#ROBBED OF THE ACTUAL RIVAL

[aqqleshiqqing-archive]

dexholder tier list because i can B) sorry im in my pok.espe mood again shfusgfsasg

i rarely talk about blue and whitley (rosa) here but i also really like them as well!! they're super fun characters and their contribution to the story is so fascinating to me

[dittolicous]

Also, like, if they do eebie Blue, you have to realize how much of a BIG DEAL that would be in the Pokemon World. Cuz ok, Anabel didn’t really leave anyone behind, no canon family and she even got to keep her mons. Ingo left behind his brother Emmet and his team, so that's more distressing of course. But Blue?

Blue wouldn't just leave behind a sister but also a GRANDFATHER. Y'know, motherfucking Professor Oak. AKA possibly the Biggest Name in canon, THE quintessential Pokemon Professor. And for all we joke about him forgetting Blue's name, lbr, he definitely loves both his grandchildren deeply. So if one suddenly went missing, there's absolutely no way he wouldn't cash in every favor and pull every string to bring them home safe.

And that doesn't even touch on Blue's connection with the Kanto League as both a former Champion and Gym Leader, his legendary friendship with Champion Red, and of course their work in the Battle Tree.

Blue Oak disappearing would be a National fucking Emergancy across numerous regions, the likes of which we have yet to see in Pokemon.

[bleue-flora]

Techno calling out Quackity’s flawed plan in prison might be my favorite my Techno scene. Like he really just calls it like it is and it always makes me wish he was in more scenes with people, like how many nonsensical logic or plans would he have called out? Like just imagine Techno showing up to the Disc Confrontation and calling out Dream’s bs… “Bro, really made a prison and then said let me put Skeppy in this tiny cage.” Or “You actually put a nether portal in your secret base, man. You could not have played this worse.”

[papaiyatree]

people saying that it's ridiculous for sonadow fans to be "eating good" from the sonic prime ep bc most of the ep was them beating up e/o just don't get it. where do you think the appeal is coming from ?

[venusjeon]

angel in the marble

after you fail to pickpocket him, the famous yet arrogant artist Jeon Jungkook takes you off the streets to make you his servant, and the more you know him, the more you realise he's not as detestable as everyone claims he is.

♔ PAIRING: michelangelo!jungkook x servant!reader

♔ GENRE: high renaissance au, angst, smut, humour

♔ WORD COUNT: 8k

♔ WARNINGS: homelessness, stealing, mild swearing/violence/drinking, 90% of this is bickering lmao, mentions of minor characters' death, jealousy and kinda possessiveness?, referenced unconsensual groping (not by jk), a bit of blasphemy, making out, groping, fingering, rough angry sexxx, choking, slapping

♔ AUTHOR'S NOTE: fun fact this is mostly historically accurate! jk's characterisation, the grocery list doodles, the sack of rome, the beef with his brother, the encounter with his rival (raphael)... are all taken from michelangelo's actual life, even some stuff is quoted from his letters lol. man was fanfic material.

1529, Rome

“How much for that one?”

“No, that one’s sold already.”

It was a lively morning. After days of heavy rainfall, those of high social class were eager to get out and meet under the gentle sun of spring, whose glare reflected on the precious stones of their jewellery; while those of low, out of necessity, couldn’t wait to reopen their businesses or set up their stalls and get back to work. You liked to eye them all as you strolled the streets of Rome.

“To whom?”

“Your friend Taehyung.”

“Agh… How much is that prick paying you?”

The point of the matter was that it was bustling, some colliding if they looked away from where they were going for more than a breath. It worked in your favour for it was then easier to make yourself scarce right after stealing bags of coins, such as those of the three men seemingly bargaining by a workshop’s entrance out of which a large block of marble was being dragged. Perfect.

“Three ducats.”

“Three?! He’s robbing you of two ducats. I’ll pay you the five it’s worth.”

You kept your head low as you approached the pair that seemed wealthier and with those stealthy hands of yours unfastened the bags tied to their belts. After all, pickpocketing was a skill you’d had under your own for some years now, so this was bound to go smoothly.

Because you didn’t realise there was a guardian with them, perhaps you’d grown arrogant.

“I’m sorry, maestro. It’s reserved.”

“But it’ll become a waste in his possession!”

As you slipped away into the crowd, mouth watering at the fresh-baked bread you were going to devour as soon as bought, this brown dog leaped up at you out of nowhere, ignoring your desperate efforts to shake him off. If anything, they caused him to bark.

No, no, no…

The three men turned to the scene playing out not so far, and thinking his dog was bothering you one of them shouted, “Bam, come here, boy!” but as he obediently ran to his owner, you were too slow to hide the bags in your hands. It only took the pair a second to make them out, check whether theirs still hung on their belts, find them not, work out you’d stolen them, look back up, and find you not either.

Of course, you’d made your escape by then, dived into the sea of people and swum through them as quickly as possible, only stopping when you reached an empty vaulted alley to catch your breath.

That was ridiculously close. If you weren’t more careful next–

Your train of thought was interrupted by someone grabbing you by the arm from behind and pushing you against the nearest wall. A grunt accompanied the thud, and a gasp followed at the sight of the two men from before—dog included. Pinned in place, it’d be a bad idea to fight back or attempt to run away again. Fuck’s sake.

“Do you know what happens to thieves?” the one cornering you asked so close that when the cold breeze rustled his hair, some strands grazed your face. You looked away to avoid the tickling rather than out of fear, or so you wanted to believe. “They have a hand cut off. Seems fair, doesn’t it, Jimin?”

By contrast, that Jimin didn’t look intimidating, otherwise still catching his breath from the chase, but he did snatch the coin bags from your hands. “It doesn’t have to be so, maestro. We got our money back. She’s… just a girl.”

“And that exempts her of crime?”

“Please, don’t report me,” you begged, humiliating as though it was.

“Why shouldn’t we?” the maestro scoffed. Maestro… You were being threatened by a damned craftsman, the other one probably his assistant.

“Because I don’t want to lose a hand?”

“Oh, but we wanted to lose money, did we?” You rolled your eyes, and he released his grip only to step away. “Take us to your father, brat. He’ll answer for you.”

It took you a moment to respond, “I don’t have a father, or anyone... Only I can answer for my actions.”

“You’re a beggar?” Jimin asked, taking pity as he studied your appearance for the first time. Dishevelled hair, tattered dress, unpleasant smell… Yes, they should’ve guessed.

“She doesn’t beg, though, does she? She steals.”

“Only from cunts.”

His head snapped to meet your glare, and Jimin laughed, “You seem to not know whom you speak to.” He could be Jesus for all you cared. Uninterested, you petted the dog, Bam, seeing as he’d leapt up at you again. “This is Jeon Jungkook.”

You froze. The Jeon Jungkook? The famous artist who painted and sculpted for the Pope? Whom faraway kings and even emperors commissioned? The one whose genius was said to be changing the world?

At the lack of attention, Bam returned to his master, and that snapped you out of your shock to ask, “Then why do you whine?” The two men frowned, having clearly expected an apology paired with the usual bootlicking. “As if you need that bag more than I!”

“What nerve,” he scoffed again, making you wince by grabbing your arm tighter than before and starting to drag you into the next street. “You’re going straight to the authorities!”

“Wait,” Jimin intervened, thank God. “Weren’t you in need of a servant, maestro?”

“So?”

Jimin pointed at you with his gaze as though it was obvious. “You’re in need of a servant, she’s in need of a roof.”

“I would rather have a hand cut off.”

“I would rather have her hand cut off too.”

Jungkook tried to resume dragging you, but Jimin blocked his way with a soft smile. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N…”

“Do you know how to take care of a household?” Slowly, you nodded, melancholy engulfing you at the memory of cooking or sweeping the floor with your mother once upon a time. Somehow, she always found a way to make chores fun... “Then you qualify for the job. You’ll have three meals a day and a bed to sleep on. And you, maestro, a servant who’ll work her hardest, lest you fire her and she ends up in the streets again.”

Both you and Jungkook reluctantly glanced at each other. Truth be told, you didn’t prefer losing a hand to living with him, you just didn’t like him. Despite being a celebrity, he was a stranger. It just wouldn’t work.

But then, why were you holding your breath, hoping he’d accept?

“We shouldn’t have left Namjoon’s workshop. The marble is about to be delivered,” he said walking away. The air left your lungs in disappointment. It seemed you were to remain a stray cat. Jimin pressed his plump lips apologetically as he gave you enough coins to buy that bread, and you nodded, grateful all the same for his trying. You watched him rush to Jungkook’s side but when this one saw him, he turned around. “Hurry up, brat. If Taehyung gets that block of marble, I’ll not take you in.”

Since the first day, you could attest to Jeon Jungkook’s nature being as rough and uncouth as the rumours claimed, and after living alone with him for two months still believed gossip such as that he’d got the scar on his left cheek in a tavern fight—in which, if you’d chanced to be present, you would’ve rooted for the other individual.

It appeared it wasn’t just others Jungkook was harsh to. However rich his talent had turned him, he behaved like a poor man, consuming food and drink sparingly and out of necessity instead of pleasure, spending only the money required to live decently, sleeping little in order to work on commissions from dawn to midnight…

Why he chose to take little care of himself was a mystery to someone who previously had not been allowed a choice, even if putting work before all was in order to thwart Kim Taehyung’s plans of ruining his career, as he claimed. You doubted his rival was obsessed with him so, but had learned to agree with whatever Jungkook grumbled to avoid disputes. Most times.

