Dec 5, 2025
They told us the stories like a warning
See look a witch will burn
They underestimated the way the youth crave warmth
In a cold dead world of concrete and bone
seen from United States
seen from Spain
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Romania
seen from United States
seen from Morocco
seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye
seen from Yemen
seen from Canada
seen from Malta
seen from Tunisia
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Canada
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Italy
They told us the stories like a warning
See look a witch will burn
They underestimated the way the youth crave warmth
In a cold dead world of concrete and bone
The Elaris Chronicles,
Volume One
Chapter One:
Goodbyes, The President, and a Carriage
AN: Hello lovelies!!!
this is a rough draft of a story I hope to publish someday. I'm going to try to release a new chapter every week, so please stay tuned!
(P.S. It's totally ok to reblog!!! Also, Comments are my lifeblood. Please, tell me what you think)
Holding Hands - a Kanej fanfic
Read it here, too: AO3
Summary: Several times that Inej and Kaz hold hands and what follows. Slow-burn, oneshot.
Length: Short
A/N: Writing for these two is difficult, but that's a testament to Leigh Bardugo's wonderfully complex writing more than anything. Cheers, friends :)
give me some credit, give me a chance
for @nb-zashi
inspired by @deafmic‘s post
“What are you doing?”
The words are out of Aizawa’s throat, exploding from behind his teeth and falling from his lips, like a gunshot, cracking through the air with all the speed and alacrity of a whip.
Hizashi freezes where he stands, Eri lifted above his head but held securely with his hands under her arms. He looks over his shoulder at Aizawa, confusion marring his fair complexion,
“Huh?” he asks eloquently.
all i have to do to create a character is copy and paste paragraphs from the dsm-5
Green Velvet (a Miraculous fanfic) - Chapter 3/?
Read it here: FanFiction.Net | AO3
Summary: Investigator Dupain-Cheng (dubbed Ladybug by the public) is used to strange cases coming her way and her latest one is no different, involving murder, intrigue, and an actor with peridot eyes that she can't seem to shake. Then, the case grows and things get personal. Rated T, Adrienette/LadyNoir, slow burn, film noir 1950's AU, ongoing.
Length of Chapters (avg): Medium
Rating: T/PG-13
Status: Ongoing
——————————
Marinette returns to her office after meeting with Alya, feeling more confident than before. Alya is like that- she leaves you feeling ready to take on the world or the complete opposite (though the latter is usually the case with the frauds she exposes). Yes, the potential involvement of this Hawkmoth guy does scratch at the back of Marinette's consciousness, but, for the moment, she's more focused on figuring out what leads to look into next than worrying.
Glancing to her case board, Marinette decides to return to the scene of the crime- the theater. Donning her coat, she heads downtown and finds herself at the theater at the peak of the evening ticket rush, the box office lineup trailing down the sidewalk. When she speaks to the doorman, he retreats inside without another word and promptly returns with the pale-faced employee who had asked her to the theater on the morning of the murder discovery. Almost more nervous than before, the employee leads her into the lobby, the crowd parting to let them through.
"I'd like to look around a bit more, if that’s alright." Marinette asks, once pleasantries have been exchanged. The employee- the assistant theater manager, in fact, according to his badge- nods feverishly.
"Of course, of course. The manager said you could have your run of the place, if you came back. Um, but- uh..." He says, faltering. "Our show starts in 45 minutes, so, uh, if you could be careful while doing your work- we don't want the staff or actors to get wind of any investigation details. If word spreads, it wouldn't be good for publicity. Theater folk aren't much for being, uh...discreet with things." He finishes sheepishly. Marinette smiles thinly.
“Being careful is part of my job.” She says reassurigly. The assistant manager glances at Marinette’s distinctive trenchcoat and, looking as if he is going to speak, changes his mind and simply nods at her. With a final smile, Marinette turns away and makes her way through the lobby to the doors leading backstage.
