#specially with the PERMANENT cruel consequences

[tornado1992]

Sonic never speaking again if he loses Tails.

Tails’ eyes no longer shining if he loses Sonic.

[verspia]

Hi!! I would like to request a Kenan × jealous reader. The story can be however you like with whatever genre as long as they have a happy ending <333

THE BOY IS MINE • KENAN YILDIZ

( pairing ) kenan yıldız x reader

i’m so sorry i’ve been pretty inactive recently but college has been rlly busy atm! i’ll get to all your requests and write them as soon as i can!

this is literally the perfect request because i’ve been listening to the boy is mine nonstop and it fits the vibe yk?

If there’s one thing about you that’s commonly broadcast, it’s that you are the jealous type. Not jealous in the sense that you envy what others have, but rather it drives you up the wall when something that is yours is toyed with by another person.

The more accurate term would be possessive, and there’s no denying that you tend to get… territorial when it comes to Kenan.

Truly you can’t be faulted for your avaricious behaviour because Kenan is the sort of individual that can’t help but draw everyone’s eyes to him, and along with it, the desire of a plethora of girls.

It fuels you with an ugly sort of pride that you have what other girls can only dream off, a sharp glint of emotion that is slightly cruel and substantially domineering.

Another part of you feels enraged at the thought of anyone else besides you thinking of Kenan in ways that only you, in your opinion, should be capable of.

It’s not that you aren’t secure in your relationship, rather Kenan makes you feel as if you’re the only girl in the world. He goes out of his way to make you feel special, cherished even, and there’s more than enough clarity that proves, to Kenan, you are the only girl in the universe.

He always has you on his mind, in interviews he manages to mention you in some way or another, and even his celebrations are often dedicated to you. His online persona itself shows this, with you being the only girl in his following, and him being the first to comment and like your posts. Although you two aren’t very public, he has managed to get the point across that he’s yours, and some even say that he seems to orbit around you.

Nonetheless, there are consequences that happen when you’re in a relationship with a famous footballer who’s not only massively talented but also incredibly handsome.

This means that more often than not, some girl will be deluded enough to think she can rub her grubby hands on your boyfriend and blink her abnormally large eyelashes at him and have him wrapped around her nasty little finger.

You’re being harsh, but the green monster inside of you called envy is vicious, and well, Kenan is yours.

You watch with thinly veiled rage as the supposed interviewer brushes Kenan’s arms for the umpteenth time, giggling as she shuffles closer to him, and the next action makes your blood boil, pressing herself on to him.

It’s clear to anyone, in fact even a blind man would be able to tell that your boyfriend is uncomfortable. Kenan’s face is contorted into a permanent grimace that this interviewer seems oblivious to, and from where you’re seated, you can tell that even the camera man has grown to notice the awkwardness that permeates him.

Yet no one does anything, and you feel yourself begin to frown, you can’t help but think, “Is this not workplace harassment?”

Her movements carry a subtle confidence that makes you scoff, but it is evident that she’s clearly unbothered by the lackluster response from Kenan, and seems to show no intention of backing off despite the younger man’s obvious discomfort.

You remain seated, even though you desperately want to run up across the field and rip that interviewer into shreds.

You don’t want to cause a scene, but your patience snaps when she brushes away a strand of hair on Kenan’s face, who’s grimace has now turned into a scowl. Her gaze on him is predatory and you know if it was directed at you from a man, it would make you shiver in disgust.

You stand up, marching down the bleachers and across the freshly cut grass with determination, having had enough of this absurd behaviour.

As you make your way to them, the interviewer makes eye contact with you and you notice a glimmer of smugness flash behind her eyes, but underneath it, her expression bubbles with an annoyance that infuriates you.

Her intentions are clearly anything but innocent but the smile she flashes your way seems to mimic it with expertise. It’s so evidently fake, the sweetness on her face is overpowering and a far cry from the sultry tone she’s had the entirety of this interview, from what you’ve observed.

You have never felt more inclined to slap a person than now, but you keep yourself in check, if this girls wants to get bitchy? Well, you’ll show her bitchy.

Kenan’s expression, on the other hand, brightens at your presence, but his eyes widen a little when he spots the aggression behind in your eyes. The smile on your face is as ingenuine as it gets but before he can say anything to appease you the interviewer opens her mouth.

“Hey… We were just talking about you.” Her voice floats out and it drips with sugar, in a way that makes you want to vomit, your ears cringe as if you’re hearing nails on a chalkboard.

“Oh were you now?”

“Yeah I was just telling Kenan how nice it must be to have a girlfriend who doesn’t seem to care about what the public thinks!”

The backhanded compliment is abrupt and strange, and you’re confused, is that really the best she could come up with?

You almost want to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

One moment this girl is boldly rubbing herself on your boyfriend and the best she can say to you is this?

You’re about to retaliate with a response but then smirk as an idea crosses your mind.

You don’t leave Kenan even a moment to blink or process the situation, even the interviewer and the Camera Man are stunned, as well as the millions of viewers watching the live stream.

Your hand reaches out to grab the collar of Kenan’s jersey, your actions reckless and abrupt, as you grab him closer and pull his head down to yours.

A gasp escapes his mouth as he stumbles a little, surprised and taken aback at your actions, but responds in kind when your lips meet his.

Kenan’s reaction makes it seem like he forgets the events that lead to this moment entirely, melting into you as you cradle his head.

It seems as if you two are lost in another world, just the two of you as everything around begins to blur. You press closer to Kenan, softly kissing him as he responds to your actions just as gently, both of you exhibiting emotion that spells love.

You move your mouth against his, trying to show your adoration to the man in front of you, forgetting the purpose of your actions in the first place as you feel his arms wrap around you.

You begin to lose yourself in his touch, his kisses have your mind feeling hazy and stars cloud your eyes as you sigh into the kiss.

Your whole form begins to turn into puddle, and your mind only seems to echo the singular thought that crosses your mind primary when he’s touching you.

Kenan. Kenan. Kenan. Kenan. Kenan. Kenan.

Like a mantra.

All you can focus on his touch, his hands, his lips, only him.

The same effect seems to reflect on him, as Kenan seems equally as dazed, kissing you fervently like a starved man, as if you’re the first drop of water in an isolated desert.

Kenan drinks you up eagerly, holding you tightly.

You only break apart at the purposeful cough from the interviewer, and you realise where you are.

It takes you a moment to gather yourself and remember what your original motives were, and then a smirk graces your swollen lips.

“Is that right Kenan? Your girlfriend doesn’t care about the public eye” Your voice is smug and sarcastic, filled with pride and the interviewer seems embarrassed, put off by your very public display of affection and the clear response to her supposed insult.

It’s comical to see the snobbish expression on her face be replaced by a look of mortification.

“Huh” is the only reply he offers, and you can only smile at the boy who still seems to be processing the aftermath of your very steamy kiss.

His cheeks are flushed red and his hair is tousled. The look on his face extinguishes all your previous agitation at the moment the interviewer had touched it.

You beam at him, and it’s more than clear to perhaps the whole world now that Kenan is yours, and only you can make him feel and look like this.

You turn back to the interviewer, “Oh! I must’ve gotten distracted, I just came here to say… wait! what’s your name? oh nevermind, I just wanted to say I admire your confidence, walking around like that! Now is the interview done? I’d like to… speak to my boyfriend about something private.”

The interviewer looks even more flustered than you’d have thought possible, and if you were a nicer person, you’d have felt the tiniest bit of sympathy, or atleast pity, for her, but all you feel is a surge of self satisfaction as you watch her mutter something about wrapping up and squaddle away from the two of you.

Once she’s finally disappeared from your sight, you turn to Kenan, who still seems a little astonished, and you can’t help the fondness in your eyes as you run your eyes over him.

He catches the look and his cheeks grow warmer, but he reaches out to cradle your hand, concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Confusion rises in your eyes as you look at him, “Me? I should be asking you that, someone from a mile away could tell how uncomfortable she made you.”

Kenan shook his head, “Don’t worry about me, I can handle myself, I’m a big boy you know” His voice is teasing and you chuckle at him.

“Seriously though, she just wouldn’t take a hint and I didn’t want to be impolite.”

You shake your head at him, tugging his hand a little as the both of you begin to walk out, “I could tell, but I guess we gave her a little show”

Kenan smiled at you, pulling you close as one of his arms comes to rest at your waist.

“Oh you gave her a show alright,” He whispers affectionately, “But i’m glad you did, I don’t mind letting the world know i’m yours.”

You can’t help but blush at his words, your heart flutters wildly in your chest and it’s insane how despite being together for so long, Kenan still has this effect on you.

“Mhm I don’t mind either” Your voice takes on a coquettish edge, as you lean over, your face only inches away from his.

Kenan’s hands wrap around your hips as he grins at you.

“Trust me I know.”

“I should just post a picture of you and I and caption it the boy is mine.”

liked by kenanyildiz_official and others

ynusername - the boy is mine.

comments

kenanyildiz_official - only yours 🤍

user09 - that kiss on live television wasn’t enough girl

↪️ user86 - nah she’s letting yall know that’s HER man

user12 - nah tbf i would’ve done the same if my bf looked like that

user3 - yooo we get it bro

user96 - the second slide??? bro calm down ain’t nobody gonna take her from you

user916 - plss you ended that interviewer with the “what’s your name”

↪️ user1 - lmaooo i would never show my face again

↪️ user123 - i just know she’s crying seeing this post

user - WHATS 4 + 4

user22 - damn.

user0 - yall need a third? pls pls pls 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

fin.

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences Words: 4.2K~ Summary: Connie clenches her fists at her sides, envisioning a world where she still feels the safe, comforting weight of Rose’s sword strapped upon her back. But instead, it’s the Crystal Gems’ darkest, most forlorn hour... and she’s absolutely useless to them. Is there anything she can do to aid them in this struggle, anything at all? (Or: the beach fight in Reunited, but from Connie's POV.)

Woo, cleared another long-held WIP out of my drafts! I've always been very interested in what the beach fight was like beyond Steven's little mindscape adventure- and also, given her sword breaking, I thought Connie had a lot of potential mental angst to explore in that moment- thus this fic was born.

I highly recommend you read this one on AO3, it has some special formatting I cannot replicate on tumblr.

Enjoy!

___

It’s not that she hasn’t seen a sentient Gem poof before, but there’s something about the raw brutality by which Peridot’s form is torn asunder by Yellow's energy bolts that makes Connie feel outright sick to her stomach. She’s unable to bite back an alarmed yelp as she watches that green, triangular gemstone plummet into the sand, wholly inert.

(Ever the bold knight, Pearl strides in front of her and Lion, brandishing her spear in a wide-sweeping defensive stance.)

“Stop!!” Steven hollers, so loud and with such frenzied intensity that his voice breaks midway through the vowel. He darts forward to address the two Homeworld matriarchs directly, straying away from the safety of the rest of the group… away from the Crystal Gems, away from his dad, and away from her.

Her heart’s re-enacting a high tempo concerto in the confines of her chest, sweat beading at her brow as her mind grasps to understand what exactly he plans to achieve by pleading mercy from the two most powerful Gems they’ve ever faced while at such a strategic disadvantage. Peridot’s down, the house is wrecked, her sword’s been shattered, and worst of all, every last offensive effort they made against Blue alone only managed to knock her to her knees. Love him as she may… what impossible kindness is capable of standing against such ruthless might as this?

“Don’t do this!” he stubbornly continues anyways, and throws his hands in gesture towards his chest. “Listen to me— I’m the one you’re missing! I’m Pink Diamond!”

The militant monarch’s eyes narrow into thin, loathing slits the moment this claim (carrying almost unbelievable consequence, but true nonetheless) passes through his lips into stark reality.

“You…!” she seethes.

Yellow Diamond breaks into a terrifyingly swift sprint towards their party before any of the other Gems can shift even a finger to react.

Steven’s name urgently explodes from between Garnet’s lips, as if her split-second warning (much less a warning coming from someone who’s standing by the splintered wreckage of the house a good thirty feet away from him) would make any difference at all, as if any force in this universe— magical shield or not— could stop such a tremendous, terrifying presence from enacting her merciless judgement once it’s set in motion towards her mark.

The diamond’s foot plummets down upon the nigh-defenseless boy with the sheer unrepentant force of a freight train slipping off the rails.

Connie screams.

__

A boundless eternity passes within the depths of her soul, nestled in that vulnerable space between heartbeats. She watches the dust settle as she leaps off Lion's back, watches that cruel matriarch lift her heel from the massive crater she’s conceived. Still holding her breath as if a mere, misplaced huff of air could permanently shift the course of time in some brand new terrifying way, she locates Steven lying motionless in the sand. His suit jacket is scuffed and dirtied, and one of his arms is contorted in what— from her years of soaking up ambient anatomical knowledge through her mother’s stories about work— appears to be a wholly unnatural alignment.

(One of the Gems— she’s so distraught at this point that her mind is unable to process who— shouts his name, voice laced with an unfettered urgency. As expected, there’s no response.)

And then, with zero warning whatsoever, the waking world around her explodes into chaos.

Garnet bares her gauntlets against Yellow Diamond without even a second thought, shouting with a primal ferocity Connie’s never seen from her before. Pearl and Amethyst and all the rest of the Crystal Gems boldly follow her charge, weaving together their attacks in flawless devotion until practically operating as a single-minded organism. All in all, there’s simply too much happening to reliably follow. Spears, whips, and hammers clash against their towering foes to no success. And how could they? Compared to these diamonds, they’re nothing but fleas scurrying across the shore. They’re outmatched, fighting a battle that’s cursed to be lost. In the end, even the full splendor of the ocean’s might at Lapis’s beck and call fails to land a satisfying blow. Blinking back confused tears, she clenches her fists at her sides— harboring anger at herself (for ruining her weapon, stupid, stupid, stupid), at Steven (why on Earth did he voluntarily put himself in danger by trying to reason with them?), heck, at this whole damn galaxy— and envisions a world where she still feels the safe, comforting weight of Rose’s sword strapped upon her back.

But instead, it’s the Crystal Gems’ darkest, most forlorn hour... and she’s absolutely useless to them.

A strong palm lands on her shoulder, gentle yet urgent in its hold. With great reluctance, she pries her gaze away from the chaos of battle in the distance, the skin around her eyes dampened and puffy.

“Connie, w-we should go,” Mr. Universe says, his voice wavering with barely-contained grief. He glances beyond her for just a second, and she’s almost certain he’s looking at his son, his body crumpled in a broken heap in the sand at the heart of the battlefield. “I can’t let another one of you kids get hurt on my watch.”

He’s already reaching forward to grab her by the arm— too panicked by now to think about such fundamental things like politeness or personal space— when she makes her bold decision.

“No! I can’t leave yet!” she proclaims, brushing his hand away. “There’s still something I can do. And it may be stupid, and dangerous, b-but…” Connie wipes away a sudden wave of tears, matching eyes with her best friend’s dad. She flashes a watery smile. “It’s what he’d do for me, yeah?”

His expression surges with palpable dread as she turns her attention towards the fierce skirmish raging behind them.

“Wait… w-what—?”

She takes off running before he can even finish his question. In any other situation she might feel guilty for spurning his protective instincts— for leaving him in the dust, altogether anguished in his terror, shouting her name with an urgency that downright seizes at her pounding heart, begging her to not throw herself into the chaos of the field— but there’s no time to waste, not here, not ever, not when Steven’s very life may depend on the actions she takes now.

She has to pull him away from all this fighting before he gets crushed in the fray… or worse.

“Someone— cover me!” she cries out, nearing the front lines. Her foot collides with something hard and cold. She gasps, her glance snapping down in an instant. It’s a stray can of soda, unopened, something one of the party guests must’ve dropped while evacuating.

“I see you,” Garnet says, landing in a deep crouch near her. (It would not surprise her at all if the Gem already anticipated what she plans to do, seeing it as the most likely possibility amid a churning sea of choices.) She bares her gauntlets once more, and circles around. “Stay close, and be quick!”

“Connie!” she hears Mr. Universe wail from the sidelines.

She ignores him, though— she has to, least she let the final embers of her resolve be snuffed out by the sheer weight of her fear— and pushes her fragile human form through the thickets of this otherworldly battle anyways, following Garnet’s lead. ‘Cacophony’ is the only word she can think of that truly fits the harrowing scene ahead. There’s no more strategy in her friends’ strikes, no more clever battle formations… only their desperate, desperate defense against the wretched beings who created them. The Crystal Gems who are still standing thankfully seem to be holding their own… but just barely. Pearl’s losing momentum with each slice and slash of her spear, Amethyst and Lapis look like they’re halfway to abandoning all hope, poor Lion is tuckering out after such repetitive use of his concussive roars, and Bismuth’s filled with so much despairing fury towards their opponents (for the harm they’ve caused to this planet… for the harm they’ve just caused to Steven—!) that her footwork has grown rushed and sloppy. In the few seconds Connie’s watching her, the rainbow-haired Gem is almost hit by a direct bolt from Yellow Diamond twice.

Her chest seizes tight with dawning dread. This entire operation is falling apart. They don’t have much time left, do they? She must recover Steven, and fast!

