#non canon compliant

[it-happened-one-fic]

Ink and Magic - The Rose-Red Tyrant

Author Notes: So this is a sort of halfway non canon compliant what if with the overblots and their aftermath. I've been considering, for quite some time now, why the Prefect (reader) gets to see what amounts to the overblot victims memories and hear what seems to be their thoughts regarding said memories. So I guess you could say this is a kind of headcanon for what happens in those moments. This isn't exactly romantic. in fact, I would say it counts as more platonic, but it certainly can be taken as shippy. This will also be a series, though the Diasomnia section won't come out until that entire matter is resolved in game. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Spoilers for Book 1: The Rose-Red Tyrant!!

[Heartslabyul: You're Here!] [Savanaclaw] [Octavinelle] [Scarabia] [Pomefiore] [Ignihyde] [Diasomnia: To be released]

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ fic series/ Can be platonic or romantic/ fluff/ angst/ comfort/ Spoilers for Heartslabul overblot.

Word Count: 2311

The ground was a brutal red. Covered in crushed and bruised rose petals that mixed with dark ink and made everything slippery. 

All I could hear were the screams and shouts from those nearby, but rather than fleeing or continuing to shout directions and warnings until my voice was hoarse, I stood silently. Watching in quiet horror as Riddle stumbled, reeling from the magical attacks he’d just received from his fellow dorm-mates. 

His once soft gray eyes were a violent red and wide open as he stared at me with an expression that spoke of shock. Like his entire world had just come crashing down like a house of cards around him.

He was no longer a form of horror, as the monstrosity behind him collapsed in a flood of ink that spread across the already-soaked ground. 

Instead, Riddle now looked pitiful. Like a lost child. He was trembling all over, but he’d at long last stopped attacking, and I honestly wondered if he’d simply run out of steam.

But as I looked at him, an unexpected sorrow swelled within my heart and caught me off-guard as the young man looked down at his hands, still blackened with ink stains.

Bitter tears began to fill his red eyes, and his previously loud voice wavered as he began to speak, “I…. I was wrong?! But that’s…. Impossible…..” 

His hands came up to cover his eyes and hide the tears that now threatened to roll down his too-pale face.

 He was no longer a creature perfectly fit for nightmares, and my heart seized painfully at his next words. So soft and broken that they were barely audible, “Isn’t it…Mother?”

 With those words, he gave a shudder and stumbled forward, his hands limply falling away from his face, which was now streaked with ink from his stained hands.

This was a Riddle I’d never seen before. One that was completely different from the mature but tyrannical young man I’d met.

 This was a young boy who was lost, broken, and one that I simply couldn’t abandon in this moment.

I didn’t know if it was instinct or something else, but something drove me forwards. Spurring me into running towards the young man, who had begun to collapse forward. 

My feet slid against the inky but tattered rose petals that littered the ground. Evidence of the horror we’d all just witnessed. The other students' voices followed me as they let out alarmed cries. Ace’s voice was perhaps the most prominent as he shouted my name. 

The panic in his voice almost made me want to stop even as my tired legs continued to carry me forward.

In truth, I had only one thought in my mind: that the young man in front of me, Riddle, didn’t need to be alone. 

It was a truth that was whispered to me from within my own mind. Something I knew as a solid fact even though I had no proof.

I barely even knew Riddle. All I knew of him was tyranny.

But I held out my arms, catching the small young man that I now realized was quite frail despite the immense magical power he possessed.

 He clung desperately to my shirt with trembling hands, and a sob tore its way out of him. I could practically feel the cold ink staining my shirt as it seeped through the thin fabric, and we both sank to the ground. 

He was exhausted, with his head drooping towards me like he could no longer stay awake. And as my knees hit the soggy ground, a wave of fatigue washed over me that promised me peace if I would just let it carry me away. 

I faintly heard my name get called yet again, but it sounded far enough away to be in an entirely other world.

Perhaps it was a voice from my world, trying to call me back home.

But even with that thought in mind, I didn’t respond. Instead, I fell into a darkness that consumed me, and I slumped forward. Still holding the small, broken boy close to me. As if that could bring him the peace he seemed to so desperately need.

But I wasn’t meant to slumber peacefully here, and though the deep darkness of what I thought was deep sleep surrounded me, I was not truly resting.

I looked around in confusion, looking for someone else in this deep darkness. After all, it didn’t feel like I was alone. It felt like I was surrounded in a space that was filled with only myself and one other person.

 It was a strange sensation, one that left me feeling out of my depth as I glanced around in confusion. Finding that here, I was no longer exhausted or sore from the events that had just unfolded in Heartslabyul. 

Like a glitch on a television screen, the blackness flickered, and a hazy scene appeared. That reminded me of an old black-and-white movie recording. 

Even the voices were crackly.

“Happy 8th Birthday Riddle….” I frowned slightly and shook my head, wondering what I was seeing. 

I had to be dreaming, but…. Something about this didn’t feel like a dream. It felt more like I was trying to sift through my memories and was instead being faced with wholly unfamiliar images. 

A large woman stood, smiling down at an adorable red-haired boy whose face I immediately recognized with an alarmed jolt. 

Riddle. Without a doubt, that was the very same young man who’d just attacked me, my friends, and the other members of the Heartslabyul dorm in the midst of what I could only describe as a psychotic break.

I stared in a strange mixture of fascination and confusion at the scene before me as a voice that, unlike the others, was perfectly clear began to narrate the scene that lay before me. Riddle’s voice.

It sounded like he was right next to me, but when I turned, he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, I appeared to be alone. 

Alone, but I was wholly surrounded by the scene of what seemed to be his, Riddle’s, childhood.

 “I’d always wanted to try one of those tarts with the bright red strawberries….”

His voice was as solemn as ever as it calmly explained the thoughts and feelings of the child Riddle, who seemed to star in all of these scenes. But the image before me did not stay peaceful, and I soon came to realize a darker truth about what was unfolding in front of me.

I listened and watched with mounting horror as memories from Riddle’s childhood, barren of playing and fun, played in front of me like a film. Every bit of it was narrated by a numb-sounding Riddle himself.

My eyes went wide as a young, brightly smiling Trey flashed in front of me. He was accompanied by another boy, whom I soon realized was that cat-like fellow I’d met in the Heartslabyul maze. Chenya, I believed his name was.

It was then, right after their appearance, that everything truly began to snowball out of control. 

Tiny Riddle finally got to experience the joys of childhood, only to be caught by his mother, who enforced even more rigorous rules on him. And it was painful to see the small child, who would someday become the young man I’d met not too long ago, weep as he was denied some of the most basic aspects of childhood.

I was beyond enraged on behalf of the small child in front of me. But what made it worse was Riddle’s voice, which was still narrating each scene even though tears were slowly beginning to choke off his voice, “But Mom… Why? Why does my heart hurt so much?”

I covered my mouth, as if that could somehow help me cope, as I listened to the young man whom I could hear crying, but I couldn’t see nor comfort.

The scene in front of me slowly faded to black, leaving me only with Riddle’s voice, begging for an explanation as I turned, searching for him in vain. But he was invisible, in this darkness, as he pleaded for an answer to his questions, “Tell me, Mom, please….. What rule do I need to follow to make this pain go away?”

I closed my eyes, shaking my head as if that could somehow help me figure out what to do, and then, like flipping a switch, it all stopped.

I opened my eyes wearily, only to find I’d been crying silently as I‘d held Riddle close to my chest. My cheeks were even still wet, judging from how cold the breeze was on my face.

Riddle himself was still asleep. His expression slowly relaxed from an upset that matched his tear-choked voice, which I’d just been listening to, to a more peaceful one that suited him far better. 

And it was a relief to see him relax after having seen what I’d just witnessed in whatever that dream was.

 One of his hands was still fisted in my shirt as he clung to me like a small child, causing me to smile slightly even as I shifted to better examine him. I froze mid-motion as I heard a sharp inhale from just next to me. It was then that I realized that both me and Riddle were not, in fact, being supported by one another.

Instead, it was the young man who knelt next to us who held us upright with his arms wrapped securely around the two of us in a sort of embrace.

I looked over and made eye contact with warm, honey-colored eyes that stared at me, relief sweeping through them as I managed to croak out the man’s name, “Trey.”

He let out an exhale, a relieved smile appearing on his face as his grip on my arm tightened ever so slightly, almost like he was trying to reassure himself that I really was present and that all was well.

“Thank goodness. You’re back,” His voice was soft, more of a breath than anything, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by ‘back’. 

But I didn’t get to ask, and he didn’t get to continue since I heard three familiar voices both yell the same name at the same time.

“Y/N!” 

I half turned, finding I was still exhausted and slumping against Trey a bit more as I spotted Ace and Deuce both staring at me in wide-eyed relief before they both took off as Cater, who was right behind them, was still turning to look at me. 

The two boys' feet dug into the still-inky ground as they darted towards where I knelt with Trey and Riddle. 

Deuce reached us first, hitting his knees and grasping my arms as he scanned me for injury, “Are you alright?”

His voice was trembling as he questioned me, looking up at me with wide, panicked eyes. His expression was mirrored by Ace, who was desperately asking me what had happened while Cater appeared behind them. Carefully scanning both me and Riddle.

“Hey, hey. You’re crowding them. They only just came too,” Trey’s grip on me shifted in an almost protective fashion as he spoke, and I realized I was still relying heavily on him for support.

Crowley walked up far more slowly than the others, his eyes on me and a frown on his face as he began to open his mouth to say something. 

But before he could speak, one of Riddle’s hands, which had been gripping my arm this entire time, tightened slightly, and he made a mumbling sound.

All eyes darted to the young man, who slowly opened his eyes, once more a soft grey not unlike that of a dove’s feathers, with a groan. 

He looked up, making eye contact with me before looking at Trey and then back at me. 

Cater was saying something to both of us, but I'd tuned it out almost completely as I scanned the boy for any injuries. 

Riddle continued to look up at me with hazy eyes as I carefully scanned his small form, frowning as I noted exactly how exhausted he still looked. 

After a brief moment, though, he pulled away from both me and Trey. Distancing himself as his eyes slowly cleared and the gravity of the entire situation sank in.

From there, the situation devolved fairly quickly, with numerous questions being asked and reconciliations being made. Trey swept in towards the end of things, with Cater by his side like two concerned parents. Demanding that me and Riddle both go to the infirmary for a checkup.

It wasn’t until we were alone in that cold room filled with cots that Riddle made eye contact with me once more, “My… memories. You saw them, didn’t you?”

I was silent for a moment as I recalled those strange scenes in flickering black-and-white before I at last nodded, “Yes, I don’t know what caused it but…. Yes, I believe I did…. I heard you too.”

He nodded, falling silent as we waited for the nurse to enter and give us a clean bill of health. After a few moments, he met my gaze again, “I think we…. Connected for a moment there. I don’t know how, but you saw my memories and heard my thoughts. And I… I felt you there.”

I watched him quietly, not sure of what to say as he fell silent. But I couldn’t blame him. I too wouldn’t know what to say or think if some had seen my memories.

After a moment, though, he looked over at me with a troubled expression before he spoke  quietly, “If I were you, I would tell the Headmaster about this.”

I nodded, unsure of what to say since something told me neither of us knew what this meant for me or him.

#briarvalleyarchives #Twisted wonderland imagines #Reader insert #gender neutral reader #non canon compliant #angst #comfort #angst with comfort #fluff #Riddle x reader #Trey x reader #Cater x reader #Deuce x reader #Ace x reader #Heartslabyul #Heartslabyul x reader #fic series #twst x reader #Twisted wonderland x reader #overblot #Riddle overblot #mywritings #it-happened-one-fic #drama #headcanon #fanfiction #Disney #Disney TW #Twisted wonderland x y/n #Twisted wonderland x you

[knifedancer]

What-If: MultiFelix

What if Felix met Multimouse before his appearance in canon?

