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krashlite · 2 months

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I think that c!Jimmy liked being a Bad Boy and a Big Dog because for once in this series a role let him be reckless without being mocked/put down by his allies and without truly harming anyone through the risks he took. In this essay I will explore his character through this lens

Jimmy is an extremely optimistic character, almost always seen smiling and laughing about whatever’s going on. Not in the sense that he laughs when he’s nervous, but in the sense that he makes light of whatever scenario he’s in. On a deeper level, this also translates into overconfidence in a glass-half-full type of way. If there’s a chance a plan could go south, he only focuses on the potential benefit. If there’s a chance he loses a fight, he only focuses on winning

This isn’t to say he’s unaware of negative outcomes, he just chooses to ignore them. The result is him making poor decisions over, and over, and over again. Jimmy knows exactly why he did that but from an outside perspective he’s regarded as stupid

This is seen as early as 3rd life, with Scott practically putting him on a leash to stop him from fighting Ren and his army. Specifically when they manage to chase Dogwarts away from Joel’s base, Jimmy goes to give chase and Scott immediately stops him. They’ve won, and he doesn’t understand why Jimmy would push it further. Jimmy, on the other hand, is thinking about how they’ve been chased across the map like rabbits and knows DW will be back unless they establish themselves as a threat. Now’s the perfect time, since they have the upper hand

But again, Scott doesn’t see this. In his mind, the battle is won and they shouldn’t expend more time, energy, or resources on it. Ultimately he doesn’t want to see Jimmy hurt and believes that restricting what Jimmy does will protect him from harm

I think this shows a fundamental difference in how they interact with the world. Scott’s more practical- he only does what he feels is necessary and is humble enough to know when the risk isn’t worth the reward. Jimmy, on the other hand, wants to test the limits and see what he’s able to accomplish through, once again, taking unnecessary risks.

But this is where things get messy

Again, there is a fundamental difference in their thought processes. This causes them to clash, and since Scott is the one who held more “power” in the relationship (being the one to decide many aspects of their base and being the one to make most deals and plans for the both of them), resulted in Scott putting Jimmy down A Lot. This started with Jimmy returning from the desert without several of the armor pieces he left with and continued throughout the war.

Jimmy, in response to this treatment, started acting More reckless as a means to prove himself. He wanted to be seen as just as strong, smart, and capable as the people around him. Ultimately, he wanted to be respected in his own right, and that didn’t really happen this season!

Nor did it happen in LL,

LL was an entire mess for so many reasons and most of it was due to the game mechanic itself. Lives being treated as currency caused rifts in many alliances, especially the Southlands

This coupled with the fact that Jimmy is already back in 3L habits, trying to prove himself constantly, makes an incredibly messy situation. His efforts in monopolizing sugar cane are downplayed and mocked, he spends so much time getting spyglasses just for Mumbo to lose them. These are meant to be harmless jokes (and really, they are) but Jimmy’s coming off of an unbalanced power dynamic and a tiny bit of it eats away at him and he can’t figure out Why.

Jimmy doesn’t understand why he doesn’t feel valued in the team, so he starts looking at arbitrary reasons Why. The reason he settles on is the life count, with Grian’s death making it known that Yellow-Names are on the brink of being exiled.

This comes back to the game mechanic. Jimmy sees Martyn with four lives, with the ability to either a) bring Grian back to Yellow or b) offer a Yellow-Name in the alliance a life to keep them safe, and Martyn Doesn’t. This tells Jimmy that Martyn either doesn’t trust him or doesn’t value him enough to even attempt to protect him

I think this was even voiced a couple of times during LL, with Martyn closely guarding his lives and finding every reason he could to justify it (he was fully in the right for keeping them, even if doing so hurt others). Jimmy backed off, but there was just a small amount of bitterness that lingered

With Martyn, I think Jimmy picked up on the fact that Martyn was more concerned with protecting his Alliance than the people in it. He needed a group around him, but wasn’t terribly concerned with them otherwise

And that’s what fueled his decision to steal the life. If Martyn doesn’t respect him, if he doesn’t trust him, if he doesn’t care enough to protect him, why should Jimmy do the same. Why should he be a human shield for someone who barely looks his way. Impulse and Mumbo could stay if they wanted, but he wasn’t going to

Which makes it hurt so much more when Martyn asks to run away with him, when Martyn says he cares about Jimmy more than anyone else in the alliance. I want to remind you, Jimmy’s an optimist. He looks at the half-full cup. He doesn’t consider Martyn could be lying because he wanted so badly to just be Seen. So Jimmy gives it back

As it turns out, Martyn was lying. He calls him an idiot, and Jimmy is exiled immediately

All the resolve that Jimmy had in stealing the life crumbles then and there. He starts hanging around the Southlands alliance like a lost puppy, basically begging them to take him back. Martyn’s little ruse inadvertently showed Jimmy that, really, all he wanted is to be valued and supported. The life counts stops being an issue because he’s able to recognize the real issue- he feels undervalued and he feels stupid

That’s a factor even after the Southlands reunites, after he’s almost unanimously voted back in but Grian’s insistent on a recount. I think it’s the main reason why he’s so risky when he goes down to red- with him falling for a trap that he easily could have avoided

Again, it’s the same as 3L. He feels disrespected and undervalued so he takes unnecessary risks in order to prove to himself and to others that he’s just as strong, just as smart, and just as capable as they are.

This is later coupled with Mumbo’s extreme bloodlust when he turns Red. On Red, Mumbo was needlessly violent and is basically the only Red to swing at anything that moved. And I do mean Needlessly violent, he got himself and others into several dicey scenarios because he was impulsive and wanted to Stab. He gave the server a reason to be cautious of Mumbo and any other Red-Name. If Mumbo was a loose cannon, how would others be?

Except Mumbo was only aggressive towards Non-Reds (obviously) and was otherwise supportive of those on his side

I think this actually greatly influenced Skizz’s decision to leave BEST behind, with him seeing Mumbo as someone worth defending/standing by. Not only was he a visibly strong ally with a reputation, he genuinely cared for and supported those who were at his side. In Skizz’s case, he offered a source of stability where BEST couldn’t, and I think the same is true for Jimmy.

Jimmy sees this, and sees Mumbo as someone who can both show him how to be dangerous and respect his abilities in this game. Mumbo was respected as a threat and genuinely cared for those in his company. So he’s the perfect ally, right?

Actually, no, and this isn’t where the Skizz comparison ends either. Remember, Mumbo created the reputation that Reds are a worthy threat and that they’re violent without cause (“oh but what about Joel?” Joel was a joke at best and an annoyance at worst. He I think he definitely did influence Mumbo’s actions but that’s another essay entirely). Mumbo influenced Skizz’s aggression this season, with him becoming more bold in who he threatened or even attacked

So how does this compare to Jimmy? Both of them were coming off of alliances where they were unsupported, so they leaned more into Mumbo’s habits- good and bad. Except they didn’t really see it. Good traits were associated with Mumbo, their friend, and bad traits were associated with their shared condition, their Red-Life.

The plan to trap the bunker played on both, but was coupled with Jimmy’s bad habit of shooting for the best possible outcome. Mumbo had previously turned tail and ran whenever a plan went south, but that’s not how Jimmy is. Jimmy only focuses on the possible gain and ignores possible dangers. When the trap didn’t set off, he insisted on pushing Grian into it. And that actually goes back to him trying to chase Ren’s army- he didn’t know when to call it quits

And of course this causes both of their deaths. To Jimmy, his death caused Mumbo’s. He caused the death of the one ally who actually stood by him. I think this is when he fully internalizes criticism from 3L and LL as a whole. He feels weak, he feels stupid, he doesn’t feel nearly as capable as those around him.

And this carries into DL

Except DL was a much different season than the previous two. The soulmate mechanic in DL meant that you and your ally have to rely on each other, you have to support each other because failing to do so will surely spell your doom

Not only that, but Jimmy was finally paired with a supportive ally from the start. They made their base together because they trusted the other to build more than they trusted themself. When Jimmy came back with cows, Tango’s immediate response was to exclaim “you’re amazing!!!” Instead of criticizing him like previous alliances had- even back in 3L!! This is the first time Jimmy got a fully positive response to his efforts. Tango was overwhelmingly supportive towards Jimmy and Jimmy returned the favor. The base didn’t look perfect, but it was theirs. The server didn’t want them to have a horn so they devised a plan to get one.

Tango had also been following a similar arc up until now- with him being undervalued by his alliances. Except in those alliances, he was pushed to the side or physically harmed instead of being an object of ridicule. I think this is part of why it isn’t really out of place for them to meet through dying. Tango was expecting to be harmed and so was Jimmy, so neither of them blame the other

With Tango being pushed to the side, he also shied away from leadership positions, finding it more comfortable to follow. This paired well with how Jimmy typically takes charge of things, with Jimmy making most plans for the both of them (most, not all)

But again, this is where things get messy

Remember, Jimmy uses risks to prove his worth. He wants to see what he can do, but is also still recovering from previous seasons. He still thinks he’s the reason why him and Mumbo died, and doesn’t want to cause the death another ally, especially one who loves him. Instead of staying careful, he devises a plan to steal livestock, to steal Scar’s horse. It’s for the ranch, it’s for Tango

I think Jimmy realizes the problem when the Ranch is burned. He’s forced to confront this when he sees Tango fly into a rage and almost try to fight a group of people he’d surely lose to. Jimmy cannot be reckless here, he has to talk Tango down from the proverbial ledge.

With this, the roles end up reversing, with Tango being the reckless one and Jimmy trying to steer him to be more tactical. And Jimmy is So careful about this too, not wanting to act like Scott or the Southlands. Because of that he never actually tells Tango no on his dangerous plans- ESPECIALLY the plan to release Rancher’s Revenge, the warden- but instead suggests ways to make the plan better

The dilemma here is that Jimmy needs to choose between being risky and being safe. Both would benefit Tango, except Jimmy knows from experience how much it hurts to be bound in bubble-wrap all the time

Jimmy sees no way to avoid risks without hurting Tango. So instead of fighting against that part of himself, Jimmy leans into it. He accepts it as a key tenet of his identity, even as it puts the both of them in harms way. Yes they went down in the end, but they went down together, Always Together.

It didn’t matter if Jimmy was a “worthy” ally, he didn’t need to be Smart, he didn’t need to be Strong, he didn’t even need to be Capable. He learned that he deserved love not in spite of his flaws, but alongside his flaws.

And this is the lesson he carries into the next two Seasons, with both alliances being fully centered on being reckless

The Bad Boys acted dangerously, but they acted as a unit- ESPECIALLY him and Joel. Bad Boys dig straight down, Bad Boys water bucket clutch from the build limit, Bad Boys care about each other not in spite of endangering themselves, but because of it

And this is because Joel had a nearly identical arc. Joel in previous seasons had a habit of acting recklessly in the same way Jimmy did, and was cast aside because of it. In 3L he ended up a Lone Wolf, in LL he was forced into a position where he’s the villain, and in DL he and Etho leaned into the danger in the same way Jimmy and Tango did. Their stories run parallel so it only makes sense that they’re the ones who end up supporting each other in LimL

And Joel was Jimmy’s main source of support that season, with Grian representing the criticism of previous seasons. This gave Jimmy the ability to confront said criticisms through, again, leaning into them. He did something stupid? Yes, but him and Joel were having fun. A plan went south because of unnecessary risks? Yes, but Joel was being risky with him. Joel gave Jimmy the ability to basically cut through the aforementioned “bubble wrap” Grian was trying to put around them

And I think it’s also important to mention Grian did this out of both love and cowardice, not malice. Ultimately he didn’t want to lose either of them and was trying to keep them alive longer. But because Grian never learned the lesson they did- that it’s more important to act together than to survive alone- Grian chooses survival and ends up alone.

Anyways, recklessness being the foundation of Jimmy’s alliances carries into SL as well

Jimmy was on the brink of death for almost the entire season, man was not thriving whatsoever and that was known. Funnily enough, he ends up with Martyn, who again was previously more concerned with his own safety than the people around him

But Martyn is just coming off of a victory, of finally achieving the very thing he’d been working towards and the thing he centered his motivations on. Without that goal, he’s left with his methods- which was mostly having dangerous ideas and seeing them through

With Jimmy, Martyn introduced plans that involved them being risky and in everyone else’s faces. This, to Jimmy, echoed both Joel and Tango’s behavior. He was able to fully settle into the fact that, for him, good things come from being reckless, from shooting for the best possible outcome and refusing to back down

Jimmy maintains his optimism and his recklessness, traits that had previously been challenged but traits he stubbornly holds onto and values in his Life

#someone pointed out that the only psychoanalyses of this man are abt the curse #and I might be making an amv specifically About The Curse but goddamnit I can’t let him be done dirty like this #will actually write the essay so if you come back to this and there’s a wall of text that’s why #edit essay is written #trafficblr #jimmy solidarity #traffic smp #grian #scott smajor #mumbo jumbo #skizzleman #martyn inthelittlewood #tango tek #if you want the canary curse tie in-#it greatly factors into the image of him being weak and lacking value #that’s why he fights so hard against it #he needs to prove that he has value and he needs to prove that he isn’t worthless because of his shortcomings #long post

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sharksandjays · 5 months

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"Kill him."

Jay balked at the order and took a step back, wincing slightly at the pain that shot through his ankle as it pulled against the ball and chain. He glanced at the man in front of him, then to the djinn who spoke from next to him, "What?"

Nadakhan smirked before grabbing Jay's hair and pulling his head back to look at the man kneeling in front of them. "Kill him."

Paling, Jay shook his head, crying out from the tightened grip in his hair. "No! He's just a civilian!"

The man shook in front of them. He was a normal man, with a suit and tie as if he was about to go to work. Minor scrapes lined his face likely from the tussle or from being dragged aboard, but otherwise he really just looked like a normal guy. His eyes were blown wide in fear and his hands rattled against their chains as his pupils flickered between the lightning ninja and the djinn.

"Did I say it was a request?" Nadakhan mused, shoving Jay forward so that he'd trip over the chain on his ankle. He waited until the boy looked back at him before pulling out his sword, smiling wickedly as Jay's eyes widened at the screams from his friends that ensued. "Do it or I do the same to your friends as I did to you."

Jay's breath hitched, his eyes focused on the sword. "B-but what did he do? There has to be a reason you want me to ki-"

"You forget, my little canary," Nadakhan whispered, dissapearing and reappearing next to Jay's ear, "that we are pirates. We kill who we want to kill. And now you--" he flicked at the eyepatch crusted with dried blood on Jay's face, making the latter shiver, "--are a pirate too."

"I am not a pirate!" Jay snapped, wrenching away from the djinn and backing away, dragging his chain with him. He threw his hands protectively in front of the shaking man, who seemed to calm slightly at the action. "I am a ninja! I was trained to protect!"

Nadakhan watched him, smiling, before shaking his head and tutting. "Oh, Jay." He turned to Flintlocke behind him. "Prepare two more sets of chains. We are about to have two more guests, the fire and ice ones."

The ship was silent as Flintlocke hesitated, glancing at Jay then back at his captain, before sighing and giving the signal. Two pirates rushed downstairs to prepare what the captain had ordered.

"No!" Jay screamed, throwing himself forward and landing in the arms of the djinn. He fought against the grip, grabbing for the blade that held his brothers, his heart wrenching every time he heard their screams. Tears stained his face as he desperately struggled against the four arms around him. "You can't!"

"I can." Nadakhan mused, grabbing Jay by his throat and throwing him back to the ground with a shout. "But you can help them." He tossed a knife down with him.

Freezing, Jay stared down at it, curling away from it at first before slowly turning to look at the man.

His more relaxed stance hadn't changed, and he gave a small smile to the ninja. "Don't worry kiddo, I know you won't kill me."

Jay's breath hitched and his eyes turned back to the knife at his feet, then at the sword in the djinn's hands. He slowly stood up, grimacing at the creaks in his bones, and straightened, kicking the knife away. The man let out a sigh of relief and Nadakhan raised an eyebrow in amusement.

But Jay wasn't done. He turned to the djinn, holding his hands out. "Break the chains. Let me use my power."

Nadakhan paused, before bursting into deep laughter, throwing his head back in absolute glee. "I see! How noble of you!" He grinned and snapped his fingers, the chains on Jay's wrists and ankle instantly breaking in two.

Jay sighed in relief as he felt his electricity coursing through his veins again and couldn't help but let out a few sparks, the current running across his skin. The sky darkened above him as his element rejoiced his return. He looked back at Nadakhan, who was patiently tapping the sword at his waist. He knew that Jay wouldn't do anything, not as long as his brothers are in there. Jay cursed under his breath and turned back to the man, who this time stiffened, eyes turning upwards in a confused expression.

"Kiddo?"

Jay burst forward with immeasurable speed and placed his hands on the man, sending thousands upon thousands of volts running through the man's body, right through the heart, frying the brain, shutting down every nerve and every organ. It had happened so quickly, he had made sure the man wouldn't feel a thing, and he fell over at Jay's feet, smoking from every pore in his body.

The master of lightning cried out at the feeling beneath his fingers, the feeling of death. The feeling of something so alive turning off like a power switch. He desperately kneeled by the man, feeling for a pulse, a small shock, anything.

He knew he could recessitate him, he knew he could make his heart start beating again.

But he didn't.

---

Once again I am not very good at writing however I had this thought and had ot get it out. Basically I was just thinking about how what if Nadakhan didn't just want Jay to lose his ninja-hood but also to become a pirate. What if, after Skybound, for some strange reason, Jay doesn't have as much irks about killing than the other ninja?

(this is also based off of the fact that, in the actual skybound, you see jay thrust at a guy with the sword with EVERY INTENTION TO KILL HIM and then gasp in surprise when his soul dissapeared in the sword each time. Hmmm)

#ninjago thoughts #ninjago #ninjago jay #ninjago fanfiction #jay walker #skybound #ninjago skybound #sharkwrites #tw blood #but not much dw

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mama-frog · 5 months

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Watchers and the End

I have an ongoing theory that the Watcher's "abilities" are more potent when it comes to things involving the End.

If we start off at EVO real quick, Grian was only taken by them when he was physically in the End. Their imagery of the purple is also closely tied to the End. Examples being the eye color of enderman and the ender dragon. So, obviously, they are connected in some way.

Now let's take a look at the life series and how this ties into it. I'm gonna go through all the deaths having to do with End related entities and how I think they tie to the Watchers.

Third Life:

-Skizzleman: Considering that this is the only enderman death in this season, I don't think this one is too significant. It probably is just the Watchers seeing how far they can go with intervening.

Last Life:

-The only deaths related to the end in this season are the end crystal deaths. So there wasn't intentional Watcher intervention in this season (Other than Martyn's personal tie to them)

Double Life:

-Joel/Etho: Enderman death. These two are both great players and together they can cause more chaos and mixed emotions if given the opportunity to kill, so I think this is the Watchers wanting a tasty meal.

-Ren/BigB: Enderman death. More yellow names means better meals. Ren knows how to bring the theatrics which is entertaining to the Watchers.

-Jimmy/Tango: Enderman death. This is obviously the canary curse.

Limited Life:

-Technically no end related deaths but I firmly believe Jimmy and Grian were pushed to their final deaths by the Watchers.

Secret Life:

-Gem: Enderman death. Gem's death started her infection that is spreading across her body (even more now that she's red). I firmly believe that it is Watcher's corrupting her into losing her sanity but she's so good at hiding it. She's so charming and charismatic even when she was the boogey.

-Martyn: Void. After winning the last series, the Watchers realized how good of a red he was. I would be terrified to be a green while Martyn is a red and I think the watchers knew that he would stir up a lot of fear in the hearts of the others.

-Jimmy: Ender Dragon. This was just comedy. Nothing more to it.

-Lizzie: Void due to Enderman. The players of the game got so used to Jimmy dying first. They had a sense of security in what was going to happen. Killing Lizzie first is a way to put a sense of unease within the group. Along with Jimmy dying second so that his death was all the more tragic in the eyes of his friends. Her death was a tool of unleashing chaos.

-Etho: Enderman death. Etho being one of the last green lives was unsatisfactory for the Watchers. They want chaos and Etho is at his best when he can kill. Also, him trying to trick Joel while boogey was heartbreaking.

If you pay attention this makes so much sense to me.

#life series #life series spoilers #double life smp #secret life smp #secret life spoilers #slsmp #zombie cleo #ldshadowlady #watchers #traffic light smp #trafficblr

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mynameis-noe-body · 8 months

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Professor Severus Snape × Original Female Character

Summary:

Licorice Hatch has traveled the world, fulfilling her dream of becoming one of the most famous writers and reporters in the Wizarding World. Now, she is coming back. Merlin only knows the turmoil she has caused in the heart of her dark, splendid professor. And at the very thought — eager to hold her in his arms again — Severus can't help but relive their whole story, from the very beginning, when it all started with a Wilbur Smith's book and... a two-month detention!

Or — OC was a Slytherin student, but through the years her relationship with professor Snape developed from a platonic friendship to true love. AU - no Second Wizarding War & start from the 4th Year.

Warnings: None (no underage relationship)

Rating: Mature

Status: Complete

Here the first chapter.

▪️▪️▪️

Five years.

One hundred and fifty letters exchanged.

About three hundred stamps, including those for priority and international mail. Ireland, Netherlands, France, Germany, Portugal, Italy, Spain and the Canary Islands, Bulgaria, Macedonia, Turkey, Armenia, Egypt, Cape Verde, the island of Cyprus, Morocco, and back north to Norway and the Svalbard Islands — yes, he had read them all.

And he had kept all the dozens — dozens, dozens — of photographs, tickets, newspaper clippings, pamphlets and so on and so forth; he had had to empty a trunk to put everything away.

Severus had never considered himself a sentimental man, yet he'd never allow any of his old friends to cross the threshold of his study only to discover the inkblots on the scribbled parchment, signed with his first name and, on top on the page, that usual «My dear Licorice». My dear — it had become ridiculous how he had found himself waiting for her letter, punctual every two weeks for five years, coming from all over Europe and beyond.

