#their mind and that was their only ability and what a hard fucking sell that would be for xavier

[violentdevotion]

wait do you have a fav boys character yet ?

i really like butcher but i feel like that's a basic answer and also the wrong answer. in another world id like frenchie but i can't get over how much i hate the actor. I love maeve theres never a moment she's on screen where im thinking get this woman outta here she's always entertaining to me. i like starlight but (and this is probably a bit nasty to say) there's smth a little uncanny valley about her sometimes where when she's talking im not listening but staring at her face trying to see what features throwing me off. I hate ashley but the actress played an insufferable character in jessica jones too and I really appreciate her ability to play The Most annoying woman you know.

centrist answer i like them all (except stormfront. hated her before i even knew she was a nazi. she was on insta live and i was waiting for her to explode and die) but my fave would have to be butcher bc i find im rooting for him the most and constantly justifying his actions. but sometimes karl urbans accent pisses me off. also black noir but he doesn't Do anything so it's hard to have him as a fave bc he's barely there.

[himbosandhardwear]

Eddie has a bad habit of picking at his skin when he's nervous. Not, like, shy nervous or stage fright nervous, but the real kind of nervous, not-sure-I’m-gonna-survive-this kind of nervous. Like while he was alone in the boat house, he'd shredded every one of his cuticles. That time Hopper caught him behind The Hawk, very obviously selling his wares, he'd bitten his lips bloody.

Tonight he's picking a scab off his knee. It's practically healed already, so it won't bleed, he just needs to feel something on his body come loose before he does.

“You good, dude?” Steve asks, so in tune to Eddie's nervous disposition. Such a good guy. What a friend.

Eddie lets his head hit his knee caps with a thunk.

“Yup.”

Steve snorts. “You don't look good. I mean… You know what I mean.”

He smiles, tilting his head to look at Steve, always happy to give him a hard time.

“Oh, absolutely. You think I look good, don't cha, Stevie?”

He gets a couch pillow to the face for that, but they're both laughing so he doesn't think he's crossed the line yet.

Yet, yet, yet.

“Seriously, what's up with you? You've been quiet. It makes me want to call the squad.”

“Har har,” Eddie mumbles, but he does uncurl himself, sitting back against the couch again. “I'm trying to work up the nerve to ask for advice but it's-” Christ, he doesn't even want to admit to being embarrassed, that's how embarrassed he is.

“It's what?” Steve asks, the picture of earnest encouragement. “You can talk to me about anything, man, we're, like, bonded in blood or whatever.”

“Right. Yeah. Except this has the potential to get real awkward, real quick, and I'm not sure we're at that level of friendship yet.”

“Well,” he drawls, “if you ask me whatever it is that's got you all flustered I'm sure that will level us up. Right?”

“I'm not flustered.” God damn his red fucking face. Steve just laughs at him. “It's just, I don't have anyone else to ask about this. Jonathan probably doesn't have this particular problem, cause he's got- Uh. Sorry.” Steve waves it away, so Eddie goes on. “The kids are too young and the band guys don't understand what we went through-”

“Eddie, just spit it out.”

“Fuck! Okay, fine! You asked for it.” He takes a giant breath, steels his spine and just says it. “The Trauma is affecting my ability to get laid and I don't know how to fix it. Every time I get close to it I freak out and have to bail.”

There. All out now.

He looks over at Steve, and it's so much worse than being laughed at or pitied. He just looks sad.

He shakes it off quickly, hair barely moving, Eddie notes. He finds Steve's hair routine both endearing and ridiculous.

“Yeah. Okay. That's super common, just so you know,” Steve assures him first. “Robin says it's all connected, your mind and your body, so trauma can, like, get trapped in weird places like that. I can't play baseball anymore. Cause the memory of beating demodogs to death.”

“As you do,” Eddie quips.

“Right. But your thing. Uh. Yeah, it took some time before I could relax enough to even attempt getting laid, let alone actually do it.”

“So?” Eddie drawls, waiting. “How did you get over it?”

Something is off. Steve's not known for being skiddish about sex, but his hesitation and his inability to look Eddie in the eye is setting off alarms.

“Hey, if this is too weird for you-”

“No, I'm good, it's fine. Just, I'm the only person you have to talk to about this, so I'm gonna try to be helpful but, uh,” he scratches at the back of his head awkwardly, “in all honesty, I haven't been laid since before Vecna either. Way before. So. Yeah. Not sure I should be giving out advice on anything.”

That's crazy. Like actually crazy. He can't even compute Steve Harrington not absolutely dripping in women. He must have some look on his face because Steve gives a dry sort of laugh, self deprecating, and leans back against the couch with him.

“Weren't you on a date with Brenda Mulligan the night- Vecna’s first attack?”

Steve shoots him a look. “Y- Yeah, but that didn't go anywhere. We weren't, like, compatible or whatever.”

Oh, yeah, it was weird that Eddie knew that at all, let alone remembered it nine months later. “That's too bad,” he replies lamely.

“Yep.”

He feels terrible for dragging down the whole night, it would've been better if he'd just kept his mouth shut. But that's never been his strong suit, as evidenced by him blurting out, “If the hottest guy in Hawkins can't find a suitable date, what fucking chance do I have.”

Steve snaps, “Don't say that. What the fuck?”

Great, now he's gone and made it weird. Good job calling your straight friend hot, you fuckin’ dipshit.

They sit in the awkward silence, out of things to say or out of useful things to say. Either way it's them breathing, the clock ticking, and the M.A.S.H. rerun playing softly in the background.

Steve clears his throat. “Whatever, let's get back to the point. You don't have to tell me if you don't want but…what do you think the specific reason is for your…issue?”

He thinks about it. Has been thinking about it, for a while now. “My dick still works, if that's what you're wondering.”

Steve chuckles, high and surprised. “Good for you.”

“Yeah. It's more like, I can't get out of my head. I start worrying about my scars, explaining them if someone asked. I think about how even though I don't want anything long-term, I wouldn't be able to do long-term anyway, because I'm a fucking mess. If it's really bad, I'll get flashes of Chrissy or Patrick's bones snapping, as a little soundtrack to the fun shit happening outside my head.”

Steve looks sad again. Maybe it is pity but it looks more turned inward, like he's dealing with his own shit more than Eddie’s.

“You hooking up with strangers then?”

Eddie blinks at Steve. “Well…duh. Right? Not like I have guys lined up around the block here in Hawkins.”

Steve is full blown scowling at the TV. It's weird.

“What if-”

Eddie waits but Steve doesn't finish his thought.

“What if…what?” He prompts, giving a little nudge with his foot.

He's still avoiding eye contact, not even turning his head to look in Eddie's direction.

In a soft voice, almost too quiet to hear, he says, “What if we helped each other out?”

He must've heard that wrong. Or he's misunderstanding.

“What?”

“What if we help each other out? Like, a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

That can't be right. No fucking way. It's a test. Like as soon as Eddie agrees, Steve yells ‘Aha! I knew you wanted to molest me! Goodbye forever!’ and runs out the door.

“What, exactly, do you mean? Like, what are you getting out of it?”

Steve finally looks over. “Well, I would think that was obvious. If you're willing.”

Eddie's legs are starting to go numb.

“Okay, so I blow you and you blow me, except when you're doing it I have to watch you take it like you're being force fed liver and onions at Grandma's house?”

Steve slowly shakes his head no.

“Oh, okay, so you're going to blow me and enjoy it,” he snaps sarcasticaly.

Steve nods once.

“You want to blow me?”

“Mmhmm,” he hums without moving a muscle.

“Since when!” Eddie brings his octave down from the upper atmosphere. “Since when, Harrington? This is insane behavior. Should I call the squad for you? I'm serious. I'll do it.”

“You don't have to say yes. I was just offering.” He says it like Eddie isn't one green flag away from stomping on the gas.

He starts nervously laughing, which makes Steve flinch unfortunately, but he can't stop.

“It's cool, just forget I said anything.” He moves like he's about to get up and leave, which is fucking insane because it's his living room. Eddie stops him with a tight grip around the bicep.

“Don't you dare. If you're even remotely serious, we have to have a much longer conversation. Sit.”

Steve drops like a sack of bricks. Which is…something.

“Right. First off, this is uncommon behavior in a straight friend. Is there something you'd like to tell me, so I don't think you've been body snatched?”

He pinches at the top of his nose, like Eddie is inconveniencing him greatly. Too bad.

“I'm probably bisexual.”

“Probably?” Eddie asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I'm an inexperienced bisexual,” he amends through clenched teeth.

“Good. Great. Happy to hear it.” His heart may explode from his torso à la Ridley Scott's Alien but sure. “Second on the agenda, what do you mean help each other out? What's on the table? Mutual handjobs and then we never talk about it again?”

“No,” Steve answers immediately. That's good. “I'm open to…whatever you're open to.”

“Steve.” He has to clear his throat. “You dont even know what you're agreeing to.”

“I trust you.”

Fuuuuuck.

“Okay, right, uh, let's circle back to that later. Third thing, what, uh, what is your level of commitment with this?”

He just stares at Eddie, all doe eyed. It shouldn't work, Eddie fucking invented that look. It's gotten him out of more scrapes than he can count. Now it's being used against him but to what end? Does Steve want to get bundled up in a blanket and tucked into bed? Because Eddie can make that happen for him.

“Whatever you want, I guess,” he finally says. “I mean, like I said earlier, friends who help each other out. Casual. I'm not interested in looking for Mrs Harrington anymore and you're having a problem relaxing around guys who don't understand what you went through.” He makes a gesture like ‘Ta da.’

He's not wrong. It makes sense. But…

“Fourth thing. Is this just an experiment for you? Cause I'm all for you exploring your sexuality but, historically speaking, friends are a bad place to start.” AKA ‘it will break my fucking heart if you decide you're not that into it and it's because it's me.’

“Eddie. Look.” He gets more comfortable, facing Eddie straight on finally. “What you're going to provide is practical knowledge on what has only been theoretical up to this point, but the theory has already been well established.” He taps his head. “Understand?”

A smug confidence melts Eddie into the couch. “You liiike me,” he sings. “You think about me naaaked. You wanna-”

Steve lands on him, lacking any elegance or grace, and nearly caves their skulls in with his Jay Garrick approach to kissing. Eddie doesn't say a fucking word. He does wonder at the fucking majesty that is making out sober. What a revelation. Steve keeps making these tiny, almost wounded noises, to the point where Eddie tries to back up and do a check in but Steve doesn't let him, he chases him down and latches back onto Eddie's bottom lip like he's Hannibal Lector. It's stupid hot.

