were stalling. Maybe you’d just haul a cab. Tell him to spin the block so it would just put you on the other side of the street. Where your destination resides.

Your apartment a shining beacon of safety, was within reach. Just one crosswalk. And you would be home safe. You looked down the street.

One way, then the other. Traffic. Cars. Streetlights. People. But this was how it always started off as. No sign of them.

Yet.

You sighed. This was all in your head. Just a bizarre reoccurrence of events. It couldn’t seriously happen every time you got on a crosswalk.

That would be insanity. That would be something out of a movie! Not real life. So as you siked yourself up, for a sixth time, your eyes made contact with your goal.

The three steps that led up to the door justttt across the street. This was it. You were doing this. You were gonna walk this damn crosswalk. And make it to the other side.

The people around you started walking. You joined them. The light still green, the figure in motion. A timer of thirteen seconds counted down.

Your eyes never left your destination. So you were ignorantly unaware of how the people around you, just dispersed. Moving off faster or slower. Creating distance, enough space, for you to have a bubble.

The hairs on the back of your neck rose. And as fast as lightning something went speeding by inches in front of you. Surprise, really should be the last emotion at this point.

Disappointment. Or acceptance was one more accurate as you jolted backwards. Arms raising and as if in slow motion someone was grabbing ahold of your waist securely.

There was a flash of blue as you met the gaze of who was holding onto you. One of the mutants you had come to expect. Green and a brightly colored mask. There was no look of shock on your face. Just one of exasperation.

He had the nerve to wink in this slowed down state of the world. Whisking you out of harms way in seconds, placing you back down, further along on the white stripes and was gone.

Off saving the day you presumed since you had done a little research on the vigilantes of NYC. They were the city’s heroes whether they admitted it publicly or not. Your heart betrayed you, beating faster than a hummingbird’s as you stumbled to the finish line.

Despite your lack of facial reaction your body was alive, hairs standing, trembling limbs and the breath practically sucked out of you.

“Are you okay?!” People were crowding around you now. A sense of déjà vu clouding your mind as the same questions were asked. The same exclamations pointed out.

“That must’ve been quite a shock!” And the like were a bit muffled to your ears. You couldn’t help but stare after where the chase had departed. Taking with them the few seconds of mayhem you had to endure.

Your mini heart attack.

That settles it. You thought to yourself in defeat. Marching away from the crowd, up the steps, pulling out a key to unlock the door.

You were in a movie. Some cliche action film most likely. And your role, your purpose in this world, was to almost die.

Just you know, in passing.

[daughterofcainandchaos]

trust me, if i could enjoy things casually, i would. sometimes, i wish i didn't have to tear my soul apart so i could leave a piece of it in every little thing that somehow grasps my attention & refuses to let it go. maybe i enjoy my soul being devoured by abstract concepts. and maybe i find pleasure in being hurt in ways that are so beautiful

[fir-fireweed]

DANG you’re quick. I’m convinced you’re not fully human

My friends and family know I’m a big Wonder Woman fan so I’m just gonna claim this. 😎

Lol, no but really, I have a really supportive family. ❤️ My husband is my biggest fan and does quite a bit around the house so I have time to write. And my kids are old enough to fend for themselves, and I often make them. 😅 We have what we call OYO nights, which basically means dinner is “on your own”.

“There’s spaghettios in the pantry, kids! Momma’s gotta write!”

[gay-simple-and-chaotic]

Woe, self indulgent pilk bullshit accidental oneshot I wrote while deeply sleep deprived upon ye

Tags: Accidental Acts of Violence, Introspection, Denial, so much denial, That Weird Intimacy Of Cleaning Blood Off Someone While They're Unconscious, Brief Blood Drinking, Minor Gore Mentions, Shadow Milk is lying out his ass but what else is new, Hair Brushing, Touch Starvation I fear, Self-Loathing, He/They/It pronouns for Shadow Milk Cookie

There is jam on their hand.