Deep down, you had a feeling your boldness amused him. Who else dared get on his nerves?

“I think all you artists fluttering around the Pope are no more than slaves to money,” you let drop once while making his bed. Bam was sleeping peacefully under the window, while Jungkook leaning against the door’s frame behind you, offended to the core. He could help, you thought, or at least loosen my corset a little…

“I, a slave? I’ll be damned… There is an angel inside every block of marble, and I’ll have you know I carve to set it free.”

“Is it the angel that charges the Pope, then, master?” You could feel him barely restraining the urge to throw you out the window, smiled as you finished smoothing out the blankets.

“You missed a wrinkle there.”

Hands on your hips and frown on your brows, you examined the neatly arranged coverings of his bed. “Where?”

“On your face,” he muttered before making his leave.

Not his finest jibe, but the metaphor did stay with you. An angel inside the marble… It perhaps applied to Jungkook himself, though you’d never tell him.

One instance it came to mind was recently, when his assistants and apprentices were invited over for dinner.

Usually, he’d tell you which meals he liked and you’d ask at the marketplace which ingredients to buy, but now that about ten meals were to be cooked a list was needed. So there he sat on his desk in his study, inking said list as you waited in front of him, fiddling with the undershirt that peeked out of your dress’ sleeves. Given that your eyes were fixed on it, you only learned Jungkook was done when the sound of his quill scratching the paper ceased.

“Be back no later than dusk,” he ordered, “I bet there are still Germans and Spaniards lurking about.”

A year had passed since the Sack of Rome, but the mention of it sent a shiver of fear down your spine. Whatever the political reasons for it, you hated everyone involved, for Hell itself would’ve been a more beautiful sight to behold those nine months when the Tiber’s waters remained painted red…

You were lucky to make it through. Your family wasn’t.

“Yes, master.”

“Here,” he said handing you the paper, then picked another letter from a pile of correspondence he’d been going through before your arrival. Jungkook was about to snap its wax seal when he looked up to realise you hadn’t moved an inch. “Why are you here? Away with you!” He saw the reason in the way you avoided eye contact. “You can’t read, can you?” Met with a silence charged with embarrassment, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, “Give me the list.”

Getting hold of the quill again, Jungkook began… doodling?

You tilted your head but couldn’t see well what he was drawing until he finished and returned the list to you. Then, your lips parted. Each item on the list was illustrated next to its name: ten loaves of bread, a jug of wine, tortellini, four anchovies, two fennel soups…

“I’ll teach you to read when I have time. This will do for now.”

“You’d do that?” For me?

Jungkook ignored you, before he went back to reading his letters complimenting the good gesture with an irritated, “Hurry up.”

That night his co-workers arrived one by one, Jimin the first. The sight of him when you opened the door brightened up your mood.

Unlike a certain someone he was always sweet to you, genuinely interested to know how you fared even if you were just a servant. He claimed that mattered not to him, that you were both commoners and thus equals.

“Look at this place, it’s spotless! And you know I’m furtive, so I won’t get in your way,” you told Jimin as you escorted him through a hallway, bright from the torches hung on the walls that you’d lit up earlier.

He laughed, “I cannot make you my servant, Y/N, you’re maestro’s.”

“But he’s going to drive me mad… To tell you one of many examples, he often falls asleep in his clothes, and who but I is to take his boots off so they don’t get the sheets dirty? If the chalk on his fingers or the dust from the chiseling on his hair won’t already. Bam is far cleaner…”

Jungkook had a workshop he barely set foot in, preferred his team made use of it instead to not be bothered by their idiocy. His words. So it was in a chamber on the ground floor of this house he gave way to artistic insanity. In your book, that meant constant cleaning.

Jimin looked at you fondly. “Sounds nightmarish.”

“It truly is!”

As soon as the two of you entered the dining hall, Bam ran from Jungkook’s side by the fireplace to Jimin, who was as excited to see him.

“Good night, maes–”

“Do you think I’m deaf, ungrateful brat?” Jungkook interrupted him to bark at you. “Rome is full of people begging to get a piece of me, so if you don’t like it here, I’ll just get someone else!”

“You say that and yet keep me like a prisoner!”

“As if you don’t have it better here than anywhere you’ve burdened with your presence before!”

“There, there…” Jimin interjected to de-escalate, kneeling to better stroke Bam. “Maestro, I’ve seen your latest sketch of the Virgin and Child. She resembles Y/N.”

Both you and Jungkook failed to fight off the embarrassment, gazes unable to find a place to settle. Sitting down on the large table, he explained, “It was just one time… I had used Yoongi as a model, but the Madonna looked too masculine... and rather than going through the trouble of finding some girl and hiring her, I had Y/N pose for me… So what! Why bring it up out of nowhere…”

“Because maybe you just need a bit of distance from time to time. With permission, I too would have Y/N pose for m–”

“Absolutely not.”

“Now, why the hell not?” you groaned stamping your foot, startling poor Bam. Hope had been born inside you in a second and cruelly crushed in the next.

“Because I say so. And watch your tone with me.” As usual, the mutual glaring would trick anyone into thinking the next step would be murder. Jimin, who knelt there awkwardly, certainly thought so, at least until the bell rang. “Now go answer the door!”

What happened later, though, rendered the fury Jungkook had evoked in your heart nonexistent and instead seized the thing in a clasp of distress.

In the morning, he walked in when you were sweeping the kitchen. At once you forced the sobs to stop and turned around so he wouldn’t see you wipe your tears.

“It’s past nine, where’s breakfast?” he asked in shock that you hadn’t even started making it, the table there empty.

You swore under your breath before leaving the broomstick leaning against the nearest wall, flushed face kept out of Jungkook’s sight, then in a haste fetched a plate, a knife, and a leftover bread loaf. “Apologies, master, I forgot. I’ll be upstairs in a minute.”

Sniffling betrayed you, at which Jungkook frowned. “Are you crying?”

Great, the question just about especially designed to make one well up. Not trusting your voice anymore, you shook your head. Jungkook approached, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the task at hand, now cutting a few slices of the bread.

“Have you broken something?” You shook your head again, the suppressed sobs making your chin tremble. Jungkook took a deep breath before asking with a surprisingly soothing tone, “Then what’s wrong?”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

Within an hour, he’d summoned a meeting consisting of all who’d attended dinner the previous night.

A seemingly calm Jungkook was sat at the head of the table, elbows sunk on it and fingers interlocked. You stood behind him, head still low out of shame. A tense silence had fallen in the chamber some time ago, and sick of it, Jimin shattered it.

“Have you anything to tell us, maestro?”

“I was waiting for Biagio to do so.”

The man was one of Jungkook’s favourite assistants who had worked with him for years, even longer than Jimin. And if it was possible for your position to be trickier, he belonged to some noble family.

“Me? But I’ve nothing to say, maestro.”

Jungkook leaned back in his chair. “My servant will, then. Y/N?”

Bastard. If you are going to fire me, why make me go through this?

“Last night, w-when I left this hall to go refill the wine jug… Messer Biagio followed me into the kitchen, and… h-he trapped me from behind, and started t-to touch me…” Your vision soon blurred, hence why you couldn’t see clearly how concerned Jimin was for you, or how Biagio jumped up in outrage. “I managed to push him away, and ran upst–”

“How dare you slander me, wench? Maestro, you do not believe this!”

“Do I not?”

“She’s lying! I caught her stealing sketches from your study, likely to sell them, so she’s trying to get rid of me!”

You almost scoffed. Only an idiot would choose the one occasion guests had come over and her absence would be noticed to carry out a theft.

Jungkook tilted his head. “I thought you had nothing to say. Why would you keep such a thing just now?”

Biagio gulped. “I deemed it best to mention it later, in private... You won’t believe a pickpocket before an old friend, will you?”

Silence returned, your breath still as you saw all the assistants and apprentices visibly take pity on him. The only one who didn’t was Jimin, but even on his face there was a hint of hesitation. Jungkook’s, you couldn’t see from behind, but after an eternity he stood up and walked over only to put a hand on the shoulder of Biagio, who smiled in relief.

A quiet sob broke through your lips, heart sinking. You’d needed Jungkook to believe you in this. Not because of the consequences his protection as your master could save you from, but because, like it or not… he was the closest thing to family you had.

It turned out he did believe you, judging by the punch landed on Biagio’s jaw out of nowhere. And the next one on his cheekbone, and on his nose. Before everyone around the table had barely stood up to stop Jungkook, he’d already thrown Biagio down and straddled him, pulling his doublet’s collar in a close, tight grip as he continued beating him up. Blood was drawn, but for once, you didn’t mind having to scrub it later.

Jungkook’s influence trumped a whole noble house’s, you learned in the course of the months Biagio tried his mightiest and failed most miserably to have him arrested. Perhaps because of the Pope sitting on his shoulder.

That he’d taken your side was still hard to believe, all he’d grumbled with a shrug when you thanked him while tending to his wounds from the fight being, “I’d been waiting for the chance. I always thought Biagio was a weasel.”