Severus knotted his tie glancing at the invitation, opened on the table in front of the fireplace. It was going to be a formal event, the Quibbler's twentieth birthday, the Lovegood's magazine; it had been unexpected, she hadn't warned him of the precedence of her return to England. A flush of heat tinted lightly his cheeks red, and he found himself berating — an old fool, that's who he was. Fortunately, Albus was no longer there to tease his idiosyncrasies.

Severus closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and grabbed the card with the typical annoyance that had accompanied him for a lifetime; the flames in the fireplace trembled and the Headmistress shrill voice called to him. "Are you ready? I'm going now with Filius but I very much hope you want to join us, Severus."

He nodded. "I'll be there, Minerva."

The flame vanished with a puff of ash. His hand hesitated over the jar of Floo Powder. Another mirror check, just to make sure the knot is neat. Severus had never considered himself a vain man — good Merlin, no, no. He had never found anything particularly interesting in his physical appearance of him. Nothing worth paying attention to more than the five minutes it took to brush his teeth twice a day and shave three times a week. Yet now that he was wearing a new midnight blue suit (and had combed his hair, had shaved even though it didn't seem necessary, and had tried — unsuccessfully — to choose a perfume) he felt decidedly uncomfortable. He cursed the girl, again. Severus squeezed the invitation in his pocket thinking he would give up, but the very idea of missing this opportunity made him miserable. You won a war, get some self-love good God. And with a final flash of resolution, Severus grabbed the Floo, stepped into the chimney, and traveled to the Quibbler's London headquarters.

—————

It was a warm evening on the rooftops of London. From that terrace lit in purple and gold one could admire the whole city; the artificial lights of the Muggle streets were magically extinguished under the transparent dome that hid them from prying eyes, and entire constellations unfolded in the sky like a mantle of precious stones set in velvet. Severus avoided the crowd. Minerva had dragged him here — to congratulate the Lovegood family, and to rejoin old friends from Hogwarts — and there — to shake hands with the members of the Ministry who had been invited; it had been forty-five unbearable minutes of intercourse and pointless chatter, with the one exception of Luna Lovegood — surprisingly. The girl had always had an aura of genius around her, from a certain point of view, and the newspaper had achieved new popularity in the wizarding world thanks to her.

She approached him — saving him from the gang of little journalists who were hoping to extort him who knows what interview - and offered him wine. "I knew you were coming, Mr. Snape" Luna affirmed with a dreamlike smile. "Although I also know that you aren't particularly interested in the company of the other guests, nor in mine." Severus nodded, without adding anything. "Have you met Licorice yet? She is very impatient to meet you, but they keep interrupting. So rude, isn't it?"

"Is she?" he asked, sounding more interested than he wanted. Too many years had passed, it was unlikely to be true — even though he didn't remember Miss Lovegood having ever lied in her entire career.

She brightened up. "It will be a splendid reunion, yours. This evening is surprisingly devoid of nargles, there is a very positive energy." And then she began to tell about the latest edition of the Quibbler which was to be published the following week; she revealed the titles of the articles to him in advance, and only at the end did she promise she would find Miss Hatch for him.

"There is no rush, Miss Lovegood. I'm sure Miss Hatch will have other impediments to deal with at the moment."

Luna shook her head. "Nonsense, she has done nothing but ask about you since she came back" and with these words she disappeared.

He sighed, keeping himself from brooding too much. The glass of Syrah in his hand was infinitely more attractive than his thoughts. However, hiding behind the shimmering crystal of his goblet hadn't been enough to escape Mr. Potter; the boy had grown up, undoubtedly, and if he were really interested about him the wedding ring on his left hand would have had a strange effect, but Severus had seen many students grow up, become adults and start their own lives over the course of nearly twenty years of teaching. It wasn't new.

Harry approached with an outstretched hand and a friendly smile. "I'm glad to see you here, professor. It's been a while."

Severus returned the gesture. "Since Granger and Weasley's wedding. And I don't have to remind you that I'm no longer a Hogwarts professor, do I Potter?"

"No sir. The Devon is good for your health, you look good."

Severus nodded. The boy — that young man — at least seemed as uncomfortable as he was. For some reason Harry had never stopped insisting; letters, invitations, Christmas cards. He never answered. "And how is Mrs. Potter? I haven't seen her yet."

"Oh no," Harry replied, with a smile "Ginny stayed home, the pregnancy is starting to be tiring and she needs rest." So they exchanged a few more words: Harry was excited about becoming a father, told him about their new home near the Burrow and how Hermione and Ron had preferred to move to London for the time being, and had the decency not to ask him many personal questions. When he confessed he had read his publications on Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, Severus rolled his eyes and didn't even try to look flattered. His gaze ran bored over the crowd as the boy continued to speak.

"...another drink?" Potter asked.

The terrace slowly emptied as the remaining couples moved to the center. The speeches of thanks had stopped, light classical music floated in the air; Severus knew it was time to move and accepted another glass of wine with a defeated sigh. The bar was packed with people, many crowded in line for yet another cocktail and it was the perfect — terrifing — opportunity to reconnect with old, unpleasant acquaintances.

Harry raised his hand and greeted someone. Obviously, Severus thought. Two pairs of eyes turned towards them: Sirius Black approached, clutching a Campari with ice in his hand and accompanying a young, beautiful woman beside him. Snape was sure he hadn't seen her before; she wore a long black dress with two dizzying slits showing her tanned legs. When Sirius hugged Harry, she smiled at him.

"Ah, Snape" Black commented. His small black eyes giggled, studying the unusual blue suit - which actually fit him perfectly. "I heard you moved to the country side. How's life in the middle of nowhere?"

Severus didn't even waste the breath he needed to snort. "Torquay is hardly the middle of nowhere, Black — if I were you I'd think before I utter even a single word."

Harry had to intervene, for the umpteenth time, trying to avoid the nascent discussion and turned his attention to the music, commenting on the lovely evening that Luna had organized. Sirius nodded. "You are absolutely right, Harry. Dearest," Black turned to the young woman, showing off his best smile "would you like to dance?"

She grinned, a light of resolve illuminated her gaze. "Indeed yes" she replied, but she refused Sirius's hand when he offered it. "I would very much like to dance with you, professor Snape."

Sirius gasped, shocked. Snape smirked.

Oh, Severus wouldn't have let an opportunity like that pass by; rarely — perhaps never — such a beautiful woman would have preferred his hand to Black's, and now he could enjoy this little revenge. He slipped his hand down the woman's back, touching the bare skin with his fingertips to the hem of her dress, and led her onto the dance floor giving Balck one last defiant look. Then, finally, he moved his eyes to that lovely creature.

She was young, much younger than him. And she was smiling, still. She wasn't hesitant, but her hand rested on his shoulder with reverence, so light he could barely feel her through his jacket.

"I must inform you" he said, "that I'm not a professor, not anymore. It's been five years."

She giggled and nodded, starting to swing in his arms. Someone had given them a few curious looks, but he pretended not to notice, as always. "Yes, I know" she replied. "How do you find the evening?"

He shrugged, looked around to glare at the newly weds Weasleys, and sighed. "Dreadful. Still, the wine was delicious."

"That's all?" the whispered question sounded more like a challenge, a playful provocation. "Only... the wine?"

She was delightful. She was warm, bright. Severus had learned not to ask himself why a pleasant thing could happen to him; he spun her around before taking her back into his arms, she laughed and it was a sweet sound. And she looked at him. Her eyes were greedy, as if she were eagerly trying to quench her curiosity, to steal all his attention and the more she smiled at him like that — completely enraptured — the more he forgot everything that was around them. Delicious, indeed.

"I would say my evening has definitely, if unexpectedly, improved" Severus replied. His eyes darted to Sirius for a moment, enjoying his palpable nervousness, and he smirked.

She shook her head. "Hmm, that's so unfair," she muttered, amused. Severus lost himself in her bewitched gaze, mesmerized by her. He didn't know what to think; he just held her a little closer to his chest. She smelled good, lovely — familiar and comforting, somehow. "You take pleasure in the little revenge against your enemy, yet you have a young, beautiful woman in the palm of your hands, literally." And it was true. The song had changed, but she didn't let go: she took his hand and did another pirouette, leaving him baffled as she came closer and put both hands behind his neck, playing with the ends of his hair. If he blushed, she didn't notice. "And you didn't even ask me my name, did you?"

Severus was ashamed. It was in his habit to be rude and intractable, but not in his nature to be so terribly distracted. His back suddenly stiffened, his gaze turned hard and stern, but she just giggled in amusement, shaking her head. "God — you haven't recognized me yet, have you? And I thought you were waiting for my return!"

Words echoed in his mind and memories. Severus paled imperceptibly. His fingers dug into the hips of the young woman in front of him and he pulled her away to look at her a little better; she blushed, guilty.

"Licorice Hatch" he breathed.

Her eyes were filled with tears, but she didn't cry. "Finally, Severus."

If you love this story, keep reading here & please consider following me. That would be deeply appreciated. Thank you. 🖤

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sophieeee0105 · 1 year

Text

I’ve watched more perspectives now (as I originally came here after watching just impulse’s) and I have thoughts:

Firstly we are basically at a 3v3v5 situation: team TIE (rip skizz), nosey neighbours and their new friend grian, and the clockers + mean gills alliance. - tho saying that impulse ended his episode saying that it might be good for him etho and tango to team up with the nosey neighbours so mayhaps 6v5.

next Etho’s guilt after boogey killing Jimmy (he apologised like 3 times on video

canary curse is real - and thankfully skizz didn’t go out third for a third time (he got out second which is in some ways worse)

Skizz I love and hate you so much for basically saying ‘I have 25 minutes left, and I keep dying so one of my friends please take my time’ and then Etho saying ‘I wish you were better at minecraft’ before killing skizz

scott is a psycho killer - I swear he killed grian, etho, and Jimmy once and Joel at least 3 times (this may be wrong I cba to count)

tango just wanting Martyn’s blood (tbh impulse and etho also wanted his blood, but tango specifically said he wanted martyn to die)

scar wanting Etho’s blood, and Etho trying to get time back from scar and neither working because Etho died to a skeleton and scar got killed by his own dog - actually make that scar being bloodthirsty and wanting to kill people with a pufferfish and failing multiple times on grian and Joel

etho falling off the sky bridge, water bucket clutching as he landed in front of bdubs and scar, the latter immediately choosing violence

OKAY IVE SEEN NO ONE TALK ABOUT THIS BUT ETHO CALLING SCAR ADOPTED

Impulse dying to his own stupidity/gravity/enderpearls more than he dies to other people

martyn living after multiple attempts on his life (mainly by TIES)

THE QUADRUPLE MINECART KILL BY GRIAN ON TEAM TIE + SCOTT

Etho and scar somehow ending the session on about the same time

scar calling TIES nerds and his little impression of them

Etho and bdubs still just refusing to hurt each other because they are SO normal about each other

okay I think I’m done, we may have a part 2 later but here’s everything I can think of right now :)

#limited life #limited life smp #limited life spoilers #if you couldn’t tell I’ve only watched etho impulse and scar’s povs but I’ve decided this is necessary #Okay I lie I watched a bit of Scott and pearls then got distracted

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redandbrown · 2 years

Text

Dating Games

(This is a prequel chapter to Truce. It started out as a stand alone fic, but it made more sense to tie it in with Truce.)

Hermione walked into Tranfiguration class and immediately spotted Ron sitting next to Harry. He seemed to sense her eyes on him because his gaze met hers. He glared at her, and she glared right back, not backing down in the least.

She turned left into the classroom and took a seat next to Neville.

“Wotcher, Hermione!” Neville greeted her brightly.

“Good morning, Neville.”

From this angle she was sitting slightly behind Ron and Harry, and she could watch them without drawing attention to herself. Ron’s sleeves were rolled up on his arms, and she could see the angry, red welps left by her canaries Saturday night. She smirked rather pleased with herself. She knew she should feel bad, but she didn’t care.

Ron could get under her skin like nobody else could, and this Lavender debacle, well, that really took the cake. Who did he think he was? Kissing that bimbo in front of the whole Gryffindor common room? In front of her? So all that banter between them these past couple months, his agreement to go to Slughorn’s party with her. She guessed none of that mattered when a pretty blonde walked up to him, and kissed him in front of everyone.

Hermione sighed, and tried to focus on McGonagall. Why did she have to fall for him anyway? Besides Harry, he was her best friend. Her life would just be so much easier if she could accept that he didn’t see her as an attractive girl. They could just be friends, and he would be free to date whoever he wanted.

Most of the day she had done a pretty good job of avoiding him. In Herbology, she sat with Harry because Lavender had insisted Ron sit with her and help her re-pot the snapping dragons they were assigned by Professor Sprout.

As much as she tried to ignore it, Lavender’s voice kept grating on her nerves. Why did she have to talk to Ron like he was some sort of man-baby? And why on earth did he put up with it?

“Thanks, Won-Won! You’re so helpful!”

“Oh noo! Did you spill some potting soil? That’s okay, Won-Won! I’ll help you!”

Hermione was getting a headache from rolling her eyes so much. If she had ever talked to Ron that way, he would have been miffed at her for days. But apparently he liked being treated that way by Lavender. Gross.

“What do you think, Hermione? Do we need more fertilizer?” Harry asked.

“Huh?” Hermione was so busy loathing Ron’s new love interest that she hadn’t been paying attention to what Harry was saying.

“The snapping dragons. Do you think they need more fertilizer?” Harry clarified.

Hermione looked down in the pot.

“Oh, no, that’s fine. If they get too much fertilizer, the book says they become soft hearted and lose some of their bite. Any potions made with them aren’t as effective.”

“Shite!”

Hermione heard Ron curse under his breath in that moment. He was holding his hand and examining his his index finger, which was currently bleeding from a nasty looking bite.

“Oh no Won-Won! Your dragon bit you!” Lavender cried.

Hermione looked over at Ron’s snapping dragon which had a bit of blood on its fangs and looked rather pleased with itself for being just a plant.

“Yeah Won-Won. Maybe you should go to the hospital wing before you bleed out,” spat Hermione.

Both Ron and Lavender glared at her. Hermione couldn’t care less. She turned her focus back to her work, and thankfully her stinging words seemed to have temporarily silenced the baby talk.

Days stretched into weeks and much to Hermione’s annoyance, Lavender wasn’t going anywhere. She tried her best to avoid the couple, and completely ignored Ron. Poor Harry was being treated like a child in the middle of a custody battle, splitting his time between his two best friends, and avoiding ever mentioning one in the other’s presence.

This had been the longest she had ever gone without talking to Ron. Well, at least since second year when she had been petrified by the basilisk. But she was unconscious then. This was different. She was awake and very aware of the whole ordeal. As angry and hurt as she was with Ron, the truth is, she missed him.

For Ron’s part, after his initial anger at her for attacking him with those birds had worn off, he had made a few feeble attempts to talk to Hermione. Always when Lavender wasn’t around. Hermione was having none of it.

It was clear to everybody, but Lavender that she was starting to get on his nerves. He would go out of his way to avoid her, often imploring Harry to take hidden passages with him to their next class, so Lavender wouldn’t spot him. Hermione was always within earshot of these conversations, trying hard to be invisible, resisting the urge to say something biting.

One day in Transfiguration, Ron had accidentally given himself a handlebar mustache. Apparently it was ok for everybody else to laugh at him, but he was only focused on her.

His cruel impression of her had left her in tears, and she ran out of the classroom as soon as they had been dismissed. She would show him!

She found Cormac in the common room.

“Hi Cormac!” She said brightly, giving him a huge smile.

Cormac turned to look at her. His eyes gave her body a once over before he smirked at her.

“You don’t know me, but I’m Hermione Granger.”

“I know who you are. You dated Victor Krum a couple years ago. I saw you two at the Yule Ball.”

Hermione giggled. “Yes, well that was a few years ago. Anyways, I was watching you at the tryouts, and personally I think you were robbed. You are one of the best quidditch players I’ve ever seen!”

Cormac turned to face her fully, a cocky grin spreading across his face. “See?! Even a swotty bird such as yourself knew I was robbed! I don’t know what Potter was thinking, putting Weasley on the team.”

Hermione bit back on her reflex to defend her friends and berate him for calling her a “swotty bird” and instead plastered another grin on her face.

“So I’m going to Professor Slughorn’s party this week. I’m sure you’ve had loads of invitations, but I was hoping you would go with me,” she said giving him her best doe eyes.

Cormac looked at her appraisingly again and gave her another smirk.

“Well, you’re in luck, Granger. I have had many offers, but I cancelled my other plans. She wasn’t really SlugClub material.”

Hermione fought the urge to sneer at him. She highly doubted Cormac had gotten an invitation on his own, or that anybody else had asked him, despite what he was implying.

“Great!” She said cheerfully. “I’ll meet you in the common room at 8.”

“See you, then,” he said dismissively as he turned back to the person he had been talking to.

Hermione couldn’t wait to get down to lunch and rub it in Ron’s face. If he wanted to date other people right under her nose, she could play that game too!

Hermione had relished the dazed look on Ron’s face as she told Parvati about her plans right in front of him.

‘See?’ She thought as she watched Ron staring at her. ‘I can get a boy to date me.’

The night of the party Hermione was growing inpatient waiting for Cormac to show up in the common room. He was twenty minutes late when he strolled downstairs.

“You clean up nice, Granger,” he said as he swaggered over. She noticed his eyes were glassy, and he reeked of fire whiskey.

“Thanks,” she said with a tight smile. “Shall we?”

At the party Cormac waffled from bragging about himself to anyone who would listen to trying to grope Hermione when he couldn’t get an audience.

She had had enough and told him as much. She had left him sputtering for words at the party and headed back to Gryffindor Tower. But she hadn’t gotten very far before a strong hand gripped her upper arm roughly and yanked her around.

Cormac was drunk and livid.

“Hold up, Granger. Where are you off to?” He shoved her against the wall, and pinned her wrists above her head.

“Cormac, let me go! You’re pissed, and I’m tired of your rudeness!”

She tried to wrench her wrists away but he tightened his grip until it was painful.

He dropped his weight on her and started sloppily kissing her neck.

“Cormac, let me go! You’re hurting me!” She felt her panic turning in to real fear as she realized he had no intention of stopping.

“GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF HER!”

She knew that voice. Cormac turned to see who was talking, and Hermione used the opportunity to wrench her hand free and grab her wand.

She hit him with a stinging jinx. When he backed away from her to grab his face, she ran.

There was Ron looking torn between killing McClaggen and following her. Hermione never stopped running.

She ducked into the nearest classroom hoping neither boy would come looking for her.

#ron weasley #hermione granger #romione #romione fanfic #ron and hermione fanfiction #ronald weasley #romione fanfiction #ron and hermione #hermione and ron

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obscureaestheticist · 1 year

Text

Gon & Co as Players & GMs

Gon: Asks "What's a bonus action? :D" 3 times in 1 session. Killua: "Wait, you BUY your rpg stuff?" Leorio: Bought the most expensive D&D equipment out there, the gaming table, in-built tablets, buckets of dice, the decorations, everything. Has no idea how to use any of it. Kurapika: Give them any meager magical item and they're practically god with it. Peasant Cannon enthusiast. Irl life is somehow way darker than any plot the GM could think of. TTRPGs is definitely the escape they need... And hugs. Canary: No mercy. Will somehow find a way to intimidate the BBEG, and that's a promise. No clue what their character's backstory is but has at least 4 mood boards of them on Pinterest. Alluka: Character gallery of sparkledoggos. Draws everyone's PCs in copious amounts of fanart. Can't even harm a slime. Army of monster pets. Roots and Ryuutama devotee. Zushi: Minmaxer, has a full level-up plan for character progression but is cursed with nat 1s. Misses plothooks like a blind fish. Wing: The GM you want introducing you to a new system. Could handle any kind of group thrown their way. Total weeb. Throws in ridiculous wtf anime moments into plots. Will act it out at the table and everything. Bisky: Has never run any system without homebrewing it, they WILL put in a magic system from that 1 show they really likes, even if it kills them. Kite: OSR nut. Has constructed an entire planet's worth of maps built from community-made assets and jams. Even found a way to tie it all together. Will play approximately 0.01% of it ever. Shoot: Takes 3 hours for them to enter an empty room after making an enormous plan in the very unlikely event it is trapped. Plays magic classes yet buys trucks worth lf items for all possibilities. Knuckle: Bends the rules of contracts, curses, and spells in ways that make GMs either cry or cheer. Doors are for people with no imagination, people with vision use fists. Palm: Megadungeon hexcrawling masochist. Could probably play a full 24 hour session running on nothing but monster energy and KFC. Her creations are like something out of a drug trip. Makes Mork Borg look sober. Nobody knows how they always have time to play. Knov: "I'll let you know what days I'm free." Morel: Plays chainsmoking hardboiled noir detective in EVERYTHING regardless of setting.

#hxh #hxh headcanons #idk wrote this for fun #hunter x hunter #hxh killua #kurapika #leorio #hxh gon #d&d #ttrpg #dungeons and dragons #osr #ose

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pixiemage · 10 months

Note

If one of these is another TNAWY au I SWEAR TO SANTA PEARLA

Anyway have multiple

29, 39, 49, 59, 78.

I swear if I get even more songs from TNAWY AU and as I’ve said love how we semi talk through discord while in tumblr comments at the same time.

[For the Rancher Playlist Ask Game]

YOU PICKED FIVE?!?! You're INSANE! Do you WANT people to have to scroll through FIVE of my Rancher rambles????

...very well.

Track #29 - Stitch Me Up by Set It Off

Guess what? This one also inspired a TNaWY scene, a rather sweet and melancholy one that won't show up until about the halfway point :3 Hurray!