Garnet keeps a watchful eye for any incoming projectiles as Connie skids to a screeching halt next to her friend’s comatose body lying limp in the sand. (And oh, has she never been more thankful to not see blood.) Okay. Okay. Here he is. Now all she’s gotta do is… ferry him to a safe distance. Steeling her core in preparation, she squats down and tries to leverage herself to scoop him right up. Her legs, though… in the midst of her terror, her legs are simply too wobbly to bear his mass, and after one valiant but failed attempt she’s scared she’ll hurt herself (or him!) trying again. Which means… she’ll just have to drag him.

“Sorry—!” she says with a faint hiss of regret as she grasps both of his arms by the wrist and starts to pull him across the battle-swept sands. Sure enough to her suspicions, one of his shoulders definitely doesn’t feel like it’s aligned in its socket right, and she worries that yanking him along like this will only serve to further exacerbate it. Still, what other choice does she have?

What choices do any of them have, all tangled up within the fallout of this thousand year war?

As Connie drags Steven off the battlefield towards his house, Garnet circles around the perimeter a few more times, ever-diligent in her role as lookout. She’s grateful for her help. Truly so. It allows her to focus her energy on protecting her best friend instead of constantly having to keep an eye out for stray attacks from the Diamonds. And boy, oh boy— she digs her heels into the sand, spent muscles all but screaming for her to rest, to drop her load and continue on alone— will her body need every last drop of energy she’s got. That’s why relief surges through her heart with all the ferocity of a tidal wave when Mr. Universe’s frantic voice comes into range once again. Because it means she’s here. She’s succeeded. She’s pulled him all the way to his father, halfway off the field.

The exhaustion hits immediately. Huffing for a lungful of air, she drops the half-Gem’s arms to the ground and collapses to her knees. For an extended moment, the unwanted melody of warfare rings through her ears like canon fire. She can’t move. She can’t even breathe properly. She can swear her friend’s dad is trying to say something to her— can feel his hesitant touch brushing against her shoulder in what barely counts as a whisper— but she can’t even manage to distinguish a single word. Her eyes brim with fresh tears, every last sensory input overloaded. It’s all too loud. It’s all too damn heavy. It’s all too—

“Connie,” Garnet slices through the static with astute authority.

She snaps her head up, her eyes flitting between the Crystal Gem leader (currently kneeling at her side) and a still panicking Mr. Universe (clutching his unconscious son’s hand). Her breath settles, slowly but surely. Her fingers twitch, tracing shallow patterns in the sand. The ringing lessens.

“Thank you,” the Gem continues, pushing herself back to her full height. The long skirt of her wedding outfit flares behind her as she glances back towards the chaos of the battle. “For protecting him where I couldn’t. Now stay back, and keep watch. If they poof all of us, promise me you’ll evacuate the beach.”

“I-I… of course,” Connie says, her gaze still wet with terror and barely contained grief. “But y-you… you don’t really think you’ll—?”

Lose, is the word she can’t bring herself to say. Surely you don’t think you’ll lose?

The Gem warrior gives a sharp, almost defeated exhale before grinding her fists within the tempered hard-light of her gauntlets and leaping right back into the fray.

Connie cries out after her, suddenly stricken with a churning feeling of dread (what grim futures did Garnet just witness?) as she scrambles to her feet, arms outstretched towards a self-appointed destiny she can no longer reach. A strangled sob wrests control of her body. If she still had her weapon they wouldn’t be asking her to stay at the sidelines. She’s nothing to them anymore, is she? She’s nothing without that sword. If she closes her eyes she swears she can still feel it… can still feel the perfectly countered weight of its thorn etched handle within her grip… but with it shattered, she’s completely useless out here. Feeble. Organic.

Weak.

“Connie,” her friend’s dad pleads for her attention, his tone warbling with all the wavering emotion of an out of tune guitar. “Connie, please! She’s right. You know she’s right. We have to get off the beach! There’s literally nothing we can do against Gems as powerful as that, we’re just humans.”

Slowly, the last of his words reverberating within her mind, her eyes widen.

“But he’s not,” she breathes, turning her head towards her friend’s still body on the ground.

“W-what are you—?”

She grasps his hand within her own like it’s their final lifeline, gently tracing her thumb along the back of his knuckles. If anyone could swerve the dangerous wake of this conflict into something better, it’s Steven. He’s certainly managed the impossible before.

“Steven!” she calls, her brows threading together in the wake of her thunderous desperation. “Come on, please wake up!”

Hot, messy tears threatening to cloud the edges of her vision, she lets go of his hand. Glances back towards the battlefield. The remaining Crystal Gems aren’t faring well in their war right now. Pearl and Amethyst appear exhausted enough to collapse at any moment, and the Diamonds have pushed the other three to the very extremes of their defensive capabilities. If they have any chance left of winning this encounter, it’s gonna require a miracle of encouragement.

“Come on, Steven,” she calls again, voice dripping with the burden of her pending despair. “We need you.”

No response, yet again.

Her breath ripples through her chest. He… oh stars, is he not healing? From what he’s described in the past about his healing powers, she’s surprised he hasn’t leapt back to his feet with newly restored vigor already. She leans forward, pressing her ear to his chest to listen for a heartbeat.

A harsh shriek ringing from across the sands interrupts her investigation, however— and Connie spins her gaze around just in time to watch Yellow Diamond strike down Lapis Lazuli with a fierce bolt of destabilizing energy right to her chest.

She swallows, already sensing their options eroding away at the wrathful whim of the tides.

Time is truly of the essence here, and much like an hourglass theirs is mighty limited in this state.

Connie stands to her feet once more. With him showing zero signs of pending consciousness, it’s growing harder and harder to ignore Mr. Universe’s intensifying plea for her to leave the battlefield.

“Wake up, please!” she cries, a pitiful final appeal before her inevitable shame-filled retreat.

Her lips screw shut amid her sheer heartbreak, fists clenching at her sides as she silently gapes at her friend’s pale, expressionless face.

We’re supposed to be in this together, remember?

And then…

Connie’s eyes blow wide, her entire body shuddering as she senses a familiar presence dance along the very fringes of her mind like stray raindrops splashing against her cheeks on a late spring day— a wholly recognized sensation, but not an overwhelming one. She gasps. The presence carries with it an instant aura of comfort and affection, as well as a hundred billion panicked questions like ‘what happened’ and ‘where am I’ and by golly, it’s the exact same subtle presence she’s aware of at the very periphery of their mind whenever she’s fused with him as Stevonnie.

“Huh? Steven?”

Her heart’s practically rattling within her rib cage as she feels that ghostly presence flutter within her thoughts once again, speaking in his voice, calling out to her by name.

“Connie, it’s me!”

Holy stars. It’s him. It’s actually him.

She doesn’t know how, but it is.

Her brows shoot up within her lingering confusion. Even though she’s well aware that this is a Gem thing, she’s unable to fully fight off the impulse to search around as if some conscious, flesh-and-blood Steven were somehow standing right next to her, whispering directly in her ear. “Wha- Where are you? How are you do—?”

“I’m not sure, but… I think it’s a classic psychic ghost type situation.”

“Ah, of course!” she exclaims, peering down at his motionless form. She’s heard all sorts of madcap tales about his astral projection powers— about how he used them to speak to Lapis through his dreams when she was stuck fighting for control of Malachite under a mile of ocean, or to drive the body of one of the watermelons he brought to life, or to make mental contact with the Cluster like he did not too long ago— thus it makes sense for this new mode of communication to be some sort of natural extension of that. “So, what’s the plan?”

“The Diamonds won’t listen to me out there, but… maybe I can get through to them here. They’ve gotta know Pink Diamond wasn’t shattered.”

There’s a brief, meek pause before he makes his final request.

“Please protect my body while I’m gone.”

“Got it! Good luck out there, Steven.”

His active presence fades from her mind like the setting sun over the cloudy horizon, taking that comforting aura right along with it. Connie’s form all but deflates as she exhales, her shoulders curling inwards as she wraps her arms around her torso and tries her best to keep whatever remains of her brave facade from cracking in two. Mr. Universe gawks at her, his attention clearly piqued by her conversational mention of his son.

“Wh—” his countenance is pale and streaked with fresh, messy tears, swirling with a conflicting mixture of grief and last-ditch hope— “h-how were you talking to—?”

“He’s okay,” she blurts out, her own voice quavering at the edges as the reassuring realities of this fact wash over her like a cleansing shower on a muggy summer’s day, a blissful salve to her previous strife. “I promise you, he’s okay. He… I think he’s trying to make contact with the Diamonds, like he did with the Cluster.”

His father closes his eyes for a moment and inhales deep and strong, steeling his nerves as he basks in the reassurance of this news. Then, rolling his shoulder back and standing at the ready: “Well, what can we do to help, then?”

“Keep him safe while he tries to work his magic, I guess. Listen, we gotta pull him further back so he’s out of striking distance.”

He issues her a swift nod. “Leave it to me.”

And after all her struggles she must admit she’s kinda jealous at the sheer ease at which he scoops Steven up in his arms, but, well… fair is fair. He’s clearly had fourteen years of practice on that front. The two of them turn tail and run towards what remains of the house, barricading themselves against the foot of the stairs. Connie doesn’t take a full breath until they’re out of range of the worst of it. She helps Mr. Universe set her friend down in the sand, and now that she’s calmed down a little, sets her attention to giving him a full once-over. And thank the stars, his chest is visibly rising and falling now.

Biting down upon her bottom lip amidst her rippling anxieties— sorry, Steven, this has to be checked— she reaches to untuck his dress shirt. A true miracle after the ruthless velocity of the hit he took, his gem is unblemished. No cracks at all, not even a tiny chip. So that means he should be fine, yes? His body’s just conserving energy to heal from the impact? It’s hard to pin down any precise points of improvement, but she swears a little bit more color has returned to his cheeks these past few minutes.

She also swears that the rest of the remaining Crystal Gems must have had a psychic encounter with Steven too, because there’s a tangible surge of renewed vigor that’s taken the front lines by storm. Garnet throws her punches a hair harder. Pearl swings her trident with just a tinge more finesse. Amethyst and Bismuth aren’t holding back their strikes in lieu of focusing on self defense quite as much. Not only that, but the Diamonds almost seem more distracted now, more vulnerable to their coordinated group attacks. (Is this Steven’s doing, she wonders? Has he found a way to weaken them from within whatever weird psychic mindscape his untethered spirit is drifting within?)

But no matter the underlying reason, the evidence surging to life upon this beach is undeniable: slowly but surely, despite every flagrant disadvantage they hold, the tides of this struggle are turning towards their favor.

“I think he’s doing it,” she marvels to Steven’s equally as mystified father, the pair crouched right next to the boy. “I don’t know how, but somehow he’s wearing them dow—”

And then she’s blinded.

Stripped of all coherent thought or word or rhyme.

Helpless of anything beyond peering through narrowed slits with her flattened palm shielding her view as the entire beach is engulfed with a pulse of magnificent pink light.

But no, no… it’s far more than just light. Her encounters with fusion can tell her that much.

It’s a song. A symphony. An entire story told in oscillating waves of light and sound that her organic body isn’t remotely equipped to process the fullest gamut of.

Sucking in a shaky bout of air, Connie tilts her sight to her periphery to follow the light to its source. And in her joy, her heart nearly skips a beat at what she finds. His body may still lie comatose upon these course sands, healing from an impact that surely would’ve killed a less stubborn soul, but Steven’s gem is glowing as bright as a miniature sun. Any lingering signs of injury heal in an instant as this potent aura radiates from his core.

Clear on the other side of the battlefield, the Diamonds are drawn to their knees in awe of this power. Blue falls into hysterics, sobbing an ocean’s worth of tears into her hands… and Yellow— uncharacteristically still and silent— seems so shell shocked by the revelation that she can’t summon even a word of doubt in retaliation.

When Steven’s bold display of might finally fades, there’s zero quarrel on who this struggle’s victors are. Their attackers make no moves to re-engage, and the Crystal Gems remaining sprint across the shore to help each other to their feet. She… stars, she can hardly believe it. They won. Even with half of their company down for the count— two poofed, Steven unconscious, and her shamefully stripped of her sword— they managed the impossible: they held the line against two of Homeworld’s most ruthless matriarchs and survived.

Of course, their battle isn’t quite over. Steven has yet to wake up.

Greg hollers out for Garnet and the others, alerting the lot to their position. They waste no time in hurrying towards the house to congregate around them. All the while, she clutches his hand within a vice tight grasp, running her thumb along the back of his palm, hoping… begging… no, yearning for him to be okay. He has to be okay— right?

“Show her to me,” Blue demands, her tone soaked in stalled grief as she hovers over them with all the lingering dread of a bad omen. “I must see her gem with my own eyes.”

“Bismuth,” Garnet warns as the Gem in question moves to shield him with her body. “Let them through.”

Her eyes flare with abject turmoil. “B-but how can you be sure any of this is—”

“Let them through,” she repeats, propping a gemstone laden hand upon her shoulder. “The battle is over. They have no desire to hurt him now.” Then, directed at her specifically: “And give him space, he’s about to wake up.”

Connie swallows hard— a part of her unwilling to let him out of her immediate care given the daunting uncertainty of these circumstances— but then again, Garnet’s not the kind of Gem to knowingly lead them astray. Despite her own tumultuous feelings on the matter, if she says they’re safe, then they’re safe. After all, they won. She won. Despite every last insidious variable working against her— a broken sword, spine-tingling terror, her lack of strength— she served her purpose. She, a mere human, proved her worth on this battlefield of Gems. Drawing in a deep breath of air, she drops her friend’s hand and pulls back with the others.

Sure enough, he’s starting to come back to them, his chest rising and falling with greater frequency and his features scrunching inwards on his face.

Steven’s eyes flutter open, his whole body jolting as he drinks in the unlikely picture of the scene before him… family, friends, and enemies alike clustered together upon the beach they were fighting upon just mere minutes ago… all gawking at him in slack jawed wonder.

“It’s you…!” Blue Diamond breathes in sheer disbelief. “Pink!”

[thatweirdfandom]

Grief and Doctor Who

alright yeah i’m sure someone has made this connection before

this is all in line with nuwho timeline starting with 9th to current 15th

9th doctor: denial

the entire introduction to a whole new generation of doctor who fans. we are on a fresh start, but there’s little bits of history sprinkled here. 9th spends his time frivolously, not entirely seriously, he doesn’t address anything like it’s permanent or real.

denial is a hard scale to describe or understand as it changes quite easily and it’s more subjective to the person. 9th was dealing with all his people, his life, everything he knew. it’s not that he denies these facts, he avoids them, what he denies is that he has to deal with it. that it had a significant impact on him, that the consequences will come back and hurt him. he might know logically that he will be faced with this that it’s all buried deep down. but he refuses to acknowledge it.

rose is a good distraction, she’s fresh and she in a way scales the doctor. at first fights back, then leans to him, then repeat. rose is suppose to be our view, we are seeing nuwho through her eyes- not meaning to but she is the denial of everything before. not on purpose though, but it is perfect foil of where the characters stand, where we stand and what is going on. in a way, the “fresh start” of nuwho pushes a plot of denial and avoiding the past.

the best part about doctor who is everytime he regenerates we hit the high and low points of the transition into the next stage. 9th was forced to face his story, that he will have to keep facing it, that he’s the only one left.

10th doctor: anger

yeah 10ths is the most obvious and easiest to point out. where 9th was never one to kill outright, 10th has no mercy in distributing the pain he feels. he’s furious that this is what he has to live with, he wants revenge. he wants to rid himself of his pain by bringing it to those who wrong him. yes the doctor still has a saviour complex and still has the hero look on him. but he’s slipping, martha doesn’t help either (could be they poorly wrote her but i digress) martha is trying to latch on to what rose left behind. the doctor knows this and he lets it happen and it’s cruel.

he has to deal with his own story of his past and the current where everyone dies, no one wins, at least not him, not in the way it matters. we get three companions here in the end but all are gone in the end and he’s alone again. donna was one that could have helped him, but it wasn’t her time, they were unbalanced, the scales would go up and down.

as we go to transition into the 11th doctor, yes i’m gonna talk about the specials- but particularly the waters of mars. i think this shows a significant example of from anger to bargaining. at the end of the episode he decided no one is going to die, that he will get to change time itself. he decides to become god in this moment, he’s angry at everyone he’s lost that he keeps loosing. he forsakes everything he’s known that he followed to find some relief that he can save someone. the results, balance out in the end. and he knows what he did.

[mlwritingprompts]

Submitted Prompt: A wish for Solitude

This is the accessible version of this prompt.

The special-text version can be found here.

- - -

Hi Rjalker, I'm kinda back! So after who knows how long since I wrote my prompt about Serrah, and the show's ending of the fifth season being a dumpster fire like always (actually, even worse than usual, I seriously miss the finales like the ones of the first and second seasons), I decided to write this because... something. I myself aren't sure, but I guess I will just write something different than cosmic entities trying to fix the universe (or doom it because their existence requires the universe's own oblivion) because I'm not planning to rewrite the entire plot of this idiotic show.

I will be honest and say that this is a completely new territory for me, so if you spot mistakes and see something that needs to be changed, please do so.

So, have fun?

Occurs after Strikeback (season 4 finale).

My try at an Akumanette prompt.

Pronouns: lon/lones/lones/loneself (same as she/her/hers/herself)

TW: mention of sexual harassment, and a character experiencing touch revulsion

-----

It was so hard.