What if Adrien wasn’t the only blond crushing on a super heroine in the family?

~~~~~~~ “Shit!” Felix cursed as he dodged a wayward akuma blast, the wall of the store he had been hiding beside becoming nothing more than a crumbling pile of bricks in his wake. He stumbled as the ground shook again, hazel eyes darting around to seek out another route away from the battlefront before the akuma-of-the-week targeted the blond directly instead of the thinning crowds around him.

‘There! I can hide in that alley!’ Felix rushed forward, panting as he sprinted across the street towards perceived safety. However, just before he could breach it, another blast struck the building to the left and the debris blocked the mouth of the alleyway – a few bricks slammed into his left leg, their bruising impacts ripping his pants and leaving a smattering of cuts on his thigh. By the way the material of his black slacks bloomed matching glossy spots, there were likely more bloody wounds than those visible through the tears. Cursing under his breath, he spun to his right to begin limping further down the avenue when the sound of maniacal laughter sent chills down his spine. Felix turned and dropped into a fighting stance; hazel eyes focused on the threat approaching slowly. The akuma was dressed as a Medieval court jester; bells jingling as they bounced from foot to foot, legs and arms as pale as snow and unnaturally long like some sort of spider. Eyes wild and toothy grin wide, their head tilted like an inquisitive puppy looking at a new toy.

‘Well, new fear unlocked…’ Felix thought, his rising panic hidden behind a carefully constructed mask of indifference and splotches of plaster dust.

“When I was a lad, I was gloomy and sad / As I was from the day I was born / When other babes giggled and gurgled and wiggled / I proudly was loudly forlorn. / My friends and my family looked at me clammily / Thought there was something amiss…” the akuma’s unhinged, sing-songed limerick coming out dejected as it approached slowly, their grin temporarily dropping into an overexaggerated frown. Felix took a cautious step back, was this the victim’s backstory?

“What else could he be but a Jester? / A Jester? A Jester! / A funny idea, a Jester!” Suddenly the akuma’s mouth stretched up into an unnaturally feral grin, like some sort of horror game villain – equal parts terrifying and disturbing that would certainly not haunt his dreams later – and squealed with joy, clapping its hands around their marotte. “Only the sharpest eye, the keenest nose / the quickest ear and the fleetest toes / Can ever outfox the Jester! Can ever outfox the Jester! / Only the stoutest arm, the bravest heart / with a magic charm and a good head start / Will ever outfox the Jester!”

The hazel-eyed teen braced himself to fight as the akuma lunged with a sharp jingle, marotte extended above their head as if to club the blond over his skull rather than shoot a blast from the tip. Out of nowhere and with a quiet fwip, a pink jump rope shot in front of the jester, tripping them. Just as soon as the rope appeared, it retracted in the blink of an eye and, in its place, a grey dressed figure somersaulted in the air directly above the flattened akuma. Time seemed to slow as Felix watched her pink hair ribbons flutter in the air behind the space buns holding back her hair, tresses as dark as a raven’s wing. His breath briefly caught as bright, bluebell eyes flashed – focused and calculating – from behind the edges of a baby pink domino mask. She brought her black booted feet together and ruthlessly planted them directly into the back of the akuma’s skull, impaling their head into the pavement like some sort of avenging Valkyrie taking down a mythical beast. Felix felt breathless and his knees turned to putty watching the graceful, powerful display. Just who was she?

Shaking off the foreign feelings clouding his mind, the blond limped backwards, unsure if this lithe woman was a friend or foe. Perhaps she would attack him next. Why did he feel a thrill at the idea of sparring with her? Focus! The movement drew the attention of those enchanting blue eyes. She squeaked in surprise, as if just noticing him for the first time. However, they took on an intelligent gleam, quickly assessing his physical state – those eyes pausing on his leg – as she approached him with her hands outstretched in a placating manner. “Um. Excuse me, garçon, I’m here to help. You need to evacuate. Are you badly injured?”

Ignoring the way that her sweet voice – which sounded like silk wrapped around steel – made his heartbeat quicken, he evaluated her for a threat. She was petite and so thin that it looked like the next strong breeze might knock her over. Hazel eyes trailed down the woman’s grey suit – lines of pink breaking the black and grey tightly hugging her tiny frame, the fabric caressing each toned curve and valley in a way that made his mouth run dry – before taking note of a familiar pink jump rope hanging around her waist like a tail. He relaxed fractionally and cleared his throat. “You were the one that tripped him before, weren’t you?” he questioned, gesturing to the now thrashing akuma attempting to free itself from the ground. If Jester had not been struggling to free themselves, Felix would liken the akuma’s current state to an ostrich hiding their head in a hole – the blond choked on a laugh over that mental image!

The grey suited woman glanced back and nodded, “I apologize but…we need to get you out of here before Jester sees us and decides to get revenge.” She drew out the jump rope and stepped into his personal space. Felix realized just how much shorter she was, the top of her head just barely clearing his shoulder, before her words finally registered.

“W-wait, what are you—OOF!” The lithe figure quickly lifted him in a fireman’s carry over her shoulder with shockingly little effort before whipping out the rope and tugging them into the air as if snapping a rubber band. Watching the ground flash by beneath them at a dizzying speed, Felix was pretty sure he was going to be sick. ‘What a way to go…throwing up while escaping an akuma, being manhandled by some superhuman, spandex wearing, midget!’ He refused to admit that this position also provided a lovely angle on some of her finer assets…which was distracting enough to assuage the rising bile in his throat.

With a jolt, they landed on a rooftop, but she only paused for a moment. The woman returned the rope to her waist and shifted him into a bridal carry before dashing quickly across the uneven terrain as if it were second nature. Felix’s arms instinctually wrapped around her neck in a desperate attempt to prevent being dropped. He glanced over her shoulder to see the rapidly expanding distance from whence he was kidnapped – perhaps rescued? – off the street while the wind whipped noisily past his ears. ‘It appears she’s just as strong and fast, even with my added weight,’ the blond thought with mounting admiration. The grey suited woman began to slow and hopped onto a flat roof with a small garden next to a fire escape, finally halting their advance and gingerly returning him to his feet. The blond attributed his racing heart from the unexpected flight rather than their proximity.

“Sorry about that! We didn’t have much time and I needed to get you away from that akuma before they freed themselves. You should be safe here and, if you’re not in too much pain, you can easily take the fire escape down to the streets. Just try to avoid Rue de Rivoli or else you might bump into our crazed jester friend again.” Her lips curved into a gentle smile that made him feel fluttery—er, reassured.

Felix furrowed his brow, “Who even are you?”

The woman blinked and opened her mouth to reply when a cry of “MOUSINETTE!” came from his right, followed by a black blur crashing into the grey suited woman. She stumbled back a few steps with a giggle that sounded like wind chimes dancing in sunlight. Wrapped around Felix’s savior, belt tail seemingly interweaving with the hanging jump rope length, was none other than a grinning Chat Noir. “What are you doing here?! Milady said she was sending in help, but I didn’t think she’d send you after…” The cat hero trailed off, one hand gesturing towards her mask. Now what was that about?

“O-Oh…Yeah…She said that it was just temp-temporary since she’s…uh…” The young woman glanced over towards Felix and then back to Chat, dropping her voice to a soft whisper, “…indisposed.”

“Indisposed? But isn’t her kwam—” Chat Noir looked confused before finally realizing they had company, his mouth dropping into a silent ‘oh’. “Gotcha. Ixnay.” Then he grinned again and ruffled her hair, “It’s good to see you again, Little Mouse! No one deserves it more than you!”

Her cheeks flared in rosy embarrassment and her lips protruded in a pout at the hero’s praise. “Um…I-I…Thank you, Chat. That’s very sweet but…uh, don’t get your hopes up?” The mousey girl cringed and backed away, tugging her jump rope free as she prepared for her departure.

Felix’s lips quirked up slightly at her increased nervous vocal quirks, ‘First she’s badass, then she’s adorable. Just who is she?’

“Since you’re more, uh experienced than me, wo-would you mind checking out this man’s le-leg? I’m heading back to see if Jester has um…broken free from where I…uh…left him.” With that, she scurried away, using her jump rope to swing back towards the akuma.

“Wow! You don’t know it, sir, but you’re a very lucky man… saved by THE Multimouse!” Chat crowed with joy while slitted eyes watched her disappear from sight.

“…Multi-who?” Felix questioned awkwardly, wondering why the cat hero appeared to be so excited.

Chat chuckled softly before turning to him, “Multimouse. She’s smart and funny and strong and sweet…She’s one of the temporary heroes, our greatest strategist (next to my Bugaboo, of course)! Our heavy hitter!”

“Is she some sort of stealth hero? I don’t recall ever hearing about her online…” In fact, he had researched all the heroes before this trip and found not a single mention of a mouse hero.

The black clad cat deflated slightly and sighed, “Yeah…she’s only been out once or twice before this…never really been caught on camera but something happened last time and…well, Ladybug said we couldn’t call her back out. I guess Milady decided it was enough of an emergency… Not that I mind!”

Felix took in the goofy smile that slowly stretched across Chat’s face while he looked off in the direction Multimouse had retreated. Suddenly he felt nauseous, as if something ugly was twisting up and clenching in his stomach, causing his neck to burn red. Unable to control his emotions any longer, his tone became clipped and hard as a lump of anger gripped his vocal cords. “Aren’t you…supposed to be in love with Ladybug?” Did he sound jealous? It was definitely not jealousy!

Chat Noir’s eyes widened comically, his arms swinging wildly in the air as if to physically dispel any misunderstanding. “Yes! Milady is the only one for me! B-but—wait...” Green eyes narrowed with suspicion and the cat stalked closer to the injured teen, his entire demeanor flipping like a switch: from nervous house cat to dangerous panther. Felix struggled to keep himself calm and attention locked on the approaching predator so that he could leap away at a moment’s notice. The cat leaned into his face before a huge grin broke through, his voice a smug murmur. “Do you have a crush on Mousinette?”

Now it was Felix’s turn to panic – eyes widening, heart racing, body trembling, and face burning red – as the image of a grey suited, blue-eyed Valkyrie popped up in his head. His mind replayed the way the breeze tugged at the ribbons in her hair, the obvious strength her petite body contained while effortlessly holding him, the intelligence that showed in her eyes, the blush painted across her cheeks and a giggle that made something inside him sing!

‘Oh…’ he thought dazedly. Sure, Felix had always heard of ‘love at first sight’ but had excused it as nothing more than romantic fantasy! Some unrealistic and overused movie trope! Yet here he was…falling for some mystery heroine that hadn’t even spoken more than a handful of meaningless sentences to him. Mortification bled through the warmth expanding in his chest.

Chat Noir’s grin became sharp, as if he could hear the hazel-eyed blond’s heart beating in time to the heroine’s name. “You and I aren’t so different; I was the same way for Ladybug. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

~~~

He refreshed the Ladyblog and scrolled through the latest posts for possibly the hundredth time, the habit becoming a daily routine for the blond. There was no real evidence of Multimouse’s existence, merely anecdotal or the occasional passing comment about a pink jump rope appearing during a time of crisis. The only images captured during the Jester akuma were blurry and taken at too far of a distance, Felix checked. Thoroughly. He questioned his memory more with each passing day as little details seemed to slip away, like a well-worn film played so many times that the sound and images began to distort. He could recall that her voice and laughter were sweet but why was it so hard to remember the exact tone? Was she really as lovely as in his dreams? Did her eyes sparkle like the sun glancing off a lake’s surface or were they more like the color of a cloudless sky at noon? What was the shape of her face like again? Did she have freckles?

Frustrated, the blond refreshed the page yet again.

The next time that Felix visited Paris, he watched the skies for a streak of grey and pink. No matter how many akumas appeared, it was simply the original pair: Ladybug and Chat Noir. His attention was divided between his phone and the skies, constantly hoping for another glimpse of the heroine that stole his heart; enough that even his cousin seemed to notice the level of his distraction.

“Hey Fe, you seem really out of it. You okay?” Adrien asked, concern seeming to drip from every pore.

Felix sighed and dropped his phone back down into his lap, “Yes. Apologies, cousin, I’m simply…” He made a motion with one hand as if scrolling through a list of words before settling on one, “…distracted.”

The model approached and hung himself over the back of the couch like a discarded throw blanket, glancing down at what had captured his interest on the screen. “Oh, are you checking out the Ladyblog? My friend, Alya, actually runs it!”

The hazel eyed teen turned with interest, desperately he tried to keep hope from bleeding into his voice. “Do you know if she has a database of images of the various heroes, perchance?”

“Besides the gallery on the blog itself, no, I don’t think so. Why?”

Felix’s posture deflated a bit as he stifled a groan, “It’s…nothing.”

“Are you looking for a certain hero, maybe?” Adrien innocently asked.

“No!” The Londoner answered a little too quickly, unable to keep his ears from turning bright red as he denied the question emphatically.

A playful grin spread across the green-eyed blond’s face, “Yes, you are, Fe! Who is it? Was it a temporary hero during that attack you were caught up in last time?”

He gripped his phone and clenched his teeth, attempting to stifle the spread of the blush now blooming across his cheeks. Good gods, he would never live this down…but his cousin was a fan of the heroes, surely, he might have some information? He hated feeling vulnerable. Felix pressed his eyes shut as if pained to admit it, his voice coming out as more of a whispered hiss than he would care to admit. “…Yes.”

Adrien seemed to light up, “Really? Who was it?” Bouncing like a puppy with a new toy, the model’s eyes gleamed. “Viperion? Or perhaps Ryuko? Rena Rouge? Or...Carapace?! No judgment.”

Felix scoffed and looked down into his lap pensively, his fingers gliding over the darkened surface of his phone’s screen as he struggled to open up. “No…none of them. She doesn’t appear on the Ladyblog anywhere and there’s no pictures of her in battle…I—”

The model gently set a hand on his shoulder, finally hazel met green. “Hey, it’s okay to have a crush on whoever it is. I mean I…” He watched as his cousin blushed, his eyes looking out the wall of windows with a dreamy, far-off look. Felix couldn’t help but think that his cousin looked like some sort of melancholic-romantic lead pining for their lover. “I’ve…had a huge crush on Ladybug ever since she saved me.”

The formal boy stared at his cousin’s profile, dumbfounded at finding common ground with his lookalike. They had been raised so differently, had lost contact, lost parents, and pursued different routes in life… The model was like sunshine incarnate while the magician resembled that of a thunderstorm. All their lives, Felix had always been compared to Adrien and found lacking. Perhaps they weren’t so different after all?

Adrien sighed softly and turned his gaze back towards him, excited once more. “So? What was she like?”

“She…” He allowed his eyes to drift up briefly as he recalled the encounter once again. “She was…strong and agile. Small, but powerful, like some sort of petite battle angel.”

“Yeah… I’m a sucker for a strong woman, too.” Adrien climbed over the sofa and settled beside him with a chuckle, leaning back so that the model’s face looked up at the ceiling. “And beautiful.”

“Graceful,” Felix supplied with an agreeable hum, lost in thought as his eyes drifted down to his lap once again. Fingers tracing the edges of his phone case as the image of bright eyes framed by a pink mask flooded his memories.

“Kind,” his cousin sighed into the air around them, his mind’s eye bringing forward images of his Lady.

“Capable.”

“Smart.”

“Clever.”

“Confident.”

“…yet adorable.”

“Especially how her nose crinkles when she laughs…”

“Laughter that makes your heart dance.”

“And a smile that makes you feel warm all over.”

“With blue eyes as clear as crystal…”

“Hair the color of the midnight sky…”

Felix laughed wryly, “Almost sounds like we’re in love with the same girl.”

“Oh gods, I think we have a type!” Adrien’s whole body shook with his laughter.

“Seems so, cousin!” The formal boy’s chuckles died out as the original issue arose to the forefront of his mind yet again. “At least you can find pictures of Ladybug all over the blog. Multimouse doesn’t appear on camera nor is she called out much. It’s…It’s like she never existed!” He ran a hand through his hair in visible frustration.

“Yeah, I’ve…uh…heard rumors of a mouse hero. But I’ve um, never seen her myself,” the model admitted while twisting his ring. “Wait! What if I ask Chat Noir – he, uh…patrols nearby sometimes – to get you a picture?”

Felix scoffed at the idea, “That’s not likely to happen. Even that cat mentioned that she is hardly ever called out to help. Besides, I don’t need any of the heroes to find out about my…inclinations. They might think I’m some sort of stalker and never call her out again.” Crossing his arms, he glared at the tops of his knees.

“Oh. Um.” Adrien seemed to deflate a little, his eyes twitching back and forth pensively as if trying to find an answer. “Then…what if you describe her to me and I can try to get my friend to draw her for you? His name’s Nathaniel, he’s really good – even has his own Ladybug comic book! Here, I’ll show you some of his work.”

Felix watched as his cousin pulled up a few screenshots he had saved of the bug heroine – obviously full colored, pre-print cells from the final draft – and was begrudgingly impressed. “That…that might just work. I…” He furrowed his brow and cleared his throat; an uncomfortable tightness having lodged deep in his chest. Hazel eyes rose to look into the model’s face once again, his voice a murmur of gratitude. “Thank you, Adrien.”

A genuine smile stretched across the model’s face. “Hey, what is family for?”

~~~

A few weeks later, a small package arrived at Felix’s door in London with a return address from Paris.

Retreating to the privacy of his room, the blond allowed his emotions to go unguarded as he quickly peeled back the tape with anticipation. A small gasp echoed in the silent room as hazel eyes finally laid upon the contents. Inside the rigid packaging and protected by a stiff plastic sleeve, lay three realistic drawings of various sizes and poses, all professionally colored and inked in a way that made it seem almost like the heroine could jump straight off the page.

“Multimouse…” his whispered voice filled with awe and admiration.

Felix pulled the largest image from the sleeve, an action shot that he had described in great detail – repetitively – to Adrien. Jump rope curled around her waist, ribbons blowing in the breeze, her booted feet together and arms extended above her head as she came down upon the akuma… Suddenly he felt as if he was right back in that moment! The artist had drawn her form as if hovering in the air, looking like an instant frozen in time, and filled in the background with a simple watercolor burst that accentuated the grays, pinks, and dark blues in the rest of the piece. With trembling fingers, he reverently traced the curve of Multimouse’s domino mask. He gazed into the bright blue eyes that had bewitched him and haunted his dreams. Somehow Adrien’s artist friend had even perfectly captured the determined sparkle in her eyes!

Gently setting that drawing aside, he pulled the medium sized image out next and found another action shot of the heroine mid-flight. Jump rope extended beyond the paper’s edges, legs extended behind her in freefall, her eyes partially closed against the wind whipping at her face – it was a beautiful vision! However, what captured his interest and stole his breath was the bright smile stretched across her face. She looked so carefree and relaxed, as if she were simply patrolling the rooftops with the rest of the team. Had they used Ladybug for reference? Or did someone see her recently?

No, if she had been seen, it would have been on the Ladyblog.

Placing that piece beside the other on his desktop, Felix finally pulled the last from the sleeve. Unlike the others, this one was laminated and covered by a sticky note in Adrien’s usual scrawl.

Dear Fe, I asked Nath to make this one small enough to fit in your wallet. We asked my very good friend, Marinette, to pose for it. I hope you like it! ~AA

The hazel eyed teen scoffed and peeled it away, freezing once he revealed the image beneath. The mouse heroine was pictured sitting on the edge of a building, reclined back on one arm while glancing over her shoulder almost flirtatiously, the sunset and Eiffel Tower behind her so that part of her face was cast in shadow. One delicate hand was brushing her bangs from her eyes, a shy smile upon her lips, her body language open and comfortable. The angle was close enough to make out long lashes and a light blush on her freckled cheeks. It almost felt as if she were looking right at him!

Knees shaking from the weight of his overwhelming emotions and eyes still locked on the small drawing, he sat heavily into the desk chair with a sharp creak in protest. Felix raised a hand to his chest, as if trying to calm the rapidly thumping organ currently threatening to flee from his body. His imagination ran wild – supplanting memories of the Jester with daydreams of shy smiles, sweet giggles, and teasing banter as they watched the sunset…

‘Wow…’ thought Felix, looking back over the three drawings before his eyes settled back on the one still in his hand. ‘I don’t know how I’m ever going to return the favor for this… Perhaps I can help my cousin with his crush the next time I visit?’

After all, what could possibly go wrong?

~~~~~~~Author's Notes: I had a this thought and decided to type it up. I'm the only one to blame here. I couldn't stop myself if I tried. I swear, I don't know why my brain spits this stuff out…

Jester lines are modified prose from character dialogue in 'The Court Jester' (1955).

Jester's visuals were inspired by a combination of Spinel (corrupted) from 'Steven Universe', Joker from 'Batman', and Huggy Wuggy and Mommy Longlegs from 'Poppy's Playtime'. Disturbing enough? Check.

Marotte: Originally the medieval fool's stick or sceptre, a short rod topped with a small head.

Adrien hints about Marinette's secret mouse identity, said hint goes right over Felix's head.

#miraculous ladybug #felinette #marivanily #MultiFelix #felix x marinette #felix fathom #felix graham de vanily #marinette dupain cheng #cross posted on ao3 #drabble #romantic comedy #meet cute #non canon compliant #what if #mouse Marinette #cat Adrien #Adrien is a little shit #Felix catches feelings #Felix is bad at feelings #pov felix #fluff and humor #fluff and crack #family bonding #original akuma #FeliMouse #One-sided attraction #Crush at first sight

[alchemax-genetics-division]

The Sleeping Habits of one Miguel O’hara

One-Shot || Peter B Parker x Miguel O’hara || Gen

This is unbeta’d, written in tumblr, and unedited, so any mistakes are mine alone! If there are any egregious errors, please feel free to (respectfully) reach out and I’ll fix them asap! I hope you enjoy!

———

No one had ever seen Miguel sleep. Doze, sure, but that was only late at night, and only if you were unlucky enough to wander into Miguel’s darkened lab when he hadn’t yet dragged himself back to wherever it was that he found even the scantest scrap of comfort. On nights like those, Miguel could be found slumped over the nearest lab table, forehead braced against his forearm on the tabletop. And then, mere moments later, his red eyes would blink open, as silent as a predator’s, glowing in the pitch-dark room, and the room’s occupancy would very quickly return to one.