This is a song I've had rolling around in various playlists for ages, but THIS one got added to Ranchers for a few reasons. One, it reminds me of a Jimmy that's too fed up with being picked on by his friends, and of a Tango who's still not over Bdubs' betrayal. And then there are also the lines about needing stitches (Like a doll in lost and found, so mistreated, thrown around) and it makes me think of those crossover fics where Jimmy has been turned into a toy or ragdoll and he needs literal stitches to repair himself. But to pick some lyrics:

Are you the one to fix me up, patching up the work they done? Try and sew me So thread the needle, tie it off, teach me how to trust someone Really hoping that you stay That you never walk away (...and later...) Really hoping that I stay I could never walk away

Track #39 - Eyes Wide Open by Gotye

If I remember correctly, I THIIIINK that Hybbat suggested this one to me way back when, but I might be wrong! All I know is it resonated with me and it ended up on the playlist :3

This one's a bit tricker because I like it almost more for the vibe and a few stray lines than anything else, but it's still a quality song. And if I have to pick a section, this bit does remind me of the canary's curse and everyone ignoring the warning it represents:

And only a few ever worried While the signs were clear, they had no idea You just get used to livin' in fear Or give up, when you can't even picture your future

Track #49 - Danger To Myself by The Unlikely Candidates

This is ONE HUNDRED PERCENT a Tango song, perhaps especially before a point where he's come to accept that Jimmy cares about him as much as he cares about Jimmy. It's also, I imagine, around the time of the fire at the ranch in some stories, where he's worried his rage will scare Jimmy off. But it's SO good, the kind of sing I like to dance to, and the lyrics are great. This chunk in particular feels very much like a reference to B.E.S.T. and any lack of trust that followed Tango from that game to here:

'Cause I was founded In a bed of liars Walking the streets someone before me set on fire And after all this This love I borrowed I'm waiting on the day you don't want me tomorrow And I, I don't know why you love me I'm a danger to myself

Track #59 - Feeling Mean by Ben Bostick

I'll admit, I stole this one straight out of a Minecraft Manhunt.

This is ALSO a Tango song - you're on a roll lol - and it's very much meant to be a mix of Tango's rage after the burning of the ranch, and him plotting the rise of Rancher's Revenge. But this bit in particular is the line that resonates most with Tango post-fire in my opinion:

I'm feeling mean, I'm feeling mean The meanest hunk of meat that anyone's ever seen Get out of the way of the hurricane or there's a heavy price to pay Tonight I'm feeling mean, I'm feeling mean

Track #78 - Oh Yeah, You Gonna Cry? by Lovejoy

OH BOY LOVEJOY! :D Also the last song on the playlist, nice pick, nice pick lol. Most recent addition. Lovely.

So THIS one is - hah - okay listen. I love Scott as much as the next person, and I LOVE Flower Ranchers. That being said. Have y'all READ Trust Life??? This song ABSOLUTELY gives me Trust Life vibes, with some lines feeling like Tango, and some lines feeling like Scott. It's GLORIOUS and I've played out a CMV in my head just listening to this song before lol. So - god how do I even pick a line from this - uhhh...oh! Here! The chorus! Because honestly, this could be EITHER of them depending on the chapter!

Well, now, now, you need to calm down What good's this energy? (It's no good!) When you devote it to me Why not be a little more friendly? Now, now, you need to calm down Does she still think of me? Say my name in her sleep? I thought you knew her better than me

ARE YOU HAPPY???

#Ask the Mage #Rancher Playlist Ask Game #Ask Game #ravio asks #Trust Life #long post #Solidaritek #THEY'RE ALL GOOD SONGS

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art-i-know-yes · 1 year

Text

SPOILERS FOR LIMITED LIFE

also someone drop a compilation of skizz's affirmations

Jimmy's Ep

I didn't watch everyone from last week anyway

5 MINUTES IN

THIS IS MAKING ME NAUSEOUS

me sobbing every five minutes of fear even though i know it's his last

I'm shaking

bdubs is a savior

plz get off the bread bridge it's a single file line

grian's popping off

anytime someone's near the edge I get nauseous

the podcast gets their kills

joel got 2 people

54 minutes

I'm not joking I'm physically sick

...jim...babe...wtf

can't WAIT to see this from Grian's pov

Canary curse continues

dumbest person alive/lh

i hate him/j

awww it's the fact that it ISN'T on purpose not even a bit

AWWW

i love him so

was rooting for him rip

Tango's Ep

"is it a pet"

oh so that was just...there

at the end of this every base is just hung to be flooded

"i think I'm gonna hand back"

seal team ties *falls*

it's panic from everyone

"im...a... perfectly honest person" *side eye*

impulse turns red and was like "im filled with guilt"

scott got the good shots

back to yellow scott

omg my heart. Tango why would you cut like that

Grian solo

bread bridge is carnage

"Yeah my guy I needed that time"

impulse is eagle eyes for those minecarts

bdubs is luck incarnate

sky net is the exact same problem as bread bridge and my mental health CAN'T

2nd kill from bad boys

Grian was farming kills from bread bridge 2.0

there wasn't even a death message

THE LOAF

the silence after

JOEL

it's the silence from all of ties as the do this

scott is GETTING those kills

is skizz out out?!

oh good he's ok just playing his

SKIZZ

tears...beautiful...thunder

down to tie

they're surrounded

bad boys aren't playing

aw joel at the VERY end

a WHAT 30...omg

TIME FOR MARTYN

scott just can't wait

the boom effect

babe said i'll give you time to change that

but they're anyways jumping

fake beds

everyone's so jumpy

"you feel like a dad for figure, I'll take it" "No we already did the soulmate thing"

an exhausted "No! You're not getting a new dead"

then making fun of ties

ohhh so scar was given that kill

oooooo sneaky

"how about Martyn" *GULP*

"because I'm bored"

'safe'

"and a tnt minecart" "oooh"

"me?! im not telling you that"

is that his joel died

Martyn being salty about the glass pane is so funny

ohh that was Jimmy's frantic grab

oh he felt bad

was that the 2nd one

it was

martyn's sneaky this episode

jumpscare

break time to mourn

to be a fly in that discord to HEAR jimmy explain himself

ominous

*sigh* watcher's will be done

did i miss lore last episode

"game on" *death* "game off"

sky net was WILD

like the ground is like nearly unscathed

ok so that's what happened

"bye martyn!"

the mansion was always a massive death zone

i was right! on Joel's death being by the glass

i was so curious about what that was

"im saying it's-spacious"

"don't blame me! i shouted move!"

the carnage is wild

oh he only killed himself

'i could really use that affirmation right now'

why do you want grian?

poor joel

"oh. dear."

'tatters'

oooo joel

SCOTT GOT JOEL OUT

ohh he gained that hour only to lose it

at the beginning of this, even just 2 sessions ago, it was really looking like skizz and scar being the first 2

but we lost 3 and got lore

^^^these three were done the night of^^^

Grian's video is too long for my unfocused self rn and i need to consume different media before i can watch Scott's despite it being short so it's got to be later for them.

Grian's Ep

Scott's Ep

im in mourning already. time to watch the final bad boy.

"what the arrows doing"

THEY FOUND THE BASE

ok well that explains a few things

grian could not let this go

rip the podcast

"maybe" bc it was such a foolproof plan

oh i didn't even notice that he called him jimmy

grian was off doing a solo podcast and just popped off

i love his happy/evil screams

lost about 2-3 hours to the podcast alone but like yeah

it's like every season grian gets one kill that gets him REALLY excited (i almost remember nothing about last life)

bdubs was a real one for that

don't you worry grian

Jimmy's the sadistic one?

oh grian is quick with it

bread bridge mvp

nauseous grian nauseous

"the family"

grian's squealies

idk if i can watch this again *sobs* /lh

it's bc i know that it's cause he stopped crouching that he WALKED OFF

painful every time rip bad boy

grian's cackling is so much fun

AH they put their mourning back on

i love this funeral awww

JOEL

god my favorite part of this server is just when they LOOK UP and you can see all the bridges

back to bigb he's fun

THE DOGS

"AH THE BREAD"

"can you be a nosy neighbor" "You don't wanna be a bad boy?"

"mine are dying or dead"

they are all bad at making allies

time to point and laugh at martyn

good 'ol amnesia cold

he's accepted that Joel is also dying this ep

jimmy dies first, Joel becomes a psychopath--things happen

"if i don't say bye im gonna regret it"

Joel is just like grian you can get this kill

grian-lightheaded lightheaded l- myheart

joel is PLAYING

don't play on the bridge scar

"breathe breathe"

so THAT'S what caused it

omg grian was racking up more than i thought-- that's another hour

it is nice that they were thinking about giving hours for each other

gotta give that update to Joel

"oh scar--force of habit-- joel"

bread bridge 2 is literally the most op

"*gasp* he's got 11 minutes left"

like the moment you left him alone

scar has gotten better at mlp buckets

"im gonna kill pufferfish" "can keep it alive for fun!"

scar bargaining

SCOTT KILLED JOEL 3 TIMES

"im not gonna kill you again you need to survive!"

joel becomes more and more hysterical with every death

"grian it's not going well-" His final words

he wasn't going to do it anyway

he always has. good words good words

bad boy forever at heart

that was a TRUE allyship bad boys till the END

rip bad boys joining the nosey neighbors

(im a bad boy at heart)

he was everywhere this session

scott was a monster this ep

oh so that's where he went

he didn't want that boogie death

scott is so observant

the fact that Scott managed to make so many allies while everyone else is enemies

awwww skizz

therapy but like fun

'stunning, beautiful, jaw-dropping, outstanding'

"i said i was gonna fight but-"

"i wasn't- meaning to!"

it's like the only times Scott has died is because he let them (except for Grian's kills)

impulse's shaky "you are the nicest guy ever"

I think I wanna try to keep count of Scott's kills- i'll be inaccurate though

there's so much happening

they did chase him down

omg god it was everyone

scott is shmovin

just turn it into a challenge arena

"why'd your voice go high Joel" "cause I'm scared scott" that is so funny to me

oh I didn't even notice that Joel killed scar. somehow.

SCOTT KILLED JOEL 4. TIMES. INCLUDING THE FINAL KILL.

9 kills total this ep (i think) 4 of which were joel

that was. a lot.

rip bad boys. so while if Grian wins, it will be a bad boy win- i do not care.

but ah now. i kinda hope the mean gills win. i wonder how lore will happen if Martyn wins. considering last season Scott gave the win to pearl (even if they both technically won bc soulmates)

i also hope ties win.

this, surprisingly, has been like the most loyal season.

tbh i don't care as long as someone i watch wins bc that's a team win. but also very excited to see who wins, even if it isn't someone i watch.

time to watch empires now. so many villain arcs

#you could and should absolutely ignore this #mcyt #life series #limited life #limited life spoilers #life series spoilers #limited life grian #limited life martyn #limited life jimmy #limited life scott #limited life tango

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its-kall-the-clown · 2 years

Note

Could you perhaps do prompt 31 with toxic insanity shipping (the mayor x syntax)? I’d be greatful.

The ship is somewhat new and not very known, so don’t worry about getting creative! 💕

Toxic

Rating: PG13

With a taste of your lips, I'm on a ride You're toxic, I'm slipping under With a taste of a poison paradise I'm addicted to you Don't you know that you're toxic?

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31: “I own you."

Prompt list

This is one I haven't seen before so I gave it my best shot! TBH I had fun tho and now low key ship it kjsdhakljdf

Hope you enjoy!

Syntax sighed and rubbed his brow, the formula on the screen was nothing more than a smeared blur of numbers and letters. His latest project was an absolute headache to deal with, but like every project he threw himself into he always loved the challenge.

But perhaps he bit off a little more than he could chew this time.

It was a program that would self-analyze social media for mentions of the Monkie kid and any other demon battles that would happen around the city, then compiled the data collected to better determine the habits of all the enemies the spider clan had.

But there was a flaw somewhere in the programming, it kept going rouge and analyzing post on social media that was unrelated to the search parameters he gave it.

He growled and slumped back into his chair trying to figure out what was working with his program. It was like trying to pluck a single thread out of a ten-mile tapestry. He slumps back into his office chair considering just scrapping the program entirely and working it from the ground up.

Might actually be faster

"You have been working on that for a while."

Syntax shivers, a cold hand placed on his shoulder is like nitrogen to his skull and he whips around defensively, instinctively standing up and knocking his chair to the ground.

The smug subtle smile with too wide-eyed looks back at him from the 'mayors' face. He looms over him like a curse.

Syntax knew the 'mayor' wasn't actually the mayor of Megalopolis, he was the odd right-hand man to the creepy old girl that was 'helping' them and the spider queen. Personally Syntax didn't trust either of them, both were too shifty for his liking and whispered in a forgotten Tongue to each other.

Syntax always played his cards close to his chest, but now especially with these two wolves prowling around. Hungry for power and fangs dripping with bloodlust.

The human spider hybrid was honestly working on some contingency plans in place in case either of them betrayed his queen. However, it was almost impossible to lay these plans when he was constantly being chased by the Mayor.

He snarls at the abomination that still looms far too close in his space.

"What do you want?" Syntax turns his computer off, not even trusting them with his current aide project.

Mayor tilts his head, loose grey locks swaying with the bird-like motion. "Just checking in on you." They chuckle and lean more into the spider hybrid's space, forcing him back against his desk.

Syntax growls, examining the oddity before. Mayor seems to be in a much more casual look, his blazer abandoned, leaving him in a clean pale blue button-up, tie forgone, and the first few buttons undone. His sleeves were also rolled up his forearms making him seem like a businessman who just finished his 9 to 5 and was out for a few drinks. A surprisingly loose and attractive look for them...if Syntax was brave enough to admit it. Which he wasn't.

"Why are you really here?" he asked, subtly backing up into his desk, trying not to show how he felt a little cornered in his lab.

"Like I said-" Mayor pushed forward boxing Syntax in with his arms "-just checking on you." They smile like a cat that's caught the canary and Syntax suddenly wonders if he's grown feathers.

His heart starts pounding in his chest as the Mayor examines him with striking blue eyes that almost feel luminescent in the dim light of his lab.

If he didn't doubt the inhuman origins of the mayor he certainly did now.

He feels the cold breath of the mayor against his face and the sultry blue eyes pin him in place and Study him under hooded lids. Slender long fingers lift his chin up delicately like a specimen.

"I find you infuriatingly fascinating." They breathe out against his face making him shiver. He might be able to escape the creep's clutches...but at the same time...it's been such a long time since he's been...admired by someone else.

A thumb trails his chin seductively as Mayor continues to lean into his breathing space.

"Not quite a demon….not quite human~" they purr out, leaning forward closer to the point they were sharing air. "But all enticing~" they nip at Syntax's bottom lip and his breath hitches with the motion.

He had never been admired like this, treated gently, seen as alluring even in his current hybrid state. He can't help but fall into the spell of whatever this is.

A hand curls around The spider hybrids' hips and pulls their bodies flush to their own.

"All I want...is to own you." They hiss before crashing their lips together possessively. Syntax only resist for a moment, the surprise the only reason he did. As soon as he gets over the shock he melts into the kiss and pushes back just as viciously.

Its Tongues, fangs, and hormones after that, two bodies pressing so hard together like they were trying to fuse. Syntax can't help but let out a breathy moan when he feels Mayor's hand curl into the locks of his hair and tugs their neck back and chomps down on their neck. Fangs sinking into the skin there, staking territory and claiming him.

Syntax's toes curl in his shoes as he lets out a loud moan, pleasure racking his spine from the action for some unknown reason.

When the fangs are removed from his neck He feels a cold tongue lapping at the green blood there.

When Mayor pulls away there is that creepy little smile on his face that seems a tad too hollow.

"I own you." They promise, kissing his lips tenderly, reminding him of the power he held over him now.

If only Syntax knew what he surrendered that night...

#toxic insanity shipping #lego monkie kid #The Mayor #Syntax #Toxic insanity #yo this ship slaps for how fucked it can become kjsdgj;sdf #writting #wrtting prompts #uh oh Syntax #I think you just accepted to be his mate XDD

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yellowocaballero · 3 years

Text

The Crocodile's Dilemma: In Which Helen exploits Michael's Labor, Michael suffers an un-identity crisis, and unpaid internships should be illegal

It’s tough being a teenage embodiment of the Spiral. Your boss/wine aunt figure Helen’s a Tory, your inattentive cousin figure Mike Crew keeps attending philosophy classes and day drinking, and you’re pretty sure that this internship doesn’t have any dental. At least it’s good job experience for your future career in...being evil? But do you even want to be evil?

This small story is technically part of my Roleswap AU, but I specifically wrote it so that no knowledge is required. Still, if you’re wondering why Michael’s an eighteen(ish) year old, Mike Crew’s an Avatar of the Spiral, and everybody is obsessed with Melanie King, check it out. Still, no need. Rest under the cut.

Maybe Helen was right.

Not that Helen was ever strictly right, much as Helen was never wrong, but Michael just had to be doing this whole fear demon thing incorrectly. If someone had explained the whole fear demon thing to them two years ago (“Okay, so it’s like you’re the semi-sentient appendage of an extradimensional force of evil that has to consume trauma relentlessly in order to propagate its own debatable existence, also you’re nonbinary now, no those things are not strictly related, probably”), then they would have called them crazy. Which, of course, they were, but that wasn’t the point. So long as the point existed. So long as anything -

An essential theorem within quantum physics was the quantum Zeno effect.

Simply put, it was the fact that a quantum state would decay if left alone, but does not decay under continuous observation. Even observing the results after the photon is produced leads to collapsing the wave function and loading a back-history as shown by delayed choice quantum eraser. If something was seen, it no longer existed; if something persisted unperceived, it would exist as long as it liked.

So it was explained to Michael by the physics professor he was torturing that day. Michael had trapped the man in the physics building of his university, lured in by one too many late nights in his office and the persistent sense that his life was going nowhere meaningful. After a few classes spent sitting in on his Physics 101 class, maintaining constant and forever eye contact, Michael had eventually tricked the man into giving a persistent and ongoing physics lecture to an empty classroom, desperately trying to explain the inexplicable to a college freshman who did not care. Truly miserable, yet ultimately harmless - Michael’s favorite kind of trick.

But, despite themself, Michael grew interested. They didn’t understand any of what the man was talking about, but that was all of the fun. Understanding ruined the magic of things; broke down the beauty of the universe into cogs and gears. No thanks. They could tell that it bothered the professor, that he said so much and yet knew nothing. That there was so much he would never know, and that he wasn’t so smart after all. How would any of his colleagues respect him?

“So photons degrade if they’re observed?” Michael asked one day, after...some period of time. They had raised their hand and everything, they were so proud of themself. Uni was just like secondary school after all. “Is that true of people too?”

The professor had sweated, deeply uncomfortable with Michael as a person and as a non-euclidean concept. “No - no, not at all. Humans are much more than photons -”

Michael grinned. It wasn’t quite right. “Are you sure?”

The professor sweated harder. “I - no, I’m not. But humans are constantly observed by - by the universe, or something.”

Michael grinned sharper. “Are you sure? Are you being observed right now? Are you sure?”

And the professor was not sure, not anymore, and the fragment of this man’s reality collapsed.

Well, Michael thought to themself, slipping out of an improbable yellow door, that’s another Statement for the Magnus Institute. Not that they would read it.

****

“Now, remember this - the first step to being a successful Avatar is presentation!”

Michael squinted at Helen dubiously. “I thought we were fear demons?”

Helen sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with two sharp knife fingers. It looked as if it hurt quite a bit, but Michael reasoned that they had probably gone through the fifth dimension. “This is the stupidest dimension - fine, fine! Fear demons, then. It is absolutely vital that we conduct our business with style, grace, and the slightest sprinkling of pizazz!”

Just for the flourish, Helen twirled her fingers, and a faint shower of confetti came raining down from the ceiling. Michael sneezed.

“I thought it was vital that we harvest fear and trauma from people to propagate our cursed existence,” Michael said.

Helen’s eyebrow twitched. “More than two things can be vital, Michael. Please pay attention. Now, as a demonstration, I’d like you to take a gander at that man over there.”

Obediently, Michael looked across the bar. They were sitting on barstools in a high-class pub, because Helen knew her worth and never settled for anything less, with glass counters and lots of private booths. But all pubs had their sad men drinking alone, and this one was no exception.

This man wasn’t sullen and slow like a lot of them. He was wearing a nice suit and thin tie, looking straight out of Canary Wharf. Michael silently agreed with Helen’s choice - they took eat the rich very seriously, and also literally. He also seemed a little jumped up on something, with shaking hands and erratic eyes.

“He looks happy,” Michael observed. “Think it’s his birthday?”

“He’s on cocaine, Michael,” Helen said flatly. “Cocaine. We are at a posh bar, and he is currently doing a line off his watch.”

Oh! Michael suddenly felt very uncool. They had never been one of those people in secondary school who did cocaine. They hadn’t been cool. “I knew that,” Michael bluffed. “What are we going to do to him?”

“Take the teenager as your intern, they said,” Helen groused, “it’s investing in the future, they said, it’ll stop them from eating you when they grow up, they said.” She sighed, jabbing a finger at the now very obviously coked up man who was staring at the bottles behind the bartender as if they were whispering secrets of the universe into his ear. Helen liked that one. “Use your intuition. Find a good angle to squeeze. What are his weaknesses to exploit?”

Oh, Michael knew how to do this. They shifted vibrations just a bit, dropping out of what Michael liked to call the ‘mild’ spectrum into the ‘spicy’ spectrum. They were distantly aware of a patron’s glass shattering.

They squinted at the man, picking out his little fears and insecurities like Dionysus picking grapes. Maybe. Michael had gotten a C in English, but they were somewhat cognizant of the Spiral munching heavily on Bacchanalia. Sometimes they felt like some of those children who spoke in tongues and claimed to be from a past life. That had also been the Spiral.

“He owns a Nintendo NES,” Michael said confidently, absolutely sure that this was important. Helen groaned. “His house is painted white, and his girlfriend does tax fraud.”

“Something relevant?” Helen hinted desperately.

Michael just squinted at her. “Relevant to what?”

“...good point. But something useful, please.”

Picky. Michael scowled, but gave the man another good gander. “He only remembers faint details of his father’s face, and he worries that his recollections aren’t accurate,” Michael proclaimed finally.