Everything is going great until Steve lets out a sound that legitimately has Eddie worried he's upset about something.

He pulls back and asks, “Are you okay?”

“Oh fuck, I'm sorry. I just can't, I can't believe I got this fucking far. You're so hot I'm losing my fucking mind.”

“Me?” Eddie snaps. “Dude, you're out of your mind.” He pokes Steve in his meaty chest. “Literal. Prom. King.”

“Fucking stupid high school shit, are you kidding me?” He sits up, straddling Eddie's hips, which is boner enhancing to say the least; he's got Steve's thighs in his grasp immediately. “You don't get it, I'm gone on you. I've got it bad, man. I was playing it cool earlier-”

“At no point tonight were you in any way playing it cool.”

“-but, fuck it, guess I'm ruining it, cause I can't be cool about this. I don't want casual. I don't even want to date you,” and before Eddie can even worry about that, he says, “I wanna skip straight to boyfriends, man. I know you said you didn't want long term with anyone but-”

Eddie interrupts again, this time by pulling Steve back down horizontal and kissing him like he just bravely declared himself as all in.

If this is a pod-person, well, that's a problem for Tomorrow Eddie. Tonight Eddie just landed Steve Harrington as a boyfriend.

[lokisivy]

Hi! Im a big fan of your work and I saw you were taking requests :) I had a smut fic idea in mind with young (before paralysis) Professor Charles Xavier x fem!student reader. Maybe you and Charles have had some flirty/sexual tension for the longest time until one night when everyone is in bed in their dorms, he reads your mind and notices that you are still awake, touching yourself and having just obscene thoughts of him till he comes into your room and takes matters into his own hands and the rest just be pure smut lmao 👀👀👀 keep up the good work!!

First of all, thank you soooo much for u liking my work. Second of all, it took me like 3 times to process what you requested. I'm ovulating rn, so I'm just so stunned.

Warnings: age gap, mind reading, slight breeding kink, reader is above 18, cursing. use of nicknames, p in v, unprotected sex, daddy kink, slight size kink. let me know if i missed anything

READERS POV

I'm a good student, I focus in class, get good grades, and am always polite to my professors. but there is this one class where I can't seem to focus no matter how hard I try.

Professor Xavier's class like right now I'm sitting in today's class what is the topic? DNA mutation blah blah blah.

he was looking and me oh his eyes were so blue like the ocean I could drown in them- Fuck he can read my mind.

GENATICS! FLOWERS! this isn't working he is smirking he knows what I'm thinking of. I bite my lips hard, trying to think of something else. His arms in that dress shirt sleeves rolled up his hands on my throat- FUCK think of something dark.

"Y/N read page 269 about Genetic mutations" the professor announced "Ahh-" fuck I didn't even have my book open shit. I used my telekinesis to open the page but it didn't I was fumbling for the page until Professor Xavier came behind me and opened the page for me.

"next time focus in class and refrain from having dirty thoughts about me," he whispers in my ears his sharp voice making me sudden goose bumps arise.

"Sorry professor. I promise that it won't happen again" I flirt looking up through my lashes and giving an innocent look.

he leans down to give me back my book "Good Girl."

With my powers, it was gonna be impossible for me to keep him out of my thoughts I was basically a magnet for him my mind like an open book for him. It doesn't matter because no matter what he was my teacher and nothing could happen between us even though I'd sell my soul to the devil for us to touch. and our age gap people would think he was a predator but at this point, I think I am the predator with the unholy thoughts I'm getting.

1:39 Am my clock read I couldn't sleep my interaction with Professor Xavier kept replaying 'having dirty thoughts about me in class'

'good girl' my hands snuck past my nightgown rubbing circles on my clit. imagining Charles bending me down the desk fucking me into oblivion 'Such a naughty girl only focusing on my cock and not the class' I imagined his rough thick accent. I pushed one finger inside me feeling the warmth it was relieving the pressure but not enough I needed more I needed him in every way possible.

3rd pov

You and Charles had always flirted with each other during office hours it was obvious in the being you were attracted to him he was very good-looking and muscular made women weak in the knee and because he could read any person's mind it made it easier for him to know when to flirt back he knew when you were sad or feeling under the weather but when the rumours started to spread around the acted tough with you in class you knew it was a show and it kept all gossip down it not like you were very young you came here after finishing high school to learn about your abilities and how to control them but you were still a student but something Charles never did was crossing the line until today he was awake trying to study a new students abilities. He wondered if you were awake and he was met but dirty thoughts that made his cock burst.

a growl came out of his throat "fuck me!" he adjusted his pants the thought of you touching yourself while thinking of him was gonna make him burst this second he started to palm his cock but could take anymore when your moans grew louder coming close to your orgasm.

Fuck it he thought and walked to your dorm room absolutely angry about the way you made him feel hands running through his hair he was gonna punish you for every time you made him hard, for every time your mischievous ass made him think about you.

He reached your room door knocking lightly not waking anyone and talked to you through your thoughts 'Open this door now!' He interrupted your fantasies making you rise in panic

Readers POV

Fuck Fuck FUCK! How did he read my mind it was 1 am everyone is asleep. I panic opening the door panting from how fast I got up.

"hey proff how you doing, bro?" I opened the door trying to act casual.

"Are you messing with me right now." It was more rhetorical than a question. He slammed the door, pining me against it.

"I-"

"What you thought you could be whore and touch yourself thinking about me and get away with it." He was frustrated both sexually and mentally "and why were you listening to my thoughts anyway I should be able to think what I want without having to worry about you getting into my head." I rolled my eyes. A part of me liked the thrill, but sometimes it was nice to have my thoughts to myself.

"You can block me out but you don't."

"It's exuasting. what you want me to masterbate and think about you and block you out." I sigh

"You don't know how hard it is for me to contain myself from letting all these thoughts of yours come true right now." He leans closer, his body towering in front of me.

Closer.

And Closer.

our lips so close but yet so far.

Till there was nothing but a fine line between our lips.

"Then make them come true." I barely got the words out.

"This is wrong." He voice became deeper

"I saved your life in Cuba professor." I whispered

"Fuck it." He said kissing me knocking the air out of my lungs, his hand come to cup my face our his toung fighting with mine. moving us towards the bed his hands roaming through my my silk PJs unbouting the buttons.

"Charles!" i moaned when his lips contact with my neck marking me plaming and squeezing my breasts, "please" I didn't know what I was pleading for but I needed the relief with the ache that was growing I was so wet aching for him to touch me.

" What darling, what do you want me to do?" he smirked, he knew what I wanted he could read my mind "I- I want you to touch me." I barely whispered my voice practricly unaudioble,"Louder darling?" he disaproved "I want you to fuck me charles like the way I was thinking about when I was touching me self on here." I run my hands through the sheets of the bed.

"Fuck my little whore wants me to fuck her," he growls, he grabs my neck and slams me down the bed causing a moan to leave me. His knee separated my legs from closing. he slid off the top I had on letting my breasts hit the cold air causing my nipples to harden. his thumb ran on my nipples rubbing and pinching. "Charles Please" I beg.

"Have I taught you nothing?" he kissed my chest slowly down to my breasts "Patience is how you achieve everything perfectly. "

"Charles Xavier if you don't fuck me right now I'll throw you against the wall." pull him by his shirt collar kissing him

"I may teach you science, but I think I need to teach you good manners." I rolled my eyes, ripping off his shirt. I stopped to take a moment to take in the sight of his toned muscles, running my fingers through his abs in awe. something inside him snapped at the way I looked at him. he immediately took down my shorts and unbuckled his pants.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked me,"Yes ever since Cuba Charles," I assured me, but something told me he was reading my mind to check if I had any doubts. "Good. Because the moment I start, I won't stop"

"Start first then we can speak about stopping because all I'm hearing is yap yap no acti--" I was interrupted by his fingers entering me all three of them. making me moan very loudly.

"Shh baby your classmates will hear you." he groans at the sight. "S-sorry."

his hands worked magic, and the rhythm was steady, hitting all the good points, building up the fire in my stomach fire that might explode any moment "Charles I'm so close." I whimpered at the loss of contact "Too bad your only gonna cum on my cock tonight" I looked down at his length it was big and thick and precum leaked out his hardness he positioned my left leg on his shoulder positioning himself and entering me at a slow excruciating pace stretching me into half.

"Fuck your so big." now I understood why he was taking it too slow his cock was gigantic that's why he walked around so confidently he is packing.

"Fuck you're tight." he groans the burn started to fade into pleasure "Charles please" probably begged for the millionth time tonight he was killing me. his pace started to grow faster "You are taking me so well darling." he praised me sending it to my pussy clenching on him tighter."Fuck Y/N!" he growls

"Charles faster" he complied going at an unforgivable pace the angle he fucked me in was make me feel all of his length he keeps hitting that spot that was about to explode any second now. my moaning became louder and harder to control probably making someone from outside hear us "Be quiet sunshine" he told me in between his rough thrusts he pinched my nipples lightly causing an overly loud moaning to come out he silenced me with a kiss and replaced his lips with his hand he gave me a warning look then removed his hands. my fingers running through his hair tugging on it tiny moans slipping out of him sending me over the edge with bliss and euphoria washing over me seeing starts in the back of my eyes. his cock twitching "Yes give me all your cum Daddy." I moaned my back arching scratches down his back. his hot warm cum filling my walls making me moan with pleasure it felt right. Charles put my legs down making me turn on my side, as I was about to sleep he grabbed my jaw. "Daddy is not done with you yet sunshine" he teases me.

"let's get you cleaned up sweetheart." he carried me to the bathroom

[deusvervewrites]

Ask Game: Overhaul starts mass producing the permanent Quirk erasing bullets sooner and starts Dequirking people

So keep in mind that this first point is running somewhat parallel with what will follow--I don't have a good way to sort it chronologically. Togata becomes the Ninth Holder of One For All. Nighteye stops paying attention to the yakuza to train him. All Might never really bonds with Togata because it was Nighteye's choice, and All Might dies at Kamino. Togata himself will not survive the Eight Precepts raid. Shigaraki puts up no resistance to his body being stolen, and the procedure is completed without issue.

Overhaul's plan goes into effect: selling the Quirk-Destroying Bullets on the black market while simultaneously selling the cure to the bullets to the Heroes (after waiting long enough to ensure a demand). There are, however, a few complications that perhaps he did not consider. Like the MLA. Or the HPSC. Or All For One.