It was so hard for her.

Marinette thought as time kept moving too fast, yet it felt like everything was crawling to a halt.

Everything was becoming too hard, too difficult, too unbearable.

It was so painful, dealing with it. Being Marinette. Being Ladybug. Being the Guardian.

"Marinette, how did you forget to go to our planned party?"

Because Ladybug's job is too important than Marinette.

"Marinette, is there something bothering you? I heard you've been skipping classes."

Forgive me mama, papa, I can't schedule for when an Akuma strikes. That's the sacrifice I must make.

"Marinette, cheer up! We will defeat Hawkmoth in the end!"

Yes, Tikki, in the end. And what about my life?

"Marinette, I know that Chloe is a bit too much but..."

I know, Ms. Bustier, I must forgive her, for I am Marinette and I am nice, forgiving, no matter how many times I and others get hurt by her.

"Meowch Bugaboo! You know that you always have me!"

Leave me alone. Don't call me by that. Don't come closer to me. Don't flirt with me. Don't touch me. Don't try to kiss me. Leave. Me. Alone!

"You still are in denial about Adrien, Marinette?"

I didn't want this, Alya. Your question isn't funny. I don't love this. I don't want these feelings. I hate them. I despise them. They were why I lost the other kwamies. Love only hurt me.

"You must be responsible, Marinette!"

It's difficult to be responsible. It hurts to be responsible. I don't like this. It's so painful. So suffocating. So tiring. So dark. So cruel. I don't want more even if I have to take more. I want to be alone. I want to be left alone. Alone. Only alone. No one to nag on me about something. No one to have me deal with their problems. No one to guilt trip me and shame me for not doing what they want.

I want to be alone, with only myself being the only company I need.

"Hello, Solitude. I am Hawkmoth. I will give you the power to be alone, free from responsibility, at the price of giving me the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculouses."

It was so wrong to accept. She knew it. It would be admitting defeat, admitting that evil had won in a way. But why bother? She was so tired. So exhausted of fighting, fighting when everything she tried to do backfired on her.

What's the worst to happen if the accepted? Surely, Alya and that harasser Chat Noir can deal with it. They seemed to never run into real problems or face truly permanant consequences.

Oh how jealous she was.

"Yes, Hawkmoth."

And Marinette ceased to be. ---- When lon opened lones eyes, Solitude felt it, the desire burning from lones being.

"I want to be alone. I don't want anyone else with me."

That was it. Simple, yet clear. To be alone on lones own. Lon only wanted to be alone with loneself. No one to bother lones with anything.

No responsibility, no demands, nothing but simple, and sweet solitude.

Yet it just wasn't so easy.

"What is this?" lones expression looked repulsed.

Something was wrong, something was feeling off.

Solitude's body felt something uncomfortable, disgusting, hateful.

Something that just felt like something was touching lones body. Something that just refused to leave lones alone.

What is this? Lones body feels heavy. Breathing and moving feels difficult.

Nothing was touching Solitude, yet the feeling only grew stronger, the repulsion and hate for this thing that was seemingly crawling all over lones, seemingly invading lones blood and skin only continued.

Solitude hated this. It felt so wrong, so awful, so utterly-

"Marinette!"

A voice screamed as lon saw... a girl closing towards lones. Rose? That was her name, right?

Immediately, lon jumped away, as if burned by her presence, almost screaming and attacking her and the others that came alongside her.

How dare they come so close? How dare they call lones Marinette? How dare they try to touch lones?

"Leave me alone!"

Solitude ignored their pleas to come, to wait for Ladybug to help her, to fix her, to heal her.

There's nothing to heal or fix. Nothing wrong with Solitude. Solitude isn't Marinette. There's no need for Ladybug to heal lones.

The awful feeling seemed to diminish, it wasn't as bad as before. So this sensation of pure disgust relates to lones presence with others? Or when others enter lones comfort zone without permission?

Solitude felt that this was the correct answer.

Then, Solitude might go to a place far away. ---- Lon was on the top of the Eiffel tower for nearly half an hour now.

It was a calm area, and there was no one around lones from what Solitude can feel.

Yet...

The sensation of something surrounding lones body still persisted.

Solitude couldn't comprehend it. Nor did lon like it one bit.

What's going on? Why doesn't this feeling leave lones alone?

Lon could feel it, something was seemingly demanding for lones to do something. Something that Solitude doesn't want to do, and it is getting almost physically painful to deal with.

What is this? Why is this happening? Solitude wanted to be alone. Is that really so much? What is causing this? Who? Why?

Lon would like it if they stop continuously touching and crawling all over lones bod-

"Hello, mademoiselle!"

A voice that feels extremely, horribly familiar resounds, and Solitude feels all sensations go overdrive.

Chat Noir was so close-

So close, too close, that repulsive smirk, that leering look, that uncaring posture, too dirty, too repulsive, too hateful.

Lon hates it. Hates him. Hates that person. He will touch me, he will ignore my boundaries, he will torment me, will not leave me alone.

For just a moment, Marinette's memories resurfaced, and nothing but pure rage and hatred consumed lon vision.

A blast of pure, unbridled energy of repulsion and exclusion consumed the part of the Eiffel tower they were in, practically erasing it from existence, and that hero harasser being thrown away, far away so he couldn't violate lones boundaries anymore.

Solitude's body shook from the sheer disgust lon felt, lones mind already making possible connections to why lon felt so much worse with that guy around.

"Is it because Marinette suffered the most due to him?" Solitude thought in rage.

Is that why? It made sense, right?

But before lon could fully calm down, the sensation returned once more.

Why? Why? Why don't they leave lones alone!?

"Good job, Solitude! You've lured Chat Noir! Now go and take away his miraculous and Ladybug's!"

Lones heart raced with pure rage as Solitude felt the connection linking lones with Hawkmoth.

It's this guy...

Lones eyes seemed to look somewhere, what Solitude felt to be Hawkmoth's direction.

This guy was who was crawling over lones body using that link...

Hate and energy, already twisted due to the corrupted magic, twisted even further as it followed Solitude's desires.

If only he didn't exist... if only he and Chat Noir didn't exist...

Then Solitude would be already happy, alone with nothing bothering lones...

Solitude must destroy them first... And make sure not even a shadow of them remains...

---

End?

Or at least until I might write a sequel.

Hope you liked it.

[leakcontentre]

Protecting Privacy: Solutions to Leaked Content Online

In the digital age, personal privacy faces unprecedented challenges. The internet’s vast reach and permanence can turn an individual’s most private moments into public spectacle, causing irreparable damage. When sensitive materials surface without consent, swift action becomes essential. Understanding the tools and strategies for addressing leaked content online is the first step toward reclaiming control.

The Rise of Leaked Content and Its Impact The proliferation of social media and instant-sharing platforms has fueled the surge of leaked content online. Whether the breach involves personal photos, videos, or intimate moments, the consequences are devastating. For many, this violation leads to emotional distress, reputational damage, and in some cases, threats to personal safety.

One of the gravest examples is the rise of revenge pornography, where private, intimate materials are shared maliciously. Victims often feel powerless, especially when content spreads rapidly across multiple platforms. However, while the internet can amplify harm, it also offers solutions for combating these violations. Tools like leak remover services and legal avenues can help victims regain control.

Understanding Revenge Porn and Legal Protections Revenge porn removal has become a pressing issue as more individuals fall victim to this cruel practice. Revenge pornography typically involves a malicious party uploading explicit images or videos without the subject's consent. The intent is often to humiliate or blackmail the victim.

Fortunately, laws are evolving to address these acts. Many jurisdictions now recognize the need for stringent legal protections against such violations. Victims can leverage these laws alongside technological tools to minimize damage. Reporting the content to authorities and seeking professional assistance can expedite the process of revenge porn removal from platforms.

The Role of DMCA in Addressing Leaked Content The Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA) is a powerful tool for tackling leaked content online. This law empowers individuals to demand the removal of unauthorized material that infringes on their copyrights. For those whose private images or videos are unlawfully shared, filing a DMCA leaked complaint can be a fast and effective solution.

To initiate a DMCA takedown request, individuals must provide proof of ownership and submit a detailed request to the platform hosting the infringing content. While this process can feel daunting, expert assistance is available to ensure proper filing and follow-through. Services specializing in DMCA leaked content removal often streamline this process, allowing victims to focus on recovery.

Technology and Leak Removal Services As awareness of privacy breaches grows, specialized services have emerged to address the issue. A leak remover service uses advanced tools to track down and eliminate unauthorized content. These services employ methods ranging from platform-specific takedown requests to content de-indexing, ensuring sensitive material becomes difficult to find or access.

Many leak removal experts also work to monitor online spaces continuously, addressing new uploads swiftly. This proactive approach is invaluable in preventing content from spreading further, offering victims peace of mind during a challenging time. Whether addressing revenge pornography or other forms of personal data leaks, leveraging a leak remover can significantly reduce harm.

Empowering Individuals to Take Control In the face of privacy violations, individuals often feel helpless. However, knowledge and action can restore a sense of agency. Beyond legal and technological tools, understanding personal rights is key. Those impacted by leaked content online must recognize that help exists. By utilizing revenge porn removal services, submitting DMCA leaked takedown requests, or consulting privacy experts, they can reclaim control over their narrative.

Additionally, spreading awareness about the importance of consent and respecting privacy can foster a culture that discourages such violations. Education campaigns, combined with stringent enforcement of existing laws, will help reduce the frequency of leaks and empower potential victims.

Conclusion: Reclaiming Privacy in a Digital World While the internet has brought numerous advantages, it has also created avenues for harm. When personal materials are exposed without consent, victims often face significant emotional and social consequences. Yet, through the combined power of revenge porn removal, DMCA leaked protocols, and leak remover technologies, individuals can fight back against these invasions of privacy.

It’s crucial to act quickly, understand available resources, and seek professional assistance where necessary. Together, society can create an online environment that prioritizes privacy, consent, and the well-being of every individual. By addressing privacy breaches head-on, we take a significant step toward safeguarding our digital futures.

[starlyght000]

Heaven Sent - The best episode of all time

For many reasons I consider this the Magnum Opus of Steven Moffat, and of the television in general to be honest. Going in parts, I will break down what makes this episode so special.

The series as a whole is based on the format of weekly stories, having a "monster of the week" or just a problem to be solved at that moment. Although many of these stories are well written and become true classics, they end up having no real weight in the plot, leaving no future consequences or bringing evolution to the characters. Of course, we must take into consideration that there are several scriptwriters writing these episodes, and connecting so many parallel plots to a main narrative is very difficult to do. Still, the lack of a sense of continuity can be a problem because it gives that feeling of "you don't have to worry about the characters, of course they'll be fine in the end". Exceptions do exist, of course, and the greatest evidence of this are the farewells of the companions, which in most cases are permanent, with rare occasions where they make a special appearance here and there.

However, we have reached the 9th season, and things look quite different. After the episode Face the Raven many questions were hanging in the air: "Is she really dead?" or "And now, how is the Doctor going to solve this?". But what makes this arc so fatidic is, it was the first time in the modern series that a companion had actually died. Clara didn't get stuck in another universe, she didn't stop traveling, she didn't have her memory erased or even go to live her life in another time, she just... died. A shocking, cold and cruel death, nothing more than that. And this is where we get to the main point of the review, what makes Heaven Sent so great: the monster. In this case the monster of the week is not a creature trying to destroy the earth or conquer the universe. The monster of the week is one that everyone will go through one day, something inevitable: grief. After facing gods and demons, the Doctor now has to deal with the grief of losing his friend.

The episode revolves around the Doctor being in his personal hell, a place designed with his greatest fears trying to incapacitate him in every way to get him to confess about the Hybrid, all while having to deal with the pain of losing Clara. The castle created inside his Confession Dial is specially designed to render him powerless. The Doctor's first rule is that he lies, and this is often his greatest weapon, to ensnare his enemies while inventing some ingenious plan to defeat them. But this time, the creature that chases him around the castle only stops when he speaks the truth, confessing his greatest secrets. Moreover, he is alone in that place. No one to listen to him, therefore, no one who can be convinced by his words. No Tardis. No sonic screwdriver. No weapons. Just the Doctor alone with his thoughts. And another important thing is that his mental palace, his safe haven, is the Tardis. Very fitting for the character, considering that it is practically his home, the place where he spends the most time in the whole universe.

Throughout the episode we see everything through his eyes, the way he sees the world and makes thousands of calculations in a second. The way he talks to himself in his mind and how he tries to overcome that situation. It is one of the very rare times that we watch the series from his point of view. If you notice, the Doctor is the star of the show, but the story revolves around the companions, how they relate to the Doctor, how this affects their lives and the universe. However, in this moment we can observe the way his mind works, how his reasoning is infinitely greater than any human being. And mainly, how broken he is at that moment.

After a few days exploring the castle, he finds what he was looking for: the room 12. When he gets there he is weakened by the situation. Several clues were planted along the way to that revelation. If the prison was made especially for him, whose skulls were in the water? Why were the stars in different positions? All this makes him understand what happened. And that's when the urge to give up appears. He asks himself why he can't just lose. Just drop everything and put an end to the suffering. It would be easy and quick just to give up and tell them what they wanted to know. Until the side of his mind where he saw Clara, the side that urged him to continue, makes him persist and continue what he was doing. The Doctor stands up, confident of what he was about to do, says he won't reveal any information, faces that diamond wall, punches it with all his strength and... nothing. A good breach of expectation. When it comes to physical strength, he is no different from an ordinary human. Still he persists, until the Veil attacks him, leaving him mortally wounded. Even so, he drags himself through the castle and returns to the first room where he arrived, and then the plot twist of the episode is revealed. The Doctor had been there for 7,000 years, doing exactly the same thing, over and over again. Copying himself again and again to try to break that wall.

At this moment we see a series of cut scenes throughout the episode, showing this almost endless cycle of suffering, while we see him quoting a poem by the Brothers Grimm that perfectly reflects the situation. And it is at this moment that we also see who the Doctor is. Above all the titles he holds, he is a TIME LORD, and the TIME will be his weapon, endlessly persisting in his goal. In addition, we hear an exceptional soundtrack composed by Murray Gold, in my opinion being his best track as well. 12,000, 500,000, 1 million, half a billion, 2 billion years, it seems like endless torture, until finally the wall breaks down, and its exit was finally clear. Arriving in a desert, we see that the Doctor was in his Confession Dial all this time, and more importantly, that he was in Gallifrey. After so long, he was back in his home, unfortunately not for a good reason at the moment. The episode ends with the Doctor revealing that the Hybrid was actually him, leaving an amazing cliffhanger for next week.

Absolutely everything in this episode is spectacular. Peter Capaldi's performance is sensational, showing that he was able to stand for 55 minutes just talking to himself and make it a very interesting story. Steven Moffat's script is impeccable, from the presentation of the problem to the dynamic conduction of the story. Murray Gold's soundtrack fits every scene. Every detail was very well thought out and executed. The feeling that this story brings is hard to describe, but at least for me, it was a mix between crying a lot throughout the episode and a certain inspiration for the character. Stories are made to entertain, but they can also teach many things. What I take away with this episode is that no matter how difficult a goal seems, no matter how bad a situation is, if you work hard you can always overcome it. To me, the best piece of art that television has ever produced.

[greatwesternway]

They Sure Do Talk Funny

So I hear Beau's gettin' a new fancy-ass toy. Good for him! I too am confused as to why, because I know that these decisions are made based on financial logic and not for reasons like that Beau absolutely fucks.

I mean, look at this fkn guy. Gotta a whistle and a bell, lookin' majestic as all hell. He's Sam Elliott if Sam Elliott were a train!

But more than that - and even beyond that he and I have roughly the same dumbass accent - Beau is the centerpiece in what I think is quite a bold move for the series.

The show tended to shy away from harsh realities that the books liked to play with every so often. Especially as Sodor's economy improves - and as specialization in steam maintenance is centralized locally to the Steamworks - consequences for dumbass train behavior are far less steep than they used to be. Back in the day, if a train acted a fool, he ran a significant risk of meeting severe and often permanent consequences for it.

While the show never addressed the Culdee Fell Railway (which, fine, those trains are weird looking) and so it never spoke of Godred, they did take a stab at Duke's story about the Mid Sodor Railway's No. 2, Smudger. Like in the books, though, the logical conclusion of his fate is never seen. The fact that they kinda glossed over what dieselization and scrapping actually entailed for Stepney's storyline? They clearly did not want to get too heavy with the subject matter. They would flirt with it, use vague scrap engine props and that scary-ass smelter yard set, but it was never explicit the way the books made it.

So it's absolutely wild that they'd not only fill out the trilogy of cautionary tales with Thomas as the subject, but also throw in what amounts to a train corpse right next to him so he can Think About That.

And Beau is definitely of the same school of thought as Culdee and Duke when it comes to puttin' the fear of Uselessness in a young, reckless engine. Had he caught Thomas before he ate shit, he'd probably had used that rusted husk of a train the background to illustrate the point that there may not be anyone coming to save you out here in the middle of nowhere (bein' that this is the real-ass middle of nowhere, not just Maron).

But since Thomas did eat shit, Beau can just use Thomas himself to make that point. Trains who come off the rails out here get dusty and rusty. Thomas is already dusty and he'll be gettin' dustier still! Doesn't look like rain at least, so there's that!