With the matter resolved, life returned to normal—well, whatever that meant in Jeon Jungkook’s household. Because calling for you at the top of his lungs like a madman was not normal. The first time he’d done it you’d raced downstairs, afraid something horrible had happened, only for him to have you close a window as it was getting chilly. Devil rot him. You rushed no longer after that, much to his complaints.

Today, he didn’t notice right away when you appeared under the cased opening, and good thing he didn’t, for he was polishing a bust with sandpaper… shirtless.

Product of hours carving stone into his desired shape or occasionally beating someone up, he could brag of having muscles, which the current task had covered in a layer of sweat and dust. The way they flexed with each movement had you compelled, wanting to reach out, feel if his skin was as hot as the blood pumping through your veins faster and faster. Then your gaze moved to the bust and whatever spell you were under broke.

Hardly an angel was that widowed noblewoman, whom you wished had stayed trapped inside a block of marble. Her name was Madonna Maddalena, and she’d come some weeks past to make a commission covered in pearls, gold, and boldness.

“My friends refused to accompany me today. You’re said to be… disagreeable, which I’m sure is untrue. However, all of them do want to know if you’re as fine-looking as is also rumoured, maestro” she told Jungkook within minutes of meeting him, still by the entrance!

Now you can tell them he’s not, you bit your tongue before it remarked, as this wasn’t Jimin but a patron not to be scared away by your bickering. It wouldn’t be true anyway. All your master lacked in manners, he made up for with looks… Which you’d never say out loud. You’d never say either that he looked even better when irked.

“I’ve heard many rumours about myself, most of them nonsense. My appearance was involved in none.”

She smiled seductively. “I suppose I’ll have to be the one to spread them.”

“The weather is pleasant today,” Jungkook changed the subject, flustered beneath the formal demeanour. “Shall we have wine in the garden?” You left to prepare it not before catching Maddalena raise her brow at you in disapproval. She must’ve been able to tell you thought she was a pompous cunt.

The beautiful flowers you cared for tried their best outside, but the air didn’t get any better.

Sat around a small table, Maddalena explained she wanted a bust of herself by his talented hand to decorate the main hall of her palazzo. You served them wine, not really listening until Jungkook started playing hard to get. The hundred times you’d told him it wasn’t a good tactic to make his labour out to be too prestigious had apparently fallen on deaf ears.

“Any other artist could carry this out, Madonna. I am working for the Pope these days…” he subtly scolded her, a mere mortal, for wasting his precious time. And he wondered why he had a reputation for being arrogant.

Maddalena put his thoughts into plain words, “So why should you stoop to taking commissions from an insignificant widow?”

“Correct,” you said under your breath, luckily heard by none from the background, where you stood holding a wine jug until the madonna raised her cup and you approached to refill it.

“It is then fortunate I’m to marry a nephew of the Pope’s.”

Swayed by her future influence, Jungkook smiled back. “So it is.”

“But not for another week. ‘Till then, I belong to no man.” The suggestion in her tone almost drove you to spill wine all over her. No, better yet: order Bam to sic on her. He’d do it.

Just, who did this woman think she was? And why did Jungkook not kick her out right afterwards? It made you wonder whether he’d enjoyed the flirtation. Whether he would’ve been the one to take things further had his inconvenient servant not been present. It was common for men to have affairs and lovers, but it didn’t sit well with you that Jungkook might. Not that you ever imagined him doing any of that, for goodness’ sake–

“What took you so long?”

Jungkook’s voice brought you back to the present, under the cased opening.

“I was lazing about, as always,” you quoted his favourite false reprimand, making him roll his eyes, your own dropping to the floor when he walked closer.

“In that case, prepare a bath for me.”

“Yes, master.”

You sighed at all the work ahead. That being a servant was worlds better than living in the streets didn’t mean you looked forward to collecting gallons of water from a well, carrying them back, heating them, transferring them to a tub, then washing Jungkook—because you did wash him.

Biagio had hurt his left shoulder bad and ever since, he’d needed assistance in certain activities. Curious how he could otherwise chisel a goddamned bust without problem.

Jungkook’s full nudity only made you blush if you stopped scrubbing, so knelt with tucked up sleeves before the wooden tub he was reclined on, scrubbing away the dirt on his skin with lavender-scented soap you were. Maybe all the stupid feelings you’d been suffering lately stemmed from there…

Head resting on the edge, he was exhausted from the long day of work, taking your rubbing as a relaxing massage. You, however, couldn’t ignore the stinging guilt, what with the scar on his shoulder right in front of your face. He probably felt your breathing on it.

“I’m sorry you got hurt…”

Jungkook fought heavy lids only to see you avoid him. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable in front of him was embarrassing, as when he’d caught you crying, but he didn’t take advantage of the fact to humiliate you. Jungkook may be an ogre, but he wasn’t cruel.

“I’ve received worse for less,” he assured you in a calm, low voice. It sounded soothing to your ears.

“That, I don’t doubt,” you scoffed, glancing at his other scar on the cheek. “Did you also get that one in defence of some lady?”

“You’re nowhere close to a lady.” It could be done, you mused. Drowning him. “This was courtesy of my brother.”

“You have a brother?” It dawned on you how little you knew of him. Surely, most had heard it all about the divine Jeon Jungkook, but you’d never cared enough to learn past the shell of gossip, even after months of living with him. In fairness, he’d never asked about you either. You preferred it that way.

“Brothers,” he corrected you. “The one who did this to me was a wayward fool. Had to teach him a lesson.”

“Looks like he taught one to you.”

“I left with a scratch, he with a limp.” The conception of two brothers hurting each other so harshly widened your eyes for a second, and Jungkook noticed, for he added, “He was whoring around, wasting the money I worked hard to send, bullying our other brothers as well.”

Much made sense about Jungkook all of a sudden. Not his personality, that was incomprehensible. But why he killed himself to earn money and yet barely spent it… He had a family to provide for. Once again, you were reminded of his metaphor. Could an angel be in there?

Carrying on washing Jungkook, you dragged the sponge over to his neck. Then his collarbones, his chest, his abs just peaking above the water... They did look like a sculpture’s, especially wet and soaped, reminiscent of polished marble when the light of the torches reflected on them. Swallowing hard, the back of your fingers gingerly graced Jungkook’s muscles, both soft and firm. Slippery. Whatever possessed you to keep feeling them, you lacked the will to expel from your body, and so without realising your grip on the sponge loosened until it fell to float away, fingertips now free to roam over his abs.

You were slowly trailing downwards, past the water’s surface, when your wrist was seized and held in the air in a warning manner, the startle almost making you scream.

Sat upright, Jungkook was glaring at you so fiercely you feared for your life. But he didn’t say anything and instead just breathed hard, jaw clenched… almost as if he was holding back. Your rising heartbeat was deafening in the silence waiting for something to happen, anything, but what did wasn’t what a side of you anticipated with excitement.

Jungkook just let go of your wrist and returned to his previous position, and you got hold of the sponge and finished washing him, albeit holding your breath the entire time.

Days later, you came dangerously close to being fired.

The Pope had summoned Jungkook—something about a portrait commission—and you were to carry his bag filled with sketches for him due to his shoulder injury. As you navigated the ever-busy streets of Rome with him, the cold autumn breeze made you regret not putting on an overgown. The cioppa you’d bought with your own salary and not stolen. It brought a smile to your lips that faded at the realisation your mother would’ve reminded you to put it on before going out.

The sorrow pestering you turned to confusion when Jungkook stopped walking and tsked, telling you loud enough to be heard by all, “Look at him, the chief of police, with such an assemblage.”

A well-dressed man and what appeared to be his entourage walked in your direction, halting near enough. You didn’t have to ask to know this was his rival, the renowned painter Kim Taehyung.

“Whereas you, like an executioner, walk alone,” he mocked Jungkook, then noticed you standing behind him like a timid child. “Not completely, my mistake. Maestro, where in your barren soil did you plant such a flower?” He walked over to you, intentionally bumping Jungkook’s wounded shoulder as he passed, causing him to grunt lowly. From up close one was bound to marvel at how handsome Taehyung was, but you didn’t need proximity to tell he was a prick. Miles away, you would’ve known. “Why don’t you come work for me, flower? I’ll make you my muse.”

Jungkook scoffed again, “What, for your horseshit paintings? She’d be a fool to.”

Taehyung turned around to face him, feigning confusion with a smile. “But, maestro, how could they be so if you were once heard saying that all I have in art, I got from you?”

"You naturally have to resort to plagiarising my master’s genius if all you do is horseshit,” you countered, earning surprised looks from every man present, some laughs too, you were proud to say. Jungkook was certainly smirking. Taehyung opened his mouth, but you walked past him uninterested before a response came out of it.

“Good girl,” Jungkook laughed while leaving the crime scene, and for some reason your cheeks burned hot.

The incident happened once inside the Vatican.

Its grandiose corridors alone made you feel small, too unimportant to walk them, whereas Jungkook did so with determination, knowing he belonged at the top of the world. What with your tempestuous relationship, it was easy to forget he was famous throughout Europe. His feet would still never be kissed by you. Someone had to humble the man, right?

At some point the two of you arrived at a door flanked by guards, and averse, you grabbed the sleeve of Jungkook’s doublet.

“Do I have to go in?”

“Too good for the Pope, are you?” He shook you off. “Come on.”

“Damn you…” you muttered.

“What did you just say to me?”