All For One and the HPSC both want to independently monopolize the drug, while the MLA want it destroyed at any cost. Overhauls' yakuza organization, comprised of nine decent fighters including himself, is unable to withstand that pressure. The Bullets drop one by one, and eventually even Overhaul himself is killed. However, the drug has by this point circulated quite a bit. If Garaki was canonically able to replicate it, I doubt he was the only one who could.

So to recap, the HPSC now has the ability to determine who gets Quirks at all, All For One has the drug, and if I cared enough to bring them up, Humarise would have the drug for their bombs. Meanwhile the MLA are super fucking annoyed about all of this, and since somehow the HPSC completely fucking missed that they exist before Hawks warned them in canon, that's a problem. So the HPSC crumples like the house of cards that it is, All For One shows up to beat up the MLA, and from there I think the next step is feudal warlords again?

Ten years into the collapse of society, Eri, now fifteen, is really fucking sick of AFO's bullshit. The only thing keeping him contained is the threat of New Order since he never got a chance to take OFA, but who knows how long that will last. So Eri decides to remove the competition, being a warlord herself by this point. She sends herself back in time using Rewind. What she doesn't realize is that in doing so, she throws a massive wrench into her own plans that she never could have foreseen: ensuring that All Might will meet a young boy named Midoriya Izuku. And god help her if she tries to resist his friend-making instincts.

+1. Eri is extremely surprised when Uraraka passes the UA Entrance Exam, as she had been one of her greatest lieutenants in the original timeline

+2. Eri has mastered Rewind to the point that she can remove someone's Quirk at will, something Overhaul learned the hard way. Her younger self thinks she's the coolest.

[autisticsupervillain]

My last post about Agent 47 being a Tumblr Icon proved popular, so here's more Tumblr approved 47 facts.

47's wife has technically killed him twice. Both times it was so he could come back to life later and kill his actual target. Diana could walk right into his living room, stab him with a butcher's knife, and he'd just go "well, who are we killing today honey?"

47 once had to get close to his target by disguising himself as a giant flammingo mascot. One of his target's bodyguards, a furry, tries to start a conversation about it. 47 could not end that conversation quick enough.

One time, 47 tried to disguise himself as a realtor to get close to his target. All of his attempts to sell the house to his target involve advice on how to kill someone in those rooms. The target never questions this. Later, both the target and 47 stumble across a month's old crime scene. 47 goes full detective mode and delivers a full paragraph detailing what happened and how the victim died, before remembering he's supposed to be a realtor right now and brushing it off.

One time, in order to get close to a target, 47 got a job interview at a bank. His response to every question involves more or less just flat out admitting that he kills people for a living. They hire him on the spot.

47 has read his universe's version of the Twilight novels. He also killed the author of said Twilight knockoffs, but not before criticizing his writing and complaining about a plot point he didn't like.

47 once infiltrated a secret meeting of international spies, billionaires, and supervillains by walking right past the guards in his regular iconic suit, as everyone took one look at him and assumed he was supposed to be there.

Agent 47 canonically has an aura of death that hangs over him that only psychics can see. When an actually psychic meets him for the first time, he panics and all but pushes 47 out of his establishment.

47's most used alias, Tobias Rieper, as an instagram account. It's filled entirely with travel pictures from places he's visited while killing people.

Agent 47 inexplicably looks identical to one of the most popular fashion models in the world, Helmut Krueger. This doesn't hinder his ability to disguise himself as literally anyone in the world though.

One time, a bunch of nuns in stripper outfits showed up at 47's hotel to blow him the fuck up with a rocket launcher. He was inexplicably completely unharmed by the explosion.

One time, a mad scientist tried to test his mind control device on 47. 47 resisted it so hard that the scientist dropped dead from the psychic backlash.

One of his regular outfits for missions is a clown suit.

47 has a reputation at his agency for killing people in the most ridiculous and over the top ways possible. It got to the point that another assassin tried to imitate 47's style, which backfired so badly that the assassin accidentally killed everyone in the building, including himself, and let the target get away completely unharmed.

47 once manipulated another assassin into killing his targets for him. Unfortunately, said assassin was so bad at his job that 47 had to do everything for him, from adjusting his sniper rifle so he could actually fire it, to getting the targets into his line of sight so the assassin would actually see them.

47 once stopped a depressed person fresh off a bad break up from an abusive relationship from committing suicide by following him around the globe and beating him unconscious every time he tried to kill himself, all without the guy ever actually noticing him. 47 only stopped when the guy decided he must have a guardian angel looking out for him because he keeps falling asleep whenever he considers going through with the deed, deciding he owes that angel an honest attempt to getting his life back on track again.

Agent 47 has a friend in the CIA named Agent Smith, who keeps getting kidnapped and held prisoner at all the locations 47 is doing missions in. 47 keeps having to rescue him because Smith usually has good intel on his targets. Smith considers 47 his best friend, while 47 holds Smith in open contempt.

47 is a millionaire, but he cannot spend any of his money on luxary items due to his life style. His profession means he's constantly moving to new homes and can only live safely in sparce homes with nothing but fast food to tide him over. His suits are his only affordable luxary, as anything more lavish could expose his location and get him arrested or killed. He's a millionaire who has to live like a broke king thanks to his triple digit body count. It's only when Freelancer happens that he finally gets his own home.

47 is a pro at Dance Dance Revolution, but only when he is dressed like a ninja.

And finally, 47 has canonically killed countless fascists, pedophiles, billionaires, and even anti-vaxers who run MLM pyramid schemes. Up to 365 of them and counting, in fact.

[mio-nika]

Disgusting (comic) AU. Over-arching plot, characters profiles and relationship dynamic breakdown.

Plot:

Mostly based on a modmad "What if Ace Attorney Investigations: Simon Blackquill".

Post Dual Destinies, Phantom spends some time in prison (like a month). And now let's get him out (temporary), so he can sell his employers with comfort. And also pair him with Simon, because they don't hate each other enough. Phantom get's his Bobby mask because artistic continuity, if I change his face we are bordering on Original Character territory.

I'm not smart enough to write actual spy plot, so they are existing in some limbo doing something spy-like. I'm mostly here to inflict the massive amounts of psychological and emotional damage on characters and fans.

Main Protags:

Phantom - after his meltdown in court, getting shot and the conviction his brain got chopped in much finer mush. With his blood, fingerprints and face being recorded he has no way of going back to his classic "run and hide" bullshit. Doesn't like to be out and about. Prefers to be locked up in jail, since he gets solitary and full protection.

Simon - is suffering. Understands the assignment of being paired with the guy who actually knows how to run underground spy business. But still does not like it. AT ALL.

Athena - since I'm not a fan of women centric whump (it's very rarely good and I can count the good examples of it on one hand). I'm using her as a plot device and brain can opener. She's not involved in operation, bc Simon cares about her to much. But sometimes spends time with Phantom as a psychotherapist.

Relationship chemistry:

Everything is very bad. I mean. Except psycho duo, but they are kinda. A well oiled machine.

• Simon <- -> Athena - they are something that I call platonic soulmates. Two people who's lifes are so deeply intertwined, that they can never be apart. They are friends. They are siblings. They are uncle and niece. They would be together from this point to the eternity.

• Athena -> Phantom - she feels disdain towards him, but also pity. I mean:

I truly think that the therapist in her. And the saviour complex would destroy her "he killed my mom". So she kinda goes as "I would help you, but only if you yourself would try to change. Bitch you live like this".

• Phantom -> Athena - fear. I mean. She can read his mind. She can feel that he feels. She is the reason why his life was destroyed. And I'm not only talking about last trial. She made original reading from his bomb threat.

Her abilities to read his mind is probably horrifying to him, since his entire persona based on hiding. But I also think, that he would gravitate to her. She thinks he can change. She's also mentally not normal. She's a therapist. There's a lot of reasons why he can be scared, but also longing for understanding.

• Simon -> Phantom - disgust, babeey! There's probably a lot more, but this bitch does not talk to me. So I'm just observing him from the side.

• Phantom -> Simon - we went so far from good doggie woof woof, that we came back to it.

I'm calling it "fucked up backward loyalty". It's half "I has no reason to make him even more mad, we are trying to work here". And "please please please give me any type of attention". It's the same way as with Athena. Before every human interaction Phantom had for *we don't know how much* time was filtering through his role. Basically "it's my funny friend Bobby", not "it's my funny friend Phantom". So I think he got kinda. Lonely. Not even lonely, more like deep social dissociation. Simon hates him, but he hates HIM, SPECIFICALLY, not Bobby. And the hate is extremely powerful emotion it's almost like love.

Anyway. Local spy got his brain hard rebooted. And mistakenly imprinted on two people who hate him. WHAT CAN GO WRONG

[inconspicious-random-thoughts]

How Valentino got Angels Soul

I just realized something about the dynamic between Valentino and Angel Dust. It rather obvious now I look back on it, but with all my rewatches, I sort of took the two together at face value.

I assumed, without much thought, Angel Dust was a new soul. Scared shitless and took the first deal that offered him some type of protection-Valentino. It's just the vibe I picked up on.

But I actually, thought about them more today and realized how wrong I was with that point blank view.

Angel died in 1947 while Val was 1970's. Angel been wondering around Hell with his own soul for minimum of 3 decades and been going by the name Anthony the entire time. -'Im putting Valentino being powerful overlord in the 80s.

Side note: I personally headcanon, it takes a new soul to achieve overlord power the minimum of 10 years with the exception of Alastor. The new sinner need time to adjust to their new bodies, learn their abilities, and the politics and ways of Hell. And the sinner needs to gain their power a little slowly, I think if they go to fast it alarms other overlords and just make the wannabe overlord a target. So, I say 10 years minimum to achieve overlord power. 10 years a drop in the bucket in eternity)

Other side note: I think Angel Dust soul is actually older than Val if you combine their biological age and their time in Hell. Weird right? What's weirder is Angel biological age is a few years younger then Alastor. whaaaaa? Angle just vibing he is much younger then Alastor when they were alive but apparently Angel died in his 30s, while Alastor is 30-40s

So how did the two got together?

Well, for starters, I think Angel was just scraping by Hell for those first few decades. He lived literally in a Hellhole. Get it? because they are in Hell? nevermind. Anyways, his living quarters was probably literally some hole in a wall that he found and probably have to share with other unfortunate souls. Any money Angel scraps up and spent on drugs. He lived his days getting fucked up by drugs or suffering withdrawals. He sold himself for quick cash grabs for more drugs.