But no one had ever seen Miguel sleep. The rumor mill abounded with speculation, each more ridiculous than the last, but only barely; he sleeps upside down like a bat, he sleeps stark naked, he sleeps in vats of fresh blood. Peter B had never paid such whisperings any mind, far more focused on his own sleep schedule and the toddler that wreaked havoc on it.

And then Peter B had confessed his feelings for his boss and, surprise of all surprises, hadn’t immediately gotten fired (or killed, he supposed, because he had seen Miguel’s talons in action and while their metal- and flesh-rending ability was agonizingly attractive in the field, he didn’t think Miguel would hesitate to use his natural weapons in any situation where he was uncomfortable, even emotionally.) Even more mind-bogglingly, Miguel had… reciprocated. Slowly, hesitantly, with all of the trepidation of someone who had been burned before, and then burned twice more for good measure.

It didn’t change much, if Peter were being honest with himself. He still co-parented with MJ. He still brought Mayday into Headquarters and, when the anomaly didn’t appear to be too dangerous, into the field. He still pestered Miguel within an inch of his life whenever he got the chance. He still wrangled spider-kids like he was paid to do it. He still did his job, when it was absolutely required of him to do so.

The only difference was that, now, he got to hold Miguel’s hand while he did it. Now, he got to throw a casual arm around Miguel’s shoulder while he made his characteristic dad jokes, giving Miguel a one-armed squeeze that conveyed more between them than words ever could. Now, he got to kiss Miguel for luck before every mission and he got to kiss Miguel in victory when they got back.

Their relationship didn’t change the fact, however, that Miguel was an incurable workaholic. Even with Peter pestering him to eat, leaving water bottles at his elbow during the day, and reminding him to sleep at some point during the night before leaving the lab to return to his shared apartment with MJ or (on nights where he hadn’t had Mayday at work that day) to the small living quarters in HQ that had been assigned to him, he knew that Miguel didn’t rest nearly enough. Something about vulnerability, Peter reasoned, and tried not to take it personally. Miguel didn’t rest around anyone; he hadn’t had the luxury of trusting the people around him and two months of love, no matter how all-encompassing or overwhelming, would change that.

So when Peter opened his HQ apartment door one night, more than ready to collapse against the nearest semi-horizontal surface and remain dead to the world for the next twelve hours straight, the last thing he expected to find was Miguel O’hara in his bed.

His first thought, irrationally, was that every single spider-person who had ever speculated about Miguel’s sleeping habits was dead wrong, because Miguel slept exactly like a normal person. Well, almost. He was on his back, which would’ve looked as stiff as a board (and therefore, not much of a difference from how he normally looked) if not for the almost delicate crossing of his bare ankles, the sleep-gentle curve of his fingers where they rested on his stomach, tilt of his head towards the window. The only light in the apartment came from the glow of the city through the window, casting a neon outline over the ridges of Miguel’s face, illuminating the long lines of his neck. Peter couldn’t help but to trace the length of the contorted muscles, twisted below Miguel’s skin; his gaze came to a rest in the tiny divot behind Miguel’s ear, a minuscule detail, so agonizingly human, and he was overwhelmed with the urge to press his lips to the fine bone of his boyfriend’s skull. He had the wherewithal to close the door, engaging the latch as quietly as possible so as not to wake the man in his bed and swearing softly when red eyes blinked open under a furrowed brow.

“Sorry love,” he whispered, toeing off his shoes and shucking his jacket to the floor. He could deal with then tomorrow. Right now, he needed to be in Miguel’s arms, preferably five minutes ago. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The city glow silhouette shifted, warping in the near-darkness, and Peter’s heart rate kicked up in his chest at the half-concealed movement, every instinct, carefully honed from decades of constant danger, screaming at him to defend himself from the shadow that slithered across the floor. But his spider-sense wasn’t activated; the skin-deep vibration that accompanied every impending blow like lightening to thunder was comfortingly absent. And then the shadow took shape, forming thick-knuckled fingers and a scarred forearm, extending towards him like an invitation, like a demand, like a plea.

Miguel’s half-lidded eyes were still locked on him, sleepily glazed, his face still slack with residual relaxation that hadn’t yet sloughed off from the force of full wakefulness, and Peter’s entire chest clenched. He didn’t try to resist the pull, drawn to Miguel’s side like a magnet. As he took the few steps to the bed, he shed his clothes and by the time he reached the edge of the mattress, little more than a hospital mat with ill-fitting sheets, he was down to his boxers and socks and even in the inky black room, he knew Miguel could see the red and blue webbed pattern that criss-crossed the fabric. Sure enough, when he stepped into Miguel’s line of sight, he heard a familiar huff of exasperation. Only two months of experience enabled him to detect the fondness that laced the sound like veined marble. Peter smiled to himself, smiled down at his sleep-softened boyfriend, smiled in gratitude to the universe.

If he had expected to be allowed to arrange himself in his own bed, he was sorely mistaken. As soon as his hands and knees indented the mattress, prepared to crawl into as comfortable a position as the thin mat could provide, Miguel had his arms around him, tugging him sharply across the remaining space between them. Before he could register the movement, Peter found himself crushed between the mattress and Miguel’s broad bulk, and he suddenly had a much better idea of how pancakes felt when he pressed them down into the pan with his spatula on mornings when he cooked breakfast for Mayday.

He and Miguel were of a height, a fact that was so well hidden by Miguel’s love of raised platforms and dramatic entrances that it shocked nearly everyone who saw them standing together, but his considerable shoulder breadth made Peter feel like an ant underneath Miguel’s body. Only his spider strength lent his lungs the force required to expand. It wasn’t uncomfortable by any stretch; it reminded Peter of the time he had nearly been crushed by a flying slab of concrete and emerged five minutes later with every joint in his body cracked, every vertebrae in his spine popped, and more limber than he had been before being slammed into the ground by two tons of rock and rebar. It was grounding, more grounding than Peter had realized he had needed.

The expansion of his chest must’ve given Miguel concern, however, because he made a noise, something like a grunt but far more sympathetic, and made to move. The second his weight lifted, Peter snaked his arms around his boyfriend’s torso, locking him in place, and Miguel collapsed back down with a huff of amusement.

“Feels good,” Peter mumbled into the side of Miguel’s head. Hair tickled at his cheek and lips but he didn’t dare pull away. Miguel hummed and shifted slightly, settling into a more comfortable but no less compressing position and within seconds, was fast asleep again. His breath ghosted over Peter’s neck where his face was tucked, pebbling the sensitive skin, and Peter’s thoughts raced.

The first position he had found Miguel in had made sense. Most spider-people slept on their backs, ready to protect themselves at a moment’s notice, all of their enhanced senses well within reach and easy use at the first sign of danger. But this, the baring of Miguel’s back to the room, the vulnerability in Miguel’s hidden face, especially for someone without spider senses, was shocking. It didn’t make sense.

Peter pondered it for a while, his mind circling itself like an endless game of chase, every go around converging on one central, illusive conclusion that stubbornly remained concealed.

And then Peter shifted. Nothing major, a mere twitch of his arm, an itch that needed to be scratched, a mindless movement. Immediately, he froze as Miguel’s entire body vibrated above him, a deep rumble emanating from the depths of his chest, his grip tightening around Peter’s torso to the point of creaking ribs and stuttered breath, and it clicked.

Oh.

Oh.

Miguel had had an entire dimension stolen from him. A home, a family, a wife and daughter, all stolen unceremoniously right from under his nose. In the dead of night, with no warning or preamble, his entire world had collapsed into ruin and desolation and then nothing.

Suddenly his grip felt less crushing. The pressure hadn’t eased, and Peter knew that he’d have bruises in the morning, a ring of black and blue circling his chest, but he didn’t mind. Suddenly, he could feel the protectiveness that coursed through the muscles in Miguel’s arms. He could feel the challenge in his hold, as if daring the universe to try to steal Peter away from him. As if he’d fight God and man alike to keep Peter in his arms, and Peter knew he would.

Peter raised one arm, gently, softly, and placed it, gently, softly, in the thick mane of hair, curling it between his fingers, scratching at Miguel’s scalp with blunt fingernails.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he whispered, trusting enhanced senses to catch the barely-audible words. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, Miguel’s arms relaxed once more, returning from their current level of suffocating back to their previous level of merely constricting. His growling quieted to even purr, deepened further by the hand tangled in his hair.

Within minutes, the vibration rumbling through the entire bed, the scent of his own shampoo wafting from Miguel’s hair, and the weight of his boyfriend above him had lulled Peter into the deepest sleep he had ever gotten, and for once, he was blissfully untouched by nightmares.

———

Peter should’ve been prepared for the barrage of questions. Miguel had slipped from his room early the next morning, but not early enough to be undetected, and while the devil worked hard, but the rumor mill of the Spider Complex worked harder. So he should’ve braced himself for the onslaught of questions that the spider kids aimed at him as soon as he stepped foot into the dining hall for breakfast.

“Did Miguel sleep in your room last night?”

“Are the rumors true?”

“How much sleeping did you actually do?”

“Does he sleep at all or did he perch in the corner all night like a psychotic cat?”

That last one was the helpful input of Hobie and Peter rolled his eyes. It was far too early in the morning to deal with such pointed questions about his sex life and thinly veiled accusations about his boyfriend.

Across the room, he could feel the weight of Miguel’s gaze on him and a flick of Peter’s eyes revealed a subtle and convoluted maelstrom of emotions behind Miguel’s carefully schooled expression. Cautious hope warred with a silent plea and Peter could tell he was waiting for his response, waiting to see if Peter would reveal the depth of his vulnerability, the most sacred and coveted piece of him he had ever entrusted to Peter’s care.

With a half smile and a wink, Peter turned back to the gaggle of teenagers staring hopefully up at him, eyes wide and eager, fully expecting Peter to fuel the gossip circle and ready to take every word that dropped from his lips as gospel.

“Have you ever seen Interview with the Vampire?” Peter asked, grinning at the small chuckle he could hear floating from across the room, even over the sound of exaggerated gagging and riotous laughter that erupted around him. When he looked up, he met Miguel’s amused gaze, his eyes softened with gratitude and mirth, and they didn’t have to say anything. Even across the crowded room, their eyes said everything for them.

———

Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!

Edit: If you’d like to leave some support in the form of kudos/comments, you can read this fic on AO3 here!

#spiderman: across the spiderverse #non canon compliant #spiderdads #soft #so soft #fluff #mentions of angst #but only to highlight the fluff #probably out of character but I don’t care #I’m so soft for them so I’m making them soft for each other #miguel o’hara x peter b parker #peter b parker x miguel o'hara #migeul o'hara #peter b parker

[intriq]

Soulmate au jason todd fic

its here. like i promised. months ago, maybe. chap 1 is done. chapter 2 is underway. flower language for titles with meanings.

NOTE: This mixes the arkhamverse AND the lazarus pit together, so KEEP THAT IN MIND. i was like "haha omg what if i mixed the two together" and everyone was like "YES" and by everyone i mean this discord im in

will make a separate masterlist post for this, maybe. heavy emphasis on MAYBE.

might just smack it all onto my already existing masterlist post, who knows!

this fic will be a series of chapters and parts, and written to Isabella's Lullaby. From The Promised Neverland. enjoy :3

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎‎Blue Salvia

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ blue salvia; i think of you

When he was Robin, running around with Batman to fight crime on the streets of Gotham, he’d sometimes get distracted. By you, of course. Not that he could see you, but he could hear you.

Specifically, he could hear you whenever you sang to yourself. Your quiet little humming always made him smile, and he’d always get distracted listening to it.

“Jason, were you listening to anything I just said?” Bruce asks, and there’s most certainly an unamused look on his face behind his mask.

Jason is snapped from his daze, giving a sheepish grin as he just gives a silent answer of no, he was not listening. The only thing he’d been listening to was the humming of his soulmate, who always had a habit of singing to themselves when they were doing something or trying to fall asleep.

Getting distracted by the sound of your singing whilst he was patrolling Gotham with Bruce probably wasn’t the best idea, but he couldn’t help it. Your voice was always so pretty, after all.

Sometimes he’d get distracted in his classes, too.

When one day, Jason’s in his boring history class, back in those days when he was younger, he hears you humming again. He smiles, of course. How could he not?

You did have a truly pretty voice.

Or could it be more-so described as beautiful?

Either way, Jason’s focus is solely on your voice now, and not the history lesson the teachers spouting off. It’s nice, and it’s certainly something Jason would rather hear than whatever that teacher was spouting off as he forces himself to focus enough to actually finish the notes he was taking.

However your humming only lasts for a few brief minutes, and Jason is forced to suddenly listen to the teacher drone on and on about some particular subject he didn’t care to pay real attention to.

Even now as the Joker cackles in his ear, bringing the crowbar back down to hit his ankles, hard, Jason grits his teeth in pain for a moment. Before eventually it turns to gasps for air.

The only way Jason could even last and endure the endless torment the Joker put him through was by imagining you. Imagining what you might look like, that is.

After all, the first words you’d ever say to him in the future were inked like a tattoo in the skin of his arm. How could he not let his mind wander to try and put pieces of you together, like some sort of puzzle without a guiding image?

It had been awhile since Jason last heard you humming to yourself. Had you stopped singing entirely, or were you just busy as of late?

His gaze, despite the pain making his vision swirl into an unfocused haze, moves to look at his soul-mark. His soul-mark, which are the first words you’d ever speak to him.

Are you okay?

Those words. Three simple words. Words that gave him hope that someday he’d get out of this hellhole in Arkham.

“Get your head in the game, bird-brain!” Joker cackles, bringing the crowbar back down onto his leg again, making Jason grit his teeth and suck in a harsh breath of air, bringing him back to reality in a dizzying flash of pain. He’s hoping Joker didn’t notice just what specifically was distracting him, considering his Robin suit kept his soul-mark hidden.

But unfortunately for him, Joker had. “Something you wanna share, birdie?” Joker taunts, reaching a hand out to grab at the hem, where the glove covered the sleeves edge. Underneath which held your first words to him.

Are you okay?

Three little words. Words that helped him stay sure he’d make it out of here. Make it out of here to you.

Jason so badly wishes to close his eyes, block everything currently happening out when Joker spots his soulmark. Wants to forget everything when he hears Joker sadistic cackling when he reads those little words. “Ooh, got yourself a soulmate, huh? Maybe they’d like to join in on this little show, hmm? What do you think of that, bird-brain?”

Jason, for once in his life, hopes you don’t live in Gotham. That you don’t live anywhere near this shithole or anywhere Joker has power to find and reach you.

At night when Jason get’s some relief from the torment, the beatings, it’s quiet. He hates it. He’s never liked silence, and now he fucking dreads it. Makes him think about how everything hurts, how badly he wants everything to end. He’s on the verge of breaking, he can feel it. That last little cord that’s about to snap.

He’s so close to giving up.

And then, for the first time in what’s felt like years, he hears it. He hears you. You’re singing again. It’s soft and sweet, your voice. Just like every other time he hears it. Jason tries his hardest to keep his eyes open, to listen to that melody you’re almost always humming. It’s the same one every time.

But in the end, he can’t help the way his eyes droop, or how you manage to lull him to sleep like some child. Jason can’t help but be so easily soothed by your voice. Because for the first time in months, Jason is able to sleep.

And for the first time in months, it’s a restful sleep. One without nightmares. And he dreams of you, what you may look like.

For just a little while, he get’s a little reprieve from all this pain and anguish.

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

#jason todd x reader #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd imagine #jason todd angst #jason todd #jason todd x gn!reader #jason todd x you #dc universe angst #non canon compliant #arkham knight jason #arkham knight #arkhamverse #batfamily #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood imagine #angst #dc fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

[dangerdragoncat]

Beetlejuice Clef Beetlejuice Clef Beetlejuice Clef-

He would totally slap as beetlejuice tho…

And if your wondering-

This is why we no longer have site musicals.

#scp #shitpost #dr alto clef #dr clef #art #scp foundation #beetlejuice #dr sophia light #their so friends man #light even got the role just to kick him in the dick #their so friendly #I swear #I wish for that kinda friendship… #non canon compliant #we don’t adhere to canon 96% of the time here kiddos #just good vibes

[no-hhamani]

Title: Home

Ship: Knock Out x Autobot! Reader x Breakdown (POLY!)

(Cant believe there's a lack of Breakdown GIFs)

You are a scout, while scouting an area with your bestfriend Bumblebee in a complex system of the underground mines, you both are forcefully separated when the structure collapsed. As you walk around the only remaining pathway trying to find a way back to your bff, you came along two mechs you haven't expected to meet

Note: Pronoun of Reader is not specified and there will be OOC!

You groaned when you came up with a dead end. Again.

You and Bumblebee were assigned to scout an abandoned human mine, now filled with pestering drones and whatnot. You were entailed that the mine is about 100 years old, give or take

From the supporting beams itself, you know it's old as fuck. Not older than you but with how short a human life span could be, it is definitely way pass their average life span.