Shadow Milk Cookie stares at it for a second, surprised himself by the substance. He looks between his stained claws and Pure Vanilla Cookie's dazed expression as he raises a hand to his throat, to the rapidly growing red spot on his clothes, the pale fabric darkening.

"That hurts." His voice is scarcely a whisper, minutes into their terrified stalemate. Shadow Milk can't remember why they lashed out. They don't know why they wanted to hurt him--did they?

You did. Of course you did. Bitter words sneer inside his mind. Isn't that why he's here?

"I don't..." Pure Vanilla trails off, seemingly in shock. "I don't feel particularly well, Shadow Milk Cookie."

He sways, and topples to the ground. Acting in the same thoughtless instinct that flung his claws into Pure Vanilla's neck to begin with, Shadow Milk lunges, catching him.

No.

The jam won't stop. There's more than they expected. It's slick and it feels awful on his hands.

"No," he breathes, "oh, no, no no no, your role--this isn't how your script is supposed to go!..." The words feel awkward on his tongue, like he's not choosing them. Like he's only a puppet for whatever force overtook him.

He's searching, frantically, tearing whatever fabric he can find--it's Pure Vanilla's mantle that his hands find, that he packs against the wound, desperate.

I don't want you to crumble. He can't say it, but looking at the growing pallor of his dough, he knows that's the truth. As sure as he knows anything.

Why would it want him dead? He was only kind. He only tried to reach out to it. It may be mad with grief, losing itself in the same way its comrades had, but he wanted to help.

Why would they want to hurt him?

"So you'd understand," he mutters aloud, "Only so you'd--we're the same, after all, but you'd have me, when you broke, we'd have each other--we could make it easier, right? It wouldn't be so bad, with both of us. It would..."

He fumbles blindly for his scepter, rushing magic through it. He was never much of a healer--that's something Pure Vanilla holds the lead in, by a long shot. But he's the--was the Font of Knowledge, a healing spell is trivial to find, it's just hard to focus with their mind so loud, and Pure Vanilla looks so close, like he's one bad breath away from crumbling, and...

There's scratches, fine and fading, over the surface of the souljam. Did it snatch for the souljam? Did it lose control? Why?

It's an unclear mass of emotion. It straddles atop Pure Vanilla, trying its best to press its wieght in carefully to staunch the bleeding and to focus and cast its magic.

Slowly, the gashes begin to knit back together. He breathes in sharply. He's okay. Pure Vanilla will be okay. He'll be fine.

"You need somewhere safer to wake up," he thinks aloud, disused to the idea of being overheard, "Let's see let's see let us seeee..."

He rearranges the Spire. Doors change and staircases adjust, and he carefully wraps strings around Pure Vanilla's unmoving form.

Wouldn't do to break a precious doll like him, would it? Then again, you always were rough with the toys you call friends.

He cringes at the thought. It's true. And normally, it wouldn't matter. A mere handful of minutes ago, it didn't matter. He thought it would be fine to hurt him. To end his life, even.

But seeing the way he looked at him, no, the way the jam spilled out, no, the lamb-like bewilderment in his eyes, NO, led to slaughter, just so easily broken--

Its hand slams into the wall before it realizes what it's doing. The strings sway dangerously, and it breathes in, shaking its head.

"Get a hold of yourself," he chastizes himself, disgruntled by this ebb-and-flow of his outbursting. "This is most unbecoming behavior even for you."

The door that the hall now leads to is a bedchamber. To the best approximation, it resembles what Shadow Milk recalls of his own room back at the academy. He sets Pure Vanilla down atop the sheets of the four-poster bed with uncharacteristic gentleness.

"What's gotten into you?" He murmurs, shaking his head. "Fretting like he means something?"

There's jam in Pure Vanilla's hair. As soon as Shadow Milk notices, he feels the urge overtake him to get it out before he wakes up, to clean him up, to erase any evidence of this incident--perfect! He can doubt his sanity. (Much like Shadow Milk is doubting their own.)