Then one night, Valentino found Angel trying to do one of these quick cash makes. He saw a lot of potential in Angel. He so gorgeous. He promise to make Angel night worthwhile if he gets in his limo. Which to be honest, is the fancy place he done in what he felt like forever.

Angel didn't realize who he was dealing with. A freshly raisen overlord. "He doesn't pay attention to politics" remember?

It was a grand night. The drug flowed and Angel basically had the taste of the high life hanging with Val that night. Angel tried new drugs that night too. He usually strapped for cash so when he bought drugs, it was something familiar. He didn't want to spend his nearly non existent cash on something he didn't know on how it hits. Eventually Val took Angel to his place and had sex. Val purposely wasn't ruthless during this. In fact, Angel never felt more safe since he landed in Hell.

Val try to sway Angel to selling his soul to him. Making promises that were too good to be true. "I'll make you a star, famous!" "No one will dare harm you if you are contracted to me." All the while, blowing smoke in Angel face and other pheromone based moves. Angel was tempted but there no way he was selling his soul.

"I only own you partially...I will only own you while you are in my studio...I own you part time and you get the full time benefits."

Angel was still on the hesitate and left. While Val cooing "you know where to find me when you change your mind."

Angel return to his shit hole home. After the night of spent living the good life...it was extra miserable. Val pheromones was still in his system. He missed feeling safe in Val four arms with the promise of protection. The new drugs...which he starting to crash from pretty hard. He needs that fix again...bad.

Angel returned asking if the deal still available. One that can make him famous and be protected by Val.

-yes

"I can still keep my soul? that you only own it while in your studio?

-yes. Sensing Angel is still hesitant and using the knowledge that Angel complained about his living situation after seeing the sweet grand living space Val has. "How about I sweeten the deal...I'm feeling very generous. I can offer you room and board if you were more hours to earn it." Angel perked at this. "You will have your very own room...right at the studio...how convenient is that?" Angel was ecstatic about the idea of his own space. privacy and comfort. Fuck yea.

(Im sure theres more technical bits like, Angel required to work minimum of 40 hours a week to however long Val wants him. That way Angel can't just walk away when he had enough. It also give Val a loophole of making him work longer hours)

Which is why Val was so furious when Angel moved out. He lost complete control on Angel soul by that. I wouldn't be surprised actually forgot that clause and was pleasantly surprised when he realized he didn't feel the constraint invisible chain outside the studio.

"It's a deal" Not fully realizing that Val owns his soul outside of filming while in the studio. Angel signed and Val set out some celebrotory drugs.

Angel recognized it from the other night and its the new ones that he really enjoyed. "What's this stuff called again?"

"Angel Dust, its popular in my time." Val answered without looking up from the newly signed contracted. "Hey darling, you need to pick a stage name, Anthony not going to cut it."

Angel considers it for a moment as he done a line. Drugs got him into Hell, this drug got him back to Val it seem only fitting and it sounds pretty. "Call me Angel Dust."

Again, its pretty obvious why Val was so upset that Angel moved in retrospect but their dynamic changed a lot to me once I looked more into it. It explains why Anthony signed his name with his real name...because he didn't have his porn star name yet. Angel Dust was huge during Val time and not really around as much during Angel. So I can see Val introducing it to Angel and getting him hooked on it and also inspired his porn star name.

Just my idea but who knows, some of you might enjoy it.

[rockingrobin69]

Colour-full

It was the hottest Saturday in July and Teddy had been climbing the actual walls before Harry broke and said, “Okay, okay, to the park then.”

(The wall thing was new. Ron said it was quite ‘Spider-Lad’ of him; Hermione laughed so hard she kinked her neck. Teddy’s magic, still so new and boundaryless, often manifested in ways that were either literal, or just plain wild).

And so to the park they went. To ride the stupid ‘pirate ship’ (“just one more time!”) and chase after dogs (“Teddy, no, it’s their ball!”) and get ice cream (“Please please please Uncle Harry”). Harry was, at his core, a big softie, and for Teddy all the more; so, yes, he located the nearest stand, and marched to take his place in the queue with all the resolve of a godfather on a mission.

Waited a veritable ever with Teddy’s order on repeat in his mind (chocolate with strawberry syrup, chocolate with strawberry syrup) until he was face to face with the ice cream display and—oh no, he felt faint.

Draco Malfoy should not be allowed to wear magenta.

Not because he looked bad, per-se (he looked ridiculous, like, fuck-me, ridiculous. With the hat, magenta, and the uniform, magenta, with his hair and his nose ring and a thick black choker). Mostly because the effect was a bit much, and Harry lost his ability to form speech when grey eyes finally deigned to grace him with a look.

“What can I get you, Sir?”

Blinked and blinked and sweated and blinked. “Malfoy,” Harry tried. “It’s me.”

“Indeed. So, ice cream, or…?”

Like a kick to the shin. “What? It’s—what are you even—it’s me. Harry Potter. Your, er, I mean, what are you doing selling ice cream in my park?”

One pierced eyebrow hitched. “My apologies. I wasn’t aware they’d made it your park.” With an overly-dramatic huff: “am I still allowed to work here, Mr. Potter?”

“What?” was really all he could give.

“Tell you what. Why don’t you order your ice cream, I’ll get it for you, and even refrain from spitting in it, as a personal favour. Then off you go on your merry little way and maybe get a new shirt because, sorry to say, but this one is painful on the eyes.”

“This shirt is painful on the eyes?” Harry growled, pointing at the magenta uniform, the magenta hat, the magenta backdrop of the cart.

“You’re right. Probably not the shirt. The face attached to it seems to be the problem. Now, Potter, there are people behind you, and it’s hot as fuck, so. Ice cream or sod off?”

For the longest moment he considered sodding off, but Teddy was sitting on that bench and looking very hopeful, and—charming little bubbles in rainbow colours all around him? Shit. “Erm, chocolate with raspberry syrup. Please.”

“Always were a man of high tastes,” Malfoy smirked, but he gave Harry a couple of scoops and a generous dousing of syrup, then charged him something exorbitant, then winked. Harry—had no time to deal with this.

Running back to Teddy (“hey, buddy, so, those bubbles, are you making them on purpose or…?”) with an already-dripping ice cream cone and a strange, swooping feeling in his belly (not hunger). By the time he’d spelled Ted’s hands clean, he already forgot about Malfoy and the whole thing.

Only remembered that night after bedtime. The back of his eyes when he shut them shone oddly magenta.

*

Went to the park the following week without Teddy (spending some time with Remus’s cousin). On his own, in a fairly-nice shirt and smart shoes. Not because, erm, just, he had to make sure. Right? Had to make sure.

The cart wasn’t where Harry’d seen it last week. Possibly he imagined the whole thing? He was overheated and terribly sleep-deprived. But on his way back to the car park, a different ice cream stand, where the staff seemed to be dressed in neon-green, and one of them was flipping Harry off.

Oh. It felt just like that in his chest: an oh. There he was.

Marched over with wholesome indignation, fist ready for the shaking. But Malfoy stepped out of the cart, leaning in its shadow. “Back for another go? We’ve got a new apple-kiwi flavour.”

“What happened to the,” big hand gesture, “magenta place?”

“Hmm? It’s still there. I just think green’s more my colour,” head titled back, long throat bare. “What do you want, Potter? Don’t tell me you came here for ice cream.”

“What if I did?” asked Harry, who didn’t.

Malfoy sighed. His eyes opened, large and startling. “Then I’d recommend you get in the queue and leave me the fuck alone.”

“And—” hand reaching out to stop him, no, Malfoy can’t leave, that’s not how this worked, “and what if it wasn’t ice cream I came for?”

“Then you need to make a decision. If it’s a brawl you want, you’d have to wait till after my shift. If it’s—something else,” suddenly he was very close, huffing warm breath on Harry’s face, “then you should really get here earlier.”

“What? Why?” paralysed by the proximity, buzzing on Malfoy’s sharp smell, apple and citrus and—kiwi?

“Potter, this is the ice-cream world. First come, first serve.” And he was off, back to the cart with his choker and his arse, for which such tight trousers should be made fucking illegal. Put his arm around his coworker, winked again. Harry didn’t like it, didn’t know what to do with the whole thing, with any of it. Took himself back home and sulked at the walls until too late at night.

Decided. It was even fairly easy. Fell asleep and dreamed of a forest, of the sea.

*

Continue reading on Ao3 - or below the cut

“Brawl,” he announced when he finally found Malfoy, now wearing all yellow. “I want a brawl. You need to be punched, and I could take a few kicks, I reckon. Let’s brawl.”

“Hurray,” Malfoy smiled. “I finish at six. Meet me behind the pirate ship. And, Potter, you should probably wear something a little less nice if fisticuffs is what you’re going for.”

Not grinning (Malfoy thinks his shirt is nice?) Harry went back home, made lunch for Teddy, dreamed a little with his eyes open. Cleaned the debris of the cabinet Ted’s magic accidentally exploded, releasing candy flying everywhere, changed into joggers and a tee.

“Where are you going, again?” asked Ron, who came by to babysit. He settled down in the living room with a hand on the remote and the other around a huge bowl of popcorn.

“Nowhere special. Just a little walk in the park or something. Going to watch the new Spider-Lad?”

“Paw Patrol!” Teddy exclaimed, his whole face a toothless grin.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Paw Patrol? Again? Teddy, there’s a whole world of cinematic goodness for us to discover, and Auntie Hermione still thinks I’m full of it but there are whole films about animals who can talk!”

“Full of it,” Harry said.

“Shut up, mate, I’m serious! What do you say, Ted? A lion that can sing, or those pup detectives again?”

“Paw Patrol!”

“Okay. Paw Patrol it is.” A desolate, commiserating look to Harry: “Honestly, what is it tonight? You can’t stop smiling.”

“Nothing, nothing, I promise.” Nearly ran to the park, was there well before half-five, antsy and giddy and nervous. Walked around and around in circles, oblivious to the kids and families and shouts from the pirate ship. To anything that wasn’t—

Malfoy appeared, still in yellow, making him look slightly sallow and lanky. Coming closer. Harry’s heart was rioting in his chest, was going to deafen him.

“You came,” Malfoy said. He looked pleased. It was shaded behind the ride, a grassy area empty of trees. Malfoy dropped his backpack to the ground, pulled something out of it. Still crouched: “Do you want to count us down, or…?”