You let out a steam of pressurized air again and went back to where you came, crossing a 'X' on the path in a poorly digitally drawn map by your wrist. You really are somewhat thankful for the tracking chip that was drilled into you, who knew it could be this handy personally?

You again looked at the map, wobbly lines of your walking pattern printed itself in a red line by the screen, only a single pulsing dot indicates of yourself. With your signals and comms disrupted by the fallen debrees earlier, it would have been easy tracking your partner and other forms of sentient beings that could possibly surround you right at this moment or you could have just commed the team and sens a SOS signal but bad luck seems to follow you in dark damp places. Ugh

You turned off the screen and continued trecking on dark paths, it took for a silent while before you started humming and murmuring the song with the tongue of Old Cybertron. It's a song with the oldest language you have learned.

Your scouting program in your processor warned you of such action, which is logical but you're tired. The war is going on for too long and you just want to go back to the times of festivals and bantering with old friends.

Humming such a lively tune warmed up the constricting pressure in any mech or femm's spark. The tune where it reminds of home

You hummed and hummed. Slowly trecking the long tunnel before you stopped and heard familiar voices far ahead and chuckled.

You moved fast but silent, drawing in closer by the dim light and quickly jumping by the corner when you knew they were present

"GLITCHES!" You whooped, immediately dodging a large fist with a loud laugh

"[NAME]! WHAT IN THE DESIGNATION OF PRIMUS WAS THAT FOR?!" Knock Out huffed, holding back the larger mech by the arm to avoid him toppling over you

"Hey, I heard you guys and thought why not?" You chuckled, which earned you a falling mech on you and you squawked

"I should've let him hit you" Knock Out groaned, crossing his arms as he watches the other two grounders piled on the ground

"Miss you too guys" You huffed and hugged the mech on top of you who snorted and did a noogie on your head, that definitely would have scratched your paint off "Nah we miss you more" Breakdown sighed and contently laid down on top of you

"Up Big Boy, you dont want to pressurize [Name] into a flat sheet of metal" Knock Out smirked and watched Breakdown slowly stand up, both then holding a hand out for you as you stood up with their help

"I'd still look pretty as a flat sheet" you chuckled and rotated your door wings to get the debrees out in between cracks which earned you two different actions from them

The three of you then hugged eachother, nuzzling eachother's armor as each bonded sparks hummed a happy and content melody. A melody like home

"Scratch my paint or else."

You and Breakdown froze and took a big gulp

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

You, Breakdown and KnockOut have been conjunxes before the war, but have been separated during the Decepticon uprising.

You had joined the Autobots when the bombing and raid had started, thinking your conjunxes had also joined in but you haven't seen any of them

Only when the war had started to worsen when you caught a glimpse of them with a Decepticon symbol as they boarded a ship

Due to being in different factions, you had tried to secretly meet them in order to avoid suspiciouns from each side. Soon you and your conjunxes saw eachother with relief, they thought you were somewhere safe and hadn't joined any factions. They both had joined in the faction willingly, also thinking they could have found you earlier and kept you safe if they ever found you

From there on, you had kept secret of having conjunxes and them for having a third one. It avoided the affair of cross-faction relationships that could be used against any of you. So, you guys had secretly met up once in awhile

It hurted your spark to be so far away from them, and so were they. But, it kept you all safe.

During the war, with your small frame and a grounder alt mode. You had taken up a scouting role, soon meeting Bumblebee, a young spark, in one of your missions and you both became friends. Soon becoming partners in every mission you went out to

Bumblee actually followed you one time when you sneaked out and found out you're in a relationship with decepticons and he hadn't told anyone. Even you

When the war is finally over, everyone who you were close to were shocked when you kissed each of your conjunx infront of them, while Bumblee is just in the sidelines clapping, happy that his best friend is finally free to love

#non canon compliant #transformers prime #tfp #knock out #breakdown #tfp knock out #tfp breakdown #knockout x reader #breakdown x reader #tfp knockout x reader #tfp breakdown x reader #tfp knockout x reader x breakdown #polyamourous

[jlhynde-insanitybrilliance]

UDLTTOM WORLDBUILDING RAMBLES: American Wizarding Society vs British Wizarding Society

This is like the 3rd installment of what is quickly becoming a series of long ranting posts about the lore surrounding Harry Potter & a current time-travel au I'm writing on AO3. But you don't need to have read the previous two posts to understand this one. (I still link them for those interested: pt 1, pt 2, pt. 3.) .

I think it's been fairly established that JK doesn't have much awareness of anything outside of Britain when it comes to world building. I've seen posts discussing how unrealistic the magical schools are and such. (Which obviously there can't be just 11 schools. I refuse to believe it. It exceeds my suspension of disbelief.) But this post isn't about that, but the whole societal structure of the American Wizarding society as a whole. I recently started watching my through the Fantastic Beasts films (I know I'm late to the show.) and as an American I can't help but to address some of this...

There's a lot to address & I'm sorry if this post gets a off on some tangents. But I'm just gonna jump right in with the things that bother me most.

1)The MACUSA reeks of British colonization.

As we all know, North America wasn't unpopulated when people from Europe started arriving. Native Americans, the Mayans, the Aztecs, Inuit people, and while some of them were nomadic others had established cities & advanced communities for that day in age. It was the religious zealot Protestants, aka Puritians, being driven out of England that pushed into these communities and brought with them this harmful religious dogma and pushed these people out of the homes and their lands. Like if you read into any of these cultures and their histories, you'll see that these communities were accepting of magic and in the HP world were probably very much wizards themselves.

And so the MACUSA doesn't make sense to me having been founded before the American Revolution, but after the Salem Witch Trials because in all likelihood wizards were being persecuted long before all that. Like I can't believe that the indigenous communities wouldn't have formed some sort of collective in order to combat these foreign invaders from overseas—Especially if they were wizards.

I mean so there had to be something before that, right? Like in all likelihood what I see happening is that these British wizards pushed themselves in with the Puritians (for whatever reason) and in the process brought with them their backwards views on muggles & blood politics & classism which wasn't a part of the original society. Because if you look at the indigenous histories you'll see that medicine men/women were respected members of their communities. Wizards and Muggles lived alongside each other just fine. But then the colonizers came & ruined that harmonious dynamic between the magical and nonmagical.

And that it's called the Magical Congress of the United States of America...It doesn't make sense unless that name came about after the American Revolution. Because before that it was referred to as the 13 colonies. Then it also took some time after the American Revolution for the 13 colonies to expand into the United States. (American didn't get all 50 states until 1959 with the purchase of Alaska from Russia and the forceful occupation of Hawaii.)

It makes more sense that there was a power struggle between two or more opposing Magical governments for the control of the Americas. And this would lead to a sort of Wizarding Civil War. Between the indigenous magical communities and the British, & Spanish, & French Colonies. It's a big place, huge. & it would be diced up and divided I think much more than than the muggle/no-maj community/government is.

The MACUSA being only on the East Coast makes more sense to me. (It also explains how there can only be one wizarding school in MA.) And how that school is a sister school of Hogwarts & how they are structured so similarly. Because watching the Fantastic Beasts films I don't feel like I'm watching American wizards, it more feels like I'm watching British Wizards with American accents.

And then the rest of the country is split up into districts or regions (much like it is in real life with: East Coast, Deep South, West Coast, Midwest.) where the indigenous practices and cultures are still prevalent.

I also don't buy into this idea that France and Spain would abandon their stake on the Continent. So in reality, it's more believable that Spanish Wizards would control Florida and expand all the way up to Arkansas, French wizards would Have control of Louisiana & Mississippi, East Texas, parts of Oklahoma, the British Wizards would have the colonies & maybe parts of the Great Lakes area like Illinois or Ohio, and then the rest of North America would be divided up into different territories amongst the indigenous communities.

Which then brings me to the second thing that bothers me: Rappaport's Law.

2) Rappaport's Law is a heavy-handed allegory for Jim Crowe & Segregation Laws.

As a white person, there's a lot in this topic that I am likely under informed and underqualified to unpack. It is a subject that would be better dissected by someone who understands the cultural histories and nuances better than me. But I read up a lot on random histories (because my Adhd brain leads me down some interesting research rabbit holes & I find myself fascinated by lore histories and folktales.) And I've learned a bit about the various histories pertaining to the Trans Atlantic Slave trade and how things like Voodoo made their way to America through the enslavement of various African tribes.

And again back to the British colonization, slaves were sold to the British by rival tribes & then some of those people made their way to North America when the colonies were formed , but that there was also a significant number of slaves that were indigenous to North America as well.

But how the indigenous communities were structured and how the tribal communities were structure were not all that dissimilar from each other. They both have an awareness of magic and similar spiritual practices. Again magic coexisting with muggles and what makes the most sense was that rival tribes would in fact sell the wizards into slavery and keep the squib/no-maj members of the village because they were less of a threat.

Which in turn would lead to most of the magical communities in North America being POC. Like honestly, I think they are the majority in the Americas. And the Rappaport Law, preventing the intermingling of no-majs & wizards would be heavily criticized because of the similarities to Jim Crowe and Segregation Laws.

And you might try to argue that because of the Statute of Secrecy, wizards wouldn't have any awareness of those muggle laws. But I argue that because of Slavery and most of the wizards being either slaves or negatively impacted by the European settlers would be very, very aware of those laws and prejudices & be actively fighting against them.

Like it was wizards creating and maintaining the underground railroad. It was wizards getting other wizards out and getting them away, regardless of whether or not they were magical because they were all slaves. And they would in fact still have muggles living side-by-side with them in these magical communities and spitting in the face of the Statute of Secrecy. And entire generations of no-majs would live and die in these communities and possibly even leave these communities to assimilate with other muggles and what not, but the American wizards would not be as cut off from the no-maj world like their British counterparts are.

3) Blood Politics would never be able to take root there.

Because most of them are unable to trace back their own bloodlines. It's why Americans don't have house elves working for them because it's Slavery, which they spent centuries combating and trying to escape. And why Grindelwald couldn't gain a foothold there because he was European and was actively killing muggleborns, squibs, no-majs like that wasn't their own people.

And this would also mean that, technologically, the magical communities in North America are more advanced. They are not stagnating like they are in Britain. Wizards are not a dying breed. They have a healthy growing population and low inbreeding rates, and advancements in magic and no-maj sciences. It's the sort of strength Grindelwald and Voldemort would want to recruit for their causes, but with how the majority of the continent is structured would never be able to.

[thank you for coming to my tedtalk.]

#hp fandom #harry potter #harry potter meta #udlttom #udlttom worldbuilding rambles #north america wizards vs british wizards #tomarry fic #time travel au #macusa #rambling thoughts on wizards in north america #non canon compliant #poc in harry potter verse

[starssunsoftheinfinite]

Yandere!Loki x Cat!Male Reader Chapter 1

what happens when you want to make a catboy fic but also a more serious fic but dont want to write two fics? this is what happens. This was also a little test for me to see if I could find a way for catboys to be serious in some way.

warnings : blood (quick mention), themes of memory loss, mention of murder/death

Names used : Y/N, 'cat burgeler', 'little thing', 'little one', 'pet', 'sweet pet'

vaguely spicy, theres tension but no one is touched in that way.

Read over by me and corrected with the help of an app.

1,571 words

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You don't remember much of anything before your time as a thief really. You remember being a child but there is such a large gap in your memory. Like it had all just disappeared. Besides being young, all you know is that you were cold and alone and discovered rather quickly that the stars, as beautiful as they are, were not a kind place. So you found your own place among the dark, forging your own life when no one would lend a hand. You knew enough of your existence before your thieving began to create some sort of life before all this. You knew you were from Midgard, you knew you liked the music from that planet and you knew that killing came easy to you which probably meant something not so good but you didn't like to dwell.

None of that was important right now. What was important was that you had a job to do. Recently you had struck up a deal with an anonymous buyer to infiltrate the trophy hall of Odin and bring back a treasure. This statement was rather confusing, usually, people want something specific, but after some prying, you found out it was simply because the buyer wanted to gloat about having something from Odin's halls. This would be difficult. Difficult for someone who wasn't you, that is. You managed to slip your way into the castle easily enough and once at the doors to the hall there were no guards. Immediately something felt off and the hair on your neck stood upright and your fur bristled. Your ears folded back and pressed against your head but you pushed on, pressing your palm against the door, claws out and ready to strike. Standing there, just down the steps was Odin himself accompanied by the guards you presumed were intended originally to sit outside the door. "Oh for fucks sake" You huffed, rolling your eyes as the All-father stood calmly, staring. His lack of anger frightened you somewhat. "Did you not think we would see you," Odin spoke, voice echoing. Your tongue rolled over your sharp canines and you avoided the All-fathers gaze. "Well I knew it was a possibility but you didn't seem to at first.." you huffed before carrying on. You dragged your hands down your face, claws now retracted. "I should have seen this coming" You groaned and Odin hummed "Yes, you should have." You shot him a quick glare. "If you go without a fight we will discuss your sentence and perhaps give you more mercy. The only crime you have currently committed is breaking and entry and while you may have intended to steal you have yet to. " Odin stated and you thought about it for a moment. After a moment of silence you gave a wicked grin, baring your teeth like a snarl, your pupils thin slits and your claws out and sharp as ever. "Go big or go home I always say." You snap and rush toward the two guards. Quicker than they can blink your hand is wrapped around the wrist of the guard on the left, twisting and causing him to yelp and his hand to tense into a claw, dropping his spear which you gladly took. A little too focused on the first guard, you held the spear like an axe over your head but before you can swing it the second guard cleanly punches you in the face. You gasp, dropping the spear and hunching over, holding your face as bruises already begin to spring up along your cheek and blood begins to leak from your nostril.

"I think that's enough of that." The All-Father calls out and reaches out, gripping the scruff of your neck, leaving you to dangle helplessly while the guard you had previously attempted to fight pulled your hands from your face and put cuffs on your wrists. "We have no more empty cells, your liege. Where should we put him?" The second guard asked. Odin hummed. "Put him with Loki, give my son some company. I also fear anyone else may simply kill our cat burglar. " The guards both snickered at the comment and you rolled your eyes as you were ushered out of the hall.

You didn't speak a word as you were dragged to the dungeons, barely even looking up from your feet. Your mind did wander though, to this 'Loki' fellow. You had heard the name, obviously, he's a God, and from what you heard he wasn't half bad looking. You'd never say that to him of course.

When you finally came to the cell, you still didn't look at anything but the floor, not even a glimpse at your new roomie, far too embarrassed over the whole situation. "We are going to open this cell. If you try anything, your sentence will be doubled. Got it?" The guard to your left spoke. "Of course" Oh my. That was certainly a voice. Silky smooth and deep with the tiniest rasp on certain letters. Gorgeous. Your ears flicked up for just a moment but promptly folded back down to fain being uninterested. Loki chuckled and you had to swallow, hanging your head completely down with your mouth slightly agape. My God, if this was his voice what was his face like? You heard a 'shiing' and stumbled ever so slightly as you were guided into the cell, immediately whipping around to glare at the guard both out of anger and also to avoid looking at the man you'd be staying with for a little longer. You kept your eyes on the men as they left, slowly taking steps back from the yellow sheen of your cell's borders. You took another step, then another, then another- warmth pressed against your back and you tensed, practically growing an inch as you straightened out your back and turned, stumbling away from what you bumped into. Green eyes gazed down at you like daggers, beautiful, beautiful daggers. A small gasp escaped your lips and you took another step back. Loki's hands were folded behind his back and he took a step forward, leaning slightly closer. "And who might you be, little thing?" He hummed and you felt yourself melt. You blinked quickly, shaking your head and rubbing your face. "Stop that." You huffed and glared up at Loki with a stern expression. Loki tilted his head, eyes narrowing in confusion "Stop what? Asking for your name?" He hummed curiously and you rolled your eyes, swerving around him to move around your shared cell. He turned to follow you with his eyes. "No, I know about you. You're all magic and tricks and shit and clearly, you're trying to use one on me. " Loki raised an eyebrow "I believe you are simply paranoid. " He stated bluntly and you huffed. "Now, I asked you a question. " The God said and you finally answered, "You can call me Y/N." You stated, finding a place to sit in the corner of your cell, knees to your chest and tail curled around you. There was a moment of silence before you heard Loki's shoes tap against the smooth floor, coming closer to you. He crouched beside you, his legs slightly spread and arms resting over his thighs. "What?" You spoke. "Look at me," He said. You did not. Before you could protest he reached out and grabbed your jaw in his frigid hand, turning your head for you. You felt heat rise to your cheeks but if he saw he ignore it. "I've never seen something like you before." Your face may be held towards his but you kept your eyes away. "Eyes on me," Loki said, low and commanding, and for some reason, you couldn't help but do as you were told. The minute you held eye contact your pupils widened as if to take all of his beauty in they had to grow in size.