Behind the deep red stage curtains, the air buzzes with activity and people flit up and down the stage impatiently. Not wanting to disturb the actors as they prepare for showtime, Marinette follows the back wall through the off-stage area, taking note of what she passes. The ropes for the backdrops and racks of supplies for prop and set repair line the side of the wall by stage right. Down a far corridor and around the corner, Marinette finds the dressing rooms. She strolls past their worn wood doors, pausing in front of the last one- Catherine Gregory’s old room. When Gregory's face, cold with death and yet glamourous, flashes through Marinette’s mind, she turns away. Before she can take a step forward, however, a voice pipes up behind her.
"Investigator Dupain-Cheng?" The voice asks quizzically. Marinette looks around and sees Adrien Vermonte standing a few feet away. He is dressed in costume- a dark brocaded suit with a high collar- and looks as though he paused on his way somewhere, the door beside Gregory's swung open. Marinette remembers the actor's interview- he said his room was right beside Cathy's. Marinette frowns at the situation. How unusually unlucky. Then she remembers that she's with a potential source of information and trades her frown for a neutral expression.
"Mr. Vermonte." Marinette says politely. Adrien smiles, relaxing against the door frame.
"Its just Adrien." He says, curiousity gleaming in his eyes. "How is the investigation going?" Marinette feels the urge to give him a witty remark- he's just asking for it- but she knows better.
"As well as a murder investigation can go." She replies with a straight face, settling for something in the middle. Adrien looks intrigued.
"Find out anything interesting?" He asks. Marinette cocks an eyebrow.
“I can't share the details of the investigation.” She says. Adrien’s eyes narrow slightly.
“Nothing at all?” He asks, his tone slightly questioning. Marinette shakes her head.
“No.” She replies. After a moment, Adrien sighs and shrugs.
“Fair enough.” He says pleasantly, waiting a beat before speaking again. “Are you looking for more clues?”
“I'm afraid I can't share that with you, either.” Marinette says solemnly. Adrien doesn’t appear to be phased by this, as he crosses his arms and watches her.
“The back door was broken over the last couple days. Someone discovered it yesterday. Could've been the killer.” Adrien says nonchalauntly. He motions to a door down the corridor, shrouded in shadows. “They haven’t fixed it yet.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Marinette replies. For all she knows, it could be a fake lead- people who point out clues are either very enthusastic or trying to hide something, and Marinette doesn’t know which category Adrien falls into. She should still check it out nonetheless. Adrien smiles again.
“No problem.” He says, before motioning down the corridor. “I’m due on-stage anytime now, so I’d better go. My offer still stands if you need an ear on the inside.” He adds, his green eyes lingering before he turns and walks down the hallway. Marinette frowns again but says nothing as Adrian turns the corner and disappears. Silently, she turns away and continues her search.
The rest of the dressing room corridor is spotless; nothing appears to be out of place or unusual. However, when Marinette reaches the back door that Adrian had mentioned, it is immediately obvious that someone had indeed forced it. The lock panel has been bent back uniformly and beyond repair, a feat not easily accomplished and clearly done by someone who knew what they were doing. Alya’s words of caution ring again in the back of Marinette’s mind, but Marinette lets them float away. She has a job to do.
The rest of the search is fruitless; Marinette finishes checking the area backstage but finds nothing that seems suspicious. The one interesting thing she does discover is the actor sign-in sheet pasted on the wall by the entrance. The whole cast on the list signed in and out at regular times on the night before the murder with the exception of Gregory and one actress, whose sign-out time was an hour later than everyone else. Noting the name of the actress, Marinette heads back to the main lobby. Re-entering the main foyer of the theater as the show is about to begin, she hunts down the assistant manager, who looks no more composed than before.
“Was the back door broken into recently?” Marinette asks him. The man goes pale.
“Yes, yes, we, uh- reported it to the police. We don’t know when it happened exactly, but it wasn't broken before the murder happened." He stammers out.
"Nothing was reported stolen?" Marinette asks. The assistant manager shakes his head vigorously.
"Any other strange discoveries around here?" Marinette continues. The assistant manager ponders the question for a moment before shaking his head again. Though Marinette has no other questions planned, an image of the sign-out sheet suddenly pops into her head.