“After you, master.”

Telling himself he’d be late if he scolded you, Jungkook turned and nodded at the guards, who opened the door of a chamber whose walls were frescoed with angels and saints, likely by Taehyung, giving off the impression one was in Heaven. When you saw him sat on a golden chair, old and grey, enjoying the tune of a lute player, you felt as though you’d just entered Hell.

The audience lasted for ever. While you stood by the door, Jungkook showed the Pope some sketches of the portrait for him to choose his favourite and then they talked and talked of politics. All you could do was fix your gaze somewhere on the floor and sigh.

“Yes, Your Holiness, this is the servant I mentioned…” A frown proceeded your looking up to see Jungkook somewhat embarrassed, scratching his nose as if to hide his face. He talked of you to others? Doubtless to complain…

With a sweet voice as if he was talking to a little girl, the Pope asked you, “What is your name?”

“None of your business, Your Holiness.”

The musician’s tune ceased abruptly, allowing Jungkook’s faint gasp to be heard. Then fell a short silence spent by the Pope blinking, taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

Jungkook was quick to fake a laugh, though sweat formed at his temples. “A jest! She meant no offence, Your Holiness, but to make you laugh.”

You held the Pope’s glare in defiance, indifferent to the fact he was the most powerful man in the whole of Christendom.

By some miracle, he let it go, and you left that chamber minutes later with your head as yet attached to your body. Your arm wouldn’t be for much longer, though, given Jungkook was forcibly dragging you all the way out to the streets, pushing you into the first alley he saw.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he shouted, towering over you menacingly. Unlike the day you’d met, you weren’t scared, rather furious as him as you stood your ground. “That was the Pope, you fool!”

“So?”

Jungkook was in utter disbelief. “He could’ve ordered your execution– mine too!”

“Well, nothing happened!”

“Nothing?! I’m sure to fall out of favour!” He paced around, anxiety quickening his breath. “Years of pouring my soul into my craft, of grovelling before the right people, all thrown away! Good God, your attitude may cost me everything…”

“And what about me?! Everything lost to me does not matter?!”

Jungkook stopped to frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”

It was now you who walked up to him. “I didn’t have a job, or a reputation, or admirers. I had only a family, and I never wished for anything else! That monster you work for took them from me. When the foreigners’ armies came and everyone rushed to Castel Sant’Angelo, he gave the order to close the gates as soon as he was safe behind them! You must have been there with him, weren’t you? Well, we weren’t. We were left outside to be slaughtered. And I wish I had been, like my parents, so I didn’t have to suffer the likes of you any longer!”

Tears were streaming down your face by the end, Jungkook just staring back at you. It didn’t surprise him that your parents were dead or that they’d been killed during the Sack, but that it was so deep a wound left festering in your heart that you didn’t mind being put out of misery. He surmised your disrespectful behaviour towards him was also fruit of your pain, especially if you deemed him an ally of the one who caused it.

“The few things I own… They’re wasted on me. Throw them away or give them to your next servant,” you sobbed, taking for granted you were fired. Anyone with half a brain would indeed have you dismissed, and part of you knew it was bound to happen, that you would go back to breaking in fucking churches to spend the night.

So you turned around into the main street, set on wandering until your legs became too sore not to collapse. With any luck, a carriage would run over you. But warmth then surrounded your hand, and you looked down to see Jungkook’s holding it tight enough to force you to halt. Though still mad, a hint of compassion sparkled in his eyes.

“Let’s… Let us just go home.”

Home. His house had felt so for a while now, truth be told. Himself too.

After that, you non-verbally agreed on a ceasefire—avoiding quarrels, that is, which was quite the task for both.

Such as now that Jungkook had you inking down a letter in his name. First of all, did you look like a scribe? If you’d known in advance the lazy arse would teach you to read and write for this, you’d have chosen to remain illiterate. And second, this was your short break before making dinner, intended to be spent playing with Bam. The poor thing was also in the study, at least being stroked by his owner, who was sat beside you on the desk.

“… I send you my regards, may God keep you from all harm. Jeon Jungkook in Rome,” he finally finished dictating, and you recording. “Give it to me, I’ll seal it.”

He was melting the wax with which to do so when the bell rang, to his surprise. Sighing, you stood up and went to open the door to whom turned out to be Jimin. The sight of him brightened you up, and yours stretched his lips into a smile.

“Evening, Y/N.”

“Good evening! I didn’t know the master was expecting you.”

“He isn’t…” You welcomed him in, brows joining at how he continuously chewed on his aforementioned lip and breathed deep through his nose as he followed you. Had something happened…? A decision to eavesdrop was made en route to the study.

Though Jimin requested for you to stay once there, and nothing could have prepared you for the reason why.

“This actually concerns Y/N…” You and Jungkook exchanged confused looks, him leaning against the desk and crossing arms as though he didn’t like the sound of that. Jimin fixed his already perfect clothes before addressing him, “I’ve come to ask for her hand in marriage.” Your jaw dropped. “I know it’s sudden at the lack of previous courtship, but I thought I should ask for your permission before engaging in it, maestro. She’s a lovely girl… and I think she’d be happy as my wife. Worry not, I won’t ask for a dowry or for her to stop working… Although on second thought, fewer hours of service would be ideal.”

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be happening.

Jungkook must be thinking the same, for he squinted to ask, “Are you drunk?”

“N-No, of course not.”

“Are you sure? You want to marry a servant with little to her name.” He had a point, so you weren’t offended. If politics weren’t the reason for a union, did this mean… Jimin had feelings for you?

“Maestro, you say it as if I were a lord,” he chuckled. “I don’t care about Y/N’s possessions, I’ll provide for her anyway. I’ve… always been fond of her. And I dare say she shares the sentiment.”

Betrayal hid safely behind a look that asked if there was any truth to that. Obviously not! There was no romance in your own fondness for Jimin. If anything, you had thought he saw you as a younger sister to look after, therefore as a protective older brother you saw him. But so shocked were you still that no words managed to come out, and Jungkook’s gaze shifted back to Jimin.

“I’ll think about it. You may go.”

A curt tone was the norm for Jungkook, it was not being granted his blessing that disappointed Jimin. He knew for a fact he was an honourable man, so why wouldn't he entrust you to him?

“Quite well… I’ll show myself out.” he uttered, before making his leave failing to hide his low spirit by giving you one last shy smile you hadn’t the heart to return.

An awkward silence filled the air that even Bam daren’t break. Only once the front door was heard shutting did you walk closer to Jungkook.

“You won’t agree to this, will you?”

“Why shouldn’t I? I have to get rid of you at some point.”

“Rid of me? Like I’m a burden?” you asked, voice rising. How a servant could be so was unknown to you until, like wooden ship toys did when you’d submerge them in a bucket of water as a child, certain guesses surfaced in your thoughts. Trying to pickpocket him, the constant clashing, Biagio, that bath, the Pope… Yes, you may perhaps be described as a burden. But you didn’t want to leave. With a calmer tone, you pleaded, “I’ll behave from now on. I won’t cause any more trouble, I swear.”

Jungkook didn’t deign to look your way as he left, followed by Bam. “You have to marry at some point, Y/N. Otherwise people will gossip.”

Since when did he care about what people said of him? And why should you?

Winter having dropped its anchor, nightfall arrived early. Not early enough, you brooded as you cooked dinner, longing for the day to end once and for all. With any hope, all of this was a nightmare and upon waking up in the morning life would go back to normal. You didn’t even know why you wanted to stay with Jungkook, as the occasions in which you’d begged Jimin to employ you to leave this house were countless. The only certain thing was that you were upset.

Later, after washing all plates and cups, you began to put off all torches lighting the house, finding out in the hall that Jungkook hadn’t moved from the seat he’d dined in. You considered carrying on with your job and leaving him in the dark, but he wouldn’t find it as funny. Instead, you stood before him.

“Will that be all, master?”

The coldness in your expression made him sigh, “Y/N–”

“I shall retire, then.” You turned to leave but were made to stop in your tracks.

“It’s an advantageous proposal for you,” he lectured to whom he must believe an idiot. “Jimin works for me, he’s wealthy. A better match than you could ever aspire to. And he asks for no dowry because he doesn’t want money, he wants you…” His words were tainted with resentment. “He’ll take good care of you.”

Skirt of your dress swirling along, you faked a smile. “If you think so, master, then it must be so.”

He shook his head as he leaned back in defeat. “Suit yourself, but I won’t be the one to reject Jimin. You crush his heart.”

A laugh escaped you. “If you genuinely cared about him, you wouldn’t let him marry a woman in love with–” Oh no. It only hit you as you were saying it.

Jungkook had appeared annoyed, but now he was mad. “Who?” He stood up abruptly—chair’s feet scratching against the floor making you wince—and walked so close you were backed against the wall, face forced to turn to a side. In a low, deep voice, he repeated, less as a question and more as an order this time, “Who.”

There was no way in the nine circles of Hell you’d say it, when you didn’t want to believe it in the first place. For fuck’s sake, why? Jungkook only ever made you want to get away from him. That was the case right now, but then… why were your feet frozen?

Some unreasonable part of you seemed to have prevailed upon the others, casting away all resistance from your body and allowing yourself to indulge in Jungkook’s proximity. You met his eyes without fear, held his dark gaze. It didn’t take him long to work it out, yet he kept close, so close your unsteady breaths mingled, the effect akin to intoxication. He was visibly trying to hold back, telling himself it’d be a bad idea, but you prayed he wouldn’t care.