"Look at that" Loki whispered breathily, almost praising. "A minute ago they were thin as paper. " He commented before continuing. "You are a Midguardian but... you are more than that. What are you truly I wonder?" Loki muses before letting go of your face and sitting beside you as though nothing had happened. You turned your head to look at the floor in front of you and your pupils became slits once more. "Curious. " Loki hummed beside you and you groaned. "I'm not some pet to observe Loki. " You huffed and Loki let out another warm chuckle that caused warmth to burst throughout your chest once more. "I cannot help but observe, pet" Your cheeks flush at the nickname but you groan to fain annoyance.

"I see the flush of your cheeks, little one. " Loki hums and stares, you can see him doing so from the corner of your eye. You hum and shuffle, turning your back to the God. You gasp, tensing as you feel Loki's index finger run over your spine, starting low and rising. His hand found its place in your hair. You opened your mouth to protest but your words were silenced by fingers running through your hair, scratching at your scalp. Before long purrs rose from deep in your throat and you began to go limp. "That's it.." Loki cooed lowly, using his other hand to guide you from your curled position to instead lay your head in his lap.

"Sleep, sweet pet."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

check out my pinned post for some guidance on how to request one shots or story ideas <3

#loki #mcu loki #non canon compliant #loki x reader #loki x male reader #male reader #mcu x male reader #mcu x reader #marvel x reader #marvel x male reader #loki laufeyson #catboy reader #male catboy reader #x male reader #loki x y/n #loki x you

[hllywdwhre]

Excerpt from the unnamed Daemyra x reader fic

Sorry for any errors, this is just a rough draft. This scene wouldn’t leave my head and I needed to get it out before I exploded.

-

-

Tessarion landed on the beach of Dwarfstone a moment after Ser Addam’s unfortunate introduction to Daemon’s anger. It was her’s and Viserea’s landing that distracted Daemon and allowed for Ser Addam to be pulled away from him. Viserea felt the eyes of the Westerosi army on her as she walked up to the stone slab being used as a makeshift table to hold War Councils, but she did not allow for their gazes to intimidate her. The anger she felt was written clearly on her face, no matter how much she felt the anger was stupid. She was a princess, and she knew that part of her responsibilities were to be wed and have children; she wasn’t angry at her responsibilities. She was angry at Viserys for claiming she and Rhaenyra would have their choice only for her own choice to be rejected immediately.

“We don’t need any help from the King.” Daemon said, his tone sharp and almost offended at her arrival.

“Do you really believe the King allowed for the Princess he views as another daughter of his to leave the safety of the keep and enter a war ground?” Viserea replied, mimicking his tone.

“Then why are you here?” He asked.

“I’m here to fight.” Viserea said, and before she could reply, a knight in the Velaryon colors whose name Viserea didn’t know spoke up.

“You’re a Princess. A war ground is no place for you, you need to be back in King’s Landing where it’s safe. You’re much too valuable.” His tone showed sincere worry for her, but it only made Viserea’s blood boil more.

“You’re correct, I am a Princess. And Daemon is a Prince. Our titles are of equal importance and he is allowed to fight. There’s another Princess who’s your future Queen still back in King’s Landing where it’s safe. If Daemon is allowed to fight, I see no reason why I should not be allowed. It’s not like me and my dragon would hurt your cause.” Every word Viserea spoke was laced with confidence, anger, and determination.

She wasn’t going to just be led away peacefully. If they wanted her gone, they could knock her out, tie her up, and drag her back to King’s Landing.

“We could use another dragon, especially one of Tessarion’s size. She’s grown since I was last in King’s Landing and she looks to be the same size as Caraxes. Her dragon alone could turn the fates.” Corlys’ support wasn’t what Viserea expected, but she looked towards him and gave him a small nod in thanks to which he returned.

“That’s too bad, she’s going back to King’s Landing.” Daemon said, leaning over the stone table as if to say the conversation was finished.

Viserea grabbed hold of his armor and turned him so he was forced to look at her as she spoke,

“No matter what the whispers in Flea Bottom are, my father did not name me Viserea because of the supposed favoritism he showed towards one brother. My mother and father named me after the great Queen Visenya who fought alongside Aegon the Conqueror, placed the crown upon Aegon’s head, and was the first to hail him as King. My dragon was named to honor the goddess of Old Valyria that makes dreamers such as myself. I understand the honor in being given these names and I do not intend to bring them dishonor by lying around King’s Landing when there is a war to be fought.“

Violet eyes met violet eyes and Viserea noticed a change in Daemon’s that she couldn’t name. It did not match the smirk that came across his face as he spoke again,

“Alright then, Princess. You’ll fight.”

#non canon compliant #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon x oc #daemon x y/n #daemon targaryen #daemyra #daemyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x oc #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x reader #daemon x rhaenyra

[papawymackbebekevin]

Morning Coffee

The last time David and Kayleigh spoke they both had assumed they'd never see each other unless they had to. Then Kayleigh calls David to join her at their old Café which they use to frequent together, and David is given news to change his life for the better.

It's late March when David finds himself on the phone with Kayleigh; the first conversation in weeks after a particularly nasty fight between them. David had just found out that Kayleigh hadn't felt the same way as he did regarding their relationship, and it didn't help that this fight came right after they had been intimate with each other. David had thought there was a bond between them that surpassed any friends-with-benefits relationship. Kayleigh did not. Both were offended that they did not feel the same way. Which is why this phone call was a surprise to David. He made it clear to Kayleigh all those weeks ago that he would no longer continue to just be a means to an end. That was not what this call was about, though. No, it is a call David never thought he would receive.

David finds himself downing his cup of coffee — luckily it's room temperature since he forgot about having it while he got ready for the day — and leaving his apartment as quickly as he could to meet up with Kayleigh at the coffee shop they frequented.

Entering their coffee shop, David feels sick to his stomach almost immediately. This is where Kayleigh used to go over Exy rules and strategies with him, where she made him laugh so hard he almost choked on an ice cube, where the first mention of something more made David's heart beat a little faster.

Kayleigh has always been a force of nature, ever since he first met her roughly four years ago. Ever since then she's been mixing up his life. For the better, mostly. Finding her bright green eyes in the crowd is easy, Kayleigh is sitting at their table, in their spot, with their drinks already waiting in front of him. 

Upon coming closer, David takes in the subtle but noticeable changes that have happened since he's last seen her. Her usually well-kept mess of light brown hair is tangled and loosely braided down her back. The skin beneath her eyes is darker than usual, shiny and thin and makes her eyes appear more dull. One of her slender, freckled fingers is tapping against the brim of her cup while she's staring out of the window, lost in thoughts. 

David hates seeing Kayleigh this way. Something is wrong, and since she called him here it must involve him. He makes his way to the table and sits down, seeing his tall black cup of coffee and trying to ignore the sudden ache of familiarity. He watches as Kayleigh snaps out from her thoughts while he sits down. 

Her gaze isn't filled with anger or resentment. It's something else. Something that David can't pin, something that's not positive or at least doesn't seem positive to David. It worries David and he's not sure how he feels that he can still worry about Kayleigh, even after ending the relationship he had with her. 

"David, I must have missed you walking in. Um, I got you your coffee." Kayleigh says as she carefully watches David and his actions. 

It causes David's skin to itch and for his blood to run cold. "I saw, you seemed lost in thought. How have you been." 

"I have been well," Kayleigh's honey tongue could have tricked anyone into believing anything she said, and yet, David knows those words are a lie. "How about you?"

"Kayleigh," David starts and then sighs, realizing he's using his coaching voice. "Kate, if you're just going to lie to me I don't want to have this conversation. Thank you for the coffee but I think I should get going. I have kids I need to coach…" 

"David, wait!" 

The desperation that laces Kayleigh's outburst makes David stay in his seat. It makes his stomach turn and his immediate action is to try and get rid of whatever is bothering Kayleigh. He watches as her eyes dart around, literally looking for the right words to say. 

"I found out something that could change both of our lives." Kayleigh finally answers. She's turning her cup in her hands and David noticed she's not drinking her usual morning tea, instead it's hot cocoa. She never changed her order before. 

"Both of our lives . . . okay, I see how it involves me." David responds and Kayleigh nods, watching him carefully. David hates that careful gaze. "What is it you need from me? My support?"

"I need more than your support." Kayleigh answers simply and bluntly. But it doesn't really answer any of David's questions. 

"Kate, I'm not following. . ." He trails off and Kayleigh divertes her eyes as she gives him a response that answers every question David had flowing into his mind.

"David, I'm pregnant."

#aftg #all for the game #aftg au #all for the game au #au #alternative universe #non canon compliant #papa wymack #david wymack #kayleigh day #fanfiction #fanfic #aftg fanfic #thefoxesraven #peachycloudsworld

[it-happened-one-fic]

Ink and Magic - Merchant From the Depths

Author Notes: Part 3 of this sort of halfway non canon compliant what if with the overblots and their aftermath! A lot of what I said for part 1 counts for this section too. This isn't exactly romantic. in fact, I would say it counts as more platonic, but it certainly can be taken as shippy. This will also be a series, though the Diasomnia section won't come out until that entire matter is resolved in game. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Spoilers for Book 3: The Merchant from the Depths!!

[Heartslabyul] [Savanaclaw] [Octavinelle: You're Here!] [Scarabia] [Pomefiore] [Ignihyde] [Diasomnia: To be released]

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ fic series/ Can be platonic or romantic/ fluff/ angst/ comfort/ Spoilers for Octavinelle overblot.

Word Count: 1807

I landed on my backside hard, grunting from both the impact and the stinging sensation in my sides from where Azul had just hurled me with his tentacles across what had become a battlefield as soon as he’d overblotted.

The sounds of screaming had me looking up, wide-eyed, to see both Jade and Floyd firing off multiple spells in quick succession at the shrieking octo-merman. 

I couldn’t see either of their faces as they blasted relentlessly at Azul’s overblotted form, which released piercing screams and jerked in agony each time a spell connected with either his body or the blot monster that seemed loomed over him.

I suppose that, in the end, it only made sense that it came down to the Leech twins. Moray eels were a natural predator of octopi, after all….

Azul collapsed with a lurching gasp as the twins at last stopped firing, and the blot monster collapsed with a great cry. Spilling ink everywhere and causing the thick black liquid to swirl through what had once been pristine water that surrounded the Octavinelle dorm. I grimaced at how the ink spiraled around like a great, dark snake until, at last, it began to slowly dissipate.

The housewarden let out a quiet whimpering sound, muttering something to himself until his voice rose so that I could at last hear him as he looked up at me, of all people. 

His normally pale blue eyes were impossibly bright and shone with bitter tears as the purple flame that was over his right eye flickered out of existence, “I… I just wanted to….”

His voice cracked, and I felt something within me tense, almost like I was the one whose heart was breaking.

I was in motion before hardly anyone else reacted to him slumping forward. Reverting back to a human form as he toppled towards the ground.

My feet dug into the muddy ground, and I could hear the others behind me shouting, their voices mixing and mingling, along with Jade and Floyd’s shouts that were directed at Azul.

Distantly, a small part of me almost begged me to stop. I knew what was going to happen after all. But somehow I found myself focusing, my vision tunneling so that it seemed like Azul was the only thing I could see as I ran forward and towards him.

I felt myself speed up as Azul stared back at me, tears streaking their way, unbidden, down his face, even as his expression grew numb and he succumbed to exhaustion.

 Those pale blue eyes of his, the same color as a cold winter sky, flickered shut as he collapsed into my arms, and I sank to the ground with him under the weight of his already limp body. And even as I heard his two close friends continue to call out his name, their voices tinged with something akin to fear mixed with concern, I was immediately exhausted.

But it would be alright. This was the third time I’d done this. So I ignored all of the yelling and shouting around me and surrendered myself to the oblivion of the darkness that would no doubt hold his memories and stories of trauma as I hit my knees was no longer frightening.

And that brief moment of silence was almost peaceful, as that solid blackness enveloped me and dulled all of my senses until I could no longer hear what any of my companions were shouting.

“The only place I ever belonged was inside an octopus pot,” Azul’s voice was calm as it rang out through the darkness that surrounded me, and I didn’t even bother looking for him, even though he sounded like he was right beside me. 

Perfectly on cue, the film of his history slowly began to play. Unfolding his life events in front of me, all for him to narrate and explain.

He had been an adorable little chubby child, evidently enough. One that appeared to cry frequently and was generally emotional.

A silly little octo-twerp he called himself, and I immediately recalled him saying those exact words as he was overblotting. 

I could only assume from his vehemence then and the events I was seeing now that he had been called that numerous times.

But from what I was seeing here, octopi mermen were not well liked. Why, I couldn’t say…. But his classmates' distaste for him was rather evident as they jeered at his tiny childhood form.

I could now say that Azul had hatched his plot for vengeance on those who mocked him early on in his life. Before he even had met Floyd and Jade.

Despite his resentful nature, which had apparently been present even when he was a child, I couldn’t keep the smile from my face as younger versions of the twins swam into view with brightly sparkling mismatched eyes as they greeted him. And it didn’t take long before it was obvious that the three were going to be sticking together.

“Octy here’s pretty funny, Jade.”

“I agree, Floyd. He’s quite fascinating.”

It was the first time I’d actually seen the tiny Azul actually appear to be happy through the course of these memories, and it immediately made me wonder exactly how close the three young men were.

They all seemed to prefer to view their relationship as one where they could slip apart at any moment, but from what I saw here in his memories and judging from Floyd and Jade’s immediate and concerned reaction as they had left to return to Azul as soon as the anemones had disappeared from Ace, Deuce, and Grim’s heads, I suspected they were far closer than they let on.

As I continued to watch the film of Azul’s past, he sank deeper into his plot as it gave him what he felt he needed. Purpose and strength. 

It was saddening that he felt like he could only ever be worthwhile if he attained other’s gifts. Like his own merits weren’t enough on their own.

By the end of the rolling film-like memories, he’d vowed numerous times that he would never be weak again.

“I’ll make everyone who ever mocked me quaver and beg for mercy,” His voice held a determination that was as impressive as it was frightening. And yet, I couldn’t help but admire the amount of resolve Azul had possessed even as a child.

It was true that he’d been beyond wrong to do what he’d done. But it was also true that, just as the others had been, the root of his breakdown ran deep throughout his entire person and life experience.

I opened my eyes, blinking blearily, before I realized I’d slumped down over where Azul rested on my lap, so that my upper body was laying over Azul’s. Almost like I was shielding both him and his memories of his childhood from the world.

 I leaned back, slowly pushing myself upright, and I could immediately hear the scrambling of people to reach me. 

A steady hand rested on my back as another curved around my wrist, as if they were worried it would give way under the weight of my own still-heavy body.

“How are you feeling?” Deuce’s voice was right near me, close enough that I assumed the hand on my back belonged to him. I nodded in response before glancing over to see Jade Leech, of all people, kneeling down next to me.

My eyes went wide, but he simply ignored me. His gaze staying on where Azul continued to rest with his head on my lap, “What happened?”

His voice was ever calm, and his expression was unreadable, as was his brother’s, whom I could now see standing behind him. One thing I could tell, though, was that they were mystified as to what had just occurred.

“They were helping him through the direct aftermath of the overblot,” Leona answered for me, startling me with how close he actually was.

Looking over, I saw him standing over me, his arms crossed as he frowned down at where I knelt on the still wet ground.

Of those here, he probably understood what had just occurred best. But his words were still confusing. In what way had I helped Azul through a rehashing of his memories?

“So you did the connection thing again?” Ace’s slightly judgmental tone came from behind me,  and I glanced over my shoulder to make eye contact with the frowning redhead, who held Grim, and beside whom Jack and Ruggie stood.

 I nodded, finding my head still felt foggy from ‘connecting,’ as he called it, to Azul, “Yeah…. I saw his memories and everything. Just like with Riddle and Leona.” I looked back over as I spoke, making eye contact with Leona, who held my gaze unflinchingly.

I started to straighten a bit more before immediately regretting that decision as a shooting pain went through my waist. I let out a pained grunt, and I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder, “Careful, you got hurt pretty badly in the fight when Azul grabbed you…”

Jack’s tone was firm, but the concern there was obvious, making me wonder exactly what my side looked like.

“Bad, how?”

None of my friends actually responded to my worried question. Instead, it was Floyd answered, “Azul squeezed you pretty tight, and what with his suckers….” 

He trailed off in a distinctly ominous fashion that had me going tense until Leona finished what Floyd had started with a huff, “I fixed the worst of it, but you’ll still need to go to the infirmary.”

I twisted again to thank him, but froze when Azul let out a groan. The arms he’d thrown loosely around my waist tightened reflexively, causing me to stiffen slightly before his hold loosened once more and his eyes opened.

He blinked once and then twice before slowly looking up, “Prefect….?”

I smiled slightly at him, hardly able to help myself. There was something about having seen each of the overblot victims' memories that made it hard for me to stay upset with them.

Plus there was the fact that he’d been an awfully cute child……

He slowly sat up, his expression growing wary, “What happened?”

And so followed the lengthy explanation, including the awkward parts of me explaining that I saw his memories and heard his thoughts, which naturally led to the tweels teasing a rather flustered Azul.