Helen clapped, delighted, as Michael took a careful sip of their water, turning it into fizzy water. She took a sip of her own wine, turning it into champagne. Or maybe just sparkling unreality? “Wonderful. Now, how should we play this? Insert a false father into his life, completely separate from his recollections, or is that a bit too Stranger? I suppose we could do some good old-fashioned gaslighting, but sometimes that’s just a bit too Melanie, if you catch my drift -”

“Are you jealous that the Archive girls are better at gaslighting than you are?”

“Shut it, kid,” Helen hissed, before taking a long drag of her champagne. “My vote is that we convince him to top off his coke bender with some LSD. Then he hallucinates - oh, he hallucinates that he’s in a mental institution, that’s a good one -”

“Why don’t we shift everything thirty cm to the right?” Michael asked brightly.

Helen squinted at them. They beamed back.

“You are so bad at this,” Helen said.

Michael would have felt crushed if Helen didn’t express this sentiment roughly once per lunar cycle, contrariwise. As it was, they bore the criticism with a stiff upper lip. Helen had her way of harvesting fear from unsuspecting humans, and Michael had theirs. “Look, Helen, you’re being uncreative! We don’t have to traumatize people every single time.”

Helen squinted further. “We’re personifications of deceit. We eat trauma.”

“No, we eat confusion,” Michael pointed out patiently. “Look at it this way. If you give someone one really terrible experience, then they repress it for the rest of their lives and consider it a brush with Hell. One and done, see? But if you minorly inconvenience them for a really long time, then they’ll never be able to break out of it. They’ll feel as if something’s wrong, but they’ll never know it. You can keep the game going for years that way!”

The idea was very good. Michael had been working on it for a while. Truth be told, Michael felt bad traumatizing people outright and making them scream and cry and everything. They always felt as if they were doing something wrong by making other people’s existences a living nightmare. Michael much preferred rigging a corn maze so you were stuck in it for days inside the maze but only an hour outside. It was funner, and much more confusing.

But Helen just pursed her lips and stared Michael up and down, making them squirm awkwardly on their barstool. Finally, as if she was delivering a life sentence, she imperiously said, “Well, we all have our different styles, I suppose! It would be quite boring if we were both exactly the same.” Michael nodded vigorously at this, and Helen held up a scaly claw. “But! You’re my intern, which means that you’re learning from the master here. So shut up and let me teach you how to ruin lives.”

“Yes, boss,” Michael said miserably.

Helen tsked, but she patted them on the head anyway. It tasted like batteries. “Honestly, kid. A literal bleeding heart’s fun for the whole family, but a metaphorical bleeding heart will get you nowhere in life. You can’t exist as you are and feel bad for them. It ruins the point. It’s a paradox.”

“I thought we liked paradoxes, though?”

Helen shrugged, downing the rest of her wine. “Rules for thee but not for me, honey. But I’m a good boss and drunken aunt figure, so I’ll appease you today. Now come on, let’s convince this bar to vote for Brexit.”

They did. It was quite fun after all, tricking a roomful of people into doing something actively against their own interests. But something about the whole thing left a strange taste in Michael’s mouth: not the good kind of strange, or the bad kind of strange that was also good. Just strange, and undeniable, and something that couldn’t be exploited at all.

****

Maybe Helen was right.

Michael was a bad fear demon of the Spiral and Infinite Twisting and That Is Not What It Is and The Twisted Door, etc, etc, All Fear Its Name, etc etc all Hail, because they didn’t always like how their internal monologue could no longer be described through common language. Words and images and understandings were nothing but approximations for Michael now, and sometimes it was frustrating existing outside the boundaries of understanding. Which, of course, was the point, so long as the point existed, so long as anything existed -

It wasn’t always easy. Still, nobody ever got what they wanted if they weren’t willing to put the effort in. The adult world and labouring under capitalism wasn’t easy for anybody. That was what Mum had always said. Who was Michael to complain about their 9-5? Or 24/24? Or infinite/infinite? Or nothing/nothing? Or -

Was it too much to ask to have a linear thought once in a while?

Helen wouldn’t understand. There were only two other approximations of concepts that Michael knew, and Helen would hardly be any help. The other “person” would probably be a better sounding board, but there was the fact that he was kind of pretentious. Still, it was better than nothing. Well, it was nothing, but only in the sense that everything was - argh!

A yellow door appeared in a nondescript basement, and Michael appeared with it. They melted out of the “wood”, taking a second to check their outfit for this apparition - a nice vintage 50s dress with a painstaking stitch that reminded one of the oppressive nature of housewifery, nice. They elongated their curly blonde hair from a roguish mop into a nice little shag and melted into the crowd.

It must have been a passing period, because Michael was buffeted to and fro by tall white men wearing backpacks and shorter white girls hoisting strangely identical water bottles. Somewhere Northern, Michael decided, likely private and small. Not that it strictly mattered, but it helped to solidify their grip in reality a bit if they had some idea. They already knew geography was purposeless and a distraction from the real issues, like shrimp, but occasionally it could be useful. Helen had been careful to impart the central tenet of existence as a non-euclidean concept in undefinable space in the twenty seventh dimension: location, location, location!

It was obviously the Philosophy Department, because all philosophy classes were held in old basements built in the ‘60s in identical hallways. For kicks, Michael turned all of the school hallways inwards and sent them in a mobius strip, and changed all of the door numbers into a headache. The key to enjoying your job was to take initiative in the workplace environment and to just have fun with it!

Michael found themselves in front of a door identical to all of the others, with fake laminated wood, and they decided to go in. The universe had guided them to this door for a reason, and who were they to reject its call?

The small classroom was like most other small, private colleges in unpopular departments that nobody cared about. Lots of single person desks - Michael snapped their fingers and turned them all into left-handed desks - complete with a smartboard and a teacher’s podium. It was already half-full, so Michael carefully slid into a chair in the back and pretended that they had been there all along. A student wandered close, convinced that this was her seat, but Michael successfully convinced her that a different seat near the front was hers, prompting an impromptu game of musical chairs that sent ripples through the otherwise sedate classroom.

There was a blond student already sitting in the front, flipping through a spiral notebook and clicking a pen in no particular pattern. He was wearing a pea coat, jeans, and his hair was weirdly perfect. Michael wished they had a notebook. Was this what you did in university? They had never had the opportunity to go.

Actually, they had never quite graduated secondary - three months away from graduation, actually. It probably wasn’t all that important. You didn’t really need a diploma to become a trauma eating fear demon. Was there a university of eating fear? That would be funny. What would the classes be in, ‘Enforcing the Powerlessness of Capitalism 101’? What was the difference between that and a Business major?

Maybe Business majors were the real fear demons, Michael thought grandly. It was a good thought, they would have to remember to tell it to Melanie later. Melanie would approve. Hadn’t Tim been a business major? Yeah, in that case she would definitely approve.

The student sitting in the front seemed to have finally noticed the game of musical chairs, and as the professor started clearing their throat and announcing something unimportant to the class, he turned around to find Michael sitting in the back of the class. They waved cheerfully. The student scowled.

‘What are you doing here!’, the guy mouthed angrily.

‘Hi Mike!’ Michael mouthed back.

‘Go away!’ Mike mouthed back.

‘But I’m going to eat your teacher :(‘ Michael mouthed back. They didn’t actually frown.

‘ >:(!’, Mike Crew mouthed back, also without changing his facial expression.

This was probably why Mike wasn’t Michael’s biggest fan. Which was a pity, because Michael thought Mike was really cool. He had the coolest name, for one. But shorter, and snappier. Mike was the kind of name girls would call you at clubs. Michael was what, like, your Mum would say as she yelled at you to clean up your room before her book club girls came over. Why were they girls? They were, like, fifty.

Mike Crew was an Avatar of the Spiral completely unwillingly. Chosen as a child and chased throughout his life by an improbably long lasting Lichtenberg scar, he had eventually succumbed to the inevitable and transformed into an even more improbable man. Personally, Michael found it strange that ‘inevitable’ and ‘Spiral’ was in the same sentence, but - well, it had to be everything at one point. Even a melting clock was right once an endless twilight.

Strangest of all, Mike Crew was a philosophy major. The class, of course, was a high level philosophy course. Mike Crew had been in uni - well, a while - and he tended not to waste his time with the boring shit anymore. Michael listened with interest as the professor dived into the lecture.

Two minutes in, Mike subtly gathered his things and slipped into the conveniently empty chair next to Michael. He was still glaring at them, as Michael tried their best to look innocent and cute. The effect was a little ruined by the inherent maliciousness of Michael’s pores, but they liked to think it was the thought that counted.

“To continue our conversation on the topic of paradoxes,” the professor began, “I’d like to introduce a few thought experiments for your consideration as a class. I’ll mention the concept, and then allow you to break into pairs to discuss them.”

Mike leaned into Michael’s ear. “We were discussing Descartes!”

“But isn’t this more interesting?” Michael asked.

“If you give my professor a mental breakdown we’re going to fall behind on the syllabus!”

“The first paradox I’d like to bring to your attention is the Crocodile’s Dilemma.” The professor flipped to a new slide, which helpfully had a big crocodile on it. Michael admired it. They had seen a crocodile at the zoo once. “Similar to the liar’s paradox, the premise states that a crocodile, who has stolen a child, promises the parent that his or her child will be returned if and only if he or she correctly predicts what the crocodile will do next. The outcome is fairly obvious if the parent states that the crocodile will return the child, but the crocodile faces a dilemma if the parent states that the crocodile will not return the child. No matter the outcome, the crocodile is made a liar: if the crocodile decides to not give back the child then the statement proves to be true, and he ought to return the child, thereby making it false. Whatever the outcome, he still violates his terms.”

Michael raised their hand. Mike forcibly lowered their hand.

“If I give your professor a mental breakdown then you’ll have extra time for the test,” Michael whispered back. Mike seriously considered this notion.

“The next paradox is slightly related,” the professor continued. “The Infinite Hotel Paradox.” Michael’s face stretched into a grin as Mike Crew groaned. “It is demonstrated that a fully occupied hotel with infinitely many rooms may still accommodate additional guests, even infinitely many of them, and this process may be repeated infinitely often. This is what we call a veridical paradox: it leads to a counter-intuitive result that is provably true. Therefore -”

“Okay, yeah,” Mike Crew said, slumping in his seat. “You can eat him, this guy is just begging for it.”

“Yay!” Michael went in for the hug, before Mike pushed them away. Michael’s quest for a cool big brother failed yet again. “Do you want to call the -”

“They’re your hallways,” Mike said, persnickety as always. Maybe he was just jealous that he wasn’t a hallway?

Michael raised their hand, patiently waiting for the professor to call on them. He stumbled in the middle of his lecture, adjusting his thick glasses.

“Uh, yes, Miss -”

“You no longer understand gender,” Michael said pleasantly, as they always did whenever they were misgendered. It was an understandable mistake, so they didn’t do it maliciously. Frankly, they just thought it was healthy. Everyone should not understand false things. “Professor, I have a question about the Crocodile’s Dilemma.” They waited for the professor to nod, somewhat confused. “How do you know that didn’t really happen?”

The professor blinked lethargically at them. “It’s a thought experiment. It’s not real, it’s just an idea proposed by philosophers to represent -”

“What makes you so sure?” Michael asked cheerfully. “Crocodiles eat babies. Or dingoes. I think I read a story about this happening in Australia, didn’t you?”

“I - I suppose I did, yes -”

“We wouldn’t talk about it if it didn’t really happen.” Michael felt their voice fall into a rising lilt, like an attractive song that was played to a concert hall but heard only by you. They were distantly aware of Mike lulling the rest of the students into their own hazy daze: aware enough to be confused, but trapped in their seats and the fog of misunderstandings. “Fiction isn’t real. Reality is real. But a thought experiment is in between, isn’t it? Something that strains the boundaries of reality, that proves the fundamental concepts of life, told through a framework of an intrinsic lie. A paradox is a lie telling the truth. You are a truth speaker telling only lies. What you know isn’t so much as anything at all, is it? What do you really know, anyway?”

“One of us tells only the truth and the other tells only lies,” Mike Crew called out, bored. But his eyes were shining in endless refraction, infinite rooms holding infinite guests. “But is it really a lie if you had mistaken it for the truth? What lies are you living, Dr. Young?”

Dr. Young was stammering, eyes swimming, and Michael didn’t dare to break eye contact. It was a delicate spell they wove, but Michael wasn’t so bad at bringing this simmer to a boil. Cooking was about improvisation, and Michael had always been great at that.

“If your life is a lie,” Michael breathed, “then are you really alive?”

It was clear, when it happened: the professor started inhaling deep, deeper breaths, chest wracking with heaves. His eyes rolled up in his head, he clutched at his chest, and he finally slumped down on the floor. He twitched, jerking slightly, and he would continue jerking. At which point the students would become aware, and they’d call an ambulance for him, and he would be perfectly alright in the end. If a little mentally scarred.

“Damn,” Mike Crew said, almost impressed, as both he and Michael stood up. He shoved his pens in a backpack, glad to be free of his examination for another week. “What’d you do to him?”

“Made him think he was dead,” Michael said serenely. “He thought his heart had stopped beating so he had a panic attack. He’s going to have to make an appointment with a psychiatrist but he probably should anyway, work’s very stressful for him.”

“Guess I have the rest of the hour off,” Mike sighed, as he held the door open for Michael so they could slip out of the back of the classroom. It was yellow, and a little strange. “Want to grab a pint with me at the campus pub?” He paused a beat. “Wait, are you even old enough to drink?”

“I’m as old as eternity and reborn every second.” Michael paused a beat. “But I was eighteen last time I checked, and I’ll probably be eighteen for a while, so yes?”

“Great, let’s roll. I need a drink.”

****

Mike’s uni’s pub (Michael had asked the name of the uni but the information had, unfortunately, been lost in next Tuesday, so they’ll know then) was the exact opposite of the high class pub Helen had taken them to. Instead of glassy, shiny, and chromey, Mike’s pub looked strongly as if very many people had puked in it and the staff had tackled the problem somewhat half-heartedly. Michael enjoyed the sight of the puke existing in all points in time simultaneously, giving it a sort of weird yellow-ish shine. Actually, maybe all puke had that yellowish sheen?

When they asked Mike about it as they hopped up on the bar, he just sighed. He flagged the bartender down for a pint, and when the bartender squinted dubiously at Michael they revelled into the micro-confusion of ambiguous ages. Micro-feeding? Like mini muffins?

“Helen made a mistake hiring you. She’s stuck us with a perpetual teenager.”

“I’m as much a teenager as you are a uni student,” Michael said pointedly.

“I’m not an embodiment of the It Is What It Isn’t Is,” Mike said, oddly aggressively. “I’m just a normal Avatar.”

“Fear demon.”

“Melanie King isn’t always right and I don’t know why everyone thinks she is.” Big words from an honored Special Guest on her show. There were many in the fear demon community who would kill for the honor. It was a good thing she hated intruders in her Archives - otherwise they’d never leave. “But I’m no different from - that douche Peter Lukas or that stoner Elias Bouchard or that btich Annabelle, okay? I’m just a guy. Who eats trauma. Plenty of guys do that.”

“Very good denial of reality!” Michael approved. “Normally Helen tells me to go further into denying reality as a concept, though.”

“God, you hallway people are impossible to have a normal conversation with.” Mike huffed, clearly not as irritated as his words would imply. Michael also approved of the incongruity. “I’m assuming that you’re here for absolutely no reason and that you have no idea why or how you ended up at my uni.”

Michael shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, I am here for a reason.” At Mike’s extreme surprise, they hurriedly clarified, “Not with any goal, meaning, or intention in mind! But I just wanted to talk about something to someone who wasn’t technically another facet of my meaningless whole. Helen and I are as index and ring fingers on the same hand, but we don’t really get each other sometimes, you know?”

“Does that make you the pinky finger?”

“I actually had a hypothetical for you.” At Mike’s nod, Michael snagged a napkin from the stack on the sticky bar and began creasing it, somewhat anxiously. “Let’s say, hypothetically, you were a teenagerish nongendered sentient hallway intern who happens to eat trauma.”

“This isn’t much of a hypothetical,” Mike said flatly.

“I’m a hypothetical person. And I’m only a person hypothetically.” Michael started making little folds in the napkin, twisting it up into a strange origami. “So, let’s say, hypothetically, that this person - their name is Michael - enjoyed being them. It wasn’t always fun, and sometimes they kind of missed the world making sense, or at least not making sense in a familiar way. And sometimes Michael got tired of being a sentient hallway and wanted to finish secondary. And maybe even sometimes Michael grows sad that both their parents were eaten by their new boss, who is kind of a Tory! But that’s all fine. Michael’s probably happier like this than they ever were even when they did have parents.”

Mike Crew stared at them a little, slowly sipping his pint.

Michael hunched their shoulders, and folded up the napkin further and further. They had read somewhere that any piece of paper can only be folded seven times. They folded the napkin seven times, then eight, then nine, then ten. That was something nice about the way things were now, they supposed: no rules, absolute freedom. Only rules, no freedom. That was what Dr. Yung would call a paradox. “But maybe the worst part about this new job is that Michael doesn’t really like hurting people. Sometimes it’s fun to randomly make people very upset, and you always kind of end up doing it anyway, but after a while Michael feels kind of bad about it. Michael likes doing other things better, like making terrible roundabouts and rearranging the pages of books. Maybe they even like reading books. They like reading comic books backwards, from the last page to the first, so every panel is a surprise.”

“There’s lots of ways to be a fear demon,” Mike pointed out, almost gently. Maybe only because he could relate. “Look at me. I’m not feeding off anyone. Just myself.”

“But I like the way I do it,” Michael said, frustrated. “Helen keeps trying to get me to do it the way she does it, but the point is that we aren’t the same. What’s the point in having two of us if both our viewpoints are the same? We’re different in every way, but we’re the same being. I just want to be the Spiral the way I want. Not the way Helen wants.” Their voice lowered, almost unwilling to say what they were about to say. “Not the way the Spiral wants.”

Mike stared at them for a long time, slowly sipping his beer, and Michael focused their efforts on forcing this improbable napkin into something that could be beautiful. A lotus flower? A mobius strip? Or should they just let it happen as it happens, and see what form it decided to take?

Finally, Mike said, “You are the Spiral.”

“Then why am I always disagreeing with it?” Michael asked miserably.

“Why are you, Helen, and the Spiral always disagreeing?” Mike pointed out. “Maybe that’s the point. So much as anything’s a point. Isn’t it the most perfect paradox of all, to split yourself into portions that are always disagreeing and bickering? Maybe everything you’re feeling is on purpose. I mean, it’s kind of improbable that you’re feeling at all, right?”

“I retained a lot of humanity,” Michael said. “Maybe a bit too much, actually?”

“Right.” Mike nodded decisively. “Then that’s the appeal. A human mind will always strain against its confines. It will always want different, want the same, want the old and the new and the perpetual and the fleeting and the eternity and the moment. What’s more nonsensical than a human? What’s more contradictory than human nature?” A dark shadow passed over his face, just for a second. “The Spiral kidnaps us and turns us into it. One part of our minds is entrenched in its eternity, and another part is always screaming in agony. But predominantly we are the unholy mixture of human and Entity, oil forced into water. It’s so intrinsically horrifying and wrong that we just get used to it. We are both demon and human, and so we’re neither, and so we’re both. Isn’t it weird, Michael, that unlike so many other Avatars, none of us want to be here?”

“You’re a very philosophical person,” Michael said diplomatically.

“Thanks, I think too much about my lot in life.” Mike Crew sighed, slumping on his barstool and knocking back more of his pint. “I wish you and Helen would stop showing up in my life so often. When you aren’t around, I can almost pretend I’m a person.”

“That’s why we show up,” Michael felt obligated to point out.

“Yeah, I know,” Mike said glumly. “I always know. I can’t stop knowing.”

There was nothing Michael could say or do that fixed this, or that could make Mike feel better. They understood, just a little - that nostalgia for a kinder time. But maybe it was more that Mike never had those halcyon, innocent days. He had lived life since childhood in aching knowledge that his days were numbered. Maybe that’s why Mike was allowed to live life as a human even now: his human life was just as confusing and isolated as his afterlife, and that when fear stained every second of his life there was no point in ceasing it.

Maybe Michael couldn’t keep their human life because they had been happy. At the very least, they had been ignorant. That was one thing the Spiral could not abide: ignorance.

These days, Michael knew everything. They knew everything so, so much.

So, in lieu of comforting falsehoods, Michael offered Mike Crew a slightest sliver of truth. They passed Mike the little piece of origami that they had made, and let Mike cradle it in his large and smooth hands.

The origami had no shape. It wasn’t folded into anything. It was just a meaningless amalgamation of points, corners, and creased paper. It didn’t look like anything at all.

“See?” Michael pointed out. “It’s a bear.”

Mike Crew smiled weakly. “Looks like a sea goat to me.”

There was something beautiful in ambiguity. When something was nothing, it could be everything at once. That was rather Michael’s favorite thing about it.

“I think it’s a self-portrait,” Michael decided.

And that, at least, was as true as anything else.

***

Michael wandered their hallways.

On some level, they were pretty much perpetually doing that. Even as one facet of them talked with Michael in a campus pub, even as another helped Helen convince a high class pub into voting Brexit, even as they traumatized a physics professor, they wandered these hallways.

Make no mistake: everything in this story has/will/is happened/happening simultaneously.

Of course, on another level Michael was literally their hallways, and thus they were not so much wandering as existing. Pulsating, one could say. Even twisting, if one would be so bold.

There was a mirror, in the hallway. Not a funhouse mirror - although Michael did enjoy popping out from those and scaring Nikola - but just a mirror. Gilded around the edges, ornate with swirling curlicues. You could see yourself in it. You could see a lot of yourself in it. It wasn’t what you had always looked like, not really, but you just had the sense that this was what you really looked like. Maybe you had always looked like this, and everybody was just too polite to tell you. Were you really a brunette? This mirror had to be right. You had been a blonde all along. Nobody had told you. They were laughing at you. They were laughing -

But this was Michael, and Michael’s, and nothing in here could harm them. It was even comforting. They looked at themselves in the mirror, and saw themselves same as ever. Or not same as ever. They were still Michael, so far as Michael was Michael.