By God or the Devil, your prayers were heard.

Jungkook finally smashed his lips into yours, devouring them with a hunger you shared and felt growing as he gripped your waist to press you against him. A minute ago, you wouldn’t have imagined his tongue belonged inside your mouth, swirling around your own, and now you wanted it all over your body. As if reading your mind, Jungkook broke the ardent kiss to move down to your neck, which he licked painfully slowly before sucking hard, making you hiss with pleasure. He knew that would leave a mark, the bastard. You wondered if it was meant for Jimin, so he’d see you were Jungkook’s, and in such case you didn’t mind, let your eyelids close to enjoy it.

Steered by the lust possessing you, one hand grabbed his soft hair in a fistful, keeping his head in place where he was sweetly abusing your neck, while the other travelled southwards until it reached his crotch and held it over the trousers, feeling his cock stiffen. Jungkook groaned—a vibration to your skin—in retaliation lifting your skirt. You’d thought he'd take his time, tease you, but after ensuring you were wet enough by gliding his middle finger along your core, he slid it inside and began making beckoning motions.

“Master…” you moaned, legs shaking. Jungkook forsook your neck to pull back, watch how you struggled to keep it together as he added another finger, curling and uncurling them both, hitting all the right places, and unwilling to give him that satisfaction without consequences you groped his erection with the same vigour. Although he was in good control of his expression, his breath quivered against your lips, so he kissed them again, biting hard into your lower one.

He exhaled, “You’re driving me to sin…”

Indeed, the same fingers that held the brushes when he painted religious artwork were buried deep inside your cunt, bringing you the most sinful ecstasy. It made you chuckle. Jungkook took that as the mockery it was and, crossed, pulled his fingers out of you to drag you by the arm to the edge of the table, where he had you sit. Without delay he lifted your skirt again, only this time he also pulled down his trousers to reveal his cock, thick and throbbing, which he pumped as he watched you spread your legs eagerly, ready to take all of him.

With his free hand Jungkook cupped your cheek, thumb caressing your lower lip, coated with saliva and reddened still from when he’d bit it. He could sense your desire, that you craved him inside, had for a while. Desperately. And however much tempted he was to make you beg for it, his own arousal led his cock to your entrance and eased it inside already, another groan hitting the back of his bared teeth. You didn’t have time to gasp, his thrusts so quick they earned only moans, so wonderful did it feel.

Jungkook’s hand on your cheek then wrapped around your neck. “Do you know how often I’ve fantasised strangling you?”

You chuckled again as you slapped him across the face. Jungkook halted his movements in shock, glared at you. “And I slapping you?”

It took him a moment, but he scoffed and pushed you back so that you were lying down, climbing next atop you, confident that the wooden table was sturdy enough to hold both. So legs hooked around his torso and arms around his neck, you welcomed his thrusts, rough enough to make your eyes water. But it felt heavenly, how he ravished you... The mutual irritation and tension building up for over half a year translated into indescribable pleasure.

He kissed you again, flicking his tongue against yours as he pounded into you without mercy. Overwhelmed by the sensation, all you could do to express you were nearing your limit was sink your nails into Jungkook’s biceps at each side of you, moan inside his mouth. He took the hint and fucked you as fast as his body would allow, within mere seconds your walls clenching tight around him. The sight of you collapsing under him, overcome with bliss, made him reach his own highest shortly, spurting his warm seed inside you.

As his movements gradually ceased, so did your panting. Before a complete silence fell, you asked, “Am I still to marry Jimin?”

Jungkook grabbed your face and growled against your pouted lips, “You’re not going anywhere.”

[evilminji]

You know what would be HILARIOUS?

For everyone NOT involved in the situation?

If the Uzumaki, mad lads that they were, seal master's who routinely moon the Shinigami for funsies that they are, got SUUUUUPER drunk? And were like?

"F-! *hic!* FUCK your fancy ass Summons contract Himiko! I got one TOO, you know. A..An' it's TOTALLY better then yours! It's got BLACKJACK! And hookers!" *falls on their face unconscious*

Needless to say? Not their proudest moment. Actually, their kinda deeply embarrassed. But like FUCK ARE THE BACKING DOWN! Their mouths wrote a check their ass can't currently cash... so the only REASONABLE solution? Apologize and tell the truth? Psh! NO.

Break Reality Until It's TRUE.

THEN they weren't technically lying!

They're a GENIUS~☆! :D

And yes, yes this IS normal behavior for them. It's both cultural AND genetic. There was a REASON people were terrified of those insane mother fuckers.

Because? They just? MADE UP a A Summons Contract. With Who? Dunno! We're gonna find out! But it looks right Seals wise! *signs name before anyone with sense can stop them, does the signs, draws blood aaaand?*

POOF!

Nani THE FUCK!? Says local dead Japanese 16th century fisherman who was flying by to visit the Lair of his buddy the 14th century monk. Behold! A FUCKING ZONE GHOST! He is unsummoned before he can react.

The Uzumaki have A Ghost Contract™.

.........th....they may have fucked up.

YOU THINK?

Roars basicly the ENTIRE Elders council. Who FUCKING FELT THAT. Because EVERYONE Felt that. They're SENSOR. That was a HOLE in REALITY that somehow GLOWED like a BEACON of both absolute Nothingness and Death! You TRAUMATIZED THE KIDS, YOU ASSHOLE!

Still....they ARE ninja. And Curious mother fuckers to the last.

So basically EVERYONE and their dog signs it. They somehow get WEIRDER. Bigger Chakra reserves. Obsessive tendencies. Meh, you win some, you lose some.

But? Then they fuckin DIE. (And their WHOLE ASS VILLAGE SHOWS UP IN THE ZONE. OH GOD, WHAT-!?)

And some grave robbing fuck tries to use the Contract. SUPRISE MOTHERFUCKER!

Ghost Uzumaki!

Your literal worst nightmare!

They DO NOT try using it again. It gets sealed DEEP. Until the Hokage gets wind of it. And, of course, Danzo. The Hokage sends Hound. And Team Kakashi on a completely unrelated but nearby "help a farmer" mission. Danzo sends assassins. Because he's fucking awful.

Kakashi gets the scroll.

Yep. Creepy rambling and shit handwriting, def Uzumaki. Time to go.

He gets attacked on the way back to camp. GDI Root. Well, its you or me. Sucks for you, I guess. They fight. They get a lucky shot. He bleeds on the scroll, doesn't notice. But SURELY... SURELY it isn't CROWDED enough with names that the Uzumaki just added a "and anyone who bleeds on THIS part at the bottom _______ plus does the handsigns" towards the end.... RIGHT??

RIGHT?! Look him in the EYES Uzumaki Clan, RIGHT??!

They would prefer not to answer that. The Vibez here are getting REALLY aggressive, you know? >.> It made sense at THE TIME...

So... he goes to summon his Dogs.

And he SURE DOES GET UM.... plus One(1!!!).

Who the FUCK is this glowing green dog? A puppy? Kakashi seeing the dimwitted looking little thing about to get STABBED tries to rescue it. It takes one look look at him (worried for it), the other dogs (growling at his enemies, fighting) and... turns around, shifting as it does, to HUNDREDS of times it's previous size.

Like an Akimichi transformation.

A sudden, hulking, green WOLF with red glowing eyes and killing intent that would Rival a demon's. The howl is unearthly. It joins the fray like a meat thresher.

Then pops back to a floating, tongue lolling, dimwitted pup the second everything is done.

G...God boy?

Far be it for KAKASHI to fear a dog, no MATTER how dangerous. So he carries it back to camp. Where it seems to instant fall in LOVE with Naruto. They become the BEST of friends.

There's frolicking.

Looking down at the pocket with the scroll he reclaimed? Yeah. Yeah that tracks. According to Pakkun, the pup has a "weird, echo-y" accent and is incredibly scatter brained. Training to be a gaurd dog? WAS Training. IS currently... what.

Okay. IS currently the gaurd dog/pet of an Emperor. Because THATS not alarming. Did the Royal family all... wait... he examines the pup again. Transparent. Was it KILLING intent he felt... or a Deathy pressure? Didn't the Uzumaki have Forbidden soul and death seals? It would stand to REASON...

Oh god damn it.

Pakkun. Pakkun please tell me that pup is ALIVE.

(He can not.) (Hilariously? Dispite being TERRIFIED of Ghosts? Naruto is TOTALLY COOL with Zone Ghosts? Don't be MEAN, Sensei! They're just PEOPLE! It's not THEIR fault They're dead! Now GHOSTS? Spooky and EVIL! Totally different.)

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @hypewinter @legitimatesatanspawn @mayfay

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

you should watch alien stage 😁 it’s a really wholesome and heartwarming web series on YouTube by VIVINOS. Nothing bad happens! And I think that you would like it!