At this point, I was getting more used to the aftermath of the overblots. But a part of me was still incredibly concerned about why, exactly, I felt the intense need to catch each victim in the overblot fallout and why I saw their memories and thoughts.

Even as I could feel Azul's gaze on me, I couldn’t deny that Ace might be right to be concerned about my connecting with them….

#briarvalleyarchives #Twisted wonderland imagines #reader-insert #gender neutral reader #Octavinelle #non canon compliant #Spoilers for octavinelle #angst #comfort #angst with comfort #fluff #Azul x reader #fic series #Azul x you #Azul x y/n #twst #twst x reader #twst x you #twst x y/n #Twisted wonderland x reader #Twisted wonderland x you #Twisted wonderland x y/n #overblot #Azul overblot #mywritings #it-happened-one-fic #drama #headcanon #fanfiction #fanfic

[knifedancer]

Unsigned Gifts

Marinette has a secret admirer that keeps giving her really thoughtful gifts with no signature. But who is it?

OR

The five times Marinette received unsigned gifts and the one time she guessed who all the gifts were from.

AO3 Link

~~~First~~~

It all started one day when Lila and her lackeys broke her favorite marking pens. Not that she had any proof, except for the cruel light in Lila’s eyes and the way certain classmates weren’t meeting her eye – and hiding their hands in their laps – as she discovered the mess near the back of the classroom. Marinette had returned to the classroom after lunch and found the set of marking pens that her grandmother given her snapped in half, their vibrant inks smeared into a grotesque brown all over her desk surface. Luckily it wasn’t the whole set, but her favorite colors were in her bookbag for work on a commission… The bluenette hid her glistening eyes, not allowing a single tear to escape, as she began to wipe what she could from the desk. Her only response a silent nod when Madam Bustier, whom assumed it was not caused by someone else, told her that she needed to stay after school to make sure it was properly clean.

Honestly, she was glad to be alone after the last bell rang. The room was empty and silent except for the ticking clock on the wall. It gave her some private moments to let out those tears that she kept hidden – she would never let anyone see her cry from their bullying attempts – while she mindlessly went through the movements of scrubbing the tabletop. The gentle rasping sounds of the cloth against a hard surface and the familiar circular motions, long ingrained from cleaning parts of the bakery, gave the pigtailed girl a sense of Zen. It was oddly calming for all the emotions she had bottled up inside her earlier; at least she would not be visited by an akuma today. When she was finally done, she gathered up the empty cleanser bottle, dirty rags, and mangled pens to dump in the garbage near the teacher’s desk. Marinette gave one last sorrowful look at the pens, recalling all of the designs she had illustrated with them and the joy she had felt receiving them from Grandma Gina… On the bright side, they had not found her precious sketchpad to ruin. The designer wiped her damp cheeks with her jacket sleeve before dropping the pens into the can with a sigh. She trudged out of the class and down the steps, completely missing a pair of calculating eyes that watched her from the shadows…

~~

At the end of the next day, Marinette found a brand-new set of expensive Copic Marking Pens and five Bosco Wood pencils tucked into a simple pink ribbon bow on top in her locker, no note was attached. She looked around, feeling eyes watching her but not seeing anyone standing out in the crowd of random students gathering their things and chatting with friends. She reverently touched the beautiful clear case and hugged it to her chest, a small genuine smile gracing her features as she imagined all the stunning designs she would make, before tucking them safely into her bookbag. Perhaps one of her classmates felt bad for what happened and wanted to remain anonymous for fear of Lila? Whatever the case, these would be safer in her room.

~~~Second~~~

A few days later, Marinette sat at one of the tables in the library during lunch, off in her own world with her headphones playing the latest Jagged Stone single just loud enough for her to block out any passing sounds but low enough not to disturb others. She found it easier to focus on her work not surrounded by her former friends and the kindly librarian allowed her to eat at the tables so long as she didn’t make a mess. Today the designer was working on a dress for Clara Nightingale’s next award show appearance. The overall look was done but the colors… She tapped the end of her new oak pencil against her lips as she contemplated. The margins on the page were filled with tiny smudges of carefully erased notes. She pulled out her phone, looking through various Pantone color chip options through Qwant. Unfortunately, like with all electronics, the inherent settings and hardware capabilities altered the tones just slightly – making the decision even harder.

“I wish I could afford those Pantone Color chips…it would make it so much easier to choose,” Marinette murmured to herself with a sigh. “Perhaps I can buy one with the money Maman’s family will send me for New Year but that’s still months away...”

The five-minute warning bell signifying the end of lunch rang, pulling her from her thoughts. The girl packed her sketchbook and headphones away before sweeping any remaining crumbs and rubber shavings into her empty lunch containers, then headed off to class without a second thought to the other students meandering through the book stacks or lining up to check out something last minute. Her mind was elsewhere, dreaming of which colors would combine best to fit Clara’s style and still wow people on the red carpet, when she knocked into something solid. Marinette’s elbow was caught in a firm grip before she fell backward, finding herself hauled up against a familiar grey vest.

“Hello Angel, did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?” came the smug voice of the other blond boy in her class. Just great. She righted herself with a scoff, rolling her eyes at his ridiculous pick-up line while brushing imaginary wrinkles from her blazer. She knew he was only doing it to get a rise out of her but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of losing her temper.

“Not as much as when they kicked you out of hell, Felix,” she replied sweetly as she pulled away.

“Are you saying I’m hot?” he asked with a predatory grin.

“You’re about as hot as a dumpster on fire and only half as pleasant!” Marinette sing-songed before quickly brushing by him and walked back towards class, missing the playful look on his face as he followed her at a respectable distance. She settled into her seat with a huff, zoning out while Madam Bustier droned on about the Revolution, the girl’s mind lost in the details for Clara’s dress once again.

~~

The next gift unexpectedly appeared at lunch the next day. The librarian called her over and presented a small parcel wrapped in pink striped paper. “This is for you, dear.”

“What? Who…,” began the confused bluenette. She spied a small, unsigned tag with her name on it taped to the top. The tag itself was not handwritten, instead seemed to have been made on a typewriter. Who, besides her Grandpa Roland, even owned one of those anymore?

“Sorry but I don’t have any idea. It was left here with just your name printed on the card while I was busy with a phone call. Seems you have an admirer, dear!” chuckled the librarian as she patted the girl on the shoulder, then went back to sorting a stack of returns for reshelving.

Marinette settled the parcel on her usual table, carefully unwrapping to preserve the lovely paper for another of her crafting projects. She pulled off the lid of the plain white box and unfolded the tissue paper inside – her breath caught in her throat. Inside were four Pantone Color Guide fans for fashion and home design, each with 350 different swatches, in every shade of the rainbow. Her fingers trembled as she lifted one from the safety of its tissue bed, fanning it open with a look of awe. Who had done this? First the pens, now this… She was overwhelmed with happiness and gratitude, her face lighting up with palpable joy as her mind buzzed with questions and plans.

‘I need to take these home, immediately!’ she thought, returning the Pantone guide back to the same spot she had pulled it from. She closed the box and pressed it to her chest as she quickly departed from the library, barely preventing herself from bumping into a student that was about to depart through the doorway. She threw a quick “sorry!” over her shoulder as she ran, only catching a blur of gold hair in her periphery as she exited the school.

~~~Third~~~

A couple weeks later, after the commission for Clara was done, Marinette found herself with some free time on the weekend. Time to find a nice spot to draw! She had planned to wander through the park near her house, but discovered Adrien was doing a photoshoot with Lila. She rolled her eyes and wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something rotten.  Not that she didn’t still enjoy watching Adrien’s photoshoots – on the contrary, it was fun to see the modeling process and clothes – but the motivation had changed. She had found her feelings for the model fading as time went on; eventually she accepted that it was a temporary obsession rather than love that she felt. Being around him wasn’t as awkward as she expected but she preferred to avoid being around Lila – which meant not hanging out with Adrien as much as he was constantly around her due to his father’s wishes.

She hummed softly and turned on her heel, deciding to seek out another spot that might inspire her. The pigtailed girl wandered along the Siene, giving a friendly wave to Andre the ice cream vendor as she passed and enjoying the light breeze against her cheeks. She decided her time would be best spent at the Luxembourg Gardens – it had been a while since she had visited. Marinette took a deep breath as she meandered along the sunlight paths, surrounded by trees and flowers, the calming effect of the garden and architecture washing over the secret bug-themed heroine with each step. She found a bench near one of the buildings that caught her eye, settling down with one of her drawing pencils and losing herself to the sketching of various designs that began to form in her head. A few gowns inspired by flowers and the stream nearby, jackets and hats noted with colors of the various leaves overhead, but what appeared the most on the pages were men’s three-piece suits with embroidered vests… Marinette paused, gazing at the newest vest she had drawn. Deep twilight blue, bordering on black; with barely imperceptible golden and green abstract detailing that was vaguely reminiscent of peacock feathers.

It reminded her of Felix for some reason – not just the vest itself but the stylization she had added. She glanced up to the building again, taking in the architecture with a discerning gaze. It and part of the surrounding garden was of English design, merging in with the French touches seamlessly. Adrien’s cousin was from London, perhaps that was why it reminded her so much of him… She dropped her gaze back down to the page, her eyes widening as she realized she was unconsciously doodling Felix’s face and shoulders into the vest she had created. It was rough but the sketch – hair, jawline, and the beginning curve of a grin – was distinctively him. Marinette’s cheeks pinked at the realization, hurriedly attempted to flip the page only to discover it was the last sheet. Her book would need to be replaced!

“Well,” she said as she closed and halfheartedly tucked the pad away, “looks like I’ll have to buy a new sketch pad with my allowance next Friday.” With one last look at the beautiful garden around her, she began her journey home through the afternoon crowds. Marinette failed to hear the soft plop behind her as her sketchpad fell from her bag until she was back in her room. She returned to search for it with no luck, lamenting the loss of her work but hopeful that her luck – Tikki’s really – might just bring it back to her. After all, this was why she always wrote her name and address on the inside cover. Someone must have found it and would turn it in!

At school the following Monday and Tuesday, she relegated herself to making little doodles on her notebook’s lined paper. Nothing too serious or professional – little flowers and birds that she remembered seeing at the Luxembourg Gardens, black cats chasing peacocks through a field of flowers, ladybugs on leaves cleaning their antennae or snoozing in a pollen covered pistil bed... She didn’t want to waste a great design on paper that was too thin to accept her bold pencil strokes, not to mention whatever was left would not withstand the colored marker ink without becoming an oversaturated, soggy mess. At one point Marinette caught Felix staring over her shoulder at her drawings during free period; she was so taken aback that she was at a loss for words as his green eyes met hers.

 He propped his elbow on the desk and casually rested his chin in the palm of his hand, his trademark smirk spreading across his face. “Like what you see, Princess? Take a picture, it will last longer.”

Marinette gasped at the audacity and turned away, “No, you simply reminded me of a ‘before’ picture I saw on the TV the other day.”

“Give me a chance and I’ll do more than make you gasp,” he replied close to her ear.

“I’d slap you, but I don’t want to accidentally make your face look any better,” she murmured sweetly, her eyes alight with playful mockery as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. A tingle went up her spine as his breath tickled her ear and they seemed frozen as their gazes met, the moment only being broken by the bell. Without turning her head any further, she heard him chuckle with mirth as he sat back in his seat.

By the end of class on Tuesday, she returned home to find a thick envelope tucked into the mail slot beside their apartment entry in the alleyway. She pulled it out and found yet another typed tag on the front addressed to her. Not wanting to wait a moment longer, she ripped it open right there on the doorstep. She cried with joy when she saw the contents! Inside was her lost sketchpad tied to a brand new one, its cover a pale pink and covered in plum blossoms and irises. Marinette looked up and down the alleyway, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person that had left the envelope, but no one was there. Did she really have an admirer? She blushed as her hand traced the pattern on the cover idly. Whomever they were, they didn’t waste time with cliché gestures of flowers and chocolates… Instead, they seemed very attentive to her likes and hobbies. Every gift was centered around her designing but still found a way to incorporate a personalized touch. She had never felt so special or seen before. A warmth blossomed in her chest at the thoughtfulness this mysterious figure had shown her; this feeling leaving her floating through the rest of the week as if on cloud nine.

~~~Fourth~~~

On Thursday, Marinette sat at her table after lunch and felt something bump against her knee unexpectedly. She shifted and felt something small fall onto her knees. Trying not to look distracted in class, she brought it into her lap proper and held back a squeal as she caught a glimpse of pink striped paper. They must have stuck it to the underside of the table to avoid someone else finding it. The pigtailed girl slowly opened the wrapping, careful to keep it as silent as possible, to reveal a spool of delicate lace edging in a creamy white. She contemplated uses for it and decided she had plenty left over for a little display of appreciation…

Friday morning, she checked herself in the mirror one last time and received the nub’s up from Tikki. Marinette made her way to school and happily skipped up the steps, ignoring the looks she received – didn’t matter to her if they were in envy, anger, or judgement. Let them look! The designer had raised her hair into her Multimouse space buns but pinned small segments of lace around the base of each, giving her a Chun-Li look with her usual red ribbons trailing from each bun. She had paired the look with a red qipao top with a peplum hem, which flared slightly at her hips, over tailored black pants. She had also exchanged her usual pink purse with one covered in upcycled cream colored doilies.

Surprisingly she entered the class with a couple minutes to spare, nearly stumbling into the two blond cousins conversing at the front table. Adrien was the first to see her, his eyes slipping up to her hair as his smile turned warm and fond. “Hey Marinette! I love the new look; did you design it yourself?”

“Hey Adrien! Yeah, just haven’t had the chance to wear it before now. Felt like wearing something new today,” the designer smiled in return, giving him a little twirl. In the meantime, Felix had turned around and standing eerily silent as he stared at her. She could have sworn his ears had turned slightly pink when he finally glanced at her hair. “Cat got your tongue, Felix?” Marinette asked cheekily.

He cleared his throat before he replied. “Can I take your picture so I can show Père Noël what I want for Christmas?”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, “Don’t you know? Only good kids get presents, I’m afraid you won’t qualify.”

“Well, if I must be a Grinch, then I’d rather steal you instead,” Felix stated with a grin.

She leaned in close and dropped her voice low, her eyes taking on a dangerous glint. “I guess I should add ‘body bag’ on my list this year then, because it sounds like you’ll end up in one.” The boy seemed temporarily speechless, so she smirked with victory and headed back to her seat. Vaguely she could hear the imperceptible murmurings of the two blonds get cut off by the bell as she settled in.

Marinette felt – and ignored – Felix’s stare on the back of her head the rest of the day. If she had turned around for even a moment, she likely would have seen the rouged complexion that he was unable to tame in her presence.

~~~Fifth~~~

A week later, after a long day dodging Lila’s machinations and having to stay late to handle Class Representative tasks, Marinette was relieved to find the locker room empty. She mentally ran through the list of books she would need to complete her homework and opened the lock, the door immediately falling open due to an unbalanced package within. Her heart leaped into her chest as she took in the memorable pink stripped paper. The bluenette sat on the bench and brought the package into her lap, noting that it felt soft under the crinkling exterior. Just as she did with the Pantone Guides, she carefully removed the paper. As the last of the tape was peeled and the boundary fell away to reveal the contents, Marinette audibly gasped. There in her lap lay the most beautiful silk she had ever seen, the same shade as the vest she had sketched at the gardens!

She blushed as she thought of the drawing and the image of Felix wearing it in her mind’s eye. She shook her head to free herself from such thoughts. Knowing him, he’d probably think her designs were not worthy enough to be worn. The designer brushed her hand over the material adoringly, unfolding the fabric slightly to gauge the length. There was enough to make a few vests or a skirt or a cocktail dress… Her fingers found a card hidden within the folds and pulled it free. Her cheeks flushed crimson as she read it. Printed in the same font as the others, it simply said:

The vest will only be half as beautiful as you.

~~~Plus One~~~

Marinette spent the next few days sewing the vest and adding the detailing. It now hung on her mannequin as pictured in her sketchpad but…it didn’t feel right. Incomplete. She trudged through school, distracted by the design and what it seemed to be missing. Even Tikki couldn’t calm her or help in any way. The girl wasn’t even sure why she was so focused on it! It wasn’t like she had a way to deliver it to her admirer… she had no way to tell if it would fit him either!

The girl was so unfocused all morning that, when it finally came to be lunch time, she tripped over something on the ground unexpectedly. She groaned from the floor as she brushed her knees off and sought out what item might have caused her fall. In the middle of the walkway was a nondescript black pencil case and – if the solidness she felt through the toe of her flat was any indication – it was full of writing utensils. Marinette grabbed it as she stood up, searching for a tag or name on it to figure out whom to return it to. Nothing was on the outside except for the zipper and a smudge of dirt in the shape of her shoe print. She unzipped it and peered inside, digging her fingers around to loosen the contents. She must have jostled something too hard because pens and pencils popped from the opening and spilled onto the floor.