Shortish. Blondey. Raggedy hair. Curled as much as anything’s curled. Fun clothing that they really enjoyed. Tall shoes, because they liked feeling tall. Similar dimensions to the golden number. Non linear, but who’s counting? It was what they typically looked like.

But, just for a second, Michael even fooled themselves. They saw someone in the mirror that they were not, someone who they had never been, someone who they never will be. Someone different.

Michael, just like everyone else, couldn’t stop themselves from reaching out. Come back. Come back! Let me touch you, let me be you! Michael’s fingers brushed the shiny glass, and the world tilted sideways, and Michael fell into where the sidewalk ended.

They emerged, or maybe they had always been, inside a bedroom. It was a nice little suburban bedroom. It had a peaked ceiling and a window seat. The walls were a soft, navy blue. There was a young person, lying on the shag carpet, leafing through a book. Big headphones were over their ears, and they were bopping along to music. Disco.

Michael stood, an intruder into a familiar space, and watched the stranger. Their throat felt oddly tight, and their eyes felt strangely hot. The stranger was smiling faintly, flipping the pages of their book somewhat mindlessly. They were reading it for school. Flatland. It was just an assignment, but it was really fucking them up. It was making them think about all of these things that they didn’t normally, in new dimensions. It was really cool. All of their friends were just reading the Sparknotes, but they really wanted to talk about it with someone.

This, of course, had happened. It will happen in the future. It was happening now, as Michael watched the scene with an electric sadness. It would never happen, because the Spiral had never been here, and never would be, and always was.

A knock echoed on the door, several sharp raps. Michael didn’t notice, legs swinging to the music.

The knock on the door hit louder. “Michael!” A voice echoed from behind it. “Michael, are you ready to go?”

Michael reached up and slid off their headphones, without looking up from their book. “Coming!” They called back. “Be right there!”

The Spiral watched Michael, who hummed absentmindedly as the door knocked again. Dad was downstairs, making sure the gas was off and shutting off the lights. Mum was knocking, knocking, knocking, on a door that was and will always be wood.

“Have you packed yet?” Mum called.

“Sure I have!” Michael yelled back, glancing at the empty suitcase on the bed and the messy pile of clothes right next to it. They pushed themselves up, flipping the book shut and rising to their feet. “Be right out!”

“Hurry up,” Mum called, as the Spiral mouthed the words along with her. “We’re going to be late!”

The Bermudas aren’t going anywhere, Michael thought spitefully. They stuffed their clothes haphazardly in a suitcase, took far more care to pack their laptop and DS, and shoved Flatland in a side pocket of their backpack.

When Michael slung on his backpack, unfolded the handle from their suitcase, they were not even looking at the door they left through. They were entirely focused on managing the unruly suitcase, and walked straight through the crazed yellow door.

Of course, Michael walked out. Slightly stranger, a little better, a lot worse. Exactly the same. They were back in their hallways again, fresh from their little suburban bedroom and the child exiting one world and entering one quite different. Maybe one part of that child would always be in that bedroom, another part in these hallways, and another part always caught in that doorway and the transition.

Simultaneously, in all points in time, Mum knocked on that wood door, and Michael never let her inside. Simultaneously, at all points in time, Michael watched it all happen.

They hadn’t expected it to be so comforting. At all moments in time, in a little corner of their heart, Mum knocked on their door. If the Spiral lived in your soul and beat your heart, it was easy to find the beauty in it - the magnificence of eternity, and the joy in the moment. Mum was with them - literally, as he was pretty sure Helen was still digesting her. Maybe nothing was ever truly over - just over there.

Michael stuck their hands in their pockets, whistling a jaunty tune that highly resembled the Shepherd’s Tone. Their hallways pulsated comfortingly, and Michael carefully toed off their platform shoes and eyed down the infinite hallways. No rugs for a while.

Maybe Michael, Mike Crew, and Helen should get together more often. Just the three of them. They would drive each other batty. It would be a lot of fun.

Michael set off running down the hallway, and skidded on their socks down the hardwood floor, whooping in joy as they skidded endlessly towards eternity.

#my writing #the magnus archives #tma #the magnus archives fanfic #tma fanfic #michael the distortion #helen the distortion #michael #helen #michael shelley #helen richardson #mike crew #the distortion #the spiral #Michael views their life as an embodiment of terror and unreality as roughly equivelant to capitalism #Helen is kind of regretting hiring this kid but it's probably the only thing stopping them from eating her #Mike Crew really really really hates his fear cousins #i had to open a lot of wikipedia pages for this so you're welcome

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nanoland · 3 years

Text

drowstiel fic in progress

title: Clean Hands

fandom: Supernatural

pairings: Crowley/Castiel, Crowley/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester

blurb: In which Crowley is no one's first choice and he's totally fine with that! :) Really! :) :) :)

warnings: smut, cannibalism, demons getting themselves Extremely murdered

Trumpets sounded. Mortar cracked. The ceiling collapsed, squashing half of Crowley’s court, and holy, horrifying light flooded into every corner.

“We are going,” Castiel growled, storming up to the throne and grabbing him by the scruff, “for a drink.”

Crowley’s tail twitched, wordlessly instructing his bodyguards to stand down. “Um. Fine?”

“Now.”

“Alright, alright. Where?”

“I don’t care.”

So Crowley teleported them to a cosy little nook in Finland, highly ranked among his personal favourites and unknown to any colleagues or enemies. It had a roaring fireplace, generously padded chairs, thick faux fur rugs, and a table by a window through which one could watch snow gently blanketing the city of Rovaniemi.

They ordered Koskenkorva and cider and Salmari and beer – or rather, Crowley did, while Castiel stared broodingly into the fire – and competed to see who could get totally hammered first.

Castiel won. Castiel always won.

“Coke?” Crowley offered.

Scowling, the angel mumbled, “No. Nnn-o. Dean drinks Coke. Dean bought me a Coke once. Said I should try it. He always wants me to try things. Bacon and Star Wars and cowboy paraphernalia. Human things. Never wants to recipra… recipe… recital… never wants to try my things. Angel things. One-way street. Always.”

“Mmm. I can understand how that might feel invalidating, kitten. However, I was in fact offering you cocaine. Top-quality stuff, of course. Or weed?”

“Oh. Uhh – no. Thank you. Can I sit in your lap?”

With a put-upon sigh, Crowley settled back into his chair.

A woman seated across the room tutted disapprovingly as Castiel clambered onto him, twisting this way and that until he’d made himself comfortable with his legs dangling over the arm rest and his tousled head heavy on Crowley’s shoulder.

Looking her way with a pleasant, if carnivorous smile, Crowley said, “Your husband’s name is Verner. Your sister’s name is Aurelia. They’re currently having sex in your kitchen. Her bare, perky arse is resting on your oven mittens – the nice ones with the canary pattern. If you leave right now, you can catch them at it.”

“You are an abomination,” Castiel murmured into his neck as she bolted.

“You’re an absurdity,” he countered, sniffing his hair. Cheap shampoo. Cheap conditioner. Wood smoke, presumably from the boys’ latest hunt. Traces of blood. Traces of God.

The fire crackled. They drank some more.

“I gave Dean a feather,” Castiel said. “One of mine. It’s what we do to show loyalty. Admiration. When I served Heaven, I received feathers from various admirers every week.”

He sounded smug.

Adorable.

“It wasn’t sexual, mind,” he added, quickly.

“Of course.”

“Nor romantic. We don’t engage in such things. Nonetheless, it was meaningful. Is meaningful.”

“And Dean, I imagine, didn’t realize that.”

“Obviously not. I wasn’t expecting him to. He’s a human; why should he understand our customs? But I thought… I thought he’d at least ask. I was prepared for him to ask. I had an explanation ready to go. And then he didn’t. He took the feather, looked embarrassed, smiled, thanked me, and returned to doing Sam’s laundry.”

“Ouch.”

“I’ve never been so humiliated.”

Crowley gave him a consoling kiss, which he returned hungrily, though not cruelly. In this, Castiel was never cruel. Only demanding. Which was fine; Crowley liked being in demand.

When Castiel withdrew his questing tongue, he looked unsatisfied. (Brattish.) “Why must you always lurk so deep? Come forward. I want to see you.”

Huffing, like it wasn’t something he was asked to do and gladly did every time, Crowley let himself slide from his host’s brain into his eyeballs, turning them crimson; from his chest to his tongue, causing his breath to stink of petrol and graveyard dirt; from his veins to his extremities, prompting his fingernails and toenails to adopt a distinctly claw-like appearance. His expensive black socks would be ruined. “Better, birdy?”

Immediately, Castiel returned to kissing him. (Really, it felt as though he was trying to suck Crowley from his host’s mouth into his own.

Like he wants to eat me.

Crowley shivered happily.)

Drawing back, Castiel said, “Take us to a hotel room. I want to touch your penis.”

“I live but to serve.”

It had taken Crowley a while to work out what Castiel’s odd sexual ministrations made him feel like; a stim toy. The angel liked nothing more than to fiddle with him. To tug at his chest hair, to pluck at his nipples until they were plump and rosy, and yes, to poke and pat and play with his cock until Crowley whimpered.

“I don’t understand why he’s so reluctant to open up to me,” Castiel sighed, breath-taking on black silk sheets and settled between Crowley’s thighs, twirling grey-streaked pubic hair around his index finger.

“I like opening up to you,” said Crowley, and demonstrated.

Castiel lowered his head and peered appreciatively. “Your vessel is so much furrier than mine. Like you’ve glued a badger’s pelt between your buttocks.”

Some might have found a fuckbuddy who had only two settings – i.e. ‘the worst dirty talk conceivable’ and ‘pining for another man’ – frustrating. Crowley had long since put such petty grievances aside, because he was emotionally mature. Worldly. Smooth. Definitely not because he craved Castiel’s presence all day long and whispered his name to the stars at night.

“Hurry up and stick it in me, you twat.”

As Castiel hoisted Crowley’s legs over his shoulders, he stroked the hair there too. “Mmm. So fluffy. Honestly, with all this to keep you warm, I don’t see why you have to cover yourself in so many layers.”

“You’re one to talk! You’d wear that trench to the scorching outback if you got half the chance.”

“Temperature isn’t a factor for me. Besides, Dean likes me wearing it. It gives him a sense of continuity that he lacks in other areas of his life.”

Castiel couldn’t tell the difference between a groan of pleasure and a groan of exasperation. That was for the best.

Afterwards, Crowley arranged his host such that the majority of his weight rested on Castiel’s chest. So far, it was the only reliable way to ensure he didn’t get dressed and leave the moment they were done.

“Were you busy?” Castiel asked, panting. “When I entered Hell? You probably were. You’re always busy. You work even harder than Raphael used to.”

“Never too busy for you, pet,” he purred, punctuating his assurance with a saucy wiggle.

Castiel’s phone rang.

Castiel actually answered it (rather than his usual reaction to ringing phones – his or Crowley’s – when they were in bed, which was to narrow his eyes at them until their screens cracked and they leaked smoke), which meant it was Dean.

“I am needed,” he announced, rolling Crowley off him.

With a mocking salute, Crowley slithered into the warm spot his body had left. “Godspeed, mighty warrior. Try not to lose any more feathers.”

Fumbling with his tie, Castiel said, “I’m planning to give him one more. A second chance. If he doesn’t react appropriately, I’ll…”

“You’ll what?”

The tie was abandoned, flopping half-knotted against his crisp white shirt. “I’ll be back for more sex. Goodbye.”

With that, he was gone.

Under his stolen skin, Crowley curled into a smoky ball and cursed the whole world.

‘Never too busy for you,’ he’d told Castiel.

‘My door’s always open,’ he’d promised Dean.

But surely they both understood that if they were going to summon him in the middle of the working day, they would, occasionally, be interrupting something?

“Is that a kidney?” said Dean, staring at the bloody lump in Crowley’s hand.

Flustered, Crowley popped it into his mouth and swallowed it. The thought occurred, a second later, that his instinctive, perfectly normal as per demon etiquette attempt to make the situation less awkward might have been ill-advised.

“I’ll just go, shall I?” he muttered dejectedly.

Dean shook his head, sighing. “Nah. Won’t make me unsee it. But we’re not kissing.”

“Could brush my teeth? Suck on a mint?”

“No. Now get your pants off. I don’t have all day.”

Dear boy. He wasn’t always like this. Often, Crowley appeared in the circle to find him red-eyed, puffy-nosed, and at least slightly drunk, and he’d touch Crowley without saying a word all evening. Other times, he’d be wound tight, buzzing with frustration after a hunt gone wrong or a fight with Castiel or Sam. On such occasions, sex would be more like a wrestling match, Dean’s quick reflexes and pickpocket cunning pitted against Crowley’s ability to lift a car with one hand, and after they’d brutalised one another for a few hours Dean would slide off Crowley’s cock with a bone-deep groan of satisfaction and sleep like the dead. Those times tended to be Crowley’s favourites.

But this was nice, too. Brisk, rude, faux-impatient – today, Dean was in a good mood. And Dean in a good mood meant one thing and one thing only.

“Jesus fu-aaah,” Crowley exhaled, having barely slipped his 100% virgin wool trousers down his thighs before the hunter entered the circle, dropped smoothly to his knees, and latched onto the waiting erection like there was a panel of judges mere metres away and a million dollar cash prize on the line.

Dean Winchester wasn’t nearly as good at sex as he thought he was. But he always, always tried his best, and sometimes that raw enthusiasm was erotic enough all on its own.

“So,” said Dean, pulling back to study his work with that critical mechanic’s eye. “Something weird happened the other day.”

“Really? To you?”

“No, not normal Winchester-brand weird. No new apocalypses brewing, far as I’m aware. Just… y’know. Odd.”

Abruptly, he stood up, wiping his lips, and took Crowley by the arm. Sweeping the edge of his shoe through the circle, he all-but-frogmarched him across the room to the old mattress he’d set up in a corner specifically for these occasions.

(They didn’t always have sex in a grimy abandoned shed three miles from the nearest road. Sometimes they had sex in grimy abandoned cars with wheels buried in knee-deep weeds or, when Dean was feeling unusually romantic, dive bar bathrooms. Crowley didn’t care. He’d fucked Napoleon III in a haystack once.)

Absentmindedly arranging Crowley to his liking, Dean said, “Cas gave me a feather.”

Unnoticed by Dean, every microorganism within a seventy-foot radius – excepting those within his own body – died in a flash of hellfire. “Oh?”

“Yeah. And not, like, a pigeon feather or whatever. One of his. Weird, right?”

“Mm. Very.”

Dean thrust into him, business-like. “You read a lot, yeah? Probably even more than Sammy. Ever found a book that analyses – I dunno – weird angel shit? Or ancient prophecies involving angel feathers?”

Goddamn rotten bloody humiliation kink, he thought moodily, feeling his cock begin to leak. Probably done more to damage my reputation than that time Lilith caught me sneaking into David Cameron’s bedroom wearing a silk chemise and a British Lop. “Not that I can recall, no.”

Giving his arse a friendly smack, Dean said, “C’mon. You gotta know something. Or, if you don’t, you gotta have a theory. I know that nasty li’l brain of yours never stops working. Why would an angel give a human a feather?”

The deranged, beautiful monster hadn’t stopped buggering him.

Even worse, Crowley hadn’t stopped liking it.

“Alright, alright,” he groaned, fingernails surreptitiously sharpening as he dragged them over the mattress. “Stop. Lemme think for a moment. No, no, scratch that. Absolutely do not stop. Oh fuck, fuck, please don’t stop.”

“Crowley,” Dean whined, and while he’d have loved to think that he was whining in passion, he knew better.

“Look, it’s a gift, yeah? He gave you a gift. Use – fuurgh – use your brain, squirrel. Why do people usually give gifts?”

A big, calloused hand wrapped around his cock. “Birthdays. Bribes. To say thank you. To say sorry. Hey, could that be it? Has he… aw, shit, has he done something stupid behind my back? Again? And he doesn’t want to admit it but he’s feeling guilty so he’s giving me weird presents? I bet that’s it.”

Crowley wasn’t certain what language he used to say, “Jesus Christ, you’re both beyond hope,” in the seconds before he came. He was only just mentally present enough to make sure it wasn’t English.

After finishing off with a hearty grunt, Dean belly-flopped onto the mattress next to him. “Fuck yeah, man. That was great. Wonder if I can use it for something? A bona fide angel feather’s gotta have serious mojo, right?”

Facedown and breathing into the pillow, Crowley made a ‘who knows?’ gesture.

“Maybe it could be made into a weapon,” Dean murmured, gently stroking Crowley’s scalp. “There’s precedent. The First Blade was a mule’s jawbone. Or maybe I could write with it – like a quill. Heh, imagine a devil’s trap drawn with an angel’s feather. That would fuck you guys up, right?”

“Sure,” Crowley rasped, lifting his head. “Why not?”

Dean yawned. “So how’s Hell? Been about a month since we last did this, so… what’s that… about a decade down there? Had any problems? Moved the furniture around?”

“No. Hell doesn’t change much these days. Lilith was the innovator. Always installing a new lake of fire here, a new torture chamber there; slaughtering her political opponents en masse; throwing out promotions and demotions and beheadings left and right. Not my style. I prefer stability. Behind my back, they say that I’m the most boring monarch Hell’s ever had. Well, no – they say that wherever they want. When they’re behind my back, they try to stab me.”

He rolled over, wincing at a twinge in his well-used arse.

“Stability’s great and all,” Dean mumbled, sounding half-asleep. “And for real, I think it’s cool that you’ve made Hell so much less… torture-y. But y’ever think about aiming higher?”

“Eh?”

“Making Hell not suck, I mean. You know? Not just stable but actually tolerable for everyone who’s gotta live there. Now and then when I’m ganking some demon dickbag, I start thinking that maybe they wouldn’t always be causing so much trouble on Earth if they liked being in Hell more.”

Crowley laughed. Long and loud. “Where’s this coming from? Is this a Sam idea? It sounds like a Sam idea. Your bleeding-heart centrist of a brother going through another introspective phase, right? Bless.”

Scowling, Dean said, “Wow, someone’s defensive. What’s wrong? Pissed that the Boy King could run the place better than you?”

“Come off it, Dean. You don’t believe that for a second. Sam’s no leader. Much less a leader of demons. And the notion of ‘fixing’ Hell… it’s Hell. It’s not meant to be fixed. It’s not meant to be tolerable, it’s not meant to be endurable. It exists to break people. Horror is its bedrock. Sure, I can tidy up, I can replace the Gitmo vibe with the good ol’ eternal queue, but I can’t make it nice.”

“Huh. Okay, I get it,” said Dean, stretching, slyness in his eyes. “It’s not that you don’t want to – it’s that you don’t think you can. You’re not powerful enough, or smart enough, or whatever. I guess that’s fair. Surprised to hear you admit it, though.”

Like a blowfish, Crowley’s smoke puffed up to thrice its usual size, spilling from his eyes, ears, and lips as he pounced on Dean and pinned him to the mattress.

“Watch your tongue, brat,” he hissed, tail manifesting with its point aimed at Dean’s throat. “I’m not your pet pigeon. Had I the magnanimity of Saint Francis himself I’d not sit here and listen to some cunting mortal question my leadership. What in the name of God’s greasy bollocks do you know about ruling anything? You’ve never so much as managed a fucking corner shop. You’ve never even been employed.”

Dean grinned. “Damn, did I touch a nerve? Sorry, sweetcheeks.”

A canine rumble poured from Crowley’s thick throat. He felt Dean’s wrist bones creak under his grip. “Arrogant little rat.”

They glared at one another, unblinking.

“You ready to go again?” Dean asked.

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

In a violent flurry, they competed to see who could jack the other to completion first. Dean won. Dean always won.

“Same time next month?” Crowley enquired, watching him get dressed afterwards.

“Maybe. It’ll be coming up on Halloween and that’s always the worst time of year for us.”

“Mmm. Same. You’d be amazed how many false alarms we get; idiot teenagers deciding to summon a demon for fun and not actually wanting to make a deal or not letting them out of the trap afterwards. Last year, my secretary found them waiting for her with SuperSoakers full of salted holy water. Still – unless I’m busy – and, obviously, I probably will be busy – I’ll only be a phone call away if you poor lost lambs get yourselves mixed up in something you can’t handle.”

“Cool,” Dean said over his shoulder, already halfway out the door. “Catch you later.”

Crowley waited until his footsteps had faded and his scent had cleared. Then he grabbed the pillow, pressed it to his face, and screamed for forty minutes.

(to be continued)

#supernatural #crowstiel #drowley #crowley #castiel #dean winchester #drowstiel #fanfic #my fic

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kiranatrix · 4 years

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Yosuzume. A art (by @ikathemadhatter) and fanfic (by @kiranatrix) collaboration for @deathnotetober [Day 8 - Wara Ningyo]

Characters: Beyond Birthday, mentions of L, Roger, and others // Rating: T (occultism, mention of suicide and the LABB case)

Summary: Beyond’s shinigami eyes have always set him apart and given him knowledge no human should possess. His obsession with divining and controlling the future has led him to develop his own rituals, which weave themselves into his life and the events of the LABB case.

Beyond Birthday was under his bed when they came to tell him that A had died, repeatedly flicking a zippo open and shut and counting Roger’s footsteps.

He’d already known something was going to happen today; his eyes had told him the ‘when’ and the birds had told him the rest. He’d laid down in the forest past Wammy’s House and listened, divining how it would happen as he had since childhood-- the patterns, the trills, even the silence held meaning for him. Beyond knew he was magic, was different from others. He was a stranger in this world and yet could channel what magic was here using rituals and systems of his own making.

Magic always had a price and he’d gladly paid it in this case, throwing the needed items into a small fire in the woods. Something precious to him-- one of his Akazukin Chacha manga. Something from the target-- a lock of A’s hair he’d snuck in to clip in the night. Something he’d killed-- an enormous spider he’d caught in the attic. And finally, a piece of himself. Beyond pricked his finger with his switchblade and let the blood drip into the fire. Five or six drops should be enough for this ritual since it was only information he needed. Wasn’t like he was trying to make something happen. Powerful magic required a greater sacrifice.