So before I checked out Alien Stage, I asked an irl about it to get a feel for the series. They jokingly described Alien Stage to me as "Hunger Games with doomed yuri and yaoi plus some toxic het on the side", and after catching up with the playlist of hits... yeah, that's pretty accurate. I'm so invested in this now 🤡

I have Ruler of My Heart stuck in my head, specifically this English cover of it! To probably no one's surprise, I'm really gravitating to Luka... WHAT CAN I SAY, I LOVE ANGELIC LOOKING CHARACTERS WITH PRINCELY AND CHARISMATIC PERSONAS THAT ARE ACTUALLY SO MANIPULATIVE AND SCUMMY. AFSLFAYOEFIYFAEEAF; AND HOW CAN I NOT ADORE A GUY THAT PULLS THSI KINDA FACE:

I think part of his charm is that contrast between how he's seen as a "prince" by his fans when he's anything but. The artists outdid themselves with the MV; it perfectly conveys how truly terrible Luka is. I was so uncomfortable watching the video play out. The way he progressively creeps closer and keeps invading Mizi's personal space, taunting her, imitating her dead bestie/crush, putting his hands all over her, AND THAT GROSS WHISTLE HE DOES IN THE BEGINNING???? That made my skin CRAWL. Luka is for real so awful and I love that for him-- MIZI WAS RIGHT TO SWING AT HIM, IT WAS CATHARTIC 💀

I wanna give big props to Mizi's facial expressions too... They're so despair-filled and delicious, even when it's just her widened eyes repeating on the screen. The animation specifically for the line "I don't believe you're a liar" is top tier 👌 It's nothing fancy, but it conveys just how distressed Mizi is and how that's impacting her ability to sing. The way she gulps is so punchy and visceral. THE HATE IN MIZI'S EYES AS SHE'S RESTRAINED FROM COMING AT HIM AGAIN???? Good stuff. The twist at the end where the stage gets smoke bombed (?) and Mizi is rescued by the rebellion was great too. It robs Luka of the satisfaction of seeing his rival gunned down and him being declared as the victor. (P.S. I thought Hyuna was Jamil when I first saw her design; this is proof that Jamil has cool onee-san energy/j) Super looking forward to seeing Luka square off against Till, who is another favorite of mine. The eyebags— Till the End is probably my second favorite song so far; it's so intense in the close-up shots of Till singing his heart out to the audience. (Poor Mob-kun though, bro's getting DESTROYED out here...) I admire Till's fighting spirit but at the same time I feel so bad every time he's subdued 💦 Whereas I want Luka to get knocked down a peg, I want Till to find happiness and safety...

qweliboqeuvqied Anyway, that's my current brain rot 😊

[physalian]

10 Character Dynamics the World Needs More of

Me handing out character dynamics like free samples at the Mall Food Court: “Take one! Or two! You’ll love it!”

I don’t care how many times these tropes have been done – write more of them. Write all of them. Fill out your author bingo card one by one.

1. “No one gets to kill you but me, Old Friend”

This. Right here. Primo rival content that I *live* for. All the juicy history between two old frenemies, the character drama, the backstory, the titillating unknown of what drove these two to rival status, bitter enemies that respect the heck out of each other, to the point that hell hath no fury should one get knocked down without the other’s consent.

And, of course, the moment where it seems all bets are off, when the rival comes to save their ass only to hand it back to them at a later date. The angst! The shipping fodder! Need I say more?

2. A bigger, badder villain, and their minion

You, reader, spend countless hours hating the guts of the big bad villain. They’re evil, they’re vile, they’re sadistic, heartless, irredeemable bastards. They killed your favorite character for shock value. The big bad moustache-twirling antagonist… is actually not the biggest fish in the story.

Either they’re coerced into doing evil as a puppet of the Bigger Bad, a tragic villain in their own right, or they have some reservation, some line even they won’t cross, someone else’s boots they have to kiss, someone who features in their nightmares, as they feature in the heroes. They end their stories dispatched without a thought by the Bigger Bad, or redeem themselves in death by taking out their masters. It never gets old.

3. A leader and their lancer: besties

You know what’s better than leaders and lancers who have zero faith in each other and are constantly bickering about who should be in charge? Leaders and their right-hands who adore each other (platonically). They have each other’s backs, they know each other’s greatest strengths and weaknesses and are each other’s perfect covers.

They can communicate with looks and vague gestures alone, they compliment each other’s flaws and misgivings, build up the rest of the team when they’re down on their luck, and should misfortune strike either, they pull out all the stops and show off exactly why they’re not to be trifled with, so that even the villain is afraid.

4. “I don’t even know who you are”

Oh, but you will. This one twists the knife, robbing the avenging hero of the importance in this world they’re desperate to maintain. They are their own hero, the sun revolves around them… but not to this one asshat that ruined their life and doesn’t even remember doing it.

An entire identity built upon the finding, fighting, and overcoming of this wrongdoer, every other goal in life cast aside for this one impossibility. Either the villain toys with the hero to make them irate, or gets suckerpunched by some pissant fueled by vengeance and spite and divine purpose to dole justice where justice is due.

6. The jaded badass and their naive ward

If the last 8 years of media is anything to go by, we still love this trope, whether it’s in a galaxy far, far away or a fungi-zombie post-apocalypse, or in the twilight hours of an era of legendary mutants. The best part of this trope? You get two often contradictory character types in one body. The pessimist, PTSD-ridden master of old with no living friends left and at least one dead love interest *and* beneath all that, still lies an atrophied heart of gold just waiting to be nurtured and revived.

The naive ward gets a hard lesson in how crappy the world can be, but also in how there’s still some goodness left, if their guardian cares about them. The jaded badass in turn, learns how good the world can be, that there’s something still worth fighting for beyond the next bottom of a bottle.

6. The enemy of my enemy (is my friend)

Similar to the “old friends”, this trope is often a result of the minioned Big Bad realizing they don’t want to be evil anymore. Or, bitter old rivals, sides of a war that have been fighting for generations, ideological polar opposites, fundamental polar opposites all come together when: Some evil schmuck managed to scare them both.

Doesn’t matter on what shaky ground this temporary alliance is built, or how long it lasts, equally-competent badasses on both sides finally work together and compliment each other’s strengths, and compensate for their weaknesses, in a way their teammates never could.

7. The irredeemable villain’s only wholesome connection

Not so irredeemable anymore, now are they? This trope messes with your head, taking a character you know has done heinous acts of terror, but who cares unflinchingly, unabashedly, about one thing – either their lover, their pet, their relative, or their kid.

This exists independently of the heroes and is not the same as an “oops I guess I’m your father” reveal. I’m talking this character who everyone is convinced cares about nothing and no one but themselves and their ambition still has a place in their soul for something they want to protect, they want to be loved by, or that they must spare from their atrocities.

8. Platonic Heterosexual Friendships

These two have seen each other at their most vulnerable. They’ve shared fears, dreams, desires, know each other’s deepest, darkest secrets. They’ve seen each other exhausted, frazzled, dressed up, dressed down, bloodied and broken and like a raw, open nerve. These two would die for each other, they would live for each other, and yet.

They’re not in love with each other. They’re wholly comfortable in each other’s spaces without lust and desire mucking up the atmosphere. Neither is the one, neither wants to be the one. They remain together not for the bonds of romance, but for the bonds of friendship, and nothing could be stronger.

10. The Ace and their best friend, the Self-Proclaimed Slut

These two respect the f*ck out of each other. One never mocks the other for lacking desire and in return, they’re never mocked for their promiscuity. They’ll never walk in each other’s shoes, but they don’t need to, to understand that’s just how some people are. They’re each other’s safest spaces when the world doesn’t take either of them seriously.

They’re each other’s biggest defenders against the bullies, presumers, the holier-than-thous who think they have it all figured out. They’re the perfect compliment to give advice on everything from relationships to the best outfits for an outing because there’s *zero sexual tension* between them. Or, maybe, if the stars align, they’re something more.

10. The redeeming villain, and their staunchest skeptic

This villain has lost everything – their home, the respect of their people, their worth, their evil ambition, their identity, and has begun working their way up from rock bottom doing everything in their power to show the heroes that they’re serious. They make amends, they break their bones proving themselves, they’ve swayed everyone they’ve wronged in the hero camp.

Except one. The one character that was probably their first defender, and got burned for it. The character that was naive enough to think this villain could be saved, and was wrong. The character that won’t be duped again without some serious drama and soul-bearing between them.

Now tell me which ones I missed!

[bodhrancomedy]

They’re all in there, I just would like to know what’s the most fun idea.

[pico-farad]

I finished season 1 of Vrains and it was cool but I thought it needed about 2 billion more secret identity shenanigans

extended thoughts below

So I went into a deep dive in my last two posts (1, 2) about all the problems I had with Vrains, and you'd think I didn't enjoy it, but in fact as I was watching, there was a separate, parallel version of Vrains that was playing in my head, a Yugioh I think we were robbed of and which fixes every problem I had with the first season, and that is Secret Identities AU.

Yusaku needs FRIENDS

This is YUGIOH.

This dynamic is everything I wanted from Vrains. Yusaku developing unexpected fondness for these bozos who think he needs a defense squad. I want Miraculous Ladybug levels of secret identity shenanigans. I want Yusaku slapping his duel disk every time Ai tries to blow their cover.

This AU sprung forth from the scene in the duel club where he shows Naoki his decoy deck. Having Yusaku passing as a bad duelist is 1) so funny, but 2) Yusaku needing to maintain his low profile is a useful contrivance for other characters to get more duels, and 3) I think it would be a really fun one-off episode where Yusaku has to duel using his bad deck. When he wins, Naoki is so proud he cries.