“Damnit, Marinette…you’re such a klutz,” she muttered as she crouched back down to collect the items, hoping nothing was damaged. She knew how important good pens were. She smiled warmly as she looked at the case, remembering the pens and pencils she had received in her first gift from her admirer…

Just then a pencil caught her eye and she froze; it couldn’t be… As if afraid it was just one of Trixx’s mirages that would evaporate when touched, she reached out slowly and picked it up. There in her hand was a Bosco pencil, exact matches to the ones she had received. Looking around the semi-busy walkway, she quickly gathered up the rest and ran down an empty hall to the supply closet she sometimes used to transform during an akuma attack. The designer knew these came as a matching set of ten and had thought it was odd that she only received five…assuming whomever the giver was that they may have kept the others. She didn’t blame them; these were expensive pencils! She pulled her own pink case out and extracted one of the Bosco pencils to compare it against.

The serial numbers matched.

Marinette gasped and fell to her knees on the floor of the closet, staring at the zippered pouch in shock. “This is…this is my admirer’s case.” She sat dumbfounded for a moment before springing back into action to search for any name that might give away their identity. However, even after emptying it of all further contents, there wasn’t a single thing with initials or contact information. The girl groaned in frustration before carefully replacing the contents and cleaning the dirt from the outside. “I’ll bring it to the office, perhaps they will report it missing to Lost & Found. They brought me back my sketchpad, it’s only fair to find a way to bring this back to them too.”

The designer opened the door and stepped back out into the hall, keeping the case snuggly held against her stomach like a precious artifact, then made her way towards the front office. As she approached, she caught a familiar voice drifting from the open doorway and into the hall, a voice that no longer held the same haughty tone but one filled with anxiety and concern.

“It’s all black with a zipper down the side. Contains several wood drawing pencils and pens which mean a lot to me. Felix Fathom, 01-XX-XX-XXXX. Did you get that?” He paused and she could hear the dulcet voice of their receptionist responding the affirmative. “Thank you. You’ll call me if you find it?” She didn’t wait to hear the answer, instead she ducked into a bathroom nearby and stared at the case as if it had grown legs.

‘Felix is my admirer…he gave me the gifts…this is his case…’ Her mind whirled as it connected the dots. All the times he had shown interest in her drawings and hobbies without calling attention to himself, the times they had bumped into each other in the library or the hallway, the pick-up lines and terms of endearment taking on a whole new meaning as she blushed… He had been there on the cusp of her periphery and paid more attention to her interests than she ever thought he might. And he sounded so worried about losing this case, which contained the matching ones to her set. Then a knowing grin crossed her face – the note cards! She recalled Adrien once mentioning that Felix’s father used to type all of his movie scripts on a typewriter. ‘He did all this…for me?’ Her heart swelled with warmth.

With a flash of brilliance, Marinette suddenly knew just how to finish her design!

But first, she needed to drop the pen pouch off at the front office.

~~

Marinette arrived early the next day and took her usual seat in the empty classroom, deciding to doodle as she waited for others to arrive. Well, one person in particular. Her nerves tingled with the impending confrontation. What if she was wrong? What if he did this as some sick joke? No. She and Tikki had talked through all those issues last night as she hand embroidered the lining with ladybugs flitting between Tudor Roses. It was folded and wrapped in her lap, covered by her jacket.

She heard the sound of his footfall in the hallway and held her breath, forcing her eyes to remain on the paper pad in front of her as she heard those footsteps falter at the doorway. Within a few moments, they restarted and walked up the aisle towards his desk before pausing next to hers. Marinette looked up and met his eyes, noticing he had already dropped his bookbag onto the ground next to his desk on the tier above hers. They were all alone, this was her chance!

“You’re here early, finally decided to be a good example, Miss Class Rep?” Damn him and that smirk!

“On the contrary, I had an important appointment to make this morning.” In one fluid movement she stood, unfolded the vest, and draped it around his shoulders like a cape before he could react.

His eyes widened as he looked down at the material swathed around his torso in awe, his eyes taking on a nervous shadow as they rose once again to her face, “You… How did…”

“You know what that’s made of don’t you?” Marinette’s voice took on a serious tone as if lecturing a student. Her fingers gently fiddled with an edge near his shoulder, pretending to assess the fabric before tucking it beneath his shirt collar. His eyes became searching, but he didn’t reply, his lips parted as if too stunned or unsure to answer.