“Erm. Sure.” Harry’s never really done it like this before. Scheduled like a play-date or something. Malfoy was still on his knees near the bag. “Three… two… one?”

What attacked him was too soft and too cold to be hands—oh, Malfoy just dumped ice cream on his head, quickly melting into his hair, sticky down his throat, under his shirt. Tongue darting out to taste it: yuck, lemon.

“Bastard!” Harry cried, half-blinded with the soft substance, lunging at him with his eyes closed: “come here, you fucking, arsehole, let me,” found Malfoy’s hair and pulled. “You think this is funny?”

“Ow, ah, ha ha,” fucker, he really did, folded nearly in two in Harry’s arms, “it, gods, just too much—”

“Yeah? How would you like it if I,” scooping a dollop out of his hair and shoving it in the general area of Malfoy’s face, hopefully where the choking sounds were coming out of.

“Potter, stop, stop, I can’t,” laughing like a maniac, not even trying to kick Harry off. “Potter!”

Harry somehow managed to shove them both to the grass, where they’d started rolling, sticky and covered in horrible melting cream, both of them swimming in it, both of them laughing. “You’re such a git,” smearing as much as he could on Malfoy’s face, on his uniform, on his neck. Climbed atop him and pinned him down, laughing, laughing.

“You,” Malfoy sputtered, “P-otter, ha, I can’t, ow, ah—”

“Am I hurting you?” asked Harry, who only earlier today planned on punching him. Slid on top of Malfoy’s slimy clothes until he had one sticky cheek in his hand. “Malfoy, are you okay?”

He was still laughing. “Is this,” his chest heaving, “is this what you, ha, wanted?”

“No,” empathetically, laughing too. “You’re a lunatic. It’s—grand.”

“Honestly, when you came and, haha, brawl, I couldn’t—” wiping his eyes, it must sting, all this melted ice cream where it really shouldn’t be. “Ow, this was a terrible idea.”

Harry didn’t know if he agreed. Sticking his pinkie finger in the welling of liquid gathered under Malfoy’s collarbone, bringing it to his lips: “It’s actually not that bad.”

“Hmm?” looking up at Harry, those bright eyes. “Yes?”

“Here, have some.” It was half surprising, how gentle his finger was, tracing Malfoy’s bottom lip till it opened. How carefully he fed Malfoy his own ice cream. Half a surprise and half… not.

Malfoy licked his lips, made Harry’s whole body shiver. “Mm. Not the best. Come back tomorrow and I’d give you something really nice.”

“Can it maybe come in a cone?” this hopeful thing igniting in his belly. “You know, like normal ice cream?”

Malfoy was still laughing. Harry could feel it between his knees, where Malfoy’s ribs were shaking. “Sure. In a cone. You chicken.”

“I’m the—” incensed, Harry leaned down to swipe a big lick from Malfoy’s neckline all the way to his jaw. It tasted awful and slightly electrifying. Forgetting all about the rebuke, Harry did it again.

“Po—Potter,” a moan, when Harry sucked the salty-sweet skin. “Potter!”

“Sweet,” Harry said nonsensically. “You—it’s sweet.”

His smile, when it stretched in yucky, sticky lines on his face. Made Harry’s chest sort of spark. “I can be sweet, too. Just you wait.”

When he kissed him, he tasted like lemons.

*

The next day Teddy accidentally grew a tail and two ears while arguing another rewatch of Paw Patrol. The nice witch from Mungo’s said it was no issue, that they would probably spell off in a day or two. Gave them a very odd-looking hat and advised them to go out and enjoy this brilliant, sunny day.

What else could they do, then, but go to the park?

Walked around and around, rode the pirate ship three times, searched in every ice cream stand until, by total accident: “Potter,” with a tilt of his head. All in blue, a truly unfair sight. “And his little monkey, too.”

“I’m a pup!” Teddy shouted, running towards him. “Paw Patrol!”

“Indeed,” Malfoy agreed with a strange smile. “It’s good to meet you, Edward. I’m—”

“Draco Malfoy!” Teddy already knew? Somehow? “Uncle Harry talks about you all the—”

“Ha ha,” covering the whole little face with his hand, “he’s joking, of course. No, I, erm, probably told him a thing or two about the—ice cream, or something. Teddy, do you want some ice cream?”

“Mm-hmm!” from behind Harry’s hand. Pointing at a flavour that didn’t look much like anything, a blue blurb. 

Malfoy nodded, considering. “Excellent choice, young pup sir. Blueberry bubble-gum, coming right up. And for the gentleman?”

Teddy pointed at something that looked even less like it should be edible. Malfoy’s devilish grin told him he was correct in that assessment. “Hmm. Naturally, naturally. In fact, and if I might add—sprinkles?”

Ted started jumping up and down. His hat shifted slightly, showing what now were—

“Oh my,” Malfoy covered his own mouth, and what turned out to be laughter, “blue ears, Edward? That’s not something you see every day.”

Teddy came forward to watch how Malfoy scooped up the ice cream with the big spoon, eyes round. “Can I do that?” he turned to Harry. “Please, please, can I—”

“Why not? Hop in. I’ll show you how to do it so even your Uncle Harry is impressed.” And he guided Teddy’s hand to scoop up Harry’s ice cream, in what had to be at least twenty different health-code violations. “Do you want to do the sprinkles too?”

Was how they all ended up covered in sprinkles, and Malfoy closed off the stand (“smoking break, something, whatever,”) and they took a walk around the park till they found a slightly shaded area.

It really was a brilliant day. Teddy was happy enough even with the weird, itchy hat, and Malfoy was—bright blue. This thing melting in Harry’s chest felt uncomfortably close to ice cream.

*

On his lunch break the next day, Malfoy was wearing orange. He wondered if it was his ice-cream business, and he’s the one who changed colour every day; or if there truly were so many rivalling stands, each with their own theme. It didn’t matter. None of it did, besides for Malfoy’s lips, which stretched into a smile, and his eyes, crinkling with it too, and his hands, reaching out for Harry.

“So?” he asked when Harry was close enough to take one. “Did I pass. The test. The—dogged deliberation.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry laughed, pulled him closer.

“Teddy, of course! You brought him as your expert judge, I expect. What did he say? Am I allowed to do this?” brought Harry’s hand to his mouth, kissed it. “And, this?” pinched his side painfully.

“Ow! Bastard! I didn’t—Teddy was just off because of the whole, ear thing. I didn’t bring him to judge you or whatever.”

“So why did you come here?” eyebrow rising, rising. With that piercing that made Harry want to lick it. “I mean, there are many other things you could do on a day off, but you keep coming—here.”

“This is my park,” Harry reminded him gently. Malfoy scoffed, turned his face away. “Hey—”

“No, no, you’re right. Your park. I suppose that makes me your employee? Kinky shit, Sir.”

“Malfoy.” Tugged his chin up, made him look. “I keep coming here because I like you. Because you’re deranged and I don’t get you half the time and I like you. Is that enough, or do you want the whole song and dance?”

This half-smile he kept chewing on springing loose. “Ooh, there’s a dance?”

Harry kissed him, helpless with it. “You’re such an arsehole,” into his neck, and today Malfoy smelled like orange blossom and like mango, something addictive and crushing, unbearable. “How do you even,” inhaling deep, deep, “do this?”

“Magic, of course,” Malfoy laughed, and kissed him back.

The problem was it was magic. The problem was Harry couldn’t get enough. The main problem was, he couldn’t remember why that was a problem.

*

The next day he couldn’t go to the park again (something about staying an hour past his lunch break? Something about barely showing up to work in a week. Something about being an adult and having responsibilities, something silly). Harry texted the number Malfoy gave him, which might have been a joke, or a hoax, didn’t hope for much.

Got a reply a little too quickly. A photo of an ice cream stand, all in pink. Then an emoji with the tongue sticking out. Harry thought: this man is mad, and I might be head over heels for him. Smiled into his coffee cup and thought about what to cook for Teddy tonight. Maybe he’d invite Malfoy over? Maybe it could be a thing. God, could he make it a thing, could he build something out of it, this colourful whirlwind of a spark?

Closed his eyes: everything was pink, like a mouth puckered for a kiss, like cartoon hearts. Decided, and it was even fairly easy.

*

“You have to try the lavender.”

“Yes, Uncle Harry, try it, try it!”

Harry rolled his eyes, prayed for mercy. “Awfully suspicious, the two of you are being.”

“What! Teddington, I think your uncle just insulted us. Show him how we feel about that.” Teddy tried to pout, but he was smiling too much. “Very good. Now, come on, Harry, we made it especially for you!”

It was purple. The whole cart, the whole world, behind his eyelids and the silly suit Malfoy was wearing. Harry opened his mouth and let them stick a spoon in. Swallowed: lavender. Oddly nice, just a little sweet, just the way he liked it.

“You both are,” Harry tried, couldn’t find the word. Mad and brilliant and purple. “Ach, come here.” Wrapping his arms around all the sticky limbs he could find, this rumbling in his chest still, to this day, close to toppling him over.

It was very colourful, being alive.

In the distance Ted’s bubbles were distinctly purple, too. 

For the brilliant @purplehotmess who gave me such a sweet prompt! 

[dmwrites]

Cleo hated many things. She prided herself, in fact, in her ability to loathe things. This included such things as the nether, the end, Joe (sometimes), Jevin (all the time), the sun, the moon, swords, and living people.

Today’s subject of her abhorrent hatred, however, was caving.

“This is ridiculous.” Cleo grumbled, gasping at a noise off in the distance and placing four torches around her at lightning speed. “Gold. Fucking raw fucking gold, and no one sells it. And of course I couldn’t build with gold blocks or yellow concrete. God, I hate caving.” She then screamed, as a bat flew past her. She swung at it with her sword, and the bat, who had been minding its business up until that point, panicked and got stuck in her hair. She screamed, the bat made a lot of noises she assumed was also screaming, there was a zombie that came around the corner that saw what was happening and just kind of turned back around and left. It was a whole thing.

“I hate caving!” Cleo announced to the cave at a whole after she got the bat out. She continued shuffling downwards, digging up ores when she saw them, and grumbling to herself. She hated how deep the caves got now, how the deepslate practically absorbed the torch light, making it all the more scary. She was so full of hate, in fact, that she failed to notice the way that the cave had slowly gone silent of all noise, how the floor was squishier then normal. It wasn’t until the small cave she had been traveling down opened up into an ancient city that she noticed all that was amiss.