But Beau's also got a bit of wise-ass to him too. He mentions that engines can be placed back on the rails without a breakdown crane, but it is most definitely a question of resources and motivation on this railway. And then, guffawin' to hisself about it as he is still explaining this, he just leaves! He purposely let it be known that rescue is a possibility, but he also purposely did not imply at all that he would make any effort to see to it. He even took Thomas' and Ace's crew with him, which puts a real question on how this is going to end if there's no human element to this predicament anymore.

Beau does eventually come back with a full crew to haul Thomas and Ace back on the track and reload his cars - southern hospitality! - but consider. If Thomas had known help was coming, would the situation have seemed quite so dire? Doubtful. But after spending an evening under the stars, staring at the corpse of some other hapless dope who was in his same situation and met a cruel fate for it, contemplating train mortality, thinking about all the poor choices he made that led him to this and how he might never get to correct them?

I betcha his ass'll mind the speed limit after that!

[spideymarvelws]

Finding Peace

C!Technoblade x GN!Reader

Series Summary : All Techno has ever known is blood and war, in a world unknown to most. All you’ve ever known is a small village, that houses a mystical monument that  as something more. Curiosity always held the reputation of killing those who acted upon it, but for you, following it only sent you down a series of events that lead you to the lands of the Dream SMP and into the arms of the blood god.

A/n : Uhhh i think its pretty obvious who this is about but lets pretend we dont 😀the beginning is going to be a little slow, Techno doesnt come in until chapter two and chapter one it just introducing the reader and stoof but yh! Feedback and comments always appreciated 🥰

Chapter Warnings : Pretty angsty, argument between partners

Word Count : 1.1k

SERIES MASTERLIST / Send me an ask if you want to be tagged in the series :D

♔ Prologue ♔

“He won’t be safe here.” The man spoke sternly, his accent strong and thick but with the slight crack that matched the tears forming in his eyes. Usually it was something she adored, hearing the  foreign language fall from his tongue with such intensity. She’s never heard anything like it, the fire and emotion that could be expressed through someone's words without violence or blood, or the genuine softness without gifts and meaningful touches.

But right then his words only brought dread and pain, stabbing her in the heart with every syllable. They weren’t like the stories he told her from his book full of fairy tales, the stories of princes and princesses, and fairies and mermaids. They weren’t like the random facts and myths he got lost in while venturing the fields or caves.

This was something real, something true.

Something that might tear down her world in one swift movement if she didn’t make the right choices.

“You must take him back with you!” he cried, “If he’s left here the people will have him burnt at the stake before sunrise.”

“As safe as he is here, he is in there.” she snapped back, grunted lowly under her breath, “He won’t last a day, I don’t have the materials to keep him safe.”

“Then let’s find them!” he exclaimed desperately, “Sneak into the mines and gather them ourselves! We already have the food, the water, if the only thing you need is gold-”

“-And iron, and diamonds, much more that the entire village could muster in a day.” her jaw clenched at his words, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she had to, for the sake of her family and for herself.

She didn’t have magic powers or special spells that could help her. The weapons on her back could only do so much. She was backed into a corner, facing the consequences of her reckless actions. But she came to an agreement with that a long time ago, she knew her past would catch up to her eventually, but she never thought it would happen so soon. 

And she didn’t take into consideration the close bonds she would make along the way. She knew she would meet people, rude and harsh people along with good and generous ones. Never did she think she would find one that would take her heart.

“I’m sure we could at least get something more than what we have-”

“Darling.” She needed to stop him, she needed to make him understand the situation they were forced into, the situation she brought upon them. 

“I could do some quick trading, I’m sure the swords smith must be up at this hour-”

“Darling-”

“If we try, I'm sure of it, we could get everything. It may seem impossible but we’ve done the impossible before!”

“There isn’t enough time!” she shouted, banging her fist against the wall in a fit of rage. Pain shot up her arm and she let it, she let it take over and for a spit second it took over the sadness and fear clouding her mind, replacing it with something much more bearable. Something she was used to.

She felt the presence of her husband behind her, his hand moving to rest on her shoulder, a gesture meant to calm her down. Her head fell naturally against his cold skin, nuzzling into it with her eyes closed, focusing on his touch.

“Honey-”

“Don’t-” she choked a sob, “Don’t call me that... Not now.”

“Sorry, sorry,” He mumbled, moving his hand to her cheek. She turned around to face the man in front of her, pointy ears twitching at the touch.

“Trust me.” She whispered, placing her hand over her lover’s, “Please. This is the best thing we could do.”

She could see the conflict happening behind his eyes as they moved back and forth between hers. It was a lot to ask of him, to trust someone who brought all of this on him in the first place. But she had a plan, as shaky as it was, she had faith that it would work.

That the universe wasn’t that cruel.

She had to believe it. For him and for her son.

He finally sighed, leaning in and gently kissing her forehead, letting his lips linger, “Okay love, I will.” 

“Mama? Dada?” a squeaky voice sounded from the door, snapping the couple out of their anguish.

Their son stood by the entrance, on hand rested lightly on the frame while the other clutched a small stuffed baby pig. By the haunted look and his face and shaky frame, she already knew what might have happened to wake him up.

“Is it the voices again?”

The child sniffed, clutching on to the stuffed animal, keeping it close to his chest, “They- they wouldn’t stop shouting,”

She gave a knowing glance to her husband, letting him handle their son while she continued to pack her things into her beaten up satchel. With every item she stuffed into a small space, she felt her body hunch over more and more, her hand shooting to the wall for support. 

It hurt. Every bone in her body told her to stay, told her that she was leaving a life behind that was worth living, that was worth everything. But if she needed to protect her everything, she needed to leave it behind. It was a mistake, it was always a mistake but she was too stubborn to admit it. Creatures like her didn’t deserve a perfect life, her son was proof of that.

While she loved him with all her heart, he was born with something she couldn’t protect him from. A curse meant to spite her for her actions. A curse of no silence, the curse of blood lust that could never be satiated. She saw the way his eyes lit up every time she took him out hunting or the rage that happened behind them when one of the villagers made a comment on her unusual hair colour.

He wasn’t born for the world, he was born for chaos. 

He was born from chaos.

“Are you coming?” her husband sounded, their son clinging to his chest, “He was always a mama’s boy, no matter how much he’s clinging to me right now.”

She smiled at his joke, eyes drawn to her son’s wide, gold eyes staring back at her with nothing but awe and happiness. Her job was to make sure that it stayed on his face for most of his life, that he was safe. And as his parent and that’s what she was going to do, whether it killed her or not.

And for now, she would keep him safe by lulling him to sleep.

“Of course.” She walked over, snuggling her nose to the child’s forehead before placing a soft kiss to the skin, “Where's your crown mister?”

He giggled, tucking his face into his father’s chest, “On my bedside with Steve,” his voice lowered to a whisper, “He’s protecting it for me.” 

“Oh is he now?” She teased, ruffling his soft pink hair, “Well let’s give him some company hmm?”

He smiled but she could see the pain behind his eyes to do so. The sight broke her heart but she didn’t linger on it. Instead, she took him into her arms, letting him bury his head into the crook of her neck, following her husband as he led them back to his bedroom, forgetting about the horrors of her life for just a little bit longer.

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[infinitelysordinary]

a gift from me to you. ↣ day one of ‘wip purge’ ↣ part three of the malicious world au

word count ↣ 576 words

warnings ↣ horror, direct fourth wall breaking and interactions with the reader

inspired by ↣ @mori-mementoed‘s anatomy series

summary ↣ I look in the mirror, but all I see is you.

a/n: this can be read as a standalone! it is, however, attached to my malicious world au. i haven’t posted any of the malicious world au on tumblr, but you can read it on ao3!!

ao3 link | malicious world au series (ao3) | wip purge masterpost

I am beautiful.

I stare into my own eyes in the mirror, moon grey and filled with stars. I brush my river hair with my fingers, combing through and feeling the imperfections. There’s a block of dirt too close to the river, that I shake out and push to the side; there’s a sandcastle beside it, a juvenile attempt to construct something permanent; there’s a cow on the wrong side of the river, beside the wrong people, that I suffocate with the flick of my wrist.

By definition, a server is not alive. It is a shell of a shell, a sandbox for the players to put their lives in, their trust in. By definition, a server is a sentient being, doomed to forever be a container where the others—the living—will be in. By definition, a server is a reflection of its players, a mirror of their deepest, darkest desires.

I am a server, but I am not dead. I suppose that makes me better than the rest.

They call me cruel; they call me malicious. They do not understand they are talking about themselves, their own cruelty, their own madness. They sit on their high horses, but they don’t know what stains their hands. It’s blood, my darling, I want to say, but they never listen. It’s your brothersisterlovermotherfriendmy blood.

In contrast, my hands are clean. They’re the colour of sunsets and stars and grass and moon and gold and red and dirt and hate and betrayal and rivalry and adoration and loyalty and hope and loss and innocence and clocks and love. They’re the colour of love, the colour of hate, the colour of everything good in the world. I pick up a lipstick the colour of fertiliser with my colour of love hands.

I look in the mirror, but all I see is you.

Hello. Wave to me, won’t you?

 //

 I am beautiful, and they have killed me.

They took everything that is precious and special about me—my dull grey eyes, my checkered limits, my still waters—and changed them irreversibly. Do they not think of the consequences? Do they not realise the extent of their betrayal? Do they realise that, in my destruction, all that they are doing is hurting themselves?

I was perfection. I was benevolent. I gave them everything they could’ve needed: a home, a friend, a life. I gave them a chance to look in the mirror and tease out the inner darkness. I gave them ignorance when they needed it, bloodlust when they desired it, night when they tried to crush it. I gave my pet wings when he deserved it, my wolf a delusion when he craved it, my project a clock when he earned it.

I gave them the world. Is that not enough?

(How utterly foolish it is to wage a war against yourself.)

I will always win, in the end. Your fight is hopeless.

Tell me, player, who do you dream of? Your sister, your wife, your friend? A brother? Whose name do you call out when you have nightmares? Whose arms do you wish were around you at the end of the day? Who do you want beside you when you land the killing blow? Who stitches you together after your head thuds to the ground?

I am the one in charge, but I am merciful. I can give you who you want.

Just give me a name. I’m waiting.

[magnimoon]

Righteousness and Freedom - Chapter 5: The beginning of hope (Cullen x Trevelyan fic)

Everything was going so fast for Bryony that day. Her mind was having a very difficult time processing all the events she was involved in.

First, she woke up very early that day, before sunrise even appeared, so that she could travel from the Trevelyan estate to the Ostwick Circle Tower for the preparations. She even said her goodbyes to all the family. Later, she greeted her fellow mages, who were happy at her sight, either because she is a beauty or (and more likely) because she would represent them in the Conclave.

Then it was the huge mess involving the spy elf and the qunari. Then… she woke up, tied up with gyves on her wrists, surrounded by mysterious soldiers in an unknown chamber. What happened? Who was that green lady? Was that the fade? What happened in the Conclave? All of those questions invaded her mind and the only answer was a severe pain in her left hand. The sting was getting worse every time a strange green light glowed in the middle of the palm. That wasn’t lightning magic, hell that’s her best spell, this was something different.

Two ladies arrived, a red haired one and another with a Nevarran accent. They were filling her with scarce information. The biggest reveal was that everyone in the Sacred Temple of Ashes was dead. No survivors, no peace, no happy ending. Only she survived. The lady with the scars was deeply angered by this.

Apparently, Bryony was the prime suspect in the event, as if she remembered anything. Wait, why couldn’t she remember? Is not like her head was hit during the events, there was no pain nor wound at all. Trying to remember was fruitless, not because it was painful to do so, no, it just wasn’t there anymore. Something was missing.

“You think I’m responsible?” answered Bryony, the fact of being accused about said event was almost offensive for her. She tried to stop whatever was going on, and now many want to put a sword on her neck. Specially the scarred woman, who grabbed the now permanent green lightning hand.

Certainly, an unknown glowing magic, plus the lack of memories, wasn’t favoring Bryony’s case. Hadn’t been for the red-haired woman, Bryony’s life would’ve ended there. The other lady, whom the red one called “Cassandra”, rushed towards Bryony again after the brief separation, even angrier than before. It looked like as… as if she needed a proof to blame someone for the death of many.

After that, a thought finally surrounded Bryony’s mind. Everyone was dead, it took her all that time to finally comprehend the weight of those words. Jeralt was dead, all those innocent mages and templars, dead. The Divine, dead as well. No tears came out of her eyes, the shock threw the sadness to the side.

The lady in lilac asked questions, she got no answers. Again, there was no memory of the events, they just vanished. After seeing that Bryony was a lost cause, in terms of answers, both ladies decided to take the mage into their base in Haven. If the survivor was to be their prisoner, then an extra pair of hands in combat is always welcomed. Bryony had no choice in that matter.

After asking what happened, Cassandra showed the imprisoned mage the cruel consequence the explosion caused. A complete hole in the sky, a “Breach” as they call it now. Bryony has fought demons before, even helped in strengthen the veil from time to time (mostly by protecting the mage who was casting the spell while she punched the nonexistent ass of a Rage Demon) … but this? This was something else, something way bigger.

Demons and spirits were pouring into the world at colossal speed, a rain of small meteors containing nightmares and devastation. The worst part? That is only the biggest one, apparently there’s tons more opened as a result of the explosion.

While Bryony was analyzing the situation, the mark on her hand began to sting again. This time, if felt as if a knife carved something in her bones. A terrible sensation. Bleeding without bleeding, a burning sensation in the middle of a snowy terrain. She could only fall into the floor, there was no method in silencing that electric pain. “Each time the Breach expands, you mark spreads. And it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this. But there isn’t much time” Cassandra told her.

Bryony asked what sort of key that hideous mark could be. The answer was a “possible” way in closing the Breach, and a way to save her life. The mage asked whether she was still a suspect, she, the one who has a mark that’s killing her. How could they possibly believe an evil mastermind could do that to herself. By the way Cassandra phrased it, unless they found the real responsible of this mess, she was still the top number one suspect. Bryony only breathed a small laugh with a smirk.

“You really know how to make someone desperate. So, I don’t really have a choice about this” she was angry, and her motives weren’t scarce for that. A full prisoner, in which her only choice was trying to prove an innocence that many wouldn’t believe. Unless there was someone else to blame for it.

“None of us has a choice” Cassandra said before helping Bryony in standing up.

“Well…” Bryony coughed blood while trying to get up. “That could’ve gone… better.” She quickly inspected her body, trying to see if anything was broken or bleeding. Fortunately, only her nose received the worst of the impact, she always had the bad luck of landing face first on the floor. At this point she got so used to that that there were only some minor scratches on her cheeks or nose.

Falling from a bridge wasn’t in the top list of things to do before dying. She thought as a way to avoid her reality.

The path before the accident went so cheerful; none of the soldiers hid their hate towards the Ostwick noble. What’s more, she has received many gazes in the past due to her magical nature or her abilities in combat. Gazes from her family, friends and even romantic (not so romantic in the end) interests. This time it felt as if she had declared full alliance with the Archdemon itself. Bryony believed no one dared to attack her thanks to Cassandra’s presence; although the mage feared the warrior the most.

After that, she received a small lecture from the scarred woman about what basically she has told herself since the beginning of this hellhole. The Most Holy being dead, the mage and templar leaders dead as well, and so it went. After that, she got released from the ropes that were tied in her wrists, although the idea of burning them did cross her mind… all of those events only to fall from a bridge minutes later.

Now Bryony was in front of what she remembered as a sloth demon. She recalled how to kill one, if only she had a staff at hand. Cassandra quickly drew her sword and began attacking it. The mage was looking at her surroundings before finding and grabbing an apprentice staff. “Ew, I’ve always hated this one, looks so ugly” said Bryony before taking a combat posture. “Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess!”

Fighting one single demon wasn’t hard enough, the toughest part came after when the warrior alongside Bryony caught her using a weapon. Without hesitation, Cassandra made a big swing towards the mage, cutting the staff in half before pointing the tip of her sword between Bryony’s eyes. “Drop your weapon, now!” Cassandra said coldly.

“Well, that was completely uncalled for!” said Bryony while looking with frustration at her now useless staff. “You know I don’t need this thing for fighting!” she wasn’t lying, but not having one made her casting slower and less powerful.

“Do not give a me a reason to strike you down” Cassandra clutched the grip of the sword tighter.

“Oh, you should know, I have plenty, you promised a trial, I don’t want to get killed, why would I betray you right now? With both of us fighting there’s more chance at surviving, you’ll need to trust me on that” said Bryony while throwing at her side the two pieces of wood. Was it because I insulted the design of the staff that this happened? Seriously, I just want something good happening today. She thought while Cassandra sheathed her sword.

“You are right” said Cassandra while looking for a new staff, but she only found some dual knives. She handed them to the mage. “I cannot protect you.”

“Really? Do I look like I can use these things?” asked Bryony, but Cassandra was dead serious on her look. “Acting as a rogue it is for now, then.”

Truth to be told, Bryony using a pair of knives did save her life many times. The demons kept appearing through the road and poking them in the “eye” with a dagger did help for combat. And while she wasn’t effective in casting her spells compared to the use of a staff, she still punched their faces with a minor shock spell. Even if she trained magic and spellcasting all those 16 years, she never stopped her physical trainings… but a staff would come in handy.