When Roger had left, Beyond grabbed the straw doll he’d prepared for this, the wara ningyo that would absorb evil as A passed to the next world. Equally important was that it would absolve him of the sin of foreknowledge. He couldn’t have saved A, but he knew it was still a very grave sin and one he didn’t want on his conscience. It was nailed to the sacred tree that the birds had told him of years ago, and when he immediately felt better, he knew it had worked.

II.

A few days later, the birds told him someone important was coming to Wammy’s House. Beyond assumed it was for the funeral but when he asked, they said no, the person was coming for him. There’d been murmurs among students in the halls about who would be the next successor to L now that A was dead. Beyond had the next-highest test scores to A but that didn’t mean he was a shoo-in given what Roger liked to term ‘his instability.’ Roger’s opinion didn’t really matter; it would be L that would pick and Beyond had it on good authority that L was also exceedingly odd.

Beyond craved to know the numbers above L’s head, but L had always stayed away. Roger and Wammy had attempted to purge the school of any mention of L-- certainly any pictures had been spirited away-- but they hadn’t counted on Beyond’s birds tattling on L’s habits. He’d spent quite a lot on sacrifices over the years to hear every detail he could. There were a few old owls that remembered L’s walks in the woods where he would mumble around a lollipop and crouch down to sweep aside leaf litter and draw diagrams in the dirt with sticks. Wild hair, dark eyes, wiry as a willow. Dark crescent moons under his eyes, skin pale as fresh eggs, lips that were constantly worried by a thumb. Beyond laughed when they told him L peed on anthills and once got sick eating the wrong kind of berry. Maybe L was human after all.

It didn’t diminish his distaste for what L represented. Didn’t make his resolve to best the man any less intense. Like A, once upon a time, Beyond had idolized L and this path they’d been corralled into. But like A, he’d gradually become disillusioned by the pressure and the rigid expectations.

Clean as clockwork, Beyond was pulled aside after A’s humdrum funeral and taken to an office with only a laptop on the desk. It was a test and he knew he was being watched by cameras hidden in old portraits or the pompous school regalia on the walls. It was unfair-- L’s eyes could see him but Beyond remained blind. The man had been in here, though, and just as his ritual predicted, he thrilled to spot a single short, coarse black hair when he bent to tie his shoes. He pocketed his prize, stuck in a piece of chewed-up gum.

He later found out he passed the test and L had chosen him as his successor. Roger offered it with dry congratulations and Beyond forced a smile, but it made no difference to his plans. The ritual had told him he had to leave Wammy’s House forever. His path was not behind L but over him. Beyond would create a case that would baffle L to the end of his days, and then he would die.

Another wara ningyo was nailed to the tree on his way out, absolving him from the sin of leaving all the others behind (he cut a few corners and only included the hair of the kids who hadn’t been dicks to him. Fuck the rest of them). He had no choice. The ritual was never wrong.

III.

Beyond traveled all over the world but listening was hardest when he ended up in Los Angeles. Car horns and the noise of the city drowned out the songs of whatever unlucky birds lived here. There were pigeons galore but they were too stupid and didn’t know anything of value. They knew L told lies but that was hardly anything new so he didn’t bother making the sacrifice for that.

He’d haunt the pet stores instead, whispering to the parrots and budgies and canaries to find out how close L was to finding him. Some were so tame to have forgotten the meanings of their language and only told him gibberish. Eventually, he scraped together enough money to rent a sordid room in Skid Row and buy a few wilder finches from the shop. Finches were always smart. He slowly befriended them with millet and jam and they were full of ideas and revelations. He made his sacrifices in an old oil barrel in the alley behind his apartment building but he had to be more careful these days. He was running out of things that were precious to him and couldn’t spare as much as before.

As the sweltering days of July passed, he made ten wara ningyo just like the finches said. Four dolls for his first sacrifice, three for the second, two for the third, and one for the last and most important victim-- himself. The first nine dolls would banish evil and absolve Beyond, just like the one he’d made for A and the Wammy’s kids. The tenth had a different, opposite purpose, but magic was flexible as long as you knew the rules (his rules). It would be a curse upon L, woven with the strand of the man’s hair he’d secreted away months ago. Beyond didn’t know the numbers over L’s head but this curse would attract some terrible misfortune to L like iron to a magnet. It was the most powerful magic he’d ever attempted but he was giving everything of himself this time; the signs all pointed to success. He would baffle the World’s Greatest Detective and prove himself superior. His magic was something L could never understand.

Beyond released the finches the day he met Misora, hoping their wings would lift them above the smog to somewhere magic hadn’t died. They didn’t know where they would end up and neither did he, he only knew that his magic would work. It always did.

#death note #beyond birthday #deathnotetober #wara ningyo #my writing #ikathemadhatter #l lawliet #roger ruvie #wammy's a #fan art #labb #thank you again for the collab ika your art is beautiful #collaboration

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unmaskedagain · 4 years

Text

Marinette Vs Santa: The Final Round

Okay, so it’s 11:38 on Christmas. I promised I would post this today. So I am. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone. Enjoy your present.

The jolly fat man would get his, Marinette swore. She wore a lovely gold, snowflake-embroidered cocktail dress. Her hair was done in a French side braid with voluminous Curls; more than she ever had in her entire life. Honestly, she looked like a princess.

And it would’ve been a win for her if it wasn’t for the circumstances that made it yet another Tie against Santa.

Roy has his hand on the small of her back since they step out of the limo. The forced sweet smile on her face was for the paparazzi that had waited outside the restaurant. When they got inside, and as they were shone to their table, Roy's hand slipped south.

Marinette stiffened and leaned close to Roy and whispered in his ear, “If you don’t get your hand off my butt, I’m going to take off one of my five-inch heels and slit your throat with it.”

Roy’s hand was gone in a flash, “Aww babe,” He said, a little loudly, nodding to the table where his parents’ Oliver and Dinah waited; their eyes watching the young couple’s every move. “You know I can’t keep my hands off you.”

Marinette giggled, as she fought the urge to slam his against a nearby table, “Not in front of your parents. It’s called manners.”

Your lucky homicide is still technically illegal, Marinette thought viciously, and a sure-fire way to get on fat bastard’s naughty list.

He wouldn’t win. No, Marinette had gone too far; been through too much to lose now.

“Thank you, Marinette,” Dinah stood once the two approached. She pulled Marinette into a hug. “I’ve tried to instill etiquette into Roy for years. His last girlfriends and he nearly in trouble for public indecency. Maybe you’ll do a better job than I did.”

Marinette laughed, “I will even if I have to cut off his hand.”

Oliver chuckled, “You’re definitely Bruce’s girl.” The resemblance was uncanny.

After that the fell into an easy conversation.

“That dress is beautiful,” Dinah said. “Who’s the designer?”

Marinette beamed, “I am. I love fashion. It’s my dream,” She explained. “I plan on launching my own company. While there’s always room to learn and enhance my designing skills, I feel as if I have that side at least somewhat covered. However, the business angle is something I need to learn. Which is why I plan on getting my MBA at an Ivy League. I was considering Yale or Princeton.”

“Princeton,” Oliver grinned. “Did you hear that Roy?” Roy rolled his eyes, and once again, regretted being born. “Marinette’s considering Princeton. That’s the top school on his list. Queens have gone there for generations.” He pulled his wife into a hug. “It’s where I knew Dinah was the one.”

Dinah gave Marinette a blank stare, “I couldn’t get rid of him. It was like having bedbugs.” (“Hey!” Oliver cried in protest.) “No matter what I did, he just coming back. The only solution was to burn the entire place down and vanish without a trace. But apparently, that’s illegal or whatever. Stupid.”

“I know, right,” Marinette nodded earnestly. “What’s up with that?”

They had a wonderful dinner. They watched a paparazzi pretending to be a waiter be escorted out of the restaurant. It was great, amazing even. Oliver and Dinah had been perfectly lovely. Roy had acted like a perfect gentleman. Marinette could’ve almost pretended she was actually meeting her boyfriend’s family. She was about to count the entire night as a win until…

“So how many grandkids should I expect in the future,” Oliver asked, a sincere look on his face, though he was snickering inside.

Marinette chocked on her chocolate mousse and ended up in a coughing fit that Dinah helped her with. Roy had met his father’s gaze and gave him his most charming smile, “Seven,” He answered.

“Seven!” Marinette barked out and she looked around frantically as if Ashton Kutcher had revived his hit show and was about to pop out.

Oh, gods; please let me be getting punked, Marinette prayed.

Oliver’s eyebrows went up, “Seven, huh, big family.”

Roy hummed, “the Wayne-Queens certainly will be.”

“You mean the Queen-Waynes,” Oliver corrected, his hackles rising.

“Well, I figured since we’d be living in Gotham,” Roy didn’t even bother to hide his smirk. “We’d go by the Wayne-Queen family. I actually found this great place not too far from Wayne Manor. Plenty of room for the kids, maybe a dog or two; a rose garden. You know how Waynes are about their roses. You can visit whenever.”

Marinette might have momentarily blacked out during this. It was how Marinette knew she had officially lost that round to Santa.

Oliver and Dinah just looked at Roy; their entire bodies stiff.

Dinah took a long drink from her wine glass, “Gotham has such a high crime rate. Have you considered Star City, Marinette?”

“I’ve never been,” Marinette said sweetly. “But I could live anywhere really. I’m pretty open.”

Roy wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “Yes, but I figured you’d want to spend as much time with your family as possible. Jason’s my best friend. I love Gotham. It just works. Besides Bruce Wayne would make an amazing grandpa.”

The grip Oliver had on his dessert fork made Marinette fear for Roy’s life. It was time to step in. “I suppose Robb or Thea would love a big backyard to play in.”

That got the other three’s attention.

“Robb? Thea?” Oliver whispered. His throat was dry. His brain tried to process what was said.

“I wasn’t supposed to say anything. But Roy and I started talking one day and well,” Marinette trailed off. A soft pink blush appeared on Marinette’s face, enhancing her overall innocent aura. She had done background on the Queen family. “Our firstborn; if it’s a boy Robb as in Robert Thomas; for your father and my grandfather. If it’s a girl, Thea Sabine; for your sister and my mother. It was Roy’s idea. He knows how much you loved them.”

It was then that Marinette got to check off one more wish off her list. It had been made as a joke in passing to Chloe and Kagami months ago. They had been having a girls’ night. When Chloe, ever prepared, asked what they wanted for Christmas. They had been watching a Justice League fight on the news. Marinette had laughed and said she wanted to show them up one day; make a superhero cry.

However, watching The Green Arrow tear up while the Black Canary comforted himself, made her think that Santa took her to wish out of context.

Roy was pulled into a big hug by his parents, and he sent her a vicious glare, and mouthed, “What did you do?”

Oliver pulled back, wiped his eyes, and said, “You know; there’s nothing like a spring wedding in Star City.”

Marinette threw down her napkin.

Fuck Santa.

The news had a field day. The picture of Marinette in her dress and Roy in his designer suit was what everyone was talking about. The women of the view talked about her outfit. Wendy Williams talked about her outfit. It was as if Marinette was living in another universe.

Nothing could bring her down.

“What the hell?” Jason asked as he picked her up for school. “Why the fuck is Roy spamming me with hate texts. Why the fuck is Oliver arguing with B over visitation rights to his grandchildren? Who the Fuck are Robb and Thea? And why the fuck is Dad asking Aquaman if Atlantis really sunk on its own, or if it had a little help?”

Marinette tiled her head, “Is Papa planning on sinking Star City? And that’s forty dollars for the swear jar.” Her parents had implements after one too many curse words were thrown around.

“Worth it!” Jason said. “And yes, I’ve positive that’s what’s going to happen. It’s gonna be amazing. Also, he’s gonna kill Roy!”

“He deserves it,” Marinette crossed her arms.

“Hey!”

“He put his hand on my butt!”

Jason paused and narrowed his eyes. “Correction. I’m gonna kill Roy.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, but then she realized something. “Aren’t they’re usually two of you? Where’s the other one?” It was the routine. She was always escorted into school by two members of the Wayne family.

Jason smirked, “You’ll see.”

The paparazzi mostly screamed the usual things at her. At that point, she was used to it. It was the few changes at school that she was used to.

Damocles had been fired for bribes and severe negligence. He was replaced by Mendeleev. Bustier had been fired for her role in Marinette’s expulsion without proper procedure and basically catering to bullies while blaming the victim. She replaced by a sterner teacher name Miss Reed. She was by the book and not afraid to call in the higher-ups if something smelled fishy.

The first was any and all forms of bullying in class was no longer tolerated. The school had issued a zero-tolerance policy that the kids in Bustier’s class had felt immediately.

The second was Lila’s supposed medical history. No doctor’s note, no special treatment. It was also required that Lila present a note from her mother regarding any future absences.

The third was Adrien’s being pulled randomly out of class. CPS got involved real fast regarding child labor laws.

The days of her classmates getting away with bloody murder were over. Reed saw everything. Everything.

Alya, who had returned to class always avoided Marinette at all times. Her parents had given her the biggest talking to about respecting others’ right to privacy. Marinette had agreed to drop any legal charges against her former friend provided she adhere to the cease and desist order. The girl knew too much about Marinette. And Marinette needed to make it clear that she would bury the girl in lawsuits before she’d allowed even one-fourth of it to be made public.

Jason had walked her to class. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he went directly to the back of the class and took a seat next to Chloe. He pulled out his phone and proceeded to ignore the curious looks from the students.

The blond eyed the ripped jeans, the overly sized red flannel shirt, and the beat-up leather jacket, “Grunge died in the 90s. Like it deserved.”

Jason, not bothering to look up from his phone, “Paris Hilton said it’s cool that you plagiarized her look.”

Chloe gasped.

Marinette just looked up at the ceiling, knowing exactly how this was going to go. Chloe would not forgive this. Jason was an asshole. It would be war.

Miss Reed walked in and didn’t look twice at Jason.

Marinette narrowed her eyes; something was up.

The class went on without a hitch though until just about the end of the first period…

When Tim and a pretty, brown-haired, tanned skin, an older woman walked in the door. They looked to be having a pleasant conversation.

“Mama,” Lila gasped, her eyes wide. “What are you doing here?” She looked around frantically.

“Ooohhhh,” Marinette nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.” That was what was happening. Operation: Get That Bitch.

“Oh!” Tim feigned surprised. “I didn’t know your daughter was in my sister’s class, Naomi.”

Naomi had been pleasantly surprised when Tim Drake, the CEO of Wayne Industries reached out to speak to her about potential business ventures in Italy. He was in Paris visiting his sister and wanted an insider perspective on Italy’s economy and tourist information. Her bosses were thrilled. Wayne opening up a site in Italy would do wonders for the overall economic and industrial growth. Then they got to talking about a potential student exchange program that Wayne Industries were willing to fund.

What Tim hadn’t told the Ambassador was that Wayne Industries had been scouting locations in Italy for their new plant for the last ten months. All the research was done. Everything was primed to go. Still, Tim was kind enough to ensure that Naomi Rossi received the credit for getting Wayne Industries on board.

Mrs. Rossi blinked in surprise, “I had no idea either. Lila, we’re here to discuss a potential international exchange program for kids all over the world. Tim wanted to say hello to his sister. Why didn’t you tell me you were friends with Marinette Wayne?”

Marinette leaned forward in her seat. A slow smile spread across her face.

“I, well, I,” Lila struggled to say.

“We’re not the closest, Mrs. Rossi,” Marinette offered. “She’s always so busy, we haven’t had the time.”

“Ahh,” Tim snapped his fingers. “That Lila Rossi. Marinette told me all about her.” He crossed his arms. “Naomi, how was Achu? I haven’t gone yet. But from what Marinette’s told of Lila’s stories, you two go all the time. You become close to the royal family, yes?”

Coldness went down to Naomi Rossi’s spine. She stiffened. Her eyes went to her daughter who had a look of dread on her face. Not this again, she nearly groaned. “There’s been some… confusion,” Mrs. Rossi said, gearing up every ounce of diplomacy she learned in her twenty-year career. Lila was so grounded after this. “A miscommunication, I suppose. My ambassadorship has taken my family to England, Spain, and Japan for a little while, and here in France, of course. However, nowhere else. We have never been to Achu. That is a bit above my paygrade, I’m afraid,” She laughed nervously.

The class was as silent as a library. If Bustier was still there, a few students would’ve started yelling their complaints and cries for explanations. One or two would’ve started screaming at Lila for lying. But Bustier was gone. And the look Reed was giving her class, dared them to try.

Tim chuckled, “Kids. When I was seven I swore I spent the summer in Greece with my parents. I didn’t find out until I was eleven that I was actually in Rome. What can you do?” He gave her his most charming smile. “England, was that where Lila met Jagged Stone? I think he’s from there.”

“Jagged who now?” Naomi asked. “The Rock Star? No, Lila’s never met him. She’s a huge fan though.”

“But he wrote a song about her!” Alya cried out. “She saved his cat from getting hit by a plane!”

Miss Reed, “Alya, please raise your hand and keep to a reasonable level while inside. It will be detention if I have to tell you again.”

Miss Reed and Mendeleiev had agreed to The Wayne's suggestion of revealing Lila’s lies to the class. It was the only way they would believe it and that she could lie her way out of. It was unnatural the way the students trailed after the girl, simpering over grand stories and promises of famous connections. They needed to learn to rely on hard work and their own talent, not on how many famous people they might get to the chance to meet.

“A plane?” Mrs. Rossi asked, an affronted look on her face. “You think I would ever allow my child to be in such danger?” She looked at her daughter. “Your grandmother always said you would be a grand writer with all the stories you tell. You could’ve at least come with a sensible lie.”

“I can explain,” Lila said but whether she was talking to her mother or class was anyone’s guess.

Rose raised her hand, “Lie? Lila can’t be lying. What about all the trips she takes with you? The charity organizations she runs? The famous people she knows like Clara Nightingale who always ask her for help. She’s close friends with Prince Ali. That’s why she’s always away from school. One time she was gone for weeks.”

Naomi Rossi looked at her daughter, who did everything she could to avoid eye contact with her mother. “You told me that the school was closed due to the Akumas. It was a lie.” She looked at the teacher. “If the school wasn’t closed, Lila should have only missed three days of school this semester due to her being ill with the flu. She should have only missed seven to ten days in total last year. I do apologize, my daughter…” She gave Lila a dark look. “Seems to have a talent for tall tales.”

Miss Reed stood up, “It’s a matter for the Principle. Her last teacher overlooked many things and wrote off what she couldn’t. Her schoolwork was done the year before; her grades were good enough to pass. She has not missed too many days so far; a few more than the average student but it happens. Any homework missed can still be made up. She is welcome in my class. However, when you get the chance, I would like make an appointment to discuss with you any medical accommodations she has that need to be addressed.”

Mrs. Rossi crossed her arms, “She never wears her glasses. She has sensitive eyes that prevent her from wearing contacts. Without them, she can’t see more than a few feet ahead of her.” She looked straight at her daughter. “And she knows this.”

Marinette wanted to bang her head against the desk. Why couldn’t Lila just say that? She’d have understood.

Mrs. Rossi looked at the class, “I am so sorry for any trouble my daughter may have caused.” She looked at Tim. “I hope this doesn’t cast a negative light on any prospective business relations.”

Tim shook his head, “Kids will be kids. Let’s continue to speak over lunch.”

“I’ll see you at home, Lila,” Mrs. Rossi said.

Tim grinned, “Marinette, I’ll see you after school. Jason.”

Jason got to leave only to stumble nearly down the stairs. He cast a quick glare at Chloe.

The blond gave him a vicious smirk, “Walk much?”

“Oh it’s on,” Jason hissed.

Marinette rolled her eyes. Last year, she had wished with all her might that her friends would see Lila for who she really was. Now the truth was out. Lila had been exposed.

Regrettably, Marinette had already lost all her friends. And those who were still her friends, already knew the truth. So it wouldn’t change much. She’d had already forgiven her ex-friends a long time ago. Marinette just had to intention of being friends with them again. Still, it was a victory.

Fuck Santa; this round went Marinette.

The Justice League had been stunned when they learned that the masked hero Ladybug who was protecting Paris in an adorable bright red suit, who seemed to be made of sunshine, rainbows, and happiness was Batman’s daughter. Like so stunned that as soon as they saw her secret Identity of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and her takedown of monsters twelve times her size; one or two (or twelve) asked Superman to take a DNA test too. Because Bruce Wayne wasn’t the only black-haired Superhero around, and you know things happen.

…Batman hadn’t been happy when Oracle alerted him that someone in the Watch Tower was running his daughter’s DNA against Superman’s.

“How sure are we?” Hal Jordan asked. “The DNA results never came back. How do we know she’s not Big S’s?”

The main members of the Justice League were waiting for Batman and his family to arrive. Then they were would officially be introduced to the hero Ladybug.

Superman glared, “Stop it. Batman already brought out the kryptonite the last time you mentioned it.”

Wonder man nodded, “Her civilian self is the spitting image of Bruce.”

“All of his kids have dark hair and light eyes,” The Flash reminded them. “One of like seven or twelve, or however many he has now, we know for sure is his.”

“They are all his,” Black Canary stated with a growl. She and Oliver had adopted Roy when he was young but that didn’t make the boy any less hers.

Just then the light of the zeta beam sounded and Batman and Ladybug appeared in the room. The clear contrast between the two was startling.

The Dark, brooding, Knight of Gotham dressed in all black with a look on his face that could’ve made Superman wince in fear. Ladybug, dressed in bright red, with a big, cheerful, smile on her face and large blue eyes that looked positively mesmerized by the heroes.

“I brought cookies,” The small girl chirped as she motioned to the goodies in her hands. “And apple pie! It’s a family recipe. I made them myself. I really hope you like them.”

Batman glared worsen to the point where a few Justice League members feared for their lives. The message was clear; they’d like them. Or else.

“I’m sure they’re wonderful,” Diana smiled. “Come on, let me show you where we’ll be meeting.

Marinette tried not to stare in awe at her favorite superhero. “I also brought Vegan. And gluten-free cookies. I wanted to make sure everyone could get some.” She said as she was led away.