“Oh god!” Cleo clapped a hand over her mouth, looking around in fright. The city yawned out before her, only illuminated by the flickering torch and the skulk sensors that lit up momentarily with warning. All around her was that stuff, that inky bluish black, like the starry night sky had fallen into the ocean. Her outburst, thankfully, had not really been noticed by anything bad, and she was left standing shock still, trying very hard not to make a noise. She knew there were two options here: she could leave, the cowards way back, or explore the city for treasures.

She turned right around and left, disappearing through the same hole she’d come from. Treasure and bravery be damned. Now that she was paying attention, she realized that the walls and floor of the small cave halls were covered in squishy skulk. If she was being honest with herself, the stuff always king of gave her the heebie-jeebies. Such a weird substance. Plus, she always felt out of place around it. She walked faster, hoping for stone and deepslate walls again.

The thing was, she could see deepslate up ahead, see her torches where she’d been. But the deepslate never seemed to get close enough, always out of reach. It was all skulk around her. Cleo froze. She was standing on skulk where she knew there had been stone before. This was where the bat had been.

“What?” Cleo whispered in confusion. She looked down and took a hesitant step forward onto the deepslate ahead, but just as she set down her foot, the blocks turned to skulk. Cleo put her hand to the wall, and the same thing happened, the skulk almost hugging her hand.

“Ew!” Cleo pulled her hand away, and took another cautious step. The skulk followed. “For goodness sakes!” Cleo sighed and pulled out her phone and dialed.

“Hello, this is Joe Hills, speaking as I always do in Nashville, Tennessee.”

“Joe, this is no time for your made-up places.” Cleo snapped.

“Hi Cleo!” Joe said quite cheerily. “What’s up?”

“Joe, what do you know about skulk?” Cleo asked, sliding her fingers across the cave walls, kind of doodling with the skulk residue that her finger left behind.

“Well, it keeps autocorrecting to ‘skull’ in my phone.” Joe said. “But, uh, not much else. You can farm it, I think, by like killing things? It likes the dead.”

Cleo froze. “It likes the dead?” She repeated.

“Yes Cleo, I just said that, no need to reiterate my own information back to me. Say, where are you right now?”

Cleo chuckled in disbelief. “I’m in a cave, Joe. And the skulk is following me.”

Joe was silent for a moment. “Huh. That’s weird. It’s following you, what, down a cave?”

“Yeah.” Cleo took her hand away and wiped it on her dress. “Every step I take, it turns that stone into skulk. I guess it’s because I am dead? It likes dead things, I do suppose.” She started walking again, until she caught sight of her hand under a torch. “Oh.”

“Oh what?” Joe asked.

“Joe, my fingers have turned to skulk.”

“What?”

“Joe.” Cleo said again, looking down at the studded bluish black that was coating each of her fingers on the hand she’d had on the wall. “My fingers are covered in skulk.” She wiped her hand on her dress again. “And it’s not coming off.” She turned around, and looked down the cave she’d come from- the entire thing had been swallowed up by glittering darkness. It was very, very quiet in the cave now.

[mdhwrites]

Why Are Harem Protagonists So Boring?

"Because it's easier to insert yourse-" Shoo, shoo. You're not useful except from a marketing perspective and we're here to talk about writing, not marketing. Besides, if that's all that's ever said on the subject, we can never improve the problem so again: Shoo.

Now, with that out of the way, let's actually discuss why.

A blank slate is easier for the GIRLS to insert themselves into.

Okay, that's only like half a joke but the principal is actually similar to the appeal to the audience, as well as essentially hedging your narrative bets as a writer. See, a good romance is built on chemistry. On the concept that you like seeing two people together and you think they could make each other happy. As I talked about in my last blog, The Problem with Harem Childhood Love, this is actually such a complex topic that doing it for just two people is an entire genre and enough to support a full length story.

Now extend that to SIX. Worse yet, not three distinct couples but five of these people all have to go "Yes. This one person is the one we want." That is, to put it mildly, fucking hard to sell. After all, to make people feel positive emotions towards any and all of the potential pairings here, you have to put a lot of time, work and effort to flesh out each character and make them have a proper dynamic with the main character that brings out something new in your protagonist so as to keep them feeling fresh.

But what if there was nothing new to pull out? What if the girl essentially dictated the entire dynamic? That simplifies things a great deal and while it makes for a less compelling romance, if the dude is as boring as white bread, he also won't come across as an actually terrible option for any of the girls, thus rendering him fine. Just... fine.

And fine is genuinely a hard bar for this genre to clear sometimes, hello Rent-a-Girlfriend, who's main character is such a creep and asshole who has made up his mind and is stringing these girls along because it makes him feel good, while pushing the one he likes WAY out of her comfort zone, that quite frankly he should just be thrown in the dumpster like the trash that he is. A lot of harem protagonists though are this sort of pervy, skeevy asshole who when asked "You have the ability to do whatever you want for a day, no repercussions," would look back at you as hellfire fills their eyes and sin fills their groins because sadly, there was never an ethical code within them to begin with anyways. THIS sort of harem protagonist is the one that I think can be rightfully accused of just existing purely for audience wish fulfillment and should never exist ever again.

But that doesn't mean fine needs to be the only bar we strive for. We don't need our opinion on the main character to be simply apathy so that we don't mind him getting with the girls he's surrounded by. No, we can strive for better and it actually comes from a very simple question that is a bitch and a half to answer:

"What sort of guy would all of these girls want to be with?"

Now that might seem obvious. That's the basis of all romance stories after all. Why and who someone would want to fall in love with. With two characters, that is indeed how it should be and the backbone of the genre but when you have a roster of 3-5 other romantic partners to cover, finding a unifying factor is actually as much a problem narratively as it is a boon.

Part of the reasons why harems seem to be mostly written from the perspective of the sorts of girls that a guy would like (outside of just assuming guys have a wider interest in partners -_-) is variety. While harems may have their dedes and their tropes, it still is important that each one be able to cover a different flavor of romance, comedy, etc. trope so as to make sure that one character spending time with the MC feels distinctly different from another. This is part of why most even half decent harems have a wide variety of personalities so as to facilitate this flavor of the week appeal.

If they all are supposed to be equally interested in a guy with a real personality though and own, personal beliefs, the easy answer to that is uniformity. If they're all the same except hair color then OF COURSE they'd all be willing to get with him. This is how you get something like Mabuharo where essentially everyone there is some amount of tsundere or yandere, or at least most of them. This can quickly lead to narrative repetition though and boredom with the main cast as there doesn't really feel like there's a real distinction between them.

This can, again, be fixed by actually making someone so complex as to be able to actually appeal to that many different people through different sides of themselves but if not done right, it can just make the character feel inconsistent. Again, good romance writing is a lot harder than people think and this element of it is one of the hardest. Does that mean we're doomed though? Not really.

I'm only going to do one example but let's take a pretty normal, male archtype: Tough guy with a heart of gold. Looks scary but is actually a decent dude. What sorts of girls might be into him, why and how can he quickly woo them in case the story isn't able to be very long?

Shy: He is the protector. Someone who she should be terrified of but as he clearly means her no ill will and can scare of the anxieties of the day by not giving two shits if people look at him funny, she can immediately want to be by his side for that comfort.

Rowdy/Tsundere: Someone she can spar with, verbally and sometimes physically. Someone who's treatment from the world has left him capable of taking some jabs, again, in both regards, while also dishing out his own verbal barbs. She wants to get with him because they are equals.

Genki-girl/Happy: She can see the wearing down of him due to the harsh world and make it her mission to brighten his world so that he remembers how nice people can be and why he's a good person. In return, he can help her with her naivety and expand her understanding of the beauty the world can have by showing her the rougher parts of it that he was forced into, with him reclaiming that joy in the process. In the end, both are happier for having known each other.

Smart girls: He is a project. Someone to make better by refining his rough edges until she learns to appreciate them. While she works on him from a bookworm perspective though, her own care and determination shining through with how much she'll put up with to get his grades up, he helps her where she's lacking in street smarts until they aren't on equal footing in their respective fields but they're a lot closer and have a lot to thank for each other.

The Dark and Brooding One/Kuudere/Potential Yandere: Doesn't find her scary/mysterious and they both actually see the other as a bastion from the assumptions of others. While the boy suffers from his gruff exterior because people dislike him, the girl suffers from people assuming she'd be too mature for childish things or too scary to approach and be friends with. They are kindred spirits that can lean on one another.

There. Five girls, off the top of my head, for just one incredibly basic archtype of dude. These aren't admittedly the most complex girls either but it's a good baseline to then expand and flesh out for a harem that can bring out nominally different things from him while not having to push so far out of the comfort zone of his archtype that you have to dedicate too much time to his character development and so can keep the focus on the girls. It still gives him SOME sort of personality though besides "Nominally okay dude." Heck, I still technically worked backwards from this, coming up with each archtype one by one after choosing what the guy would be like, but the question never changed: Why would these girls fall in love with him?

It's not as hard as you think it has to be, love doesn't have to be that complicated (not in fiction at least), and so please just put in that little bit of extra effort. Your story will be better for it, even if your market share will be a touch smaller.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[hel-phoenyx]

Nicomaque and Andreas belong to @soupedepates, Hei, Wren, Ocean, Sora, Maria Suzanna and Augusta to @noa-de-cajou and Natsuki and Fyodor to @corneille-but-not-the-author

____

I'm already beginning to feel tired. But Livia is too happy about that little outing, and Hope started smiling for the first time in months when I mentioned the idea of that general children-of-former-Ultimates playdate.

To be fair, it wasn't my idea. It's just that we, by pure coincidence, have a tendency to put our children in the same school and daycare, and today it's one of the events of said school. The school fair. And since I am trying very hard to be a good parent, and to give a safe space for children that don't have that luxury, I had to invite several people I didn't want to see.

It's for the children, mine as much as theirs. And because it was my idea, I have to assume the consequences.

So I swallow both my pride and honor, and sit down on the bench next to the only parent no one wants to approach but everyone needs to keep in check. Always for me the ingrate tasks.

"Don't make such a face, dear," Nicomaque laughs while putting out another cig. "I'm starting to think I am unwanted here."

"You are. Andreas isn't."

Said Andreas is currently running around the playground with Hei, Livia behind them holding one of those fake swords they sell at the fair. I'm sure Sachiko bought it for her because Thibault would find it too sharp, too violent, too dangerous for our little eight-years-old nightmare. She almost caught up to Andreas, who seems to have even less endurance than Hope. It may be the paleness of his skin, or the faint dark circles under his eyes, but it makes me wonder if he's taken care of properly.