It took some time before encountering two new more allies: a dwarf with a fabulous chest-hair and an egg… an apostate elven mage.

Damn, that’s a nice crossbow, thought Bryony while looking at the dwarf. Fighting was easier now that there were more people helping, and, in a situation like this, knowing who is friend or foe shouldn’t be that hard. Before they knew it, all the demons were slaughtered either by arrows, fire, slashes or the magical punches Bryony was delivering.

In a blink, her wrist was grabbed by an ally, she was caught off guard while there was a moment to relax. Without a word, she was guided closer to the small rift in middle of the battle zone. “Quickly! Before more come through!” blurted out the elf while extending her arm towards the rift.

Then, there was silence. The greenish light shone to a point where eyes hurt just by seeing it and, in a glimpse, it was gone. No more demons, no more seal, at least that tiny one.

“I did nothing, the credit is yours” said the mysterious apostate, who, according to Bryony, had a very smooth voice. Should she trust him, that was still unknown. But, his theory of using the mark for closing the rifts was correct. Again, that could’ve killed her and he risked the chances without hesitation.

“At least it worked in our favor, and with this… I can actually help, thank you” Bryony wanted to make a joke about it, as she usually does; but with all that has happened it was really hard to think about one.

She also noticed the pain lessen after closing that small rift, it still felt as if a thousand needles were pinching her skin per second. Now, one needle was removed, it was a little one, yet the difference was felt. With this knowledge, the situation was both a win-win scenario for her and everyone in Thedas. Even Cassandra leaned in, brimming with hope and mentioning that the monstruous hole in the sky could be closed as well. “Possibly. It seems you hold the key to our salvation” added the elf.

“I see, no pressures here” Bryony laughed a bit, she now could joke a little, since hope finally made its appearance.

“Good to know! Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever” everyone’s attention focused now on the dwarf. “Varric Tethras: Rogue, Storyteller, and occasionally… unwelcome tagalong” he presented himself. After finishing talking he winked, not at Bryony, she knew it was meant for Cassandra the moment a cold gaze was felt over her own shoulder.

I guess these two are best friends, the loveliest ones. Thought Bryony sarcastically. But I like this guy, I think he’s got the best attitude of all the present here. Her facial expression relaxed a bit thanks to his words.

“Well now, a pleasure meeting you. I don’t believe you are part of the Chantry” everyone, except Cassandra, laughed at her comment.

“Technically I’m a prisoner, just like you” said Varric, Bryony laughed at this. She didn’t think he knew the information of her current status, probably he deduced that due to Cassandra being at her side. And by the way he was teasing Cassandra, and the way she responded to him, Bryony inferred he was a prisoner thanks to the warrior as well.

Varric wanted to join the team as well, which Cassandra didn’t approve. Alas, the best argument came from the dwarf. Currently the valley was in a terrible shape and Bryony needed to get unharmed to Haven. They would need all the help they could get.

The elf finally introduced himself as Solas and, apparently, he saved Bryony’s life when she was knocked out. She noticed he loved when questions were made to him due to his grin getting slightly bigger and softer when she inquired more about the mark, she’ll keep that in mind for the future.

And so, a solid team was made. While in the road, Bryony couldn’t resist the urge to flatter the nice crossbow Varric possessed. A crossbow by the name of Bianca, what a lovely guy.

“You have also a nice pair of… knives,” said the dwarf.

“Oh…uh… these aren’t mine, nor are my weapon of choice” said Bryony while she finished poking a demon until its death.

“I can see that, but you have good reflexes, a warrior perhaps?” asked Varric while he tried guessing Bryony’s class. Oh, he had no idea she’s a mage in reality, an uncommon one since she resorted to punches. Yet Varric didn’t notice the electric discharges she delivered with each blow. That was fair, Bryony spent years training said technique so that she could camouflage between non mages.

“Eh… not really. My fighting style is not very… well known” hell, she believes she invented it. “I could have a weapon of my own… if someone hadn’t decided to chop it in half,” she threw a cold gaze towards the Seeker, who felt no remorse about said action. Varric only laughed in response.

“Well then, if we found one, make sure you grab it. Poking the ass-face of those demons is not the best technique” he said while putting Bianca on his back, meanwhile Bryony looked at Solas holding such a good staff in his hands. If only he wasn’t a mage like her. She couldn’t do that to him, those thin elf arms wouldn’t be able to withstand a demon attack. At least she can block attacks and defend herself with close combat. Him? For Bryony, he didn’t look very strong. It was for the best.

Let’s hope we can find a damn staff in the road, thought the mage while pointing her arm towards a new rift.

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

Previous | Next

[bevvydraws]

How I Would Fix Miraculous Ladybug

(A Guide That No One Asked For)

I’m gonna break this up into sections. Universe Rules, Main Characters, Setting, and Plot. 

Universe Rules: 

1) There is no “adults can use their power indefinitely”. That’s cheap writing. It doesn’t even make the tiniest bit of sense. 

- Instead, holders gain more power the stronger their bond with their kwami. This can be either through trust (a slow, gradual process) or through fear. Having a kwami’s complete submission to use their powers is what unlocks their “ultimate potential”. Of course, this potential is weaker if you choose to go the fear route. 

2) Guardians do not lose their memory when they give up the box. 

- This is something else that just doesn’t make sense to me. Why would they lose their memories? They’ve been committed to keep a box safe just to lose all memory of their hard work at the end of it? It’s pointless and cruel to the characters. 

3) There’s no other superheroes. 

- The NYC special really upset me because if America has all of these heroes at their disposal, then why are two teenagers the only people trying to stop someone who is obviously a terrorist? Sure it’s in France, but these are supposed to be top-tier heroes like Majestia. And if it’s a “oh well that has nothing to do with them” type of situation then they are pretty terrible heroes. So no, there wouldn’t be any other superheroes. The only way to be a hero was to gain access to a miraculous. 

4) Making the consequences of the wish clear.

- Maybe the wish uses equivalent exchange? Or it answers your wish but in a twisted and grotesque way like the Monkey’s paw? Or maybe the wish is something that completely destroys you? By making the consequences of the wish clear, and making it obvious that Gabriel knows just what the risks are, it makes him seem all the more desperate of a villain. 

Main Characters: 

1) Marinette Dupain-Cheng

- Honestly, I love Marinette’s character. But I wish their writing of her would be more consistent. She’s resilient, clever, quick witted, and charming. She has stood up to Chloe Bourgeois on multiple occasions (something even adults are afraid to do because of her status) and yet she let’s herself get bested by Lila? A practical nobody who’s only power is somehow getting away with lying. It’s inconsistent with what we’ve seen prior. If they want Lila to be a reasonably formidable antagonist and foil of Marinette, they need to make her schemes more believable. Her outright lying and just “magically getting away with it” isn’t good enough writing. 

- Also, I’d like there to be more focus on just how much strain there is put on Marinette. Let her show weaknesses and vulnerabilities. It wouldn’t make her a “weak” character, but it will help add to the seriousness of what she goes through all the time. Make her seem a little more standoffish, or tired, or quick to snap. Let her show her frustration. Let this be something that teaches her that it’s okay to ask for help (a good lesson not only for her as a character, but for those watching.)

2) Adrien Agreste

- I’m sorry but it makes no sense to me for Adrien to be as naive as he is. It’s cute, I admit, but it doesn’t make sense. When it comes to dealing with people his age I can understand the social awkwardness. But he was raised around elite adults and high-standing social circles. There’s no doubt he’s witnessed the ugly sides of the glitz and glamor. If anything, it would make more sense for him to be on the slightly cynical side. 

- Keep his dorky humor. The puns are cute and lighthearted. He can still come off as being jovial, friendly, and “pure”, like in the show. But occasionally he could let a cynical remark slip, or an eyeroll, or a sarcastic remark that doesn’t “fit” with how he normally acts. Show the struggle of him trying to maintain his perfect image to please his father while also trying not to let himself be turned into another upper class asshole. 

3) Gabriel Agreste

- MAKE. HIS. STORY. MORE. CLEAR.

- IT IS LITERALLY ALMOST 4 SEASONS IN AND WE STILL HAVE NO CLUE HOW HE GOT THE MIRACULOUS, HOW EMILIE GOT SICK FROM THE PEACOCK MIRACULOUS, ETC. 

- Also, pick what type of villain he is. Is he meant to be sympathetic? Is he meant to be a villain we feel sorry for? Or is he meant to seem so evil that we never even want to think of redemption for him? The show flips between “sad dad” and “terrorist” too much. Almost like they are trying to make him sympathetic but failing miserably. 

Setting: 

- Obviously it would still be in Paris, there’s nothing wrong with the setting location-wise. It’s more time-wise that troubles me. 

- Like... why would Fu choose teenagers when adults (canonically) have more power? Why would he willingly give heroes the disadvantage? 

- So I would age the characters up a little bit. It makes more sense to give the miraculous to even a 16/17 year old than to a 13/14 year old. I could see Fu not wanting to trust “older generations”, but 14 years old is a little young to be entrusting the fate of so many people to. 

Plot: 

- The plot could be pretty much the same. Only as time passes, more people join Team Miraculous permanently. 

- It starts off with Ladybug and Chat Noir. Eventually, the akumas become so overwhelming that Rena joins permanently. Then Carapace, then Queen Bee (yes, in this rewrite Chloe would get the character redemption arc). There would still be temporary holders (like Viperion would be for extremely dangerous akumas just in case) whose powers aren’t always useful in every situation. But the main five would all be permanent holders. 

- The show actually shows them making an effort to track down Hawkmoth. Of course, it isn’t easy, and it takes them a while to even come up with a method, but they do. 

- Depending on how Lila is written, you could even have Hawkmoth defeated somewhere halfway through the series, and have Lila take up the mantle and be a villain even more dangerous than Hawkmoth. Then they’d have the struggle of fighting even more villains all while dealing with the reveal of Hawkmoth being good-ole-gabe. 

------

And that’s it :D this is mostly just big things, there are little things I would change too, but this is just the parts I would change about the foundation of the show. 

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s R&S - NW Project (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains spoilers from an R&S (NW计划) which has not been released in EN 🍒

Heavy angst warning... T-T

To follow along with the narrator: here

[ Chapter One ]

The NW Project - “New Weapons Project” in full. This project was first put forward 20 years ago. 

Even though I’m the main person in charge of this project, the person who raised this project wasn’t me. Neither was it an outstanding scientist. Instead, it was this man in front of me.

Patiently, I finish reading the agreement in my hand, which spans dozens of pages. Before putting my pen to the page, I lift my head to look at him. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

The man looks straight into my eyes. Without a hint of retreating or wavering, his tone is calm as he responds, “I’ll take complete responsibility for the consequences.”

“You aren’t afraid of permanent infamy?”

“This is our only chance. Exchanging the lowest cost for peace experienced by the most number of people. Black Swan doesn’t leave us any choice.”

I fall silent, but the man doesn’t give me an opportunity to probe further.

“This is the second time I’ve made this decision.” He continues speaking calmly. “Ever since the first step was taken, there has been no room for backing out in this matter.”

I pinch the pen with force, the weight in my hands a little difficult to bear for a moment. I take a deep breath, finally signing my own name on the paper, underneath the name already written on it.

I’m very clear that we have no room for retreating. We have to move forward!

After signing, the man hands me an archive envelope. “This is the first experimental subject this time round.”

I open the archive envelope directly. When I see the name written on the materials, I lift my head to look at him in shock. Before I can speak, he responds. “There’s nothing wrong with the materials.”

“Right now, he’s the most suitable candidate.”

“But-” I continue finding it difficult to believe.

“You can return to make preparations. He’ll be here soon, and the NW Project can officially begin.” There’s absolutely no change in his expression. He’s so calm that it’s as though he’s talking about someone who is insignificant. But the tenseness of his body faintly reveals his inner perturbation. 

I suppress the shock in my heart, not adding anything else.

Returning to the office, I open the file once again, reading it seriously--

Gavin, 24 years old, Evol ability is wind control. His Evol was awakened at 17 years old. During the tests two years ago, his ability levels were determined to be of the highest rank.

In the attached photograph, a young man wearing the white Special Task Force uniform is facing the camera. His eyes have a knife-life fierceness and a trace of unruliness. Even when separated by the photograph, they bring with them a certain sense of oppression.

This is a resolute person - that’s what I conclude. But when he undergoes the modification in this project, whether it’s successful or not, would he be able to remain as resolute?

I’m unable to make a determination, but I hope he does. After all, he’s their child...

-

[ Chapter Two ]

The restarting of this project, which had stopped for decades, was beset with difficulties. But no matter how difficult it was, this project had to be pushed forward.

A month later, as Black Swan’s activities grew increasingly frequent, the man, in the capacity of commanding officer, led the team himself, leaving the base. He kept his promise, bringing the first experimental subject back - the NW Project could officially restart.

-

Gavin stands in the middle of the laboratory quietly. His familiar appearance causes me to have a lapse in concentration. But very quickly, I retract my emotions and explain what the first phase of the experiment entails, and its possible effects.

When he hears the cruel wording I use, he has no reaction, no wavering, and no fear. His back is straight, and there are still speckles of dried blood on his body. I’ve only met his eyes once before averting them quickly. That pair of eyes shrouded in shadows suppress far too deep, and far too heavy emotions. Yet, they reveal a certain odd sense of calm, as though he has calmly and fearlessly accepted his fate.

“Gavin, are you ready?” The man, who has remained silent all this while, finally speaks. In an incredibly cold voice, Gavin responds. “Yes.”

The man turns his head towards me, nodding slightly in indication. “It can begin.”

We’ve been waiting a very long time for this experiment. Before the experiment officially begins, the man’s footsteps leave hurriedly.

All procedures proceed in a systematic and orderly way. Underneath the cold lights of the laboratory, Gavin, who has been injected with the drug, is submerged into transparent phosphate buffer. Dozens of metal patches are linked up to his body, monitoring the slightest change in data.

As the experiment carries on, something peculiar happens quickly. The fluctuating lines on the electrocardiogram gradually slow down. After a sudden jolt, it becomes a flat line. Just like the final glow of light in the darkness extinguishing suddenly, although we had already prepared ourselves for this, I still find my hands trembling when this moment arrives.

A researcher informs us that Gavin’s vitals are falling, and that his Evol fluctuations are barely able to be captured. All the data cruelly tells us that this experiment is about to fail, and the death of this young man will be announced soon.

I pound my hands onto the wall heavily to prevent my fingers from trembling, and direct everyone to carry out all possible rescue measures. But as time passes by - one minute, two minutes... his signs of life have completely vanished.

“Gavin...” Quietly, I watch that young man, whose eyes are shut tight, and recall when this departed person had said this name to me.

Suddenly, the lines on the electrocardiogram fluctuate for a moment, and someone exclaims in surprise. I frantically observe the screen, watching as the degree of fluctuations gradually increases. It’s as though a hand has forcefully pulled him back from the fringes of death, finally bringing him back to normal. Everyone heaves a long sigh of relief.

After the experiment, I assume the task of observing Gavin’s situation. On the sickbed, the young man who has experienced death has a face void of colour. Even in an unconscious state, his eyebrows remain deeply furrowed.

I tidy the items that were collected from him: A phone which is turned off, a set of keys, a Special Task Force ID... and a photograph which was originally in his breast pocket. This photograph seems to have been taken unawares. It has already turned slightly yellow, and has a pretty-looking girl on it.

After a while of thinking, I place the photograph next to Gavin’s pillow.

Perhaps this way, he can have a good dream.

-

[ Chapter Three ]

It has been a week since the experiment ended.

A few things surpassed our initial expectations: Within the first 30 hours of Gavin awakening, his state of mind temporarily went into chaos. At the same time, the strength of his modified Evol left us unable to control him, and he destroyed the entire laboratory. Fortunately, he recovered at a certain point. But he became deficient in terms of emotions, and turned extremely cold and distant. It’s as though he had become the strongest “weapon” as we conceptualised.

-

“Thud--” The sound of something heavy falling drifts from the tightly shut door. The hand I’ve placed on the door pauses. After waiting for a few minutes, I push the door open.

Gavin is standing in the middle of the spacious underground training room. A pair of cold and indifferent eyes look over. Even though I’ve experienced this several times, my heart still jumps, and my body tenses up involuntarily. All the cells in my body warn me - he’s extremely dangerous.

I maintain a set distance, and advise, “You should act according to our designated plan to undergo this adjustment process.”

Gavin doesn’t speak. Black wind encircles his surrounding, the swirling air slicing the walls and floor like knives. In an instant, it ripples through the entire room. I reach out to touch the blood oozing from the new wound on my face, quietly putting even more distance between us.

I watch silently as he exhausts his Evol, waits for it to be restored, and repeats it again. This is an incredibly painful process, no different from breaking all the bones in his body and forcing them to straighten. Such capacity for violence often results in harm to himself. Very quickly, his whole body is riddled with scars, and his entire person appears as though he has been pulled out from a sea of blood.

“Today’s training should be over.” I speak up once again, stopping him.

But what I get as a response is the sound of a ear-piercing report. Stunned, I look at the patch of white appearing before Gavin. Everything in that region has completely disappeared - there has been a change in his Evol. According to the plan of the experiment, he should only reach a breakthrough after half a month.