The world-renowned heroes visibly cooed at the young hero. She was the most adorable thing they’d ever laid eyes on.

The Flash laughed, “What did you bring, Bats?”

“Death,” Batman growled as stalked after his daughter.

Cyborg swallowed hard. “I’m not saying you’re right,” He told Hal and Barry. “I’m saying for this type of situation; Maury is classier than Jerry Springer.”

Superman groaned. They were going to get him killed.

“Apple pie!” The flash said. “She brought Apple, Clark; it’s a sign from the gods.”

Ladybug briefing them on her hero journey had been riveting. The Justice League had always been aware of Ladybug's existence. Once aware of her, Diana had told them all the history of the Miraculous and how her own mother used to be one of the users. Ladybug, with Chat Noir for a time, handled herself and protected the city well. They saw no reason to interfere. The Justice League had strict rules of interfering with another’s heroes’ turf. They figured if Ladybug needs help, the hero would call on them. They never knew she was a child.

Her age bothered them.

“She can’t protect the city,” Aquaman said. “We’ll need to step in.”

“Excuse me,” Marinette said.

The Flash nodded, “We’ll need to run Intel. I’ll have Vibe take a look at things.”

“Wait! I don’t think you-” Marinette started but was cut off.

“The magic is ancient and powerful,” Hawkman interrupted. “We should call Constantine. Or Doctor Fate perhaps.”

Ladybug shook her head, “That wouldn’t be a good idea!”

Green Lantern waved her off, “It’s fine, kid. We’ll handle it. While we’re at it; consider joining Young Justice or Teen Titans. Get you some training before you call yourself a real hero. Until then stick with the little league team.”

Marinette froze. What did he just say? White-hot anger coursed through her veins.

And to think she always dreamed of meeting the Justice League; of standing face to face with the heroes after having proven herself; proven that she was just as much of a superhero as they. However, Marinette knew she was already a hero. And no one would tell her otherwise.

The round went to Santa. But Marinette would have her due.

Fuck Santa!

Superman said, “We’ll start having unplaced league members scouting the area. They’ll notify us at the first sign of Hawkmoth.”

“ENOUGH!” Marinette yelled. She growled at the heroes. “Who the hell do you think you are?” The silence that followed that question was deafening. “You know nothing of Hawkmoth; saw nothing of what I’ve been through. There is a reason I never called in the league. Superpowered individuals still have emotions; still anger. He can turn any of you into akumas. Get inside your heads; learn who you really are. You’ll be a toy for him. Batman brought me here to meet you; not for you to pretend you know how to do my job.”

She glared at the room and then zeroed in on the Green Lantern. Within seconds, Ladybug had yanked him out of his seat, pulled the ring off his finger, and held by his collar as the man detransformed. “Real Hero? You think I’m not a real hero? I’ve fought monsters nightmares couldn’t even begin to fathom. You want to see what I’m capable of, Glow Stick? How about I take you to the nearest training room and see if you bleed green?”

Batman stood up, “My team will be running point on the Paris situation; following Ladybug lead. You’ll refrain from entering the city of Paris until further notice. That is all.” He looked at his daughter and had to fight to keep the smile off his face. “Ladybug let Green Lantern go, and give him back his ring.”

Ladybug huffed, “I’ll give him back his ring. And then I want ten minutes alone with him.”

Hal gulped.

“No,” Batman said. “We must leave. You have to get ready for Winter break. Next time.”

Ladybug glared and then dropped the hero on the ground. “Next time,” She promised.

Then swiftly the father and daughter duo departed.

Once the two were gone, Wonder Woman chuckled, “Anyone else want to question Ladybug’s Paternity. Anyone?”

Barry had to fight the shivers that went through him. Ladybug had Batman’s glare and knew how to use it. “Nope. Never again.”

Marinette’s first night in Gotham was memorable. The entire bat family had been waiting for Marinette when she arrived; Bruce, Alfred, Kate, Dick, Barbara, Jason, Cassandra, Tim, Stephanie, Luke, and Damian. Alfred, the man her brothers had deemed their grandfather, had welcomed her with open arms and a dinner that was more like a feast than a simple meal.

On the outside, Wayne manor looked like any home in the neighborhood; quiet, idealistic, and seemingly perfect.

On the inside, as soon as Bruce and Alfred stepped away for a moment, her siblings took her to the Batcave. It was as grand as she always imagined. Then someone (Tim) brought out lightsabers.

Marinette thought it was a fancy version of the toy she used to love so much as a kid; her only complaint was that the plastic swords only came in green, red and the occasional blue. She really wanted a pink one and had put it on her Christmas list for two years straight.

She pressed the button, only for the sword handle to heat up, and a pink laser rises out of it. “Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“…This is a real lightsaber,” The heat from the sword threated to burn or hand a little. Or worse. She’d seen all the movies. She knew how this usually ended up.

“Yep.”

Marinette nodded slowly. Because what the heck.

“Just go with it,” Luke shrugged. “Just-just go with it.” He sounded like a defeated man. A tired one at that.

“Don’t be like that!” Dick smiled, “Family bond time is the best time.”

“Jedi versus Sith?” Marinette just asked.

Tim pointed a bright gold lightsaber at her, “Jedi versus Sith.”

Marinette looked around at the different colored and very, very dangerous lightsabers. There was no way this could possibly go well. And with the way her Kate, aka Batwoman, was smirking there was no way Alfred would consider her proper adult supervision. Someone was going to lose a hand. Or die. Most likely both.

But she wouldn’t back down. This was more or less her eight-year-old self’s dream. It was also likely to get her killed.

…Marinette would take those odds.

“What team am I on?” She asked.

Cassandra shook her head, “Up to you. Good versus is a chose; just a game though,” She cast Stern looks at Jason, Tim, and Damian, who now sported black robes, clearly, by the Darth Maul make up that had somehow appeared on Damian’s face, were clearly Sith Lords.

Santa thought this would scare her. That she would be cowed into submission. Finally admit defeat. Well, Marinette only had one thing to say to that. Two things actually.

“Give in to the dark side, sister,” Damian ordered her. His lightsaber was red and had two sides to it much like the character he matched.

Marinette got into a fighting stance, “Not today.”

And Fuck Santa.

…

Alfred and Bruce were not happy when they finally located the children.

Or the fact that someone had to get their hand reattached.

It was two to two. Christmas day had arrived. Marinette had expected the worst; had geared up for the worst.

Nothing happened.

Marinette spent the day with her family.

Her parents had even arrived from Paris on the day before Christmas eve.

They shared presents. They sang songs. The entire family was together. It snowed outside. She and all of her siblings had a snowball fight while her parents and Alfred watched from the porch.

It was a perfect Christmas day.

Except for one thing…

Marinette knew the truth.

The perfect day was the result of one thing…

Santa was preparing too. He didn’t back down. The fight wasn’t over yet. He was too busy to mess with her on Christmas Eve or Christmas. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean anything.

Everyone knew the Holiday season didn’t officially end until January 1st.

After New Year’s eve.

That was the final round.

The match to end all matches.

On New Years’ Eve, it would be war.

Roy wore a tailored tux as he walked her down the carpet, passed the flashing lights of the paparazzi.

Marinette never thought she’d fight the most battle of her life in a ballgown. It was a jaw-dropping, off the shoulder, floor length silver dress with lacy unique floral accents. Her hair was in a side-braid with small forget-me-nots on top of her hair like a crown.

It was her battle armor, and she was ready for anything.

It was a promise, she made to herself.

…

Okay so it turns out, Marinette lied to herself.

She wasn’t ready for anything. She did not stand a chance against Santa. He was a jerk. And she was six-second from throwing in the towel and running off crying.

Marinette had known exactly who was attending the ball. She had memorized every guest on the list. Trying to figure out exactly what the fat guy who throws out her. As soon as she saw exactly which celebrities were coming. She knew.

The first punch had been the man ten-year-old Marinette swore she was going marry. Harry freaking Styles.

But Marinette had prepared herself. It would be a quick conversation and then she wouldn’t speak to him for the rest of the night.

When she met the superstar, Marinette had smiled and laughed; had a good conversation, wasn’t even awkward at all. She wasn’t the overly One Direction obsessed 10-year-old anymore.

It was a hard hit, and the best conversation of her life, but Marinette didn’t go down.

Santa’s next move was a cheap shot, and she stumbled.

Marinette had been trying to find a quiet place to think for herself so could get strengthen up a bit but, to avoid one of her brothers (Dick), she collided straight into Nick Jonas and fell on her butt.

She hadn’t even realized it at first as he helped her up.

“Thank you,” Marinette said kindly, as she brushed off her dress. When she looked up and saw exactly who had collided with, her face turned a bright red. “You’re Nick Jonas,” She squeaked; literally squeaked. She wanted to die.

Nick Jonas. She loved Nick Jonas. She listen to all his songs; even his old Jonas Brothers ones. She had always wanted to meet the singer; she had dreamed about it.

“Yeah,” Nick smiled. “You alright.”

No. Marinette was not alright.

Still, she chirped a quick, “I’m fine.” And introduced herself.

Then he said, “Love your dress.”

“I made it! I can make you one!” Slipped out before she could stop it.

He just laughed though, “How about a suit instead?”

Yeah, so that happened.

And the night just got worse from there.

…

Santa gave her a combo hit; worthy of a champion.

Not many knew but Marinette was a huge Harry Potter fangirl. Hermione Granger was her all-time favorite. She was a hardcore Harmony shipper; Harry/Hermione forever.

Tim knew it though. He was a big-time fan as well. And he thought it would be a great idea to introduce Marinette to the actress who played her favorite character; Emma Watson.

It was not a good idea. At all.

The first words out of Marinette’s mouth upon seeing Emma Watson were literally, “It's leviOsa, not levioSA!”

And it was at the point that Marinette just wanted to call it a night.

Emma had laughed it off, promising she got it all the time.

…

Marinette met Chris Hemsworth and just wouldn’t stop giggling.

Stephanie had to pull her away.

It was then that she knew Santa had her on the ropes.

…

She met Big Time Rush.

The boy band had become internally famous over the last few years. Not as big as One Direction but they still had their dedicated fans. Marinette was one of them

Kendall Knight, James Diamond, Carlos Garcia, and Logan Mitchell. They were all eighteen

It should’ve have been easy. She liked their band but not nearly as much as she liked Harry Styles, or Emma Watson, Or Chris Hemsworth.

Still, she hadn’t seen James asking her to dance coming.

However, Marinette had remained calm and cool.

It’s a pity, she was still such a klutz.

Suffice to say, Marinette wouldn’t be listening to Big Time Rush for a while. And James Diamond wouldn’t be asking strange girls to dance any time soon.

Santa gave her a punch right in the face.

…

She ran into Tom Holland the exact moment she got the hiccups. He did his best to help her get rid of them

…

Marinette had just stuffed an entire cupcake in her mouth when she realized Jennifer Lawrence was standing next to her. It wasn’t too bad. As the blond did the same thing a second later.

…

She pointed at Johnny Depp and said, “Jack Sparrow. You’re Jack Sparrow. Oh my god!!!”

To which he replied, “Captain Jack Sparrow.”

…

Suffice to say, Santa didn’t have Marinette on the robes anymore.

No, Marinette was on the floor; waiting for the referee to call it.

…

It was an hour until the official New Year. Fifteen minutes until Marinette was supposed to perform. She was backstage. Everyone was waiting for her. She promised Tim.

And she found that she just couldn’t do it.

The entire night was too much.

It was all too much.

It was over.

She had lost.

“Rough night?” Roy, her date and pretend boyfriend asked.

Marinette was sitting on a chair, her face in her hands, “You have no idea.”

Roy sat next to her, “Pretty exciting though right?” He didn’t get an answer. “Tim said you met Emma Watson, that had to be awesome.”

“It was embarrassing.”

Roy frowned, “Sabine told me you used to dress up as Hermione Granger all time. You’re saying meeting the Queen herself wasn’t even a little cool?”

Yeah, it had been amazing to meet her in person. “A little cool.”

Roy chuckled, “You met Harry Styles,” He reminded. “And from your blond bestie told me; my only real competition.”

Marinette giggled. “That had been… awesome.” And everything.

“You met Chris Hemsworth,” He added. “Tom Holland, Big Time Rush, and a bunch of other celebs that I’ve been told you were huge fans of. Yeah, you were a little embarrassed.” He shook his head. “But I don’t get it; I’d be so psyched right now if I were you. So why aren’t you.”

Marinette paused.

Why wasn’t she?

Marinette had met people she never even dared to really hope she’d ever meet one day. She wore the most beautiful dress in her entire life; danced with Roy Queen and James Diamond. Joked with Harry Styles. Talked Emma Watson the actress who played the character she loved most out of all the books, tv shows, and movies she’d ever loved.

It was all a matter of perspective really. Marinette was so focused on the bad, she never even realized just how great it was. Santa had thrown the worst at her but was still there. She hadn’t run back to Wayne Manor no matter how much she had wanted to. She stayed strong.

At one point, she knew for certain that she wouldn’t just surrender; after the Chris Hemsworth incident. If Santa wanted to win, he was going to have to knock her out.

“Thanks, Roy,” She said. “I couldn’t wish for a better date.”

It was the most amazing night of her life.

And no one was going to make her feel otherwise.

Marinette stood up, determination on her face.

She had a song to sing.

…

Marinette stood on stage. The crowd looked up at her. Her hands were shaking. Her mouth felt dry. The lights were near blinding. She had changed the song at the last minute. The music was coming from her phone anyway.

Marinette knew the lyrics to the song by heart; had sung it a thousand times in her room to herself.

She could do this.

I will do this, Marinette swore.

The music started. It was her favorite song. And Marinette was going to sing it so loudly, so proudly; they could hear her in the North Pole.

“What if I told you

It was all meant to be

Would you believe me

Would you agree

It's almost that feelin'

That we've met before

So tell me that you don't think I'm crazy

When I tell you love has come and now.”

She was doing it. Marinette was really doing it. She always had a good voice. She had taken singing lessons for a long time. And her teachers always praised her talent. But after one terrible incident, she never thought she’d ever get on stage and sing in front of anyone again.

But there she was.

“A moment like this

Some people wait a lifetime

For a moment like this

Some people search forever…

Honestly, Marinette could fall right on her face and it would stop the euphoric feeling coursing through. This was her victory song.

Jolly Saint Nick had thrown at her more than she ever thought she could take. But she was still standing.

And as long as she was, the big red guy would never win.

For that one special kiss

Oh, I can't believe it's happening to me

Some people wait a lifetime

For a moment like this…”

The music faded. The applause from the audience roared.

…

Marinette and Roy slow danced to something my Celine Dion neither could recognize. The New Year was less than two minutes away.

“You’re looking a lot better,” Roy smirked. He knew he was good at Pep talks to matter what Artemis said.

“I feel better,” Marinette admitted. “It’s been an awesome few weeks.”

“Yeah?” Roy asked as he twirled her around.

Marinette nodded, “Nearly Every. One. Of. My. Christmas wishes came true.” She tried not to growl. Positive outlook after.

“Santa must be out to get you.”

Marinette looked up at Roy with appreciation, “You have no idea.”

“Anything he didn’t get to?” The redhead asked. “Something you can do for yourself first?”

“Countdown to New Years in 10!”

Marinette thought about it for a second but she realized there was. There was one more thing on her list, that she added at the very beginning of Christmas.

“Yeah, there is.” She said. “Do you want to kiss me.”

Roy nodded earnestly.

The crowd counted down. “7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1” And then Marinette kissed Roy.

Balloons came from above. Everyone cheered. But Marinette kept kissing Roy.

She always wanted a New Year’s kiss.

Take that and stick it up your chimney, Santa.

Marinette was officially the winner.

Nevertheless, there was always next year.

But for now, fuck Santa!

#ml salt #ml fic #marinette dupen chang #Marinette deserves better #batfamily

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nxrthmizu · 4 years

Text

[Broken Hearts and Empty Ones]- Daminette Songfic: ‘The Only Exception’, ft. Paramore

---

When I was younger

I saw my daddy cry

And curse at the wind

Damian crouched outside the door of the office, hearing Bruce’s muffled sobs echoing softly in the secluded area of the manor. The fact that Bruce was crying was nerve-wracking enough- But crying over a woman? That was something else- Especially since that woman was his mother.

He broke his own heart

And I watched

As he tried to reassemble it

Damian watched as his father kept a straight face at breakfast the next morning, the cries and tears of last night only a distant memory- Perhaps even a dream. He watched the way Bruce looked at Tim and Stephanie with that wistful spark in his eyes. He watched the way tears- Not happy tears, but broken-hearted tears- Gathered in his father’s eyes when Dick and Barbara got married.

And my momma swore

That she would never let herself forget

When Damian was still young, he remembered how his mother would put on the cold, uncaring expression on despite the fact she just caught the title of ‘Gotham Playboy Bruce Wayne Caught With (---)’ on the first page of the latest news.

She raised him, telling him that no one was trustable, that giving out his heart would only result in it getting broken.

And that was the day that I promised

I'd never sing of love

If it does not exist,

She’d made him promise, she said: “Don’t you ever let love be your weakness.” and Damian had swore, Damian had squeezed every ounce of affection out of his system, had made sure he’d never develop a crush on anyone.

but darlin'

You are, the only exception

The first day he’d met her in college, he’d scoffed at the sight of a weak, frail girl- Clearly, this was someone who gave her heart away too easily- And got it returned, broken.

You are, the only exception

But the next day, she’d brought him a paper bag of macarons and she’d told him to eat up. And then, out of sheer curiosity, he asked why she’d let her heart get broken. She took one look at him, and told him that his heart was as empty as hers was broken, and then pushed the paper bag closer to him.

You are, the only exception

He’d been offended at first, and refused to talk to her. He’d given her the cold shoulder, telling himself it was better to have an empty heart than a broken one. But even though he’d ignored her, brushed her aside, and spat at her about keeping to her own business, without fail, everyday, he’d have a bag of fresh macarons on his table.

There was even one day when he thought she’d stopped making macarons, but later, when he was at the library, studying, she’d dropped by, setting a bag of macarons on his table, walking away without another word. And although he didn’t want to admit it, he ate all of the macarons (Only because they were good and it was a pity to throw them away).

You are, the only exception

Then, after that, he’d find a bag of fresh, toasty macarons inside the mailbox of his hostel, everyday. But on a faithful Friday, two weeks after she’d told him his heart was empty- He found a sticky note on his bag of macarons. It read: Broken hearts take time to fix, but an empty heart takes affection to mend.

One part of him scoffed at how cringey it was, how naive she was. But another part of him pocketed the note, another part of him held the note to his heart in the dark, and smiled like a teenager in love.

---

Maybe I know, somewhere

Deep in my soul

That love never lasts

If she was being honest, Marinette saw it coming. From the day she’d asked him out, to the day he broke it off, she’d always knew that he was too good for her, and that her love would never be enough to tie him down.

And we've got to find other ways

To make it alone

But keep a straight face

She’d refused to be the girl who spent hours crying over her breakup, but that didn’t mean she didn’t shed a few tears while watching romantic movies, all alone in the apartment that she had spent so much time in with him.

And I've always lived like this “You can keep it,” He said, tossing the keys of their apartment to her, his arm around his new, smirking girlfriend, who looked as proud as the cat who got the canary.

She’d caught the keys with shaking hands, dripping tears, and a broken heart. Keeping a comfortable, distance After one week of mourning the silence in the apartment, she got herself together. She made designs, she listened to breakup songs, she attended college while earning money off commissions.

And up until now

Once in a while, she’d find something that was his, and then think: Wow, he’s been gone for three months now.

I had sworn to myself

“I’m happy,” She said, a sad smile on her face as her friends got engaged, one by one.

that I'm content

“I’m happy,” She told her parents, a bright smile on her lips, a heavy weight jerking on her chest as she glanced at her mother’s wedding ring.

With loneliness “I’m happy,” She whispered, sitting alone in a quiet apartment, knowing that the rest of her friends were shopping for wedding gowns.

Because none of it was ever worth the risk

She cried and screamed when she found a framed photo of her and him, six months ago, his arm around her waist and matching, in-love smiles on their faces.

But, you are, the only exception

When she looked at him, the new boy in her college class, she saw- Nothing. There was no love, no hate, no joy, no despair. And for some reason, a voice in her head told her that yes, she was going to help him.

You are, the only exception

She picked up the spatula, hesitating, remembering all the times she baked home-made pastries for him until the day that she found the pastries she’d packed for him to eat at work in the trash can, all of them untouched. She shook her head, and told herself no, she would never again associate the thought of baking with him.

You are, the only exception

Everyday, without fail, she packed macarons for him, and everyday, she found her heart slowly, slowly piecing itself back together. And every morning, she found herself waking up with a smile, getting up to gather her ingredients and make more fresh macarons for him.

You are, the only exception

It went to the point where she gained the courage to put a sticky note on his bag of macarons, and as she was writing, she glanced up, catching view of herself in the mirror. Her eyes had stopped being sunken; The dark circles beneath were gone; And most of all- A soft, genuine smile was stretched across her lips.

---

I've got a tight grip on reality

Damian decided enough was enough. He asked around for her apartment address, and on a Saturday morning, he waited for her, right outside her door.

But I can't let go of what's in front of me here

Oh, she’d been surprised, alright. Once the shock wore off, she’d smiled sweetly at him, and then Damian realised, as he looked at her, that she’d mended her heart. Sure, you could still see the little flaws and cracks in her once-full heart, but somehow, she’d gathered the million shatters of her heart and then stuck them back together.

“Hey...?” She greeted unsurely, and he noted the recycled bags in her hand. “Good morning.”

He nodded in response, his tongue absolutely tied. He fiddled with her sticky note inside his pocket, and gestured with his other hand for her to go on with her day. He was grateful that she didn’t ask any questions about why he was following her. The two walked to the subway, took three stops down, and emerged on a busy street. After another bit of a walk, they stopped at the grocery store.

“So, why did you follow me to the grocery store?” She asked, arms crossed.