"One last question; do you keep a visitor log for people entering the theater or delivering things backstage?" She asks offhandely. At this, the assistant manager leads her to the box office and hands her a clipboard with a log clipped to it. As Marinette scans the list, she doesn't see much of note at first- it's mostly postal deliverymen and cleaners on the log, and no one signed in at unusual times or times close to the murder. Then, Marinette spots it- one sign-out from the night before the murder listed as “Agreste costume delivery”. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but Marinette can’t place it.
“Do you know who this delivery was for?” Marinette asks the assistant manager, pointing to the sign-out on the log. The assistant manager gulps.
“Agreste Fashions sometimes makes costumes- or, ah, made costumes for Ms. Gregory. She was the only actor who ordered costumes specially for her.” As the man says this, Marinette knows she’s found a solid lead.
Thanking the assistant manager and leaving the theater, Marinette mulls over what she now theater was broken into by a professional and may or may not be related to the murder. Nothing was reported stolen or discovered amiss, which points to the break-in being indeed related to the murder. Not only this, but it seems likely that Gregory did have a visitor the night before her death. There's still other leads to check out- the one actress who clocked out late, for example- which leaves a lot of options as to who could have murdered the starlet. As Marinette walks down the sidewalk, she hums with satisfaction. Her intuition tells her she's on the right track.
Something is still missing, however. While the leads as to the murderer and such are numerous, the motivation isn't. Nothing Marinette has discovered has given her any indication as to why someone would want Gregory dead. Those who immediately jumped out at the start have alibis and no one else seems to have had a good enough reason for murder. Marinette ponders over this as she unlocks her car and gets in. There must be more to this case than meets the eye, and it worries her that she doesn't know what it could be. With this on her mind, she starts the car and drives off.
Hey lovelies!!!!
Just letting you all know that there will not be a new chapter today, as I have recently started school back and I have less time to write.
I will probably go to posting a chapter every two weeks, but we will have to see.
I apologize for the delays, and thank you for your support!!!
Taglist
@stressedsnake
@morganwriteblr
open your heart, now let the light shine in
read it on AO3
Eri wakes to sterility and white.
She blinks in the dim light of the room, then looks around. It is large and mostly bare, the bed she is in across from the door and close to a large window. When she sits up—slowly, carefully, breathing in quick, shallow breaths that aren’t from fright, they’re not—she sees that the window overlooks a small garden tucked into a courtyard between two other large buildings. Flowers are tiny pinpricks of color far below, and green trees stand tall and proud and still in the shelter of the hospital walls.
The door opens. She turns her head, looks at the tall woman who enters wearing a doctor’s white lab coat. She is smiling, her dark hair gathered into a bun at the nape of her neck, and her blue eyes crinkle in the corners.
“Hello, Eri,” she says kindly, coming into the room. A stethoscope hangs around her neck, and a pen and a notepad are tucked into the lab coat’s pocket. “How are you feeling?”
“Um,” says Eri.
It is then that she sees the other man, who had stepped into the room after the doctor. He is tall as well—taller, even, than the woman—and dark-haired and dark-eyed. There are shadows on his face, and his clothes are black like night, though there is a grey scarf looped around his neck. He watches her warily—and she watches him back.
She feels—well, she doesn’t quite know how she feels, and she squirms a little beneath the strange man’s scrutiny. His dark eyes are hollow, but not empty—bleak, but not dead. Not like Chisaki’s. Chisaki’s eyes had never been hollow—had, instead, been filled with fire and fervor, with need and drive and lust, desire, unsatiated hunger. They had been dark, dark, dark like this man’s, but they had been black in a way this man’s wasn’t. If anything, this man’s eyes reminded Eri of bone, rather than flame—bone broken and left bare and open to bleed and hurt and grow back together crooked.
The man smiles.
It is a small, even tiny, gesture. Barely more than a subtle flinch of his lips. But Eri sees it—and Eri knows what it is.
Eri turns to the woman doctor and smiles, her hands clutched together in her lap. “I’m okay,” she says, finally answering the doctor’s question. Her eyes flick to the man again, and his smile is gone, but it seems to Eri that the bleakness, the hollowness, is a little less than it had been.
“I’m okay.”