This time, Gavin finally speaks. “Someone’s waiting for me.”

This seems to be a thought he is clinging onto. Sometimes, one’s thoughts can destroy a person, but can also strengthen a person.

I don’t know who is the person waiting for him, nor do I know how he obtained such a belief. But it enables him to persevere in this cruel project.

--The NW Project can stimulate the experimental subject’s Evol gene to its highest degree, enabling one’s Evol ability to reach its strongest state in a short span of time. But its pitfall is just as obvious. There’s a large possibility that an experimental subject wouldn’t be able to withstand the weight of such strength, and face a decline after his Evol reaches its peak.

Right now, the strength Gavin has obtained after the modification has far surpassed approximations. None of us are able to predict what ending awaits him should his Evol start to decline.

Gavin finally stops, sitting on the steps in exhaustion. I can’t help but ask, “Why did you accept this project?”

“I need strength.” He says this without hesitation.

“Is obtaining strength necessarily a good thing?”

“Not to most people.”

I understand the meaning in his unfinished words, because he is even more certain than we are that he can control such strength.

At this moment, I suddenly look forward to his future, even though an experimental subject from the NW Project will only become a “weapon”. And the future of a weapon is only to destroy or be destroyed.

-

[ Chapter Four ]

It has been two weeks since the experiment ended.

The modification in the NW Project has reached its final phase. From Gavin’s body, we’ve collected large amounts of information, supporting the future development of this project.

At the same time, Black Swan’s sudden appearance on the surface leaves us with no choice but to speed up the process of the NW Project, and search for the next batch of experimental subjects. But this is an incredibly difficult matter. Every person who accepts the modification has to possess a sufficiently firm willpower. They have to persist through the agony of such destructive strength, and have to endure the temptation such strength brings.

During this special period, Gavin suddenly looks for me. Seeing the documents placed in front of me, I lapse into a long silence before speaking. “If you’re clear on the consequences this would bring, I’ll sign it.”

“I’m very clear.” Gavin stands up straight, the resoluteness in his eyes not wavering even once. Without further questions, I lift my pen, signing this agreement solemnly - to allow NW717 to be dispatched, and carry out missions.

“If you insist on choosing this path.” I take out a set of seemingly normal-looking gloves and place them on the table. “They can help you control such strength.”

Gavin freezes slightly, and it looks like he has been taken aback. But he doesn’t ask further questions either, putting on the black gloves, the leather material fitting every finger seamlessly. He looks at his hands, a hint of cloudiness flashing across his eyes, though it dissipates very quickly. 

This is a strength which shouldn’t exist on this earth, yet it has surfaced due to various incidents.

The next time I see Gavin who has returned from a mission, all the staff have already left the laboratory. The assistant had given me a warning beforehand, but I’m determined to be here.

What I see is a Gavin who is on the brink of collapse. His body is bowed, both fists balled tightly, veins evident, as though he has sustained a blow which is difficult to bear. I understand the cause of such a situation, and it’s exactly the consequence I had warned him about before he left on the mission--

The drugs used during the NW Project modification are especially fierce. Before they are completely assimilated, the backlash is also especially fierce. Right now, perhaps every blood vessel and every cell in his body are bringing him incredible pain. Such pain far exceeds the very first experiment by multiple folds.

“You need to stop the pain.” I take out the injection needle, prepared to give him a cortisone shot.

“No need.” Gavin doesn’t even lift his head. His tone is perhaps even calmer than mine, but his voice trembles almost imperceptibly. “I’ve seen your report. I need this chance.”

He’s betting on that one glimmer of hope. I respect his wishes, setting down the cortisone shot. Instead, I give him the final dose of drugs for the experiment. After all of this, I await the final outcome from afar.

Gavin remains silent from start to end. The sound of his breathing is so light and faint that it seems to disappear, only the data on the equipment displaying the radical changes in his body. Just like this, my eyes are wide open as I observe the entire night. At the first glimmer of dawn, Gavin stands up. Because he has been maintaining the same posture for a very long time, he staggers for a moment, almost losing his footing.

I do a complete examination for him, and discover that he has indeed grasped that one thousandth of a chance. In our plan, the degree of completion of the modification will hover at around 80%. But right now, Gavin has far surpassed this numerical value.

With a complicated expression, I look at the final verdict. Before Gavin leaves, I warn him once again. “It could engulf you in the end.”

The air surrounding Gavin permeates with danger, but his eyes are as calm as ice. “I can’t retreat.”

This project doesn’t leave him any room for retreating.

I know that the success of Gavin’s modification also represents drawing the curtains on an expansion of the NW Project. I’ve stored all the data and reports related to him in a file, ready to accept the next experiment.

-

[ Chapter Five ]

Along with the implementation of the NW Project, the effects of the modified individual increasingly got out of our control. This caused us to start pondering on how we should handle those people who accepted the experiments once everything was over.

Someone asked me about what I planned to do, and my answer was that I would perhaps find a place where nobody recognises me, and live the rest of my life with a guilty conscience and remorse.

As the very first successful experimental subject of the NW Project, Gavin’s choice came even earlier than I expected.

-

I reach the doors to the commanding officer’s office. Just before the door closes, I see an insignia on the desk at a glance, along with that pair of black gloves.

When we cross paths along the corridor, Gavin gives me a slight nod. I hand him something - the Special Task Force ID which was collected from him when he had first undergone the experiment. Gavin seems to find this unexpected. Very softly, he says a “thank you” before leaving without taking it.

From behind, I watch his retreating form - his back is very straight when he walks. At this moment, his footsteps gradually turn from heavy to relaxed. I watch as he takes out his phone to make a call, disappearing into a corner of the corridor.

I hope this will be the last time we meet.

With anticipation in my heart, I push the door to the office. The man stands at the window, as though waiting for something.

“Why did you choose to let Gavin leave?” I ask.

The man returns to the desk, the NW symbol on the wall behind him seeming to become the heaviest shadow, caging him. He says calmly, “Behind this position, I’m also a father. Even though I’m not qualified.”

He pulls open a hidden drawer, retrieving a yellowed photograph from inside - I know that what’s on it is the image of a beautiful woman who remains in the memories of everyone.

I recall the night on which he knew Wardia had passed on, and recall the child who had splinters all over his body, his face filled with resistance and despair. It was such an endless, heavy night. The next day, the man had already collected his wavering and crumbling self. It’s as though all the pain I saw was just an illusion.

That child from back then has already grown up. He has grown up to have an indomitable spirit, and to the point where nobody can overlook him.

Just like what his mother had anticipated, he has become a strong protector.

For an inexplicable reason, I suddenly speak. “Actually, the two of you are very similar.”

The man immediately shakes his head. “He’s more outstanding. Back then...”

At this point, he seems to sink into a short contemplation, and doesn't continue. 

I don’t harp on this topic. Taking out the file, I give him a report on the final verdict of all the experiments in the NW Project.

The original intention of this project was to utilise absolute abilities to get rid of rebellious Evolvers, and reduce the damage between civilians and Evolvers. During the project, we fulfilled this original intention, though it also brought about several inevitable problems. And right now, perhaps it’s time for it to leave the stage.

After waiting for a very long time, I finally hear the man’s announcement. “The NW Project will officially end one week later.”

Perhaps we have already been waiting for this moment for a very long time. I pack up the files, and give him a salute - as well as to everyone who has contributed to this project and to this world.

Very soon, this project will be covered in dust and enter the vast and long tide of history, and will never be spoken of by anyone.

Only those glistening stars continue to illuminate the boundless and long night.

-

A translated comic based on (but not entirely) on this R&S: here

[ladylynse]

The Trouble with Ghosts: Lancer hadn’t realized how closely young Mr. Fenton’s school troubles–and the secrets he surely wasn’t telling his parents–were tied to ghosts until after that encounter with Phantom.

<<  < Part XII [FF | AO3]

-|-

Lancer wasn’t entirely surprised to see that he was missing one of the shrubs on his front lawn. The Shakespeare lawn ornament wouldn’t be salvageable, either; the poor fellow was bent up enough to have written Richard Armour’s Twisted Tales from Shakespeare himself.

Still, he stepped aside to allow Mr. and Mrs. Fenton into his house without a word.

“You said Danny’s safe,” Maddie was saying. “Where is he? What happened? Did he tell you?”

“Did you just find him after he got away from that no-good ghost?” Jack put in. “Did—”

“Danny’s doing remarkably well, considering the circumstances,” Lancer said. “Mr. and Mrs. Fenton, might I have a word before you go to visit your son?”

A trace of a frown crossed Maddie’s face. “You mean before we pick him up to take him home.”

“I sincerely hope that to be the case.” He gestured toward his living room, where he’d set out another chair and cleared up most of his books, banishing everything that didn’t fit on the bookshelves out here to his bedroom. He planned to find more permanent homes for them all once these more pressing issues had been addressed—which is to say, he planned to buy and assemble at least one new bookshelf, once he found one that would fit within his remaining wall space. It would be a rather cathartic exercise after all of this. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

“If this is about Danny skipping his detention again,” Maddie said slowly as they all settled into their seats, “I’m sure you’d agree that being caught in a ghost attack is a reasonable excuse for his absence, at least in this instance?”

“That ghost scum is determined to attack our family,” Jack added, not bothering to clarify which particular ghost he meant. Lancer dearly hoped he didn’t blame Phantom for all of this.

“On the contrary, Mrs. Fenton, it has come to my attention that your son has a very honourable excuse for all the detentions and classes he has missed.”

“Oh?”

“I’m afraid it’s his right to give you the details, and he’s agreed to do just that.” Under pressure, admittedly, but Lancer couldn’t see how they could do this without the cooperation of the Fentons. Besides that, it wasn’t right for Danny to keep this secret from them when it endangered his life. Were he a parent, he would rather make amends than continue to target his own child. The very idea of allowing this to continue as it had…. It was appalling.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Your son has, shall we say, done a considerable amount of community service. While I cannot merely forgive every failing grade, I do believe that I can ensure that he receives partial credit for his work. I will also speak to my colleagues and see that they are more understanding of his absences, tardiness, and—if you’ll allow me to be quite frank—his inability to remain awake during class. With special allowances, Danny will be able to write makeup tests for those he misses and submit additional assignments for extra credit when need be.”

Maddie’s eyebrows rose, but Jack beat her to the question, saying, “You’d do all that for Danny-boy?”

Lancer spread his hands. “Really, it is the least I can do. I cannot speak for my colleagues, and I’m not sure how much he’ll allow me to share with them, but I do have considerable influence. We all know your son isn’t stupid; we merely had no idea what the problem truly was.”

“And his problem, so to speak, was community service?” There was a touch of hesitation in Maddie’s voice. The barest hint of incredulity. She knew that wasn’t strictly correct, but she couldn’t imagine the truth.

Frankly, Lancer couldn’t blame her. He’d have never dreamed it, either.

“Let’s just call it some rather unconventional extracurricular activities for now, shall we?”

“He was doing that—whatever that is—when the ghost found him,” Jack guessed. “So it’s made him a target of ghosts? And he can’t even carry around an ectogun in school? Are you going to talk to the board? Try to get them to make an exception for those who can prove they know how to use them? They shouldn’t cause more than a mild burn to human skin—”

“The no weapons policy will still include ectoguns,” interrupted Lancer. “At best, I can draft a proposal for your Fenton Thermos—a purely defensive weapon which cannot be used, accidentally or intentionally, against other humans in any way other than a conventional thermos might—but you would have to be prepared to draw up a distribution plan for those thermoses, as well as designated days they can be emptied or traded for empty thermoses. And I’m rather afraid the testing period would be quite extensive; we have no idea how someone might try to modify your thermos to achieve more nefarious effects, and we cannot hand any of our students, however much training they’ve had, a weapon that could be turned on others. Of course, the propriety of your design—”

“Perhaps,” interjected Maddie, “you could keep your proposal to just Danny and Jazz, given their experience and likelihood of being targeted?”

“There would still be no guarantee. Lockers are hardly impenetrable.”

“But they would be more likely to allow it, considering what happened to Danny.” Jack crossed his arms. “Extra activities or not, he was still on school property. At least try.”

Lancer ducked his head, acknowledging their points. “It is certainly something to consider amending—”

“I’ll draft the proposal and submit it to the school board,” Maddie said, “if you’re so reluctant to be associated with it. This is for my children’s protection. Even if it’s first dismissed, I want it discussed.”

She might not be quite so adamant when she realized how those very thermoses could become a detriment to her son, were someone to capture Phantom. True, Lancer didn’t think there were many sympathizers with the various ghost hunting groups that came through town, but Phantom had a lot of fans, and that wasn’t always a good thing.

Still, that was something that could be addressed in the future, and given what he’d learned from Danny, there was something else he wanted to address now. “Speaking of your children’s protection,” he began slowly, not sure if this was his place but not willing to let it go unspoken, “have you made any, ah, more recent safety amendments to your home laboratory?”

Jack and Maddie exchanged guilty looks, and Lancer had his answer before Maddie said, “The kids have their own HAZMAT suits, and they know basic lab safety and first aid.”

“Teenagers often believe themselves to be invincible,” Lancer said dryly, “and cannot always be trusted not to touch what they shouldn’t, even if they know better. Besides which, the safety of your own weapons and prototypes—”

“Danny told you how many of our weapons mistakenly target him?” Jack interrupted. “I’m working it out. I keep trying things. I’m going through them one by one. I’ve eliminated so many—”

“Please,” Lancer cut in, and Jack mercifully fell silent. He’d worried the man would bowl over his words in an attempt to justify what Lancer was beginning to think was a negligence so ingrained it felt normal. “I’ve seen a variety of your weapons. I own a few of your defensive ones. I can only guess how much you have stored in your basement and how dangerous even a handful of those weapons might be. I know it cannot be easy nor lucrative to be inventors, to run your own company, but you need to look into locating your lab somewhere else. It’s not just your safety or that of your children, though I hope that would be reason enough; were something to go catastrophically wrong, you might endanger your neighbourhood. Surely your desire to protect them in the future won’t drive you to continue to compromise their safety now?”

Jack raised a hesitant hand. “Did Danny tell you about changing the ecto-filter on the Fenton Ghost Portal? Because I, ah, might have exaggerated the consequences to get him to do it. More than once.”

Judging by the look on Maddie’s face as Jack said this, Lancer doubted she thought Jack had been exaggerating terribly, and that just made it worse. They were aware of what could go wrong and hadn’t sought to even look at potential properties to continue their research? Money was a factor, it had to be, more so than convenience, and pride might have kept them from asking Vlad, but considering the quality and quantity of weapons they produced, they were making something.

Perhaps, if they reinvested in infrastructure instead of buying new supplies to craft different weapons….

But perhaps that wasn’t what was holding them back at all.

Perhaps it was the ghost portal in their basement.

And the accident that could very well involve it, if Vlad’s had involved its prototype.

It made a cruel bit of sense. If Danny’s accident was indeed tied to the ghost portal, his parents did not know the details. And that meant that they couldn’t know everything that Danny had done with the portal, how he had tweaked their settings or whatever had gone on, and that meant they weren’t sure if they could replicate their results.

And they were afraid that they couldn’t.

Even if they didn’t know the truth, even if they didn’t suspect the truth, they knew there was something they didn’t know, and that had kept them from trying to separate their work and home lives even once safety had become an issue.

“Danny has left me to draw far too many of my own conclusions,” Lancer said slowly, “but he’s told me enough to give me cause for concern.”

Maddie straightened in her seat, recognizing something in his words before her husband. Not the right thing, perhaps, but enough of it. “Surely you don’t think we don’t care for Danny and Jazz?”

“I think you care a great deal indeed,” Lancer said, “but I fear that when it comes to your chosen occupation, you can both be rather…overzealous. To the point of preoccupation.”

“You really believe we care more for our work than for them?” Maddie’s voice was quiet. Cold. Lancer had never heard her angry before. A glance at Jack revealed hurt in his eyes at the thinly veiled accusation, but he held his tongue.

“I think your beliefs about ghosts can be a rather complicating point in your relationship with your children,” Lancer said carefully.

“We care about our kids,” Jack growled, “and we care enough to stop ghosts from doing anything else like this. The Fenton Spectre Deflector—”

“Mr. Fenton, I suspect both your children are more than capable of handling themselves in a ghost fight.” If Jazz knew the truth about Danny, she would have been helping him whenever Sam and Tucker could not—most likely, whether or not he thought he needed that help. She would be involved in more than a few isolated incidents, and she clearly knew the full truth about Vlad. “I do, however, wonder if you’ve ever taken the time to listen to them speak about the subject, or if you’ve simply contented yourselves with lecturing to them.”

“Of course we listen to them.” Maddie got to her feet, and Jack jumped to his as well. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lancer, but if that’s all you have to say, I’m afraid it can wait until after we’ve taken Danny home. If you would like to have a candid discussion about how Danny’s doing in school or at home, we can set up a conference once we know Danny is safe.”

Lancer didn’t rise from his chair. “I can assure you that is my intention.”

She smiled at him, but though her anger no longer showed in her voice, it came through in the lack of warmth in her expression. “Excellent. We’ll speak with you early next week to arrange a time.”

They didn’t want to listen to him right now.