Having Yusaku actually have to interact with the other characters in the real world opens up Greek play levels of dramatic irony. The crux of a secret identity story is that every single interaction builds up anticipation, because you the viewer know that the other party is being deceived, and that the tension will snap when the secret is revealed.

I have zero anticipation about Playmaker's identity being revealed, because Aoi would be like "oh.... I guess he goes to my school" and Go would be like "have I seen that guy before?" But SIAU Playmaker? My guy is making friends just so he can betray them. Insane.

Go needs A ROLE IN THE STORY.

I said in my first post that Go isn't a rival or a best friend character. SIAU fixes this by making him both simultaneously.

Having him be the ace of the duel club is a natural replacement for his whole hero of the orphans schtick, while placing him directly the circle of relevance with the other characters. Instead of being disgruntled that the orphans suddenly like Playmaker more than him, he's disgruntled that Naoki and the duel club mooks are fawning over Playmaker -- which is actually just Naoki's character anyway.

I would kill for a big dramatic moment where Go learns that Playmaker and Yusaku are the same person, and even though Go feels betrayed that Yusaku has been deceiving him, he stands by Yusaku anyway because they're friends.

With a secret identity story, every conversation is working on multiple levels because each character is working with asymmetric information. You get these fascinating, layered scenes of two characters talking past each other because they cannot give up their secret.

Which would go especially hard with Go and Yusaku, because Go has legitimate criticisms of Playmaker in canon and Yusaku has legitimate reasoning behind the things he does, and as Go Onizuka and Playmaker they could never come to an understanding on them, but as Go and Yusaku, two friends in duel club, that door becomes open to them.

Aoi needs WRITING THAT ISN'T A TRAINWRECK

I made a whole post on this. Basically every problem would be solved if Akira doesn't know that she's Blue Angel. There's no reason for her to lose grotesquely against Yusaku, or have her basic autonomy called into question constantly. 

Having her actively deceive her brother is delicious. Like I said in my last post, it's so obvious how Akira's overprotectiveness has taken its toll on Aoi, and pushed her into developing this other persona, Blue Angel. I want this absolutely dysfunctional sibling relationship so badly. The Blue Angel vs. Zaizen duel would make me lose my mind.

And a secret identities setting works so well with the potential themes of VRAINS as a stand-in for the internet and Blue Angel as an idol. Give me that Perfect Blue Satoshi Kon good stuff. Give me those themes about identity, and the different lives we live, outward and inward, online and offline.

This also helps Akira's character, because I think he would be much more interesting and relevantly positioned in the story if he stayed a SOL Technologies baddie. SOL Technologies has very little presence in season 1 despite being critical to the story. After Zaizen is replaced by an irrelevant clown, they don't do anything but send out mook AIs to get destroyed. By having a three-way standoff between Yusaku's squad, the Knights of Hanoi, and SOL Technologies, both Hanoi and SOL Technologies become more compelling. They've both got all the reason in the world to want to take down the other. Zaizen vs. Revolver or Spectre? That's good shit.

And don't get me started on how I would turn Revolver into a Secret Identities character.

[andieperrie18]

Watching her fall in love

A/n: DISCLAIMER, I just wanna clear out that I HATE Mikio, OR LOATHE him. The man died too quickly for my liking. But I am currently at an emotional but productive mode in my Mizu x Reader fanfic. I needed to vent some writing. I just needed to write somethings to hurt myself, so now I would like to share my pain. I kept this one vague but clear cause certain parts would likely be in the fanfic. So please bear with its corniness and i do hope you enjoy and share some thoughts at the comment section how to make Mikio's suffering a bit more satisfying

Pairing: Mizu x Reader

Series: Blue Eye Samurai

You know she deserves to be happy. There was no reason for her to continue her vengeance now that her mother was actually alive and now has been encouraging Mizu to leave your debt and settle down with the man her mother had found that will surely provide for her.

Not that Mizu was not cared for in your home, with a small dowry left by your deceased father and the a simple home on a piece of land from your husband who worked tirelessly to own for your future before circumstances decided to rob you of the life that you could’ve had with him let alone have a child of your own.

After coming to terms with things, you swear to never love any other man than your husband. But the tides of fate didn’t really like that.

You were on your way home when you found a wounded Mizu on your way. Lucky enough, your place was near when she came stumbling in your arms clutching her bleeding side. In your home, you treated her, fed her and provided her all the necessary things to hasten her recovery despite her constant attempts to deny any more further gestures.

Your persistence rivaled hers and she can’t really do anything than just accept it if she wants to continue her quest for revenge. But she days go by and she can finally function properly, the closer she has become to you. Of course you already knew that she was a woman, tending to her wounds did require you to have her lay bare before you while under unconsciousness. But her eyes, a part of  her body that she has come to hate as it was the most visible defect of how she is immediately considered as a monster. You were no stranger to being cast aside so you know how to provide her the right words and comfort.

From that point on, she’s been your constant company either at your small plantation or someone to share food on the dining table. With her harsh childhood and upbringing, Mizu’s cold exterior was very hard but once you do reach her,  she is as gentle as a spring water bathing you in in cold warmth under a harsh sun.

“You know that I’ll leave as soon as I reach recovery,” she said with a frown as she sat across from you from the entryway. The evening was  young but the skies were burned by a millions suns from eons away and the full moon lingering among them. You looked at her as she did as well, there was a hint of sadness in her icy blue eyes.

“I know, and I will not force you to stay, if this path is what you need to find peace at the end of your road, then do so. Just know that when you’re ready  to find your peace, my doors are open to your company,” you offered a smile, one that she did return. One that had you marveling at it all throughout the night.

You haven't come to terms with your feelings with Mizu for quite a while and believed that you really cared for platonically. She has found a great friendship with you and you to her.

As a ‘friend’, you were lucky enough to be there at the small ceremony. Mikio didn’t want anything to do with her and denied any act of consummating their union. But Mizu didn’t worry much as you have provided a great company. Cracks to your resolve showed when you had succeeded to provide Mizu an opportunity to create connection with her husband. You had encouraged her to try approaching the man and keep in mind how persistent he is with that one particular horse he has been taming for days in your observation. Soon, Mizu was having a small conversation with Mikio while you watched.

Watching Mizu’s rough demeanor crumble so easily in his presence was infuriating, an emotion you quick to shut out. Guilt tripping was made easier upon having small conversations with Mizu’s mother who Thanked you for being there for Mizu and helping her create a relationship with Mikio. 

“Now that she’s out of your hair, you can finally find a husband as well, your still you my dear,” Mizu’s mother trails, but your attention was on the couple emerging from the green hills riding a horse along the orange horizon. Your eyes on Mizu, laughing, so free. An expression you never once got from her.

The final realization of your love for her was followed by a tsunami of heartbreak as you watched her capture her husbands lips in a kiss by a big tree that you came passing by. You watch her submit to his touch, lifting her legs off the ground and press tender kisses on her neck. You hid by a tree, back against it. You stare up the orange skies as you feel every thing inside you tear itself apart.

A/n: I Just needed to feel pain.

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (19) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: you and coriolanus return to the capitol. 

word count: 2,224

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: fluff, implied smut, pet name (petal), not proofread

Coriolanus stared at the cat. Coriolanus the Cat stared back. Ever since things improved between you and him, the cat had been less hostile. But less hostile for the cat still was not pleasant. Sometimes, it would hiss at him when he walked in the room. Or it would swat at him whenever he leaned in to steal a kiss from you. You would always laugh at the cat’s antics—Coriolanus was certain this only encouraged it. You never did seem to believe him when he said the cat shot him smug looks. 

“I think you’re losing the staring contest,” you murmured, your eyes shut. 

He looked down at you. You had fallen asleep in the carriage ride back to the Capitol. Your face had been pressed against his bicep within minutes of departing the cottage, quiet snores soon following. He wished he could have played with your hair. Alas, it was back tied up in elaborate updos that was befitting of a Queen. Coriolanus preferred it when you were just you. 

“Well, you just made me lose, petal.”

Your eyes fluttered open. They held no trace of the sleep you’d awoken from. Instead, they twinkled as you peered up at him. “Such a tragedy. I shall have to make it up to you.”

Coriolanus grinned. “Yes, I suppose you shall.”

“Just set the terms, my love, and I will fulfill them.”

He almost felt like a little boy with the glee you filled him with. Never had he felt so happy, so content, with his life. Ever since he was young, Coriolanus had been fighting his way to the top of the ladder. Now, he was here and he had everything he wanted. A kingdom to rule, sure, but that paled in comparison to the shimmering jewel you were. “You’ll live to regret that, petal,” he teased. 

“The only thing I regret is giving you such a hard time from the beginning. If I knew I would come to love you so, I would have been kinder.”

His stomach flipped. This was everything he ever could have hoped for. Coriolanus leaned his head on top of yours. “I’m grateful you weren’t. I loved you because you’re a spitfire. You always were so certain about everything. It made me want to be the sort of the man you would actually want.”

“Well, I was wrong about you. You’re incredible, my Coryo.”

Coriolanus lifted his head. He tilted your head up so you looked at him. A smile tugged on his lips as he leaned in for a kiss. “The highest of compliments from you, petal. I love you.”