Their hands are covered in jam. It's almost in a detached way that he licks his palm clean, and immediately feels sick with want. Want to taste more, to bite down, to just reopen the wound and drink like a sick monster--

Nothing more or less than what you are. It finds itself thinking bitterly. It knows there's a bathroom connected to this room. Not wanting to think about Pure Vanilla's sweet jam any longer, it turns away and sets to scrubbing its hands clean.

Getting a cloth. Getting a basin. Fumbling around until he finds a brush. It's not necessary, but he thinks it might make it easier.

He sits back down, and lifts Pure Vanilla's head to rest it on his lap, beginning to dab at the jamstains, cleaning it from his dough. His focus is entirely on the movements of his hands, keeping them gentle, careful. He moves from his neck, up to his face, then down, reluctantly pausing to peel the stained robes off Pure Vanilla to clean his chest.

Then he pauses, hesitating more than before, and begins to slowly clean the jam from his hair.

He doesn't need the brush.

Still, he runs it through as he dries off the newly clean locks, and then he runs it through another part, and before he can tell himself to stop, he's slowly brushing out Pure Vanilla's hair, teasing the soft strands between his hands.

How long has it been? Will he wake up any time soon? He seems less pale.

Shadow Milk lulls into a daze. He's forgotten that his own clothes are spattered with jam, forgotten what he wanted to do. He forgot it all the moment Pure Vanilla turned those confused innocent eyes on him. To slaughter. Does that make him a butcher or a wolf?

Shadow Milk isn't used to guilt. It's not an emotion he allows to make a home in him, because he has many things to be guilty for.

It would surely hollow him out and wear his shell, if it had the chance to roost.

Not that being a shell of a cookie would be all that different from what you are.

He only snaps out of it when he feels a hand on his wrist.

He looks down.

Pure Vanilla looks back up, a weak smile on his face. Does he ever stop smiling? They think they hate it. They think they hate him. They tell themselves that.

But they're not any good at lying to themselves these days.

"Shadow Milk Cookie?" Pure Vanilla's voice is raspy, shaking. "I...I fear I had a strange nightmare."

I fear you're living one at my behest.

Shadow Milk doesn't say that, but instead leans down and whispers, allowing his voice to take on that faux-tone of the Light of Truth,

"Hush. You're still dreaming, Pure Vanilla Cookie. Don't think too much about it. Be good and close your eyes. Rest a while longer."

"Mmmmn," the quiet protest comes, "Are you...brushing my hair?..." Shadow Milk is aghast to find he's abandoned the brush and has turned to instead combing his fingers through the soft golden strands. And then, he pauses. He can save this.

He changes. He lies. He lies his way into a frail, slender form, lies a scent into the air, heavy and sweet, and he lies until he's sure he looks like that cookie.

"Yes," he lies. "It was getting tangled."

"White...Lily...Cookie?" Pure Vanilla's eyes close, as if he's sure he cannot trust them. "How?..."

"Rest," Shadow Milk tells him with her voice, "You need it."

Seemingly too bewildered to push it further, Pure Vanilla relaxes, exhaling softly. He leans in closer, resting his cheek against Shadow Milk's lap.

"White Lily Cookie," he murmurs again, "I knew you would..."

Shadow Milk regrets his choice. He regrets this dough. He hates the snarl of jealousy in his throat. He hates how much this fake presence eases Pure Vanilla.

He wishes he could ease him like this.

No!

They don't! This all is just a ploy to lull him into letting his guard down so that Shadow Milk can swoop in and..! Get a grip!

"I've been here the whole time," he says instead, quietly. "Please. Save your strength."

He hates knowing he won't be able to erase this from his mind when it's over.

He can't now, even. He can't stop seeing Pure Vanilla's gentle smile branded on the inside of his eyes when he closes them.