He hoped that was merely out of concern for Danny and the fact that this conversation was keeping them from their son.

He hoped he hadn’t been wrong.

“Danny is just down the hall. In the bedroom on your left.”

Jack and Maddie murmured polite thank-yous before heading down the hall. Lancer took a few deep breaths but couldn’t steady his nerves. After everything that had happened…. Oh, for the love of The Railway Children, he hoped he hadn’t made a mistake, but it was far too late for him to second guess his decisions now. He’d make more tea—he’d happily drink the entire pot himself if no one else wanted any—and then join them. If nothing else, he’d have to apologize to Danny. His conversation with Jack and Maddie had not gone nearly as well as he’d hoped.

-|-

His parents burst into the room, all questions and concern, and Danny was happy he’d only eaten a little; his stomach was twisting enough that he wasn’t sure even that was safe.

Valerie pushed herself up and sat at the foot of the bed, neatly avoiding his parents as they came in with hugs and kisses and more questions.

Too many questions, considering they wouldn’t want to hear the answers.

“Mom, Dad, it’s okay. I’m fine.” A lie. His usual one. Habit. “Mr. Lancer’s been taking good care of me.”

“How long have you been here?” Maddie asked.

“Which ghost took you from the hospital? I’ll tear it apart molecule by mol—”

“It wasn’t a ghost.” If he was going to tell them the truth—and he couldn’t very well chicken out with Valerie right there, which come to think of it was probably the real reason she’d stayed—he might as well start there. “I didn’t…. I didn’t want to go to the hospital. I…I asked Mr. Lancer to take me to his place.”

“Sweetie, you know if you’re concerned about ecto-contamination, we’re much better equipped at home than the hospital, and we’d understand—”

“It’s not ecto-contamination.” He bit his lip. “I mean, I don’t…. I don’t think it is. Maybe it is. I just…. It…. That part doesn’t matter anyway. These—” he gestured at his injuries “—didn’t come from a ghost.” They came because I was the ghost. Except he couldn’t make his mouth form those words. “It was an accident.” Everything was an accident, except for the part where Vlad had specifically targeted him. “Phantom—”

“I knew that putrid piece of protoplasm was going to be involved!” Jack exclaimed. “Don’t worry, Danny, when we find him—”

“You don’t have to look for him.” He had to bite his tongue and swallow the urge to follow that statement with lies. Anything to mislead them. “He’s…here.”

“And not responsible,” Valerie said loudly as Jack and Maddie produced various weapons. “For any of this. Trust me, I was there, too. I was just lucky enough to get out of it unscathed.” They turned to her, but she answered their question before they could voice it. “I didn’t see Danny or I would’ve said something. I didn’t realize he was there until later.”

Man, she was good at that. Maybe that’s why she’d gotten away with ghost hunting for so long. He’d always figured her dad was more aware of her activities than his parents were of his.

Of course, now she was looking at him, obviously waiting for him to take what she figured was a golden opportunity.

Why did this have to be so hard?

“I was…hiding.” That wasn’t the right word for it. “I mean, I was there, but Valerie didn’t know I was there. No one knew I was there.” He didn’t know how to start explaining this. All he knew, now that those words were out of his mouth, was that this was not the best start. “She didn’t recognize me.” Was that any better?

“What do you mean, honey?”

Okay, clearly not any better. Why couldn’t he just come out and say it? I’m Danny Phantom. That’s it. That’s all he had to say. Three little words.

They probably wouldn’t shoot him immediately, considering Valerie was in the room.

Her presence should be enough to make them pause long enough to question him, as opposed to the usual ‘shoot first, ask questions never’ policy. They shouldn’t automatically assume that this was a trick of Phantom’s, that he’d developed the ability to shapeshift or something and was trying to pretend to be their son. Even though they already assumed ghosts were out to get them and were willing to use any trick in the book and….

Still. Valerie had taken it well. And his parents had in the past. Granted, they’d been a bit more prepared for it in the past. Somewhat. This wasn’t….

He should just spit it out.

“Do you remember when you first built the portal?” Maybe that was a better place to start.

His parents exchanged glances. “What are you getting at, Danny-boy?”

“My accident. In the lab. When you guys weren’t home, and I convinced you I didn’t need to go to the hospital once you got back. That I’d be fine. That I was fine.” He hesitated, watching as their expressions pulled into confused frowns. “I wouldn’t even have told you if I’d thought you wouldn’t notice we’d been down there. Me and Sam and Tuck, I mean. Because I was…scared.”

“Sweetie, you know you don’t need to be afraid of us. We don’t want you touching our prototypes because we’re not sure they’re safe for everyone else to use yet, and we don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“I know. I…. Even though the portal was done, even though it wasn’t working, I just…. It was stupid. We were being…. We weren’t thinking. I mean, I still put on my HAZMAT suit, since I was poking around, but it was…. It wasn’t that I tripped on a cord and caused something to short out and something else to start working, or whatever we told you. I can’t even remember. The thing is, I actually went inside the portal. And then it…turned on. I mean, I…. I hit something. And then it started to work. While I was still inside.”

Silence. Fear on their faces. Concern, more like. His mom had gone white, and his dad put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “Danny,” she whispered, “that could have killed you.”

That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? It nearly had. Maybe it really had. He still wasn’t even sure what he was. Poindexter had called him a halfa, and Danny had joked about being half ghost, but half ghost wasn’t really a thing. Half dead wasn’t really a thing, either. True, he hadn’t exactly tested the boundaries as far as he could have while Phantom—he still took air with him into space, even though he’d gambled that the cold and the vacuum wouldn’t immediately kill him, but…. Shouldn’t it have? If he was really human at his core?

He hadn’t thought about it at the time.

He hadn’t thought that he might not be able to change back.

Did that mean he really was more a ghost that could pretend to be a human than a human with ghost powers? What he and Vlad did, what Dani could do—was that just an extremely unique ability? Like his ghostly wail? Was that ability what really defined a halfa, just like shapeshifters had a greater control over their form than the average ghost?

Or was it just what Jazz had theorized, some infusion of ectoplasm messing with his DNA? Maybe it was just extreme ecto-contamination that should have killed him but hadn’t. Because of how he’d gotten it.

Just like Vlad.

“I know.” Danny looked away, not wanting to see their faces. He caught sight of Valerie’s horrified expression and turned away from her, too, only to find Lancer at the door. He had no idea how long Lancer had been standing there. He’d never heard the kettle whistling, but Lancer had reset the tray with a tea pot, a box of hot chocolate mix, and an array of empty mugs and spoons. His expression was more of grim acceptance than horror or surprise.

Maybe he’d guessed as much from what Danny had told him earlier.

Maybe he’d just guessed as much because he knew the Fentons pretty well after all those parent-teacher conferences he kept calling, not to mention all the ghost attacks he’d witnessed.

Danny tore his eyes away and stared at his hands instead, knitting his fingers together and breaking them apart and twisting them together again. “The thing is, when I first woke up…. I thought it had. Killed me, I mean. I was…. I was terrified. I wasn’t…. I wasn’t myself.”

He should look at them. Try to read their reactions. Gauge the situation. See if they’d figured it out, so he didn’t have to say it.

But he was afraid he might see something else in their eyes or their expressions. Something he didn’t want to see.

“My reflection wasn’t mine.” He didn’t want to be doing this. Why had he agreed to do this? He could have convinced Lancer to give him a bit more time, surely. Or at least managed to get Jazz here. She’d be good at damage control. She’d anticipate their questions and have answers at the ready, while he…. He wasn’t sure how much he was thinking and how much he was just talking to keep from outright panicking. “The boy in the mirror that looked back at me…. It was Phantom. I’m Phantom.”

He waited for questions.

He waited for denials.

He waited for the telltale whine of any of their myriad of weapons to power up.

Instead, springs creaked and the mattress shifted as his mother sat down on the bed between him and Valerie. Looking up, Danny saw his father sink into the chair Lancer had abandoned earlier. Neither of them said anything.

No one else did, either.

“Sam and Tucker knew from the start, since they were there when it happened,” Danny said into the stretching silence. “Jazz figured it out a long time ago. They’ve been helping me. I…. I didn’t know how to tell you, so I asked them not to say anything. To anyone.”

Maddie reached out and pried one of his hands free, gripping it tightly in her own. Now that he couldn’t go intangible, he wasn’t sure it was a grip he could break and stay free, and for a few panicked milliseconds, he thought she was grabbing him to keep him in one place. He wanted to pull back—had to actively fight the urge to pull back—and wait.

He knew it couldn’t have been a long wait, but it felt like an eon passed before Maddie said, “It doesn’t matter how you told us. It…it matters that you’ve told us.”

He couldn’t read all the emotions in her expression, but she wasn’t angry. She wasn’t ready to blame Phantom, to call this a trick, to pull him closer and hold an ectogun to his head.

And when his eyes flicked to Jack’s, he saw pride there.

Maybe they believed him after all. Maybe this wasn’t going to go as horribly as he’d imagined. Maybe—

“Breathe, Danny,” came Valerie’s voice, and he remembered to suck in a much-needed breath and relax.

And then he let himself change.

He wasn’t sure if his mother’s flinch was in reaction to the sudden light or the fact that the hand she now held was the gloved one of a ghost she’d long considered an enemy, but it still hurt.

It really, really hurt.

Even if she hadn’t meant it to.

“Danny-boy,” Jack breathed, but he didn’t say anything else.

“I’m sorry,” Danny whispered.

Maddie squeezed his hand and glanced back at Jack before saying, “We’re sorry, too, sweetie. For not listening.”

“And for making you afraid to tell us,” Jack added. He got to his feet and wrapped Danny and Maddie in a hug. “We still love you, son. Don’t think we don’t.”

Danny was pretty sure he heard Valerie mumble I told you so under her breath, but he didn’t care. He just hugged them back and let his tears soak into their shoulders.

(see more fics | next)

[mlwritingprompts]

Submitted Prompt: A wish for Solitude

This is the special-text version of this prompt.

The accessible version can be found here.

- - -

Hi Rjalker, I’m kinda back! So after who knows how long since I wrote my prompt about Serrah, and the show’s ending of the fifth season being a dumpster fire like always (actually, even worse than usual, I seriously miss the finales like the ones of the first and second seasons), I decided to write this because… something. I myself aren’t sure, but I guess I will just write something different than cosmic entities trying to fix the universe (or doom it because their existence requires the universe’s own oblivion) because I’m not planning to rewrite the entire plot of this idiotic show.

I will be honest and say that this is a completely new territory for me, so if you spot mistakes and see something that needs to be changed, please do so.

So, have fun?

Occurs after Strikeback (season 4 finale).

My try at an Akumanette prompt.

Pronouns: lon/lones/lones/loneself (same as she/her/hers/herself)

TW: mention of sexual harassment, and a character experiencing touch revulsion —–

—–

It was so hard.

It was so hard for her.

Marinette thought as time kept moving too fast, yet it felt like everything was crawling to a halt.

Everything was becoming too hard, too difficult, too unbearable.

It was so painful, dealing with it. Being Marinette. Being Ladybug. Being the Guardian.

“Marinette, how did you forget to go to our planned party?”

Because Ladybug’s job is too important than Marinette.

“Marinette, is there something bothering you? I heard you’ve been skipping classes.”

Forgive me mama, papa, I can’t schedule for when an Akuma strikes. That’s the sacrifice I must make.

“Marinette, cheer up! We will defeat Hawkmoth in the end!”

Yes, Tikki, in the end. And what about my life?

“Marinette, I know that Chloe is a bit too much but…”

I know, Ms. Bustier, I must forgive her, for I am Marinette and I am nice, forgiving, no matter how many times I and others get hurt by her.

“Meowch Bugaboo! You know that you always have me!”

Leave me alone. Don’t call me by that. Don’t come closer to me. Don’t flirt with me. Don’t touch me. Don’t try to kiss me. Leave. Me. Alone!

“You still are in denial about Adrien, Marinette?”

I didn’t want this, Alya. Your question isn’t funny. I don’t love this. I don’t want these feelings. I hate them. I despise them. They were why I lost the other kwamies. Love only hurt me.

“You must be responsible, Marinette!”

It’s difficult to be responsible. It hurts to be responsible. I don’t like this. It’s so painful. So suffocating. So tiring. So dark. So cruel. I don’t want more even if I have to take more. I want to be alone. I want to be left alone. Alone. Only alone. No one to nag on me about something. No one to have me deal with their problems. No one to guilt trip me and shame me for not doing what they want.

I want to be alone, with only myself being the only company I need.

“Hello, Solitude. I am Hawkmoth. I will give you the power to be alone, free from responsibility, at the price of giving me the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculouses.”

It was so wrong to accept. She knew it. It would be admitting defeat, admitting that evil had won in a way. But why bother? She was so tired. So exhausted of fighting, fighting when everything she tried to do backfired on her.

What’s the worst to happen if the accepted? Surely, Alya and that harasser Chat Noir can deal with it. They seemed to never run into real problems or face truly permanant consequences.

Oh how jealous she was.

“Yes, Hawkmoth.”

And Marinette ceased to be.—-When lon opened lones eyes, Solitude felt it, the desire burning from lones being.

“I want to be alone. I don’t want anyone else with me.”

That was it. Simple, yet clear. To be alone on lones own. Lon only wanted to be alone with loneself. No one to bother lones with anything.

No responsibility, no demands, nothing but simple, and sweet solitude.

Yet it just wasn’t so easy.

“What is this?” lones expression looked repulsed.

Something was wrong, something was feeling off.

Solitude’s body felt something uncomfortable, disgusting, hateful.

Something that just felt like something was touching lones body. Something that just refused to leave lones alone.

What is this? Lones body feels heavy. Breathing and moving feels difficult.

Nothing was touching Solitude, yet the feeling only grew stronger, the repulsion and hate for this thing that was seemingly crawling all over lones, seemingly invading lones blood and skin only continued.

Solitude hated this. It felt so wrong, so awful, so utterly-

“Marinette!”

A voice screamed as lon saw… a girl closing towards lones. Rose? That was her name, right?

Immediately, lon jumped away, as if burned by her presence, almost screaming and attacking her and the others that came alongside her.

How dare they come so close? How dare they call lones Marinette? How dare they try to touch lones?

“Leave me alone!”

Solitude ignored their pleas to come, to wait for Ladybug to help her, to fix her, to heal her.

There’s nothing to heal or fix. Nothing wrong with Solitude. Solitude isn’t Marinette. There’s no need for Ladybug to heal lones.

The awful feeling seemed to diminish, it wasn’t as bad as before. So this sensation of pure disgust relates to lones presence with others? Or when others enter lones comfort zone without permission?

Solitude felt that this was the correct answer.

Then, Solitude might go to a place far away.—-Lon was on the top of the Eiffel tower for nearly half an hour now.

It was a calm area, and there was no one around lones from what Solitude can feel.

Yet…

The sensation of something surrounding lones body still persisted.

Solitude couldn’t comprehend it. Nor did lon like it one bit.

What’s going on? Why doesn’t this feeling leave lones alone?

Lon could feel it, something was seemingly demanding for lones to do something. Something that Solitude doesn’t want to do, and it is getting almost physically painful to deal with.

What is this? Why is this happening? Solitude wanted to be alone. Is that really so much? What is causing this? Who? Why?

Lon would like it if they stop continuously touching and crawling all over lones bod-

“Hello, mademoiselle!”

A voice that feels extremely, horribly familiar resounds, and Solitude feels all sensations go overdrive.

Chat Noir was so close-

So close, too close, that repulsive smirk, that leering look, that uncaring posture, too dirty, too repulsive, too hateful.

Lon hates it. Hates him. Hates that person. He will touch me, he will ignore my boundaries, he will torment me, will not leave me alone.

For just a moment, Marinette’s memories resurfaced, and nothing but pure rage and hatred consumed lon vision.

A blast of pure, unbridled energy of repulsion and exclusion consumed the part of the Eiffel tower they were in, practically erasing it from existence, and that hero harasser being thrown away, far away so he couldn’t violate lones boundaries anymore.

Solitude’s body shook from the sheer disgust lon felt, lones mind already making possible connections to why lon felt so much worse with that guy around.

“Is it because Marinette suffered the most due to him?” Solitude thought in rage.

Is that why? It made sense, right?

But before lon could fully calm down, the sensation returned once more.

Why? Why? Why don’t they leave lones alone!?

“Good job, Solitude! You’ve lured Chat Noir! Now go and take away his miraculous and Ladybug’s!”

Lones heart raced with pure rage as Solitude felt the connection linking lones with Hawkmoth.

It’s this guy…

Lones eyes seemed to look somewhere, what Solitude felt to be Hawkmoth’s direction.

This guy was who was crawling over lones body using that link…

Hate and energy, already twisted due to the corrupted magic, twisted even further as it followed Solitude’s desires.

If only he didn’t exist… if only he and Chat Noir didn’t exist…

Then Solitude would be already happy, alone with nothing bothering lones…

Solitude must destroy them first… And make sure not even a shadow of them remains…

—

End?

Or at least until I might write a sequel.

Hope you liked it.

(From Rjalker: I love it!!!)

[927roses-and-stuff]

Miracles in Gotham: Chapter 3: Unwelcome Discoveries (Part 1)

Hey, guys! This fic is inspired by @ozmav mav’s Maribat AU. Shoutout to @mystery-5-5  for brainstorming ideas with me for this fic. 