The cat pounced on him, claws digging into his jacket, before you could say the words back. Damned cat! You had said the words countless times over the last month, but Coriolanus never tired of hearing them. And now the beast of a cat robbed him of hearing the words again. He couldn’t remain mad, though, when he heard your giggle as you coaxed the cat to let go.

“You’re lucky she loves you, beastie,” Coriolanus said to the cat. He leaned down, narrowing his eyes at the creature. “If you weren’t our son, I’d throw you out of this carriage at the first opportunity.”

Coriolanus the Cat meowed back. Coriolanus the Human imagined it was a “fuck you” in cat language. 

“Be nice,” you laughed, smacking your hand against his chest. “Our sweet little baby just wants to play with his papa.”

“We have very different definitions of playing. I don’t particularly enjoy it when claws come out.”

You hummed. “You seemed quite pleased when my claws come out when we play.”

Coriolanus guffawed. While he had enjoyed the innocence you exhibited at the beginning of the honeymoon period, he was more pleased with how he’s slowly corrupted you. How he has been able to mold you into a sultry woman for his eyes only. You still had much to learn, of course, but Coriolanus would never complain about teaching you. “You’re rotten, petal.”

“You should do something about it, then.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice—cat in the carriage be damned. 

Knock! Knock! 

Coriolanus pulled away from you, a smirk crossing his face as he saw how breathless you were, just from kissing. You always looked so positively intoxicated from kissing him. Like he was your personal drug. If only you knew he felt the same way about you. His attention turned to the carriage door. He reached over and rapped his knuckles on the wood two times. After the first break for the horses on the journey back to the Capitol, where the coachman unceremoniously opened the door to find you wrapped up in his arms, they developed a knocking system. Coriolanus didn’t particularly care for it—the entire of Panem could know how much he loved you. But the coachman muttered something about “proprietary” and “maintaining the Crown” enough for Coriolanus to agree to let him know when it was safe to open the door. 

You smoothed down your hair as the door swung open. Coriolanus caught a glimpse of the staff of the palace lining the path up to its front doors. Finally—he would be welcoming you home as his Queen. Sure, he had the wedding night with you but that hardly counted. You had been so terrified of a life with him then. Now, you were sure of his love and devotion. Now, you were Queen. (Of course, you would still need your own coronation, but that would be planned soon.) 

He stepped out of the carriage as Coriolanus the Cat pounced out. He snorted as one of the members of the staff flinched as the little beastie claw at the tails of his coat. At least someone else was being tormented. Coriolanus turned back to the carriage, nudging the coachman out of the way, and reached out for you. Your hand slipped into his, a bright smile on your face. It felt like the world stopped whenever you smiled at him like that. Coriolanus would have happily lived another four and twenty years of you glowering at him if it meant he got even one of those smiles out of you.

Together, the two of you turned to walk up to the palace. He still held onto your hand as you made your way up to your new home. Instinctively, you fell a half-step behind him. Oh, but he didn’t like that. Coriolanus stopped, earning looks of confusion from the staff around him. 

“Is something wrong?” you asked, your brows knit together. Coriolanus was tempted to kiss the crease between them. 

“Walk in front of me.”

“No one walks in front of the King.”

It was a tradition. Something about how the King led Panem—no one led him. But whoever started that tradition never met a woman like you. 

“You are my equal in every meaningful way, petal. If there weren’t archaic rules that prevent women from being elected, you could surely be Queen in your own right. Be that as it may, I want you to walk in front of me,” he said. This time, he did kiss the crease between your brows. “Show them all exactly why I fell in love with you.”

A smile pulled at your lips. He kissed them, too. Then, you took a step, and then two, before you walked right in front of him. Your head held high, shoulders back, commanding the very respect you deserved. Despite the confused looks among the staff at you taking the lead, they quickly fell into bows and curtsies as you passed. He did laugh, though, as Coriolanus the Cat fell in line with you, its own little held high. A royal bastard if there ever was one. 

At the top of the stairs, Coriolanus took note of the housekeeper. He stopped in front of her. 

“Welcome home, Your Majesty,” she said, still deep in her curtsy. 

“Rise,” he said. In front of him, you had turned, watching him. “Any of my wife’s belongings that remain in the Queen’s Chambers should be moved to my chamber’s expeditiously.”

The housekeeper blinked at him. “Your Majesty, it is tradition that, after the honeymoon period, that the Queen reside in her own chambers—”

“Does tradition override the King’s orders?”

She blanched. “Of course not, Your Majesty. I apologize for any disrespect—”

“Do as I said and all will be forgiven.” 

“It will be done at once, Your Majesty,” she said, dropping back into a curtsy as Coriolanus made his way back to you. 

He took your hand again and walked by your side the rest of the way into the palace. Coriolanus let you guide him to the library. But rather than opening the doors, you turned around, pressing your back against the wood. You smiled up at him. “Quite possessive, aren’t you?” you teased.

“Can you blame me?” he teased, nudging his nose against yours. “I can’t stand to not have you by my side.”

“You’re lucky I find that attractive now, Coryo,” you teased, reaching behind you and twisting the knob. You pushed the door open and tugged him inside. 

Neither of you left the library until dinner. 

If someone had told a younger Coriolanus that he would hate being King, he would have laughed. It seemed like such a ludicrous idea. It was what he dreamed of doing for so long. It was what he was practically raised to be. And yet, as Coriolanus flitted through the papers his Lord Chamberlain had brought him, all he could think of was how far away you were from him. You belonged by his side, always. 

He was worse than the girls at the Academy when they first realized that the boys in their classes could become their future husband. He was worse than the boys at the Academy when they would fight for the girls’ attention. Coriolanus couldn’t find it in himself to care, though. He had you as his wife. Brilliant, witty you. 

Coriolanus stared at the large, mahogany desk before. When he first became King, he thought it a grand old thing. A symbol of his power. A sign that he had gone far enough, earned the highest title in all of Panem, so that your father would finally, finally, let him ask for your hand. Now it just looked lonely. 

He abandoned the desk and in a few, short strides, he reached his door and pulled it open. One of the Peacekeepers stationed outside jumped. Coriolanus’s jaw clenched. Such behavior never would have been tolerated when he was a Peacekeeper. 

“Your Majesty,” the Peacekeeper said, bowing. “Is there something you required?”

“Send for the Queen.”

The Peacekeeper rose, confusion clear on his face. “Is something wrong, Your Majesty?”

Coriolanus suppressed an eye roll. While his job was secure, he knew he had to tread carefully with the public. They could be so easily moved to rebellion. He knew better than to give them any further ammunition. “Send for the Queen,” he repeated. “Don’t bother announcing her presence or even knocking. Let her in as soon as she arrives.”

Without another word, Coriolanus stepped back inside his office and shut the door. He grabbed the chair that was on the opposite side of his desk, for when he would entertain meetings with those who request an audience with the King. He pulled around to the other side of the desk beside of his. The chair was much smaller than compared to the one for the King, but it would suffice for now. He would tell the housekeeper to have a chair identical to his made later. 

Coriolanus was still adjusting the chairs when the door swung open. Even though he hadn’t looked up at you yet, he still smiled. It was so strange, how much calmer he felt when you were around. Like your presence alone calmed all of his demons. 

“The poor Peacekeeper was trembling when he came to the library, Your Majesty,” you teased, stepping around the desk and slotting yourself in his arms. “What did you do to the poor boy?”

“All I asked for was you.”

“Mm, but you must have had that look on your face.”

“The look?”

“That commanding look of you. The one where it looks like you are already plotting a person’s death if they dare deny you.”

Coriolanus arched a brow. “Did I ever look at you like that?”

“No, you looked at me like you would eat me.” You pressed a kiss to his jaw. “And, oh, how you have eaten me.”

“Well, you are my favorite meal,” Coriolanus said. He gently turned you toward the chair and motioned for you to sit. You did. “There, right where you belong.”

“You should be in this seat, Coryo.”

He shook his head. “No. You are right where you belong.”

Sitting in the smaller chair, Coriolanus pulled the papers he’d been looking through toward him and began to read them again. He read them aloud, though, asking for your input, jotting down your helpful suggestions. Yes, this was perfect. This was what he wanted. A competent Queen ruling by her King’s side.  

Coriolanus considered the chair again. He shouldn’t ask for an identical chair to be made for you. You deserve a larger one. 

[fanfic-writer-and-rambler]

Kite-man is shopping at the jewelry store for his engagement ring when he hears an exhausted sigh. He turns around to see Spoiler (Stephanie Brown) behind him.

Kite-man: Spoiler! Good to see ya. What brings you to these part of the woods.

Spoiler: …

She motions her hand to the frightened customers and indifferent shop owner.

Kite-man: Oh shoot it does look like I’m robbing this place.

Spoiler: Yup, yup, yup! You didn't even try to wear a disguise! You're in the same outfit you always wear! What did I tell you about not robbing the place for a ring!

Kite-man: You said bank.

Spoiler: The jewelry store was implied!

Kite-man: Chill Spoiler. I have the money. I even picked out the ring.

Spoiler: You’re actually going to pay with money you didn’t steal?

Kite-man: 100%.

Spoiler: Well-

Barbara bursts into fits of laughter as Steph covers her face in frustration.

Spoiler: Un minuto.

Spoiler presses the communication device in her ear: Shut up!

Kite-man turns to the jeweler: It’