This is terrible.

It can always get worse. He stares, stricken, at Pure Vanilla's once-more sleeping frame, and he wonders. He wonders if Pure Vanilla will see through it. He...

Oh, divines. He hunches forward, curling in as best he can, changing back. I don't like this.

He stands. He flees. He flees. He leaves no trace of his actions save for a duplicate of the ruined robe, free of stains, and the heady scent of lilies suffocating the air of the room like it choked out his sensibility.

And, unbeknownst to him, a brush on the floor.

[therabbitthatpostthings]

Imagining Giyuu, barley conscious watching You stumble in front of him. Your clothes are covered in dirt and blood, they’re ripped and your exposed skin is scratched and bruised. The demon before you had a sickening grin as he lunged towards you.

Giyuu pushes himself up taking note the demon’s poison must of reached the arm your guarding. The demon notices too and lunges for your side. You can’t move fast enough and it seems he might kill you but Giyuu runs from behind it to take out its head.

He rushes over to you, barley able to keep himself upright. Like a prayer he calls your name, begging you to open your eyes until the Kakushi arrive. Hoping you’ll live even when his own body is turning against him.

Giyuu wakes up surrounded by the white walls of the Butterfly Mansion. His calmness leaves him when he looks over and sees you bandaged and bruised. He stumbles out of bed to your side. He’s careful to not touch you, scared he’ll somehow break you if he does. His head is spinning. Why wasn’t I stronger? How did I let this happen? What if they died? I’m a Hashira- I should of defeated it sooner.

Thoughts clouded his mind until he heard you stir. Your eyes met his and you smiled, “Hi Giyuu.”

And it broke him.

Only you could see this side of him, the emotional, crying, clingy side of him. The Giyuu that clinging onto you like this was all a dream and you would slip away. The Giyuu that gently (but hastily) kissed you like it was the last kiss you two would ever have. The Giyuu that hugged you close to avoid you seeing him crying. He said in a choked voice, “I thought I lost you.”

You wrapped your none injured arm around his back, “Of course not love.”

“Please don’t leave me.” He said it like he was asking any and every higher power out there to not take you. He couldn’t take losing someone else he’d grown to love.

You two stayed like that for what felt like eternity, blissfully unaware of Shinobu standing at the door.

[lilacs-stars]

so I went to a bookstore with my friend the other day, and they saw that a new book in a series they liked was released and they were like “omg! is it actually? no way!” and anyways they searched it up and saw that it was indeed another installment that was recently published, which they hadn’t heard about before. and then they were like “I wasn’t planning on spending more money but I have to buy this! I’m gonna have to pull an all-nighter tonight I just can’t wait to finish it!”

and maybe it’s cause I’m a writer, but like that kinda hit me hard because I want someone to be so excited over something I wrote?? idk like the thought of someone being so happy to read one of my works that they’d be willing to spend money and lose sleep over it is just crazy. I know it probably doesn’t seem like much, and maybe it isn’t, but honestly I feel like that would just be the highest honor as a writer. to have someone care so much about your writing.

it may be unrealistic, but I truly aspire to write like that. and I really do hope to reach that point where someday, somewhere, someone out there gets that excited to read one of my works. like that would honestly mean the world to me.

(idk if this even makes sense, I’m probably high off of sleep deprivation, so sorry if it doesn’t 😭 also sorry for my random ranting just thought of this ahaha 😅)

[bitchcakegreen]

I’m not at all ashamed for laughing at this.

[tumblingxelian]

Songvreign

@kari-go

Seeing as you liked the Songvreign art (Thanks so much!) & the premise of Akuma-Juleka kissing Chloe I had some scattered thoughts you might appreciate to share, its late to they may a lil clumsy but here goes:

Four weeks.

It had been four weeks since Juleka's first awkward encounter with Jagged Stone at the front Desk of the Le Grand Paris Hotel. Before Pixelator had arrived and distracted everyone.