He only shrugged and gestured for her to go on. He carried the basket as she picked up her usual ingredients, eyeing Damian with a wary glance. Flour, almond ground, meringue. When she was done, she went over to take the basket from him, but he held on firmly. She raised an eyebrow but never said anything as they made their way to the paying counter. When she was about to take out her purse to pay, he gave the cashier his credit card.

When she protested, he had said: “The least I can do is pay for the ingredients.” She went quiet, and then everything made sense.

On the way back to the subway station, he had insisted on carrying the bags like the gentleman he was. Sure- He might’ve never had a crush on a girl before, but Bruce and Alfred made sure he was raised right.

I know you’re leaving in the morning, when you wake up

“You know, you’re really incredible.” He said, smiling at her.

“Oh?” The corner of her mouth lifted. “How so?”

Leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream, oh

He took out the sticky note from his pocket, and the shock on her face was something he would never forget. “Remember this?” The note was wrinkled and stained- It was pretty obvious that he had opened it and re-folded it many, many times. “You said ‘A broken heart takes time to fix, but an empty heart takes affection to mend’.”

She nodded, unsure of where the conversation was going. “You’re really incredible, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” He repeated. “In under two weeks, you managed to fix both a broken heart and an empty one.”

They stopped walking, and she stared at him.

You are, the only exception

”You actually listened to what I said.” She said, finally. “I didn’t think you would.”

You are, the only exception

He shrugged. “I thought I’d never fall in love, either, but look where I am now.” He smiled softly. “You really are something else.”

You are, the only exception

She blushed.

You are, the only exception

“You have to promise me something, though.” He put on a serious face. “Promise me you’ll never stop making macarons for me.”

She hit him playfully, and then Damian knew in that instant, his empty heart had been mended.

You are, the only exception

On a Friday evening, as she returned from the campus library, Marinette glimpsed something sticking out of her apartment mailbox. She opened it cautiously, afraid that it was a prank. A paper bag sat quietly inside, a little letter lying next to it. She peered into the paper bag, letting out a delighted squeal when she spied a container with disfigured-looking cream puffs.

You are, the only exception

The letter, which she opened later in her apartment, read: This was my first attempt at making cream puffs. I know they probably aren’t the best payment to you, especially since your macarons always look perfect and let’s not mention you fixed my ‘empty heart’ (Your words, not mine). So... If the cream puffs aren’t good enough of a repayment, could I possibly make it up to you with a date? Tomorrow night, 6pm? Sincerely, your-once-empty-hearted-boy, Damian Wayne.

You are, the only exception

Three months later, she’d decided that the apartment was still a little painful to live in, and after selling it off, both she and Damian had put together the money that they had from doing commissions and working at a cafe respectively, and they’d bought a little apartment not too far from the college.

You are, the only exception

One evening, two years after they’d graduated- She’d dressed up nicely to go on a date- He’d said ‘dress extra nice’ in his text, then added: ‘don’t worry too much, you’d look good in whatever you pick’. Once the taxi had dropped her off, she looked around the lavender field that Damian had instructed her to go to- face brightening when she saw her beloved once-empty-hearted boy.

It was difficult not to squeal as he got on one knee, taking a velvet box out of his back pocket. Both of them were shaking with emotions, and Damian hadn’t even gotten the first word out and he was already getting teary. Marinette was seconds from sobbing out of happiness.

“Marinette,” He took her hand, his voice shaking. “When we first met, you told me I was as empty-hearted as your were broken.” Damian swallowed. “And even after I snapped at you, brushed you off, you still made those macarons for me.” Both of them shared a teary laugh. “And under two weeks, you fixed both your broken heart and my empty one. So,” He choked, his heart nearly bursting from the pressure. “Will you let me be your once-empty-hearted-boy forever, and let me marry you?”

“Yes,” Marinette laughed, tears dripping down her cheeks. “A thousand times yes!”

And I'm on my way to believing

Damian, standing at the altar with his father and brothers next to him, couldn’t believe how lucky he was. Just because this one girl in his college class had looked at him and decided that she was going to help fix his heart, he was getting married. Bruce, for once, didn’t look broken-hearted at a wedding as Selina smiled proudly from the front row seat.

Oh, and I'm on my way to believing.

Marinette, in her beautiful, white ballgown, arm-in-arm with her father, bit her lip, trying not to cry and ruin her makeup. In their relationship, Damian was wrong about one thing- Marinette didn’t fix her broken heart on her own. Damian was the one who mended her broken heart- The thought of Damian eating her macarons- And when he told her to promise to make those macarons for him for the rest of their lives- That, was the very moment that Marinette’s heart blossomed again.

They were each other’s exceptions.

---

I am not kidding you I CRIED WHILE REREADING THIS that is how emotional i am people and whoop am i getting a hold of my procrastination! I wrote a chapter of lord bug robin and kitty noir- And it was a mighty long chapter, too, and then i wrote this. Whoaaaaa i did a lot of writing for one day~ I’ve been writing since like, after lunch, and now, it’s almost six (Where i’m from it’s almost six) and i’ve been writing for like... Six hours. *claps self on back and gives self reward sticker* and if i tagged you and you didn’t want to be tagged I'm sowy :( i just copied the tag lists from my lord bug and hogwarts au... Sowy if you didn’t want to be tagged... And I'm a hundred percent sure that some people were tagged twice... Anyways love y’all <3

(Tag list! @yin-390 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog@constancetruggle@the-navistar-carol @never-neverland @rayray384@mystery-5-5 @black-streak@bluerosette23 @seraphichana @you-will-never-know-how-i-think@mikantsume @graduatedmelon@thebookwormfairy@crazylittlemunchkin@shizukiryuu @screamingtofillthevoid@serenacross200@zestyzealot@redscarlet95 @roseinbloom02 @beautym3@resignedcatservant@sizzling-fairy-oil @tinybrie @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry@lunar-wolf-warrior@northernbluetongue @dannyelric301 @daminett4life@loysydark @sparkle9510@erick-rose99-stuff @nataladriana9 @maya-custodios-dionach @myazael @sassakitty @clumsy-owl-4178 @emootaku-666)

Tag list: @kceedraws @constancetruggle @ellerahs @2sunchild2 @mystery-5-5 @ki117h3dr4g0n @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @tbehartoo @resignedcatservant @im-here-for-the-content @mooshoon @darkened-flame @spicybelladonna @whomthefyck @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @xxmadamjinxx @rhub4rb @a-marlene-s @mochinek0 @zalladane @t-nikki10 @angelicbookfangirl @politelyvicious @mikantsume @iggy-of-fans @shizukiryuu @littleredrobinhoodlum @thebananathatwrites @my-name-is-michell @7-sage-7 @linnyalou @ladylb @particularlygeeky @vivilakitty @iglowinggemma28 @alexzandria-747 @luciferge @lunar-wolf-warrior @aurordraws @urbanpineapplefarmer @clumsy-owl-4178 @creator-josie @driftingmoonlitpetals @fiendsangelical @mjisntme @two-faced-biatch @thecatnipmademedoit @northernbluetongue

#damian wayne mlbdc #marinette dupaincheng mlbdc #i nearly cried writing this btw if anyone was wondering #the only exception #paramore #mlbdc #mlb x dc #miraculous ladybug x dc #daminette #damian wayne x marinette dupain cheng #bruce wayne mlbdc #poor baby bruce #talia al ghul mlbdc #I'm crying guys

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stitchlesswitch · 4 years

Note

have a question and haven't found anyone to answer it.. I've got very mixed feelings on doing any sort of cursing or jinxing of people because I feel like it's not my place and God will be upset... Thoughts and opinions? 👉🏻👈🏻

Oh man, that’s an excellent question, and I hope I can do it justice, but please keep in mind I am no way the final authority on the subject matter. Buckle up, because you made the mistake of asking a particularly wordy person. I’ll try to break it up to be more digestible.

TLDR: Do No Harm ... But Take No Shit

PS: Binding and Banishing Spells are pretty good “christian” alternatives -- to me, anyways. See the bottom of the really long post below.

Inadvertent Masterpost Below?

Opinion on Other Witches Using Curses

In terms of Other witches using cursing, hexes, and jinxes---don’t judge them. (Don’t call it black/dark magic either. It associates “black” or “dark” with “negative/bad/harmful” which has racist repercussions.) To me, it is not a Christian’s place to pass judgement on how other people live their lives.

Now this might confuse some people, and in fact it already has, because I literally just made a post where I told people to not curse donald trump--to clarify, I was kidding. It was supposed to be irony/satire.

Opinion on Christian Witches in General Using Curses

In terms of Christian witches cursing/hexing/jinxing, it’s the same rule, I don’t tell other christians/christian witches how to practice their religion. But it gets really complicated, because there’s obviously a line, right? Like if someone starts using Christianity to be homophobic or racist or as an excuse to oppress other groups, Obviously I’m gonna step up and try to stop them. As christians, I feel we have a certain obligation to stop other people from warping and twisting our faith into a tool of hate. So how does cursing/hexing/jixing fit into that line of thought?

In terms of other Christians using curses/jinxes/hexing, to me it’s a two sided coin. Either they are doing it to be malicious, in which case that’s their personal problem between them and their God. I’m not the sin police. I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I espouse Christianity in all my words and actions. On the other side of the coin, and this is really important, they could do be doing it for the sake of Justice, or even in defense of worthy causes. For example, cursing an abuser, or hexing white supremacists. So that’s the distinction I hold, and I feel it’s important to separate: essentially, don’t tell people how to live, but don’t stand by and let them use christianity as a tool of oppression either.

My Personal Opinion on Cursing as an Individual Christian Witch

But, it goes even further, and I think this is really the heart of your question: how do I feel, personally, as a Christian witch, about curses in the name of justice? How are we supposed to know God’s thoughts/feelings/opinions about enacting negative consequences for the sake of a good and just cause? I think that, with all things, it depends.

Defense

I think using curses against someone who is abusing you in any way is entirely justified as self defense. I refuse to believe that God would want you to just lie there helpless and suffering if you have the means, any means, to stop it.

Vengeance

Now this is a big one, and the most complicated one. Especially if the person in question is a past abuser. I have a few of those in my life, and the temptation to curse them, is really powerful sometimes. It’s really hard, because one of the staples of Christianity is forgiveness. We’re taught to believe that those who are evil will get whats coming to them in the afterlife, therefore we do not need to seek retribution against them in this life. So I had to analyze my fundamental beliefs. Perhaps you too, could benefit from these questions:

Why did I become a Christian witch? What is it that I hope to get out of being a Christian witch? And the answer to that question is that I’m trying to be a better person, a better Christian. I am a Christian witch because I’m actually an incredibly hateful, angry, and violent person--I’m trying to use christian witchcraft to undo that. So to curse as a Christian witch would be hypocritical and counter-productive In My Case. Cursing For Me, would go against my core reasons for being a Christian witch.

Secondly, Do I accept letting God take responsibility for seeking vengeance on my behalf? I had to ask myself that--do I trust God? Do I relinquish control of justice into God’s hands? And again, because control issues and trust issues are major problems I’m struggling with, it is in line with my practice to say yes to those questions. To say no I don’t trust God and I don’t relinquish control when it comes to seeking justice, would be counter-productive against my core reasons for being a Christian witch.

But if you have entirely different reasons why you are a Christian witch, then your answers might differ.

Social Justice--Cursing Against Injustice in General

I always go back to this quote: “When we go before Him, God will ask, “Where are your wounds? And we will say, “I have no wounds.” And God will ask, “Was there nothing worth fighting for?”— Allan Boesak (via shaneclouw)

To me, I very much believe that God would want us to stand up for those who are being persecuted. In these cases, things along the lines of “hexing white supremacists” is quite acceptable in my perspective. But that’s because I’m a fighter.

Like I said, I’m a very violent and angry person. I have Zero issue with using violence for the sake of what I believe is right. BUT, not all Christians are like me. Some Christians are pacifists. I know people who are pure love, who are incapable of hate, who couldn’t hurt a fly if their life depended on it. Those are the kind of people that violent and angry people like me are supposed to protect. Does that make sense?

Not all Christians choose to respond to injustice with bloodthirst the way that I do. And I can’t sit here and pretend that there is only one correct way to respond to injustice. Both the fighters and the lovers are important and necessary in the response to injustice. Your wounds don’t automatically have to come as a result of being violent.

( This post is a cool resource fyi )

Protection Post and Hexes for BLM Movement from @littlewitchygreen

Talk to Your God

You don’t have to take my word for it. Try to pray, use divination, journal, ask for signs. Communicate with God. Easier said than done, I know. And God sometimes specifically withholds answers because he wants to see what we’ll do. But I really don’t recommend just jumping into something so serious without having multiple talks with your deity about it first.

It’s Not Black and White

Take this post for example, what magic does the bible prohibit? a very good post. Except, shit’s just not that simple. For example, the Bible unequivocally says, “Thou Shall Not Kill” -- but if someone is attacking me, you bet your ass I’ll kill them without hesitation, remorse, or mercy. Another example, it explicitly prohibits contacting the dead. Well I Regularly speak to love ones that died at their grave--could that count as contacting? Maybe maybe not. The point is we Love to pretend that Religion is just So Simple and Black and White and it just fucking isn’t. We can’t box the creator of the universe into a dichotomy.

Christian Alternatives

Protection Spells/Return to Sender

In some cases, protection spells can accomplish the same thing in a less malicious way, by simply keeping negativity the fuck away from you.

Ultimate Protection Magic Masterpost

[part 1]

[part 2]

Source: auricwitch

Baneful Magic Countermeasures from @breelandwalker

Return to Sender Protection Jar from @shroud-of-roses

Return to Sender Spell from @cyncrow

Return to Sender Masterlist from @the-canary

So you think you’ve been cursed from @sylvaetria

Banishing Spells

Definition: Banish--to forcefully remove something; to put an end to something. Source: lunaesteria. Banish--To magically end something, Or to rid the presence of. Definitely works on people. Source: unknown but not me sorry.

Methodology:

Banishing - take an item that represents what you wish to banish and: throw it in the trash, flush it down the toilet, burn it, bury it, drown it; burn the item and sweep the ashes out the back door or bury them; carve the name of what you want to banish into a black candle and let it burn down completely; transmute negative energy into a stone (preferably a black stone like onyx) and throw it over the fence in your backyard (or whichever direction is south in reference to your home); stir your morning coffee or tea in a counter-clockwise motion while focusing on the intent of what energies you wish to banish for the day; using incense that is associated with banishing negative energy, walk around your space in a counter-clockwise motion with the lit incense in your hand. Source: lunaesteria

Specific Banishing Spells:

Other Examples of Banishing Spells and This One both from @sylvaetria

Christian Banishing: Banished with a Blessing

Binding Spells

Definition: Bind – to restrict the actions/behavior of someone or to tie them to another object, place, or situation Source: lunaesteria

spells – what’s a binding spell ..?

Methodology:

Binding & Sealing - wrap a string around a poppet or other representation of the target or item you wish to bind; put the poppet or other representation in a plastic bag filled with water and freeze it; place the item in a black box and seal it - store in a dark place or bury the box in your backyard; drip wax over the item. Source: lunaesteria

Specific Binding Spells: Search “witchcraft binding” on Tumblr and you will find a Ton of binding spells for a variety of different purposes/reasons. Unfortunately they are not compiled on a single post.

Christian Binding Spells:

Prayer to Bind someone who wishes you harm

I’m so Sorry I didn’t post the below spell I looked all over tumblr for the original person who posted it but I can’t find the post anywhere:

“Christian Witch Binding Spell

Disclaimer: This spell does not belong to me. It belongs to Aslinn Dhan. It’s in her Christian Witch’s Book of Shadows

Materials

Anthame Bowl

White and Black Candle

paper and pen

wand

Incense

Sacred Fire

salt water

Perform cleansing and the calling of the corners to begin each spell. Pour some of your water into a bowl and bless it with the sign of the cross. Using salt, cast your protective circle and light the white candle from your sacred fire. Place the candle in the center of your circle and with your wand intone:

Angels of the four corners, hear my cry. Carry my words to your Master and mine. Within this space stands one who believes Protect me and give me the strength I need.

Write the name of the one who is harassing you. Roll it like scroll or fold it and lay it in your sacred space.

On this paper is the name of who is vexing me. Bind them from harassing others, and me, from harming others or me. The harm they inflict comes back to them. By the power of three make it be. May their heart grow heavy with regret but may they make amends. St. Michael the Archangel, I ask your help in this matter.

Burn or otherwise destroy the paper.

Say the Lord’s Prayer.

Take up your wand and say

___________ I admonish you from harming yourself and others. Your hurtful ways harm not only others but yourself, Angels of the four corners, protect him from harm and protect others from being harmed by him.

Announce: Blessed Be!

Angels of the four corners carry the sentiment of this spell to God in heaven. May all of the elements of this spell enlighten me to help me to withstand evil and encourage those around me to put aside their evil ways that are harmful to themselves and to others. May all we do come back to us seven times.

Perform closing ritual.”

Why are Banishing and Binding Okay?

To some, they aren’t. To me, they are just more defensive. They aren’t saying “I specifically wish ill intent on you” it’s more along the lines of “I wish you would go away” and “I wish you would fucking stop doing that.” (Some will say you’re infringing upon free will with binding, but to that I say, I also fringe upon my dog’s free will when I stop her eating a doughnut off the counter idgaf free will is a myth.)

Tips for Cursing

You should never cast a curse unless you know how to undo it from @sylvaetria

How to undo a curse from @heatherwitch

Curse Breaking from @nightmarist

What I learned about Curses from @kendallscraft

Jinxes Hexes and Curses from @orriculum

Source: lunaesteria

✖ Spell & Curse Breaking ✖

Methods for negating spells you have cast:

Destroy the physical representation of the spell i.e. if your spell was contained within a jar, break the jar and dispose of the pieces

Disassemble the spell and cleanse each component individually

Place item in a bath of sea salt and dried herbs that are associated with cleansing and banishing - leave overnight and disassemble the spell when finished

Cleanse the item with moon or rain water and disassemble if applicable

Place the item in a black box to negate its effects

Bury the item for 3 days, retrieve it, then dispose of it

Bury the item on the night of the full moon and retrieve it at the next new moon

Create a sigil or written incantation with the intent of breaking the spell and place the item on top of the paper - leave in place overnight

Create a written incantation that includes the details of the spell - bury, burn, drown, rip apart, or throw it away

Light a black candle that is surrounded by sea salt while focusing on the intent of negating the spell - recite an incantation if you wish, and allow the candle to burn down; sweep the sea salt out your back door

Breaking and warding spells others have cast upon you:

Perform a “Return to Sender” spell - find a black taper candle; turn it upside down; cut the tip off and leave the wick in place; carve “return to sender” and the target’s name (or a description of them) into the candle; light the candle upside down and let it burn down completely

Leave a Witch Bottle outside of your home - it should contain items like: pins, needles, broken glass (to shred their negative intentions towards you); your name and the names of those who may be affected by this negative energy plus an incantation for protection (e.g. your loved ones, pets, anyone who lives in your home); and lemon juice, lime juice, or sea salt (to purify their negative energy so that it may not get to you)

Create a mixture of charcoal, chili powder, and sulfur powder - sprinkle around the perimeter of your home to stop a spell in its tracks

Alternately, you may combine these ingredients, add to a hollow pendant, and wear on your person to protect you from the effects of a spell

If you know the details of the spell that has been placed on you, write them down on paper; while focusing on breaking the spell, hold the paper in your hand, and then rip it to shreds; throw the pieces in the trash, or bury in your backyard

If you don’t know the exact details, write down the effects you have been feeling if you think they have been caused by a spell or malintent directed at you; follow the steps above

Submerge yourself in a bath of sea salt and light frankincense incense - place the incense on the edge of the tub or somewhere safe in your bathroom - to cleanse yourself of any negative energy that has been directed at you

Place an energetic shield over yourself or your home that is designed to negate negative energy

Tips:

Close all loopholes

When crafting a spell, remember to create a fail safe (e.g. “this spell will be broken if X occurs”)

Add timed conditions to your spells (e.g. “this spell will be broken on the night of the next full moon” and include a specific date)

Be specific when describing the target that will be affected by the spell (whether it’s you or someone else, be sure to include taglocks whether it be their name written or spoken aloud, DNA such as hair, fingernail clippings, etc., or a photo of the target)

Use ingredients, supplies, and tools that match your intent

Employ a method of protection before casting spells, whether the intent is malefic or not

Cleanse your space and tools before and after performing a spell to “wipe the slate clean”

Herbs:

Ague, Angelica, Asafoetida, Bamboo, Basil, Bay Leaf, Benzoin, Boneset, Brimstone (Sulfur Powder), Burdock, Chili Pepper, Cinquefoil, Comfrey, Datura, Frankincense, Galangal, Garlic, Geranium, Holy Thistle, Huckleberry, Hydrangea, Iris Root (Orris Root), Lemon Verbena (Vervain), Lilac, Lily, Lucky Hand (Orchid Root), Mimosa, Myrrh, Nutmeg, Oak Moss, Onion, Oregano, Papaya, Patchouli, Peony, Pokeroot, Prickly Ash Bark, Rue, Safflower, Solomon’s Seal, St. John’s Wort, Stinging Nettle, Squill, Thistle, Toadflax, Turmeric, Vetiver, Willow, Wintergreen, Witches Grass (Dog Grass), Wormwood (Absinthe), Yarrow Flower, Yew, Yucca

Crystals:

Agate, Amber, Amethyst, Ametrine, Black Tourmaline, Bloodstone, Carnelian, Celestite, Chrysocolla, Citrine, Emerald, Epidote, Fire Opal, Fluorite, Garnet, Halite, Hematite, Howlite, Jet, Kunzite, Labradorite, Malachite, Natrolite, Obsidian, Ocean Jasper, Onyx, Selenite, Silver, Smoky Quartz, Sugilite, Sunstone, Turquoise

Jesus Christ I hope that covers everything.

#cursing #hex #hexes #hex white supremacy #christian witch #christian witchcraft #jynx #anon #answered #banishing spells #binding spells #inadvertent masterpost #long post #christian cursing alternatives

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