Thinking about it, probably not. The one that knew how to left some time ago.

The father of that child chuckles, eyes locked on the playground.

"That is very rude, Blondie. Do you like me only for my child ? Didn't take you for THAT sort of people."

"I know what word you had in mind, and trust me, I didn't go from afraid of children to fucking pedo, thanks. I just want to make sure Andreas is supervised at least for a moment."

And I'm not the only one. Thus, explaining Augusta's presence, that is throwing daggers through her eyes at us since the beginning of the playdate. Maria-Suzanna is currently building a twig and pebble fort, probably to help defend against the assaults of my terrible daughter. I am not idiot enough to think the glaring of her mother is only for my current bench buddy.

She never got exactly why I stayed. I'm sure she had a lot of opinions in her mind, cowardice, weakness, evilness being the most common words, especially after what he did to Elvira and Fyodor. I don't intend to tell her I don't know.

Nicomaque is still smiling, even though contrary to me, he avoids this part of the playground like the plague. I am not in the right mood to turn the knife in the wound, especially with children present, so I don't make any comments.

A sigh escapes his lips.

"Come now, I am perfectly able to watch over my child."

"Me when I lie. What time did he go back to your house yesterday ?"

"That's just having freedom."

"Freedom at that age is the occasional allowance and the ability to go out alone with the certitude you're gonna be safe and someone is backing you up. Not being up doing you-know-what and hang out with you-know-who."

"I don't want to hear anything from the sheltered child."

"Maquo, sweetie, we were both raised in isolation and control. The only difference between us is that you were a product of emotionnal incest and I ended up tossed aside when proved useless."

That remark makes him shut up. About time. Livia is running towards me, with her cousins and Hope behind her. Andreas is following, albeit shyer. I think he's not used to so many children with temperaments such as the van Heels'.

"Papa, papa, can we get bubble waffle ? There is a stand held by Sora nearby, and I've been DYING to eat some !"

Hope is signing with her only arm something that looks like "me too" in arab sign language. Apparently she's not the only one interested, because the words "bubble waffle" is making my niblings vibrating with excitement, other children such as Wren, Ocean and Natsuki are joining the crew, and far away Maria Suzanna is looking at us with expectant eyes.

I guess Augusta told her to stay away. Fair.

Turning away from the deadbeat next to me, I smile.

"Do you intend for me to pay for all your little crowd ?"

"Well auntie Mareva said it's your turn to open your bank account, whataver that means. Can we, can we, can we ?"

Andreas looks towards me with glimmer in his eyes. He doesn't even spare a look towards his father, probably because he knew he already has his permission.

Nicomaque is not even affected by that lack of acknowledgement.

My heart can't help but tighten. In what world will that child grow up ?

I get up, with victory shouts of all the crowd.

'Alright, you little cockroaches. Let's get you something to eat, and me too for that matter. You want something, Nicomaque ?"

"Never gonna pass an occasion to eat the Ultimate Chef's food, especially if you're paying. Bring me a beer, while you're at it."

"Sure," I say, with absolutely no intention to comply. "Let's go, children, time for snack!"

[lostfirefly]

You’ve Got The Same Dream as Me (Ch. 2)

Hello, kiddos! The idea for this fanfic came to me from a dream (again) I had about a month ago. Тhe main characters were Tom Cruise and Henry Cavill (don't ask me why), but with a light hand they have been replaced (sorry, guys). The main action of the dream took place somewhere in the sands. Аlthough this fanfic will feature Sir Crocodile and our beloved Buggy, the action shifts to the desert. No marines, ships etc. Sorry, not sorry :) The devil fruit's abilities are preserved. Catch the Mummy and Indiana Jones vibes :) I have no idea how many chapters there will be. Different titles and names from the original source material will be used to emphasise the general OP's vibe.

Since English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :) 

And thank you to my dear @yujo-nishimura and @laurasoretta for believing in me :)

Description: Catherine, a librarian who is searching for the trail of her sister who went missing on an expedition. Notes in books and diaries lead her to Cairo. There she finds a retailer from an artifact shop who, in exchange for selling her a map and equipment, insists that Catherine take her along. They get into a little (or maybe a big) adventure.. 

Warnings: 12+, I think. As always, no smut, angst, violence. Adventures and fun only. Buggy x OC, Sir Crocodile x OC.

Words: 770

The title is taken from «You've Got the Same Dream as Me» (Sonya Belousova & Giona Ostinelli) (One Piece, Netflix)

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Chapter 1

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Catherine set her alarm clock for five in the morning.

She quickly washed up, drank coffee in her hotel room and hurried to the bookstore.

Even though the store opened at 9 a.m., she was on the porch at 6:00 a.m.

"God, I'm such an idiot. What if the book isn't there? Then what? I've traveled hundreds of miles to get here for nothing? No, it can't be", Catherine mumbled to herself, tapping her feet on the paving stones.

At 8 a.m., a figure began approaching the store.

Catherine squinted slightly trying to make out the man.

"It's a girl! Thank goodness it's a girl! Why I thought Rika was a man's name?", Сatherine's mind was spinning with all sorts of thoughts.

Finally, the girl with brown hair and green eyes came to the door.

"Hello, you're Rika, aren't you? I'm Catherine Mitchell", Catherine said, rising quickly from the steps.

"I'm very happy for you that you're Сatherine. But the store is closed until 9:00 a.m".

"W-wait... I need..."

Suddenly the door slammed shut in front of the bewildered Catherine's nose. 

"What the fuck?!", Catherine started knocking on the door. "Hey, you, open your damn door! Open it!"

Without waiting for an answer, Catherine peered through the small window near the front door and saw the girl quietly making tea. 

"Brown-haired bitch!", Catherine cursed and plopped down on the porch.

9 a.m. Finally, the click of the lock was heard.

"Yes!", Catherine jumped up from her seat and stormed into the store without a moment's hesitation.

"May I help you?", the girl asked with a smile. 

"Take that smile off your pretty face. Don't pretend like you didn't see me on the porch, bitch!" Catherine shouted, slamming her fist down hard on the counter. "Damn..."

"Are you ok?", the girl asked. 

"Fuck..", Catherine rubbed her wrist. "None of your business. Anyway, as I said I'm Catherine Mitchell. I know you have Professor Alabasta's book".

"How did you know about this book?", the girl was clearly surprised.

"It doesn't matter. I know you have it. I looked it up and your store is the only one in town that has it. How much is it worth? I'd be willing to buy it", Catherine tried to look more confident with her arms crossed over her chest.

"For the record, young lady, I'm Rika, the owner of this store and I don't need to be spoken in the tone like that", said the girl, wiping the dust on the counter.

"What? I...", Catherine took a deep breath. "Okay, I'm sorry", she said reluctantly.

"Oh", Rika said with a sigh. "Once again, Catherine Mitchell.. What are you looking for?"

Catherine tried with all her might not to lose her temper. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, took a few deep breaths, counted to five and continued.

"I'm looking for Professor Alabasta's book with a silly name "The key to the treasure". Please.. I read you have it". 

"Maybe I have.. or maybe not", Rika said, arms were crossed.

"Look.. My sister. She's gone. I'm looking for her.  One of the last entries in her diary points to the professor's book. Apparently, she's gone somewhere in the desert, but she's lost her trail. I came here to find her. Please...", said Catherine, her blue eyes were wet with tears.

"The desert? You mean.. the Sabaody Desert?" Rika asked, her eyes were widen.

"Yes!!", Catherine hurriedly pulled out the journal with the entries. "See? The coordinates in the journal point this way. But to get there, I need Professor Alabasta's book. And equipment..."

"Jesus Christ", Rika said, looking at the notes and scratching the palm of her right hand. "Wait... What exactly are you looking for? Your sister? Or something else?"

"Something else?" Catherine asked in surprise.

"Oh, God, don't tell me you've never heard of the treasure that lies somewhere in that desert. It's supposedly hidden in the area your coordinates indicate. It's not certain, but it could be".

"I'm not interested in the treasure, I just want to find my sister. Before I left here, I went through her bedroom and found this", Catherine put on the counter some maps, another diary and pieces of paper with various notes.

"You know, darling", Rika stretched, tapped her fingers on the table and cast a glance at Catherine. "I'll sell you the compass, the equipment, the map and whatever else you need, but I have one condition. I'm coming with you".

"Where are you going with me?"

"Shit! Where your coordinates point, you fool! I wouldn't turn down an offer like that. I'm an excellent map reader. But, frankly speaking, it's dangerous to go alone there. We need a guide to help us get there,", Rika leaned on the table, propping her chin up with her hands.

"Do you have someone in mind for us?"

"Uh, kind of.. Yeah", Rika scratched her cheek with her finger. "Tell me. Do you like the circus?"

[pixlh3art]

i'm recovering from surgery and therefore off my adhd meds so fuck it

Here's 4 Things That I, a Former Computer Technician, Wish Everybody Knew About Technology

I'm not a major expert or anything, but I'm certified for repairs for two of the biggest laptop manufacturers out there, have done not only several in-warranty repairs for those companies, but have also done a few at-home "sure babe I'll replace your laptop battery" repairs for friends/partners. I am also my whole extended family's designated tech support person for all things software. Here we go!

1. When you spill liquid on a device, turn it off, LEAVE it off, and bring it to a technician. Liquid damage to devices does not occur at the moment of the spill, but when electricity goes through wet/corroded transistors. It is NOT a good thing if the device "suddenly works later."

2. Every device that you have that can be used and also move at the same time (laptop, tablet, phone, etc.) has what's called an "SSD," or "solid-state-drive" for its storage. "Storage" is what you actually keep saved on the device, which is different from "memory" (a computer's ability to multitask). SSDs are great, but there's one thing to keep in mind: they really really REALLY don't like being filled to the brim. When they get too full, they essentially lose the ability to actually make any more space, even when you delete something, and that causes all kinds of software issues. Most good SSDs are programmed to prevent this, but you can still manage to screw them up if you try hard enough. Treat every SSD like it's maybe 5GB smaller than it says it is.

3. Turn your devices off every once in a while. Like, idk, maybe once a week. It's good for them. And no, restarting doesn't count, I mean turn them fully, fully off. If you're unsure as to the difference, let me put it this way: imagine you always got 8 hours of sleep, but only 2 hours at a time. Yeah - that's what only ever restarting is like. Turn your phone and your tablet and your computer fully off every now and again. It doesn't have to be for long or anything, just has to be a full shutdown.