It had been three weeks since Juleka had learned the truth from her mother on the day of the Class Elections and Dark Blade. None of them should have even been there, he shouldn't have been there, Chloe hadn't even been running save for her father's prying.

It had been two weeks since Juleka tried to speak with him as a fellow panel judge, Chloe having given up her seat to bolster Juleka's burgeoning career.

Sine then, it had been a week of endless rebuffs, run arounds and rejections. Of silence in the face of her words, of eyes glancing off her like she didn't matter.

Like she didn't exist.

The thought burned in her chest and left bile on Juleka's tongue.

Their mother raged, but could do nothing. Rose argued for empathy even while trying to comfort her. Luka was content to wait, confidence the man was merely afraid. Somehow it was only Chloe who seemed to key into Juleka's anger.

"Empathy for a man who can't even bother to be a parent? he doesn't deserve it!. As for fear, what could he have to fear, Jagged Stone is beloved and rich, he is by all rights exceptional. He should feat nothing."

She snuggled up closer to Juleka, who at this point had just gotten used to Chloe hanging off her arm whenever she could.

"If he doesn't see how exceptional you are then his brain is broken."

A part of Juleka wanted wanted to focus on that, but she hadn't been able to, not right then. So it was merely added to her ever expanding and concerning Chloe file as she resolved herself to try again.

"Jagged Stone will not suffer any interruptions." His assistant said, barring her path.

"He will suffer me," Juleka rasped, "I am his-" She was yanked back from the door and practically tosed to the hotel hallway floor.

Bob Roth didn't even look at her as he announced, "You are less than nothing, not even a mistake worth covering up."

Juleka felt a firm hand on her shoulder as one of the staff cringingly said, "Mademoiselle, if you would please follow me, you have been banned at the request of Bob Roth and the man whose hotel this is."

Juleka only half registers Chloe storming through the halls, voice loud enough to shatter glass. "This is RIDICULOUS! You cannot ban Juleka! If you do I'll move into her house boat! This place will never survive without me you know!"

Juleka didn't even bother registering Andre's snakey retort, mind and body disconnecting as she was pulled away, words ringing in her head.

Less than nothing.

'Nothing. Nothing. NOTHING!'

Then her whole world was warped in shadows and miasma, a booming voice echoed in her head that wasn't her own.

'To be treated so coldly by a father, the rage burning in your heart is kindled and your voice ready to be a roar. Songvreign, bring me Ladybug and Chat Noir's Miraculous and you can force the whole world to see how unworthy Jagged Stone is his esteem!'

"Yes, Hawk Moth."

-

Chloe wasn't used to fighting with her father. When he did punish her she had no choice but to listen and when she wanted something she had to butter him up.

Actually arguing with him had been becoming more common recently and she couldn't say why, save that he didn't quite seem to approve of Juleka.

Which was absurd, Chloe's future girlfriends was exceptional!

A match for Chloe is the arts of zealous love and since beginning their... Courting. Chloe's life had been going from strength to strength!

The class listened to her more, she was making real connections in the modelling world, she was even doing better in class. Which was to say doing anything in class.

In truth she'd barely even thought to seek her daddy out for anything recently and felt the better for it. But now she had to fight him, because he was being utterly ridiculous and enabling a pathetic excuse for a man who wouldn't even parent his own child!

'Its Gabriel all over again!' Chloe thought as she built herself up for another tirade at her father, only to see him pale and flee down the hall, leaving her behind.

'Well, that's more like it I suppose.' Chloe turned and felt her heart jump into her throat at the sight of Juleka swirling in black miasma as everyone form staff to that creepy perfect Bob Roth and Jagged fled in terror.

A pillar of black energy tore through he roof of the Le Grand Paris hotel and then faded to reveal... Juleka, but not quite.

Her skin was an ungodly pallor of purple though it worked on her. The neon purple and green shades in her hair and clothes had been replaced by crimson reds. Spiked accessors of gold covered her frame and a short vest with jagged sleeves covered a matching black and purple top. On her back was a glowing axe-guitar that crackled with red energy.

"Juleka?" Chloe croaked, unsure if she should bolt or not. She didn't have the best record with Akuma after all-

Juleka looked at her, a pleased smirk on blood red lips revealing fangs. "Chloe... My Chloe..." She said, voice reverberating and roiling with power like a tidal wave that had yet to strike.

Juleka gestured her closer and Chloe obeyed without thinking, letting the Akuma, letting Juleka tilt her chin up to meet those blazing crimson eyes.

"There's no need to fear me my muse," Juleka's free hand grasped Chloe's hip and without a second thought pulled Chloe into a kiss.

It was not technically their first kiss, but it was the first Juleka had initiated and Chloe's brain was frizzling itself up as she tried to match the demonic pace of Juleka, pressing herself closer and gasping as forked to traced along hers and-

Juleka pulled away, a purple butterfly blazing on her face.

"Hawk Moth," She snarled, the action making the very floor vibrate and Chloe's knees go weak, and not with fright~

Juleka threw her head back, ears clasping both sides of Chloe's head and magically muffling the sound as she roared.

"I'll get to it, shut up Hawk Moth!"

The roar completely disintegrated the roof of the hotel and the purple butterfly faded, leaving Chloe bouncing on her feet.

"You really put that loser in his place darling, to be expected from-" She was stopped by Juleka pulling her into another kiss, this one deeper and more breathless than the last even if it was quicker.

Pulling away Juleka licked her lips, "I'm going to find and kill Jagged and maybe a few other worthless fathers while I'm at it. Wait for me here my dear, I'll be even more ravenous when ankle deep in crimson."

"OK," Chloe said breathless and wide eyed.

With that Juleka turned, took out her axe-guitar and took to the sky with a roar of "Jagged! Come out you coward! You won't escape! MY WRATH!!"

-

Notes:

I am sadly too tired to write more, but Juleka hunts down Jagged loudly ranting at him with murderous intent as she tears through Paris.

I'd borrow the world building from @sillysiluriforme and have Juleka, Luka and Anarcha be Romani. Which ties into Roger's harassment of them. & tied into Jagged bailing on the family, either to hide his own heritage so it wouldn't effect his career. Or cos he didn't want the baggage that came with such a relationship on his career.

Suffice to say Juleka's not super sympathetic.

Afterwards I imagine Luka, Anarcha & Rose do try to be there for her, but right now she needs to be angry about this so she goes to Chloe. Who was waiting for her, cos she s very devoted to people she's enamored with and tends to listen to such firm instruction.

Juleka doesn't want to do anything romantic "While being too angry to focus" and fortunately Chloe understands and is very good at anger. They start with trashing Jagged Merch and eventually graduate to smashing up his tour vane and setting it on fire.

Jagged amazingly opts against pressing charges or even letting it get out, and also has the ban lifted, cos he does feel kind of shitty about all this; even if he's not in a head-space to better deal with it.

Also yes, Gabriel was being a massive hypocrite when it comes to talking about negligent fathers. Also Luka wasn't seeking comfort cos his empathy power kind of let him process this whole situation before it even came about. Also being around angry Juleka is a lot for him so that plays into it too.

@personwithaknife & @maestro04yayyy may enjoy this to.

[kittybugz]

atheists: would you unbaptize a christian baby for a thousand dollars?

[thespilledink]

You feel like home

And I have to admit

Home has never been

A place where I felt comfort

So I should have known

To let you go sooner

When I wanted to stay

Because you felt like home

-h.h.

[atlaswritespoetry]

I write you letters that i fear will never reach you but i hope your soul knows mine wont be whole without you

[daughterofcainandchaos]

i might be a bit unsettling at times but i still carry the childlike wonder within me i swear