The pigtailed girl leaned in close to his lips and whispered, “Boyfriend material.” Then closed the distance to seal it with a kiss.

~~~Author's Notes: Do I sound like I am an artist knowing these things? Because I'm not. I just research A LOT when I write. 😅

#5 + 1 fic #miraculous ladybug #felinette #felix x marinette #marivanily #marinette dupain cheng #felix fathom #felix graham de vanily #cross posted on ao3 #fluff #secret admirer #gifts #pickup lines #snappy comebacks #Very Little Dialog #non canon compliant #Felix Likes A Challenge #Sassy Marinette #pov marinette

[paintedplum7]

Thinking about the possibility of Jack somehow joining the others in the DSAF 3 good ending and how he changes and that he might be—like—genuinely happy ?? I made a design for him and everything

Someone said earlier that Jack would have prosthetics because of how much he would be rotting at the point he needs them and it enlightened me greatly. Another thing I wanna talk about—uh I hc that Jack lost all his weight when he was revived because of his shitty diet afterwards (Bro literally eats microwaved raw meat thats not GOOD)!!! I really really like to think that Jack would’ve gained back all the weight he lost because he’s happier now Im obsessed with that thought. GRINS

#dsaf #dsaf jack #jack kennedy #non canon compliant #I will make designs for everyone else someday just not today #I used my body type as reference btw #I love fat Jack kennedy I wish I subscribed to fat Jack Kennedy sooner before I made my design but now I can HC stuff like this #and its really fun and it makes me happy #dayshift at freddy's

[intriq]

Midnight

warnings: mentions blood, death, little bit of fighting, depression, mentions of guns/getting shot, etc etc NO USE OF Y/N

Part 2 of Little Moon

Part 1, part 2, part 3

Word Count: 5.7k words

Authors discussion n shizzle:

Hi y’all sorry this took so long to do. But it’s here and I’m happy and it’s long as FUCK.

Like it’s twice as long as part 1, and it’s so bad everyone voted I break this up into a 3rd part so like, yea

I’m publishing this while the 2 yr old I’m babysitting is down fr his nap so like woooo

I’d like to thank my beta readers n co owners of Little Moon for reading this shit (I’m sorry if u cried): my bestie aka @deaths-favorite-star , terra, Apollo (Taylor swift and bat brat versions), bri, and lilac

mostly cus without them this wouldn’t even be possible/done lol

let’s get on w this shall we? Hope you all enjoy <3

❉ ╤╤╤╤ ✿ ╤╤╤╤ ❉

Months have passed since your death.

In those months the children of Bruce Wayne, whether adopted or biological, grieve. All of them mourned you.

There are seldom times your grave is without fresh flowers or some sort of visitor, who either sits in silence or just talks to the headstone in a conversation that they know they’ll never get your input on again.

Your bedroom is in the same state of familiarity, too.

On some days, Alfred has to force Bruce to get out of bed or to even come home.

No one looks at Alfred quite the same anymore, but no one looks at Alfred with the same disgust as Alfred’s own reflection.

✧✿✧

Since the funeral, family dinners went from being twice a week, to just once.

And then they went to once a month, with Alfred having to just watch as the number of people who attended them dwindled, before eventually they came to a total stop.

✧✿✧

Today is another day of distant and silent mourning, as Alfred stands in his room, looking through pictures of you and Bruce as children.

Down the hallway as Alfred looks at a picture of you on your seventh (7th) birthday, he hears Cassandra softly crying down the hall in your bedroom.

During your birthday that year, when you’d turned seven (7) years old, Alfred remembers how the only thing you’d asked for was a cake. Specifically, you requested that he let you help him bake your birthday cake.

Alfred can’t help but smile, even just slightly, as he remembers how big of a mess you’d made when you had attempted to dump the entire bag of flour into the mixing bowl.

He also can’t help but remember that after a long day of celebrating your birthday, it was the first night since you’d come to live with him and Bruce that you hadn’t woken up once because of a nightmare.

✧✿✧

Alfred had been in Bruce’s study when the news came.

A tray of food in hand, he’d been begging Bruce to eat something. Anything, even if it was just a piece of toast that he hadn’t prepared himself.

“Master Bruce, you haven’t eaten in the past few days. Please, take at least one bite.”

Bruce only raises his head, dark circles under his eyes as he just blankly stares at him. An almost soulless look, one that gives a hollow feeling of emptiness.

Across the desk in Bruce’s study are papers, books, various gadgets in states of disrepair or in the middle of being made, as well as schematics for them that have the occasional ring-shaped coffee stain on them.

“Not now, Alfred. I have things to do,” Is Bruce’s only reply, a hoarse and exhausted sounding tone held within his words.

Alfred’s coming words of protest are silenced by the sounds of an alarm going off. Not too loud but neither too quiet, but just enough to make Alfred go silent.

NEW HUNTER DETECTED

That’s what the screen on Bruce’s computer read.

Various screens pop up on Bruce’s computer, each showing feed from different CCTV cameras of a person moving through Gotham and killing vampires in their wake.

The videos in question had been saved from numerous different days in the past few weeks, all adding up together once there was enough saved to trigger the algorithm that Tim had made. Specifically, it was designed to use the cameras around Gotham to track and keep note of Vampire Hunters and vampire attacks. Made solely to help prevent someone else from suffering the same fate you did.

All to prevent them from having to lose someone else.

Bruce and Alfred watch as the videos play, watching as the new hunter the algorithm had detected took out various vampires across the city of Gotham. But what made Bruce rub the drowsiness from his eyes as he leans forward, peering closer at the numerous video feeds was not because of how they looked.

No, it was because of how they moved.

The way they moved was eerily familiar. The way they moved with such precision that only got better and better with each new video feed that grew to be more recent was what had Bruce holding his breath.

While they had kept you from knowing the world of Vampire Hunting most of your life, they hadn’t let you be completely defenseless.

Which was why it was so eerie to see that the way this person was moving, was by using moves he’d only ever taught you. It was unmistakable, really. Bruce had grown up with you, knew most of the little habits you had. He knew you better than he knew himself sometimes.

Bruce is unsure if he wants to let himself grow delusional about whether or not it was who he thought it was. Should he? Could he? Was it even worth the pain it’d bring by opening up old wounds, to bring back the choking hold of grief?

Bruce can feel Alfred staring at him, because he gets that same feeling of familiarity. But it should be impossible. It couldn’t be possible.

But was it? Could it be?

Alfred sets the tray of food down on Bruce’s desk, taking the opportunity to clean up some of its disorganized mess. But it’s only because he doesn’t want to let his mind wander like Bruce’s is. He already lets it wander far enough when he looks through photo albums and when he sees his face reflected off the tea he drinks in the morning, in the mirror, off the windows, and on the screen of Bruce’s computer.

Bruce doesn’t even acknowledge the tray of food Alfred leaves on his desk, only getting up after receiving a notification on the screen that the new hunter was spotted again. Bruce already felt the idea of who it could be creeping into his mind and clinging there, leaving him wondering. Wanting to know. Needing to know, to get his question answered.

“I’ll be out for a while.”

“Will I expect you back for dinner today, Master Bruce?”

Alfred is only met with silence as Bruce grabs what he needs and heads out the door. Which gives him his answer.

“At least come back unscathed, Master Bruce. I don’t think they want you to join them just yet.”

“Don’t act like you know what they would’ve wanted, Alfred.”

Alfred goes quiet again. He understands, after all. He knows Bruce is still hurting, just like the others are. Alfred was the last person to see you alive, and was the only one there when you drew your last breath. They resent him for that.

But they also can’t look at him the same after knowing that it was because of him that you drew in that last gasp of air, held in his arms in that cold, dirty alley whilst the sun rose in the distance.

What makes it worse was just how often you used to like watching the sun rise. It was often when the others finally returned from their patrols, having spent all night hunting down vampires to make Gotham even just a little safer.

And every time, you’d be there, waiting for them. You’d welcome them home, tend to their injuries, and if they had a particularly rough night you’d even make them something, though it was usually some sort of baked dessert, like cake or cookies. And even though Bruce had a disdain for anything overly sweet, he’d still eat whatever cake you’d baked for him, even if it was so sweet it made him feel nauseous.

But no matter how much of a disdain Bruce had for sweet foods in general, he never could quite turn them down when you made them. You always had a smile with comforting words to follow, all to mask just how truly worried about him you were. Bruce knew that you always wanted, deep down, for him to stop being a vampire hunter. But you knew he couldn’t nor wouldn’t stop, so you always kept quiet about it.

If you weren’t so worried, if Bruce did anything to ease your worries, would you have let him know that you wanted to be walked home that night? He’d seen the unsent text message. Tim showed it to him. It’d been easy for Tim to find, with how unprotected your phone was from hackers and the like. You had deleted the message, and Bruce knew why.

It was because you felt guilty about even thinking of asking for his help. You knew how busy he was saving Gotham from vampires, which meant you could never work up the courage to ask him. He’d already helped you so many times before, and you barely could do anything to help him. Would things be different, Bruce thinks, if he’d texted you to make sure you got home safe instead of focusing on his patrol? Would you still be here, alive and well? Would you be here, saying goodbye to him as he heads out, telling him to stay safe?

Bruce forces the thoughts to shake free from his head as he swiftly departs, not allowing himself to turn around, knowing only that his heart would ache when he doesn’t see you there waiting for him. It’s always hurt, because the first few days he’d always mistakenly hear you calling out for him, sometimes even thinks he’d see you in the corner of his eye.

But whenever he’d turn and look, you weren’t there, and Bruce remembers.

✧✿✧

It takes a few minutes for Bruce to track down the new vampire hunter who’d somehow been able to avoid making Tim’s detection system go off, as it should have alerted Bruce to their presence months ago. The night is cold since autumn is right around the corner, and it reminds Bruce of just how cold that night was when you’d been brought to Wayne manor.

Bruce reminds himself to focus as he follows the new vampire hunter, who moves through Gotham as if they know the place by heart. Which almost seems odd to know every part of Gotham, when they’d only been detected less than six months ago. It’s odd, because the system has only had a record of their existence from that time frame. The program couldn’t even pick up data from normal Gotham citizens from before that to link it back to them.

It was odd.

So, so incredibly odd. Almost an off-putting, eerie kind. The type you get when you walk down the street at night and suddenly don’t feel alone, like you shouldn’t be there.

Bruce has this odd, eerie feeling for almost fifteen minutes before he realizes. The world’s greatest detective, they say, and it took him fifteen minutes of following this new vampire hunter to realize they were leading him in a circle. That they knew they were being followed.

When Bruce realizes he’s been following the new vampire hunter blindly for fifteen minutes in that same circle, the vampire hunter seems to know, too.

“Took you long enough to notice, Batman. You're getting awfully slow.”

Why does that voice sound so familiar?

Why does Bruce feel like he’s heard it somewhere before? And why is the familiarity hurting him?

Bruce leaps down from the rooftop he rests upon, landing on the street beside them. That feeling that screams in Bruce’s head that he knows who this vampire hunter is, who they are underneath the mask, is hideously strong. Almost sickeningly so.

But who is it?

Bruce narrowly avoids the punch the vampire hunter has swinging his way when he snaps out of his thoughts. Getting distracted and in a daze when confronting someone isn’t smart, he knows that. He taught Dick and Jason never to lose focus in a fight.

But yet here he is, losing focus.

Jason would probably find it ironic if he were here right now.

“Focus, Batman. Isn’t that what you taught those boys of yours?”

Behind Bruce’s mask, his face is scrunched up in confusion. Contorted as he continues to try and avoid getting hit, because he hates just how easy it is for him to lose focus because of just one thought.

But yet, even despite how familiar these moves are- which are the only reasons he’s able to avoid them even at the last possible moment- there’s something that bothers him, something that he realizes. The vampire hunter who is fighting him, attacking him, isn’t doing it with the purpose most others would.

It’s almost like it’s some sort of warning, as they change the trajectory of their moves to only hit the most non-vital points. Areas where it won’t do anything but leave a nasty bruise.

Which is odd, considering Bruce now realizes after a particular glint in the fluorescent lighting of the street lights that line the roads of Gotham, when the mask of the vampire hunter before him slips just enough when Bruce finally strikes back is that there are fangs.

Fangs.

The vampire hunter right in front of Bruce, the one that has managed to evade program that Tim spent weeks coding, the same vampire hunter that is refusing to strike Bruce anywhere vital as if some sign of guilt, is a vampire.

A vampire, hunting down and killing other vampires. Killing them. In a most brutal fashion, too, based on what Bruce and Alfred saw in the collected video files.

Why is a vampire, a creature that exists to attack and feed off of humans, trying to avoid hurting him?

Why?

Bruce can’t make sense of it. He can’t. There is virtually no reason for any vampire in Gotham, in the entirety of this world, that they would be trying to not hurt him.

Most vampires attempt to kill him on sight. So why isn’t this one? Why is it acting so… odd?

Bruce twists around the outstretched, reaching arm of the vampire hunter as they move in a pattern that Bruce is quickly learning. They never differ or change the pattern, no matter how often Bruce is able to evade their attacks. And with that open window of opportunity, he takes the chance to collect a sample of their DNA.

Some blood, to be specific.

The vampire… hunter lets out some sort of noise of pain. Not quite a shriek, nor a yelp, but just a noise. And just as soon as they started attacking Bruce, they are trying to flee.

And before Bruce can attempt to stop them, they are gone.

But that’s fine, because Bruce has what he came for. A blood sample.

Enough for Bruce to test, to compare to others in the database to see who they are.

Because that is the question lingering on his mind. Who is it? Just who is this new vampire hunter that has been able to leave a growing pile of bodies in their wake in just mere months?

✧✿✧

Bruce doesn’t waste a moment, ignoring Alfred’s pleas to let him look over and treat his injuries, as minor as they are. Just a few bruises that will heal.

He doesn’t waste a moment in immediately getting to work on finding out who that vampire is. Who the vampire hunting down and killing other vampires is, who they are underneath that mask.

After loading the sample into the batcomputer, he waits. Sitting there with so much impatience, so eager to find out who it is. It’s almost suffocating just how badly he wants it to just finish already, to just show him the results.

Alfred takes the opportunity, though, to place another tray full of food in front of Bruce. Because it’s now been a few days since Bruce last ate, and the only thing he’s done is keep himself hydrated.

Bruce attempts to protest, but he relents at the painful gnawing in his stomach. No longer able to keep himself sufficiently distracted to not notice just how hungry he is. But all he does is take small, slow bites, watching the progress the batcomputer is making on the sample.

He eats so slowly that by the time the sample is eighty [80] percent analyzed, the food has grown cold. So cold that it makes Bruce not want to eat anymore, even if he’s barely even touched any of the food. But Alfred is happy anyway, because he’s happy that Bruce has something in his stomach.

Even if it’s not a whole lot.

✧✿✧

When Bruce saw the results, his mouth went dry. His chest felt like an unrelenting void, filled with a crashing tidal wave. The creeping feeling that fills him is just as terrifying.

Alfred had to practically pry Bruce away from the batcomputer, as he mumbles nothing but words about how the results had to be wrong.

How there was no possible way that the blood sample belonged to and came from just who the batcomputer said it did.

So now here everyone was, called here by Alfred. Stated to be an absolute and utter emergency, and that excuses would not be tolerated. It was absolutely mandatory, and emergencies were to be ignored because this was the emergency.

Jason didn’t want to be here. Dick didn’t want to be here.

None of them wanted to be here. Not in the same home they’d ‘grown up’ in, that now held nothing but bitter reminders of a certain death. The death of someone they viewed as a child, a sibling, a parent. A role model.

You. Your death.

But yet here they are. Unable to avoid it, because it was an order. An order that it was an emergency, and no one could turn away when someone raises the alarm about something being an emergency.

When everyone arrives, Bruce is already seated in his office. He almost seems emotionless, like there isn’t even an ounce of life behind his eyes as he simply stares ahead, blankly.

He doesn’t even react when they all close the door behind themselves, his eyes only moving up once Dick stands in front of him.

“Why were we called here, Bruce?”

Dick’s voice sounds tired. But that’s because he is tired. He’s so, so tired of grieving. Of mourning you. Of feeling like that total and utter failure that he knows he is because he got lazy on one stupid patrol.

He’s tired of feeling like this. Feeling like he’s stuck in a deep pit of sadness and guilt, sadness because you died. Guilt because you died when he wasn’t looking hard enough. But yet, there’s also anger.

Anger at himself.

But Bruce doesn’t have the energy to answer Dick’s question, so Alfred does the talking. He shows the videos, also shows Bruce’s encounter with the vampire hunter. Everyone doesn’t quite understand just why there was an emergency meeting being called over a vampire hunter. Sure, it was alarming they were a vampire but that wasn’t cause for an emergency.

That is, until Alfred shows the results from the batcomputer. Results of who the DNA belongs to.

And while some seem surprised, some in a state of utter shock, others just feel.. Numb. Like there was nothing they could feel besides the ever consuming pit of nothingness in their chest.

But everyone is in disbelief, just as Bruce was. Is, more like.

The results showed a one-hundred [100] percent match for the last person they expected. The last person they even wanted to believe it could be.

You.

You, who was supposed to be dead. Buried six [6] feet under the ground in the cemetery on the grounds of the Wayne manor.

Dick wants to feel sick. Jason, too. Damian feels his stomach lurching as well, but he doesn’t let it show. He refuses to.

They all don’t want to believe the results are true, just as Bruce did. Because it should be simply impossible, right? They all made sure you were dead before burying you.

“But that’s impossible. We made sure. Alfred-... He…” The words choke and die in Tim’s throat. But everyone knows what he means. How could they not?

Alfred made sure, because he was the one who dealt the killing blow.

Those are the words that go unspoken. The truth, as disgusting and heavy as it is.

But is it the truth? Did Alfred actually deal the killing blow?

And the truth is, they hadn’t double checked. So lost in their grief over your bloody body that Alfred brought back to the manor they hadn’t even bothered to check and make sure that Alfred had actually shot you in the heart.

They had just assumed he had.

“Alfred… You.. You checked, right?”

Dick’s voice is shaky, as ragged and rushed as his breathing. He feels like he already knows the answer, but god does he want to be wrong.

But the way Alfred clenches his jaw and his eyes focus on that abandoned tray of food from much earlier, food long since grown cold, gives Dick his answer.

“Bruce? You checked, right?”

Tim is the one to ask this time. Because surely, there is no way that Bruce didn’t check and confirm for himself. He’s thorough, he always is. There isn’t any realm of possibility that Bruce didn’t check… Right?

Right?

When Bruce doesn’t answer, there’s a look of disbelief on just about everyone's faces. Bruce Wayne, the ever thorough and the world’s ‘greatest detective’, renowned vampire hunter Batman, didn’t double check that you were dead?

“You checked, right?”

“No. I didn’t.”

And now everyone is left with the horrifying, dawning realization of just one thing. A simple thought that is horrifying to picture, to imagine. To even now be known as a reality.

They’d practically buried you alive.

Everyone quickly dispersed after that. No one could stand to be in the same room as each other, because even though they know they rightfully have no right to blame one another, even though they could blame themselves, it’s all they think about.

You were alive. Alive.

All this time you’d been alive while they mourned you. While Dick blamed himself, while Damian blamed Dick for the reason you were no longer present.

Damian feels sick to his stomach at just how angry he was at Dick in the past. Of the things he’d said to him, blaming him for your death. When you weren’t even dead.

Jason can feel nauseating guilt creeping in his chest, too. Ripping open a swallowing, fathomless pit. He’d screamed at Alfred. Been angry with him, caused him so much pain. Alfred hadn’t even killed you, and he’d been so angry at Alfred.

But the sudden appearance of the vampire hunter is making sense. It coincides with your death, somewhat. With the recovery period a vampire would need to recover from a wound like the one you’d taken.

But it makes so, so much sense.

✧✿✧

Six months ago is when Cass was out tracking a vampire. Well, more-so a large nest of them. One that held connections in various cities, dangerous and leaving an endless, bloody wake of victims.

Perhaps it was because of the grief clouding her mind, that thought of how this group could be the ones responsible. The one responsible for your death.

So she got sloppy. Just a little bit. Enough to make a small error that she normally wouldn’t make.

Cass hadn’t taken the time she usually did to make sure she was sure of just how many vampires actually lived in that nest before she charged into it to take out the vampires that resided there. The information hadn’t been totally accurate, it’d missed a few vampires. So she’d been quickly overrun, out of supplies with not even enough bullets to last her.

But just as Cass thinks she’s going to die for her margin of error, as she decides to resign to her fate because hey, it means she’ll get to see you again, the vampires that are about to kill her are dead.

And there’s a figure standing over their bloody remains that seems oddly familiar to Cass. But she can’t quite place it. At least, she couldn’t then.

“I thought you were taught better than this. This is a stupid mistake, even for you.”

Before Cass can ask the obvious question that’s scratching at the back of her mind, the figure is gone just as quick as they appeared. Leaving nothing evident of their presence, besides the dead vampires.

✧✿✧

They’d all been in some sort of predicament caused by their overwhelming grief that meant they’d needed someone to save their ass. And you had. You’d been there to rescue them from their mistakes every single time.

You’d saved Cass from death, been there to save Jason during the few times he’d been distracted [even if all he’d glimpsed of you was your retreating silhouette], and so much more.

But why had you never shown yourself to them? Why had you let them wallow in their own self pity and grief over your death, when you hadn’t even died?

Perhaps there was an answer to this question they didn’t yet have.

But it was no matter. They had time to get the answer they so desperately wanted. They had a means to find you the next time you appeared, all they had to do was wait.

✧✿✧

And wait they did.

It took almost a week before you appeared again, presumably to lay low for a while after that encounter with Bruce. As if it would stop them from figuring out the truth.

They’d even checked your grave. And god, were they horrified to find that it was empty, just as they’d feared.

But yes, when you’d appeared again after lying low for a week, Jason was the one sent to go talk to you. You’d always had a soft spot for him, after all.

So in his Red Hood gear, he approaches you. He wasn’t even sure if he should be surprised that you seemed to know he was there the moment he’d landed on that same rooftop as you.

But maybe he should, since he knows neither Bruce nor Alfred gave you any training to be a vampire hunter. They wanted you to stay as far away as possible from it, after all.

But perhaps that distance is why you’d never stood a chance the night you’d been attacked. Maybe it was the lack of making sure you were prepared to face the threats that lie in the very shadows they hunted in.

Jason sees your moments from fleeing from the way you visibly tense up and flinch when he steps closer to you, so he stops. He entirely freezes, because the last thing he wants is for you to disappear again.

“We know it’s you,” Is all Jason calls out, paired with your name instead of the nickname he’d always refer to you by. A parental nickname, something similar to the way children call their parents Mom or Dad, but entirely different and unique to you.

Jason watches the way you seem to think, still frozen in a stance that says you're seconds from fleeing, that him making the wrong choice is all it takes for you to disappear. But this time it’d be Jason’s fault that you're gone, not Dick’s.

“We aren’t mad, I promise.”

Bad thing to start off with, Jason. Now you’ll think they all were mad.

“What I meant to say is… We all miss you. When you died- thought you died, we didn’t know what to do.”

Jason is practically grasping at straws. He can see his words aren’t reaching you in the way he is hoping, wanting them to. He’s never been good at the comforting stuff, never been good at talking someone down. Not like Alfred is, not like Dick is. Not like Barbara, too.

What would they even say to you?

Jason feels lost, because just why did they send him to talk to you, instead of anyone else?

Well, not sending Alfred is understandable. He’d been the one to shoot you, and Jason knows that he wouldn’t want to see the Joker again, to be the one to talk to him. But what about Dick and Barbara? What would they do?

Jason doesn’t even know if attempting to continue to comfort you is worth it, especially not when it doesn’t even seem to be working.

“Why?”

Those words slip past Jason before he can even get a chance to stop himself. But it’s a question he really, really wants an answer to. Well, not just want. He needs to know. He needs to know why you’ve let them all sit and rot inside their grief and despair, even as understandable as it may be for Alfred because even he understands that seeing the person who killed you is not easy.

Well, not that Alfred even killed you. Almost killed you, which Jason understands. The Joker had almost killed him then, too. Instead he’d lived because some weird ‘miracle’ left him being some freak of nature, a half human but not entirely vampiric person.

Like some curse.

“I was supposed to be dead.”

“I get that.”

“Plus.. I’m a vampire, Jason. I’m a danger to you guys. What if.. What if I lose control? Like I did that night?”

He knows what you're talking about. The night you’d attacked Bruce before… Alfred shot you. Jason remembers hearing about it from a very heartbroken Bruce, although the heartbreak wasn’t easy to see on the surface. But Jason had known. So had everyone else.

After all, they’d all been pretty much trained and raised by Bruce. They knew what he was feeling- most of the time. Though they couldn’t see it as easy as Alfred did.

“We could’ve found ways around it that didn’t mean you totally avoided us,” Jason says those last words with more bitterness than he should’ve. He knows he has no right to be angry, doesn’t even deserve to be. But he can’t help it, not with how he can only rethink on just how he’d treated Alfred because of it.

“Because of that we treated Alfred-” He cuts himself off, not wanting to spew those words out. Doesn’t even want them to fall past his lips. But it’s far too late, judging by the way your eyes narrow and your head practically snaps toward him.

“What did you all do?”

The venom in your voice when you hear those words is unmistakable. Sure, you wouldn’t be able to look at Alfred the same because he’d been the one to shoot you, but you still understood why he had.

You were a vampire. Something dangerous, and he was doing what needed to be done.

Before Jason can even try to backpedal he’s already spewing to you how everyone’s treated Alfred since you’d ‘died’. Everything. Including how he’d screamed at Alfred after hearing what your last words were from him, down to him destroying his room, Bruce’s new attitude, everything.

“Why would you all do that?” You’d hissed almost immediately after he’d finished telling that tale. Disbelief is just about the only thing you feel, along with those other bitter emotions you were currently feeling.

“He killed- we thought he’d killed you, and we just.. We were angry! Because he took you away from us!”

When had you even marched over to him? Was it while he was speaking those venomous words about how Alfred had killed you, taken you from them? Or was it sooner?

Was he blinded by his own emotions to even notice?

Nevertheless, you're pretty much right in his face, and while Jason is expecting you to scream at him, maybe even yell, raise your voice somewhat, you don’t. Perhaps it’s worse that you sound calm.

“Alfred did what he needed to, what he had to.”

“But you were our family!”

“I do not deserve special treatment because I helped raise you all. Not because I was the person Bruce viewed as a little sibling, and the person Alfred viewed as his own child.”

“But-”

You silence him by raising a hand up, your eyes squeezed shut in the way it does when you’d had headaches in the past, pinching the bridge of your nose between your index finger and thumb.

“Tell me, Jason, would any of you have been able to do it then, hmm? Do you know how hard it was for Alfred to even point the gun at me without his hands shaking? Without crying? Would either of you have been able to pull the trigger instead of Alfred?”

Jason stays silent, and when you open your eyes to glare at him, demanding an answer like those times you’d interrogated him after he’d been stupid and nearly gotten himself killed on those patrols back when he was younger, back when he was just Robin and training under Bruce’s watch. 

And he only shakes his head.

“But I promise I’ll be back.. Someday, I don’t know when. Don’t know if it’ll be soon, or if it’s not for years ahead. But I can promise that, okay?”

You really didn’t know just what else to say, honestly. You already had plans for what your coming moves were, for your motives. You knew Jason was wondering that just by glancing at him, even if you couldn’t see his face behind his helmet.

“And if you want, you can try to help me, if it’ll make you.. I don’t freaking know, feel better, I guess?”

“How?”

“You’ll see. It’ll be an answer to my motives and why I’ve been so secretive I guess. I’ll tell you how you can help me later.”

Jason wants to say something, but he doesn’t know if he should even be surprised you already know what it is he wants to say. “Oh, and don’t tell anyone I’m letting you help me. That part stays a secret, got it?”

Jason only nods in reply, and with that, you’ve disappeared from Jason’s sight, leaving him alone on that rooftop to think through his thoughts. And of your words, of course. To muddle them over, to debate whether or not he even accepts the notion of helping you.

With keeping it secret being the price he pays.

❉ ╧╧╧╧ ✿ ╧╧╧╧ ❉

#father figure alfred #oneshot #gender neutral reader #gn reader #angst #dc universe #jason todd #bruce wayne #babs #barbara gordon #alfred pennyworth #dick grayson #richard grayson #vampire!reader #vampires au #vampire hunters #may be non canon compliant dc universe oneshot #non romantic oneshot #non canon compliant dc universe oneshot #non canon compliant #fanfiction #fanfics

[trhor]

The One Where Theo and Macsen Get Arrested

After seeing @citylighten's post [x], I had to do it because this is the best way to describe the difference between Theo and Macsen. This is the embodiment of their personalities. So please enjoy this noncanon tomfoolery thanks to @sojutrait for the glorious pose [x].

#trhoredit #trhor edit #non canon compliant #trhor extras #ts4 edit #sims 4 edit #royal sims #for the lols #she's Theodora #and he's just Macsen #theo rutherford kerr #macsen rutherford kerr #non canon tomfoolery #this is pure crack #have a nice day

[dei2dei]

Just Feel Better

When Lieutenant Sonya Blade goes to visit her old commanding officer Jackson Briggs in Los Angeles, she ends up with far more than she expects. Dinner with Jax's partner Kenshi and his friend Johnny turns into a night—and morning—of firsts. -- CageBlade Week 2023 Day 1, "Firsts"

Just Feel Better is up now on AO3! And for CageBlade week, I will *not* be locking the fics, but probably will the week after.

#cageblade #johnny cage #sonya blade #mortal kombat #cagebladeweek #fanfiction #cagebladeweek2023 #mk1 2023 #non canon compliant