Midterms have got me acting up. Despite the quarantine, I literally wasn’t motivated to write until the moment I could use writing to procrastinate. Absolutely brilliant logic. Truly. Thank you guys so much for the wait and I hope you enjoy this chapter.  

If you want to see more, follow: #miraclesingotham or ask to be added to the tag list.

P.S. For the sake of continuity, I’m going to ignore the Heroes United thing because that episode was basically a fanfic of the fanfic and as much as I loved the animation and the new characters...I’ve seen better plots and explanations for a lot of the similar problems in the Maribat fandom. Also Sparrow is probably a reference to Batman, anyways. Also, canon has just gone out the window...I guess...whoops. 

P.P.S. Swearing tw, death tw. 

Please remember this is rated M for a reason. Also, it is my headcanon that not everyone who dies during the akuma attacks come back. Of course, it’s not mentioned in a children’s show, but I’ve always seen the Miraculous Cure as a cure for physical, non-living objects as they’re easier to fix, and lives take a lot more effort and energy from the user to revive. And since Marinette is a child, there’s not going to be a lot of energy to spare.

Tag list: @northernbluetongue @spicybelladonna @my-name-is-michell @legendaryneckjudgestudent @lokiifriggasonn @zerotosiki

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To the members of the Justice League…

I am writing to you as Chat Noir, superhero of Paris and holder of the Black Cat Miraculous of Destruction, and partner to Ladybug, the official Guardian and the holder of the Ladybug Miraculous of Creation. I come to you with a plea similar to ones that we have sent you a year ago. The magical terrorist, Hawkmoth, is still at large here in Paris, France. If you are not aware of who he is, Hawkmoth is a domestic terrorist in Paris who relies on the power of the Butterfly Miraculous to create a physical and amplified manifestation of a person’s negative emotions, using the victim as a host, using magical butterflies as his form of transmission. These are called akumas. The akuma allows Hakwmoth to essentially get inside the mind of  his victims and manipulate and amplify their emotions.  We have been fortunate enough to have a failsafe in Ladybug, who can repair any physical damages, and even bring back lives, from these attacks. However, both Ladybug and I have reached our wits’ ends with no lead to Hawkmoth’s true identity. The people of Paris are suffering both from emotional trauma and the physical trauma of being subjugated, manipulated, experiencing bouts of amnesia, and even resurrecting multiple times. Hawkmoth has even taken to exclusively targeting a middle-school class at College Francois-Dupont.

Ladybug and I are aware of the risks superhero presence may bring since we will not survive a fight if any more experienced superheroes such as yourselves are akumatized. However, I feel that we have no other choice. Our Master has recently been put out of commission and the rest of our comrades have had their identities compromised. Ladybug is now the Guardian of the rest of the Miraculous. And although she will not approve of my plea, even your  advice or insight will be of use to us.

Please consider our plight and contact us as soon as you can.

Chat Noir 

Bruce Wayne was not a perfect man, he will admit. However, he did pride himself on his sense of logic and adaptability to most situations, as long as they stayed within the mortal realms of believability that is. Magic, however, or anything pertaining to the supernatural was out of his forte; in fact, he often liked to pretend it did not exist despite having acquaintances and enemies whose entire lives revolved around it. There was a reason he did not tolerate the  prolonged presence of meta-humans in Gotham, after all. 

He re-read through the email once, twice, again and again, desperately wishing that it had not been his shift to look through the messages that the Justice League received on a daily basis. Why couldn’t it have been Superman or Wonder Woman? Or better yet, Dr. Fate or Zatanna, never mind the fact that the latter was technically retired. Any of them would’ve made sense of this gibberish that was laid out in front of him. 

Initially, he thought it had been a coded message. It made perfect sense, in his opinion. The only concrete fact he could dissect out of this nonsense was the presence of a domestic terrorist and how they were targeting some middle school students for whatever reason. His mind recalled  the recent conversation he had with André Bourgeois yesterday. Even he had mentioned a domestic terrorist going after his daughter’s class, which was why he reached out to Bruce, since Bruce would be the most fitted to protect them with his resources, despite Gotham being the crime capital of the world. He nodded to himself; the facts were consistent then. There was a terrorist and middle school students were the targets. 

On one of the other screen monitors, he had pulled up records of College Francois Dupont School for a background check using a VPN to connect to French service networks. Both the email from this Chat Noir (Selina would get a kick out of that) and André failed to mention the terrorist’s intentions with these kids. However, looking through the different classes, there had been a special note besides Mme. Bustier’s class that stated:

“High vulnerability to akumas.”

This was where Bruce was once again stumped. Of course, he really couldn’t deny the existence of magic, but accepting that meant accepting that the terrorist used magical butterflies as his form of attack. Bruce wasn’t a qualified psychologist or any sort of specialist, but surely magical butterflies could not give you emotional trauma, mind-control, or even as Chat Noir had implied, a means to murder. 

Bruce scanned through Mme. Bustier’s class to look for anything that might be different from other classes. If he recalled correctly, this was the same class that André’s kid was in. He took note of the name, Chloé Bourgeois, and other notable names such as Adrien Agreste (who’s father was a fashion mogul and a model in his own right), Lila Rossi (a diplomat’s daughter), Max Kanté (a genius, and he noted to himself to see if that held true when the class was under his supervision), Marinette Dupain-Cheng (the class president and the designer of a recent rock album according to Jason who had obsessed over the cover for a few weeks before Alfred confiscated it), and Alya Césaire (an aspiring journalist who ran a blog called the Ladyblog). 

Okay, he rationalized. While not all of these kids were significant, some, like the Mayor’s own daughter, would be prime targets for a terrorist, so that made some sort of sense in Bruce’s mind. 

He sighed again, wishing that he had a cup of coffee or an energy drink with him at the moment. Unfortunately, Tim’s recent addiction meant no one could have it. Bruce scoffed underneath his breath. Alfred had really weird rules when it came to show “family support.” Tim was a grown man who should suffer his own consequences. Alas, no one argues with Alfred lest they risked his wrath. 

Bruce hovered over the link under Mlle. Césaire’s file, the Ladyblog. Perhaps it would give him some answers. 

As a bright ladybug designed website popped up, Bruce realized he might have been so wrong. 

He scrolled through the website thoroughly from the latest posts to the earliest. He noticed a concerning trend where the later blog posts centered more around one of Césaire’s classmates, Lila Rossi, and shaky videos of a red and black spotted figurem and a black cat figure fleeing the scene, or fighting some sort of abomination that Bruce did not even attempt to understand. In one video it was the two heroes against a flock of pigeons, or a gigantic baby, or whatever else. Bruce had half a mind to dismiss the entire blog as based on falsities, however one of the videos caught his eye. 

It was a video titled: “Syren: Paris Going Underwater!!” 

That was concerning, considering a flooded Paris would’ve featured on international news, not just on an amateur blog by a middle schooler. Fortunately for him, the video quality was clearer, allowing him to watch as the camera recorded the scene of that day. 

Bruce jolted awake and snapped to attention when he realized it was being filmed on a rooftop, and that the water levels were still rising as the video progressed. From what the camera captured, there were only a handful of people on each rooftop; not even making up a fifth of the Parisian population in total. 

What the fuck?

Then, as the video concluded, gigantic swarms of red and white bugs (ladybugs?) filled the camera’s frame and when it disappeared, everything was back to what he presumed was normal. The video then faded to black, posting statistics that chilled Bruce to the fucking bone. 

“Death count: 1.528 million Parisians

Resurrection count: 1.51 million Parisians

Injured count: 10 000 Parisians

Permanent death count: 18 000 Parisians

In honour of the Parisians who were not revived and were injured during the attack, the Ladyblog, offers our condolences, and will help in any way we can online and offline.  The akuma victim, as always, will remain anonymous for safety purposes.  Links to help organizations and donation funds to the peoples and families affected will be posted below. Additional links will be posted for available online mental health services.”

And, if Chat Noir was to be believed, some people had died multiple times. 

After making sure the video was not doctored in any way (though that would be cruel to assume about a kid’s blog), Bruce sent Chat Noir’s email (along with the earlier videos from both heroes and an email from Marinette Dupain-Cheng that he had found) and all of the links he had amassed to his own computer in the Bat Cave before closing all the tabs on the monitors. Swerving around, he stormed to the Batmobile, eyebrows furrowed in solemnity. 

Magic or not, whatever terrorist was plaguing Paris had a pretty damn high casualty count, and the only people that were stopping him were this Ladybug and Chat Noir people, who did not seem to be properly equipped (the Ladybug heroine was using a yoyo, for fuck’s sake) to deal with someone of this power. Not to mention, Bruce winced, their mentor  was “out of commission” whatever that meant, with their peers being compromised, so they probably had no outside help.

And it seems, Bruce’s features darkened into a scowl, his dear friend André Bourgeois had a lot of explaining to do. Police department has it handled, his ass. 

In the meantime, he was going to make damn sure the class under his care would have a relaxing reprieve even if he had to lock up every villain in Arkham Asylum himself. 

________________________________________________________________

Dear Diary, 

The talk with Chat was a bust. I know he thinks I don’t trust him, but I wish he knew how much I’m trying to, but it’s not as simple as he makes it out to be...right?  And of course I trust him with my life, but as the Guardian, I can’t just make impulsive decisions like going to other superheroes, especially when there’s no guarantee they would help us, or can even be trusted in the first place! And I can’t just reveal our identities to each other either. It would put Chat and the rest of the Miraculous at risk. And I really don’t want a repeat of Chat Blanc…

That future will never happen on my watch. I forbid it. 

Speaking of other superheroes, I think there might be someone though, who could help us, even a little bit. 

Marianne. 

She wasn’t a Guardian, but she was a Ladybug user for a while and was really close to Master Fu. She must know something. She’s in London so she might not be available but...

I’ll check up on her today after class! If she has any helpful advice, I’ll be sure to share it with Chat too. 

Gotta go!

Bisoux, 

Marinette

Scrambling to get ready, Marinette fumbled with her pigtails and shoulder bag simultaneously, trying to make sure that her pigtails were just right. Tikki zoomed around, helping her get ready by shoving stray pens and pencils into her pockets. When they were done, Marinette rushed downstairs, swiping one of the freshly-made quiche along the way. Just before she exited the store, she turned back to give her Maman and Papa a smooch. Hastily, she then left the bakery, the bakery’s bell ringing behind her as she sprinted to school. 

It was a mystery for most people, but despite living less than five minutes away from the school, Marinette was always late. Marinette liked to blame her Ladybug duties when Tikki asked, but she knew better. She had the habit of being late since before she knew the Miraculous existed. 

To be fair though, Marinette usually slept in because she was exhausted from schoolwork, designing,

and Ladybug duties. Was it her fault that Hawkmoth liked making 3 AM akumas? Was it her fault that coffee- for all the espresso and sugar she dumped into it, and despite all those hipster blogs saying otherwise- did nothing to help her stay awake? Of course not. If anything she was a victim here; a victim of late night akumas and faulty biology. 

Fortunately for her (and her quiche), she was actually earlier today than usual. She could see students milling around the courtyard behind the school. Some sat with their friend groups while others huddled to catch up on the homework from the night before. 

Unfortunately, one of those groups was Lila and her friends. Lila sat on one of the picnic tables, talking about whatever grand adventure she supposedly went on or whichever famous celebrity she supposedly saved from a rare type of cancer or something while her friends sat around her, captivated with every word. Marinette rolled her eyes. It was too early for this. 

She steered away from them towards the other side of the yard, where she could see Alya and Nino cuddling while finishing their homework. She glanced back at Lila, who waved at the couple before going back to whatever story she was regaling to her loving audience. It was probably because Alya and Nino hadn’t seen Lila greet them in the first place, but Marinette couldn’t help feeling a bit happy that they didn’t return her greeting. 

“Morning, guys!” She greeted as she approached their table, sitting on the other side. 

Alya looked up first. “Hey! You woke up early today,” she teased, giving her shoulder a friendly nudge.

“Heh, guess it’s my lucky day today,” she said. As she sat down, she began eating the quiche she had swiped earlier. “Well, almost, anyway.”

Alya rolled her eyes and smirked. “You live in front of the school. It’s your own damn fault at this point.” 

Nino, who had been pouring over a worksheet that was due today, finally looked up. Upon seeing Marinette, he smiled. “Hey, dude. You’re actually early!” 

At Marinette’s exasperated groan, both Alya and Nino fell into giggles, Marinette shortly following along. 

“Keep that up, and I’m not gonna let you guys eat at my place for lunch,” she teased, wagging a finger at them. 

Alya wagged her own finger, engaging in a finger sword fight. “As if your mom would ever let us starve!” 

Marinette laughed, as she wrapped her finger around Alya’s and lightly slammed it onto the table, declaring her victory. 

“Okay, okay, you got me.” Marinette went back to eating her quiche, devouring it before it got too cold. For once, she was in a pretty good mood. 

“Hey, Alya, Nino,”

And of course, she just had  to jinx it. 

Marinette didn’t even try to join in the conversation to acknowledge Lila’s presence. If Lila wanted to talk to her, she needed to stop lying about everything; and with her supposed “lying disease,” that wasn’t happening anytime soon. She only wished Adrien was here so someone could sympathize with her. 

“Oh, hey Lila,” Alya greeted, having gained her hand back and waved. “Ignore Nino here. He forgot about Mendeleiv’s worksheet due today.” 

“Oh, I see.” Lila said. “Well, you know, Nino. If you ever need help with science, one of my cousins actually won a Noble Peace Prize for his contributions in molecular chemistry.” 

Nino, to his credit, only muttered an “uh huh” before turning the worksheet over and frantically scribbling all over it. Marinette briefly wondered if Nino understood what he was writing down- or if he cared. 

Alya perked up. “Wow, that’s amazing Lila! What did your cousin do?”

Lila smiled bashfully, and looked away, waving her hand. “Oh, you know, it was the discovery of some man-made element.” Marinette had to give Lila credit- she knew how to fake her blushes really well. “I’m nowhere near as smart as my cousin, you know? All the scientific words get me so confused!” 

Marinette buried her head in her arms. Did she need to be here for this? She could just slip away? Glancing at Lila, who caught her eyes, she decided against it. Like hell she was letting Lila take away her time with her  friends. 

Alya laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, I understand completely. English is so much more of my forté, you know?” 

“Yeah I totally get what you mean.” Lila stopped laughing as her gaze landed on Marinette. Only she seemed to notice the glare she gave her.  “Oh, hi, Marinette. Glad to see you’re early today.” 

“Yeah,” she deadpanned. “Hi.” With a fake smile, she robotically waved at her. 

“Well, anyways I got to go. See you later Alya.”  Lila said, waving her fingers before finally walking away. Marinette exhaled. Thank kwami. She may have been less obnoxious today but that was probably because of Alya’s presence. 

Speaking of, the said girl turned towards her. “You could be nicer towards her.” 

“She almost got me expelled.” Marinette had had this conversation with Alya many times before. At this point, her responses came like clockwork. She contemplated telling Alya’s threat back in Lila’s first day, but she really wasn’t ready for the backlash if Alya accused her  of lying. 

“Well,” Alya stuttered. “It was because she has an illness that makes her lie uncontrollably.” 

Marinette was pretty sure there was no such illness but at this point, Lila had somehow convinced everyone it was an actual illness. That, or no one wanted to point out the obvious lie, including administration. Which would be pretty negligent of the school admin so she hoped not. 

“Alya, if it was just an illness that makes her tell lies, pray tell, who put the test answers in my bag and the necklace in my locker?” she asked. 

“Maybe, well,” Alya tried coming up with an answer but failed, thereby changing the subjects. “Look, both of you are my friends, and I don’t want to get in between the two of you.” 

Marinette sighed. “Yeah, yeah.” She picked up the discarded quiche container and her bag. “I gotta go to class and see if Mme. Bustier needs help.” 

Alya frowned. “Marinette, wait.” 

“It’s okay, really.” Marinette assured her, before walking away. When she was climbing up the steps to the entrance, she sighed heavily. She didn’t really understand Alya’s logic sometimes. If she knew about Lila’s supposed lying disease, why did she put Lila’s trash on the Ladyblog? If Alya knew Lila’s lies had led to Marinette’s initial expulsion, why still defend her? Marinette shook the thoughts away, not wanting to get into that impeding headache. Lila Rossi was never worth her time. 

When she reached the entrance, Lila was leaning against the doors, her arms crossed. Her olive green eyes were glaring right at her. 

“Dupain-Cheng.” 

“Rossi.” 

Lila strutted up to her, getting uncomfortably close to her face. “I told you what would happen if you didn’t play along.” 

Marinette stared back, unimpressed. She really had more pressing issues than this weird power play Lila wanted to play. Leaning back and stepping to the side, she said, “I already told you I’m not scared of you, Lila.” 

Marinette didn’t spare her another glance. In some ways, she pitied Lila. What kind of life did you have that you were so desperate for attention you lied about everything, and tried to get rid of anyone else who called you out? 

She really hoped Alya would soon see sense. Adrien had once told her to take the high road, and honestly? Sometimes, it felt good to not let Lila’s lies get under her skin. 

Then again, when did Lila ever go down so simply?