4. If you lose the charger for your laptop, do some google research and find out the exact specifications of the charger your computer has - specifically, the wattage. I highly recommend going to the original manufacturer to buy your replacement. I know that a lot of laptop chargers can be hella expensive, but trust me, buying a cheap Amazon charger will become a MUCH more expensive problem later. If you can't get the original charger from the manufacturer, or if you can but it'll ship way too late, at least try to compare the price that they sell it for to what you purchase elsewhere - if it's anything more than like 10$ cheaper than what the manufacturer is charging, then it's suspicious.

TL;DR: if you spill liquid on something turn it off and bring it to a technician no matter what, treat every device's storage like it's maybe 5GB smaller than it says it is, turn your phone off every once in a while, and if you lose your laptop charger buy the replacement directly from the manufacturer.

People who repair devices for a living will thank you.

Oh! And back up your data. Please. I literally don't care how, just do it. Seriously.

[theunsweetenedtruth]

Promises (3)

Pairing: Erik Stevens x Ada Moore (OC)

AN: Originally written in 2018

Ada stood in front of the mirror, rubbing her belly. She was fresh out the shower, only in her underwear, taking in the changes her body had gone through and how much they reflected the changes in her life.

She'd moved from the studio apartment she'd shared with Erik into a two bedroom apartment not far from where they'd lived. She decorated the second bedroom in soft grays and blush pinks, spending two days painting the wall opposite the door in a floral mural in black, purple and that same pink. It had given Ada a purpose being able to create a space for her baby girl to come home to once she was born, like she was presenting herself to be judged by her upon arrival and Ada didn't want to be found lacking.

She found a job in a daycare, helping to care for the smaller children, to try to supplement the measly income she was getting from selling her art. It was hard to sacrifice her painting time but it was the only way Ada would be able to pay for the apartment and get what she needed for her baby girl. It was easier in the studio apartment, even easier with Erik paying half of the—sometimes the whole—rent. But that was he past and Ada had to make sacrifices for her future. She would be able to bring the baby to the daycare after birth as well, which made things better.

There was still no word from Erik, no way of knowing whether he was alive or dead, no way to let him know he'd have a baby girl in less than a month. Ada packed the things they he'd left behind into the back of her closet. Every once in a while, she'd pull out his leather book and look through it, praying for the answers to waft up from the worn pages. She felt closer to him in those moments; she liked to think that he'd gone to Wakanda, had found the family that they'd both wanted. Ada had let go of her anger quickly after realizing he wouldn't come back; he'd given her the greatest gift possible, the ability to build her own family.

A nudge took her out of her thoughts and Ada smiled. Her baby girl was very active throughout her pregnancy. "You kicking your mama? Hmm? You want some attention?" Ada looked at her body in the mirror analyzing herself. She was still slim, with a large round belly poking out, but she didn't even look pregnant from the back. Eight months had flown by and she had everything ready for her baby's arrival except...

"We really need a name for you baby girl," she said absentmindedly. "I don't think Baby Girl is gonna work on your birth certificate." There was a knock on the door.

Ada froze. She didn't have any friends and the people she'd met at the daycare didn't know where she lived. Even if they did, Ada didn't think they would stop by unannounced. Running to her bedroom, she pulled on her silk robe and ran to the door. Peering through the peephole, she saw two women, shaved heads with tattoos on them, holding spears. Ada backed away from the door in shock; she didn't know who these women were or what they wanted. There was another knock.

Leaving the deadbolt in place, Ada opened the door. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"Are you Ada Moore?" the one on the left asked.

"Depends on who's asking." Ada wasn't about to trust just anyone. She knew Erik probably still had enemies out there; it wouldn't be hard to figure out who she was to him. Who she'd been to him.

The women looked at each other, exasperation clear on their faces. "I don't think you want to have this conversation in the hallway," the same woman spoke up again, an eyebrow raised. Ada noticed she had an accent, an indication that she wasn't from Boston, or even America, and irritation colored her every word. "This is about N'Jadaka."

Ada blinked in confusion. Was she supposed to know who the fuck that was? She was getting annoyed with these women; all she wanted to do was eat her food and sit on her couch, not play mind games with black Xena, Warrior Princess.

"You know him better as Erik Stevens."

Ada slammed the door quickly, wrenching the chain off the door and swinging it open. "You know about Erik? What happened to him? Did he make it to Wakanda?"

The women gave each other another look before walking in. After shutting the door behind them, they banged their spears on the ground. The lights flickered and a figure appeared clothed in a black and gold suit. Ada startled at the sudden appearance of a masked man. What in the absolute hell...

The face disappeared from the mask and a face recognizable to her appeared. Erik looked agonized at seeing her and Ada felt paralyzed. She figured he had to be dead, secretly hoped for it being the only reason she hadn't heard from him in eight months. Stepping closer to him, tears welled in her eyes and before she knew it she swung.

[theangryman]

externally processing

I have a couple of what the kids call “vocal stims.” I think.

I tried to explain to my ex that I was just wanting affection. When I experience intense feelings I struggle with my ability to communicate them. “Love” is an intense feeling; it is not a feeling I am able to articulate fluently. How do you encapsulate “I want you to hold me so close that our atoms intermingle, leaving some trace of you and I as a part of each other forever. That some of the carbons of me still to this day linger in you, and the bacteria of my belly button are the children of yours?”

I won’t share the words here, because they are still in me. I don’t know if they’ll be safe again; but it’s like holding a sneeze. I know my lover will hear them some day, and I guess I’ll know how safe he is by his reaction.

I think my real curse is that intense emotions take away my facility to communicate. I’m rendered helpless by a world unsympathetic to someone who cannot respond to “why are you crying?” Being accused of being manipulative because I shut down under overwhelming arguments.

“Boy autism” is understood as something that they can’t control. “Girl autism” is not.

The people who have always wanted to hurt me have known that by tormenting me. If I show any sign of emotion, I automatically lose all credibility in the eyes of the external audience.

My ex husband gagged me, tied me to a chair, and beat me. He gagged me because he did not want me to safe word. He was always unhappy that I did not let him beat me as hard as he could. He didn’t do warm ups (until I finally got him to talk to real people kinksters; a conversation burned into my mind: “why will you take the same advice from others that you won’t from me?”)

Did I consent? Yes, I consented to everything at that time. I raised objections and discomforts, but he had counterpoints; he always did.

There are maybe good things I have from that experience. I learned a lot from having to sell my body for textbooks. I’m a lot less ignorant of the world for having slept in my car a couple times. Humble and stronger maybe.

I’d just like to not have to skip the aisle in the supermarket that has honey in it. Complex PTSD a bitch. That’s the only part I think I can place on that one. Maybe I was blindfolded.

It’s funny: he took <12 hours a semester, fucked his way around, didn’t work, and had his whole education funded by his rich family. I helped him research, I helped him get into college, I wrote his final paper. I worked full time and took grad classes.

I took worked full time, often multiple jobs. Survival sex work. Still owe quite a bit. Paid his grandpa rent while basically being his housemaid. (Grandpa gave it back for Christmas once, which was kind admittedly.) I took maximum hours every semester to maximize savings. I volunteered. I served in leadership organizations.

Being AFAB will mean that you have to work 10x as hard, that you can not show any *hint* of vulnerability. “Be a man!” he’d shout at me when I was anxious. He passed his parental t trauma onto me by proxy: lol.

[pinkopalina]

how covid unsocialized me.

it's hard for me to even wax poetic about my experiences because I saw how little anything mattered. so many of us died and even more wrote it off like god was thinning the herd or like the most vulnerable of us getting picked off was deserved because of what the most brutal and uncaring of us did. it made me form a stark contrast between who I thought "us" was and who I realized "they" are.

it made it really hard for me to live day to day without ruminating about our systems and how unhappy I am playing pretend doing stupid shit to make money for people who proved to me that they don't care about me. why am I doing this? why do I have to participate ? how are the rest of you happy and complacent this way, but how dare I say that? in what way have I proven myself a pure saint of a paragon? I have sinned with my apathy.

now I'm so completely disillusioned with any attempt to care about anything because I watched in real time as everything shifted. as covid broke us and rebuilt us for THEIR convenience. yes being gay is okay, to sell you stuff. but we'll take your rights away. yes we care about work life balance... but only if our job controls our access to healthcare and we have to be there more than enough to warrant the work we do.

and it's not like it was great before! it's not like something amazing was ruined and I'm just mad at covid for fucking it up. it was bad and it was a matter of time before something sparked change, and I feel like that was supposed to be covid. if it wasn't that, it was gonna be something else. we had this whole opportunity to actually change and heal the earth and ourselves but we FUCKED THAT UP. we're STILL FUCKED UP YEARS LATER. how many more years of this am I going to witness and bear apathy to because I have no better choice???

it feels with so much bad shit compounding on top of each other, like an unhealthy mind, our unhealthy society ruminating on their problems and blaming each other instead of getting up to help has just left me defeated. the fight goes on and I am no soldier. it's every day. it's always feeling stupid for feeling hopeful and then feeling regret for overcorrecting with rage. I feel like my words are so foreign and long winded to people now that expressing myself, like trying to be saved during COVID, was useless. I legitimately have thoughts like "well at least people who are dead now don't have to worry about what a shit world it's becoming lol" but I can't even EXPRESS that I feel that way because Tumblr police in my head from 16 years of being on the only website that hasn't died yet -- but only has a MILLION rules you have to abide by unless you want a callout post and to develop borderline personality disorder -- will remind me that thoughtcrimes are actually that serious like just as bad as the real shit that is happening with the people with guns and money and power and law making abilities and you should be killed for them too. even though the war is bad. like, these rules don't make any fucking sense but I still have to abide by them.

and then I go into these huge metaphors and assumptions about life and it's echo chambering in my own brain and I actually feel like I turned into the joker. except I'm not even allowed to relate to that because everyone in the ship tag you follow to try to alleviate some of the symptoms of the rot on your mental health that is Daily Life has become an expert on how you should think about them too and they will also kill and ostracize you for having a headcanon that maybe onions have layers sometimes and then you're just better off rambling in every text post you ever make and then deleting it because everything you've ever said has gotten a decreasing amount of notes until it's become 0 and every single one of your artist friends has followers in the thousands but still wants your pity because hating ourselves is too addictive to ever trying to be positive about anything.

like man I am BITTER!!!!!! 🤪😂🙂‍↕️🤝🥰🥴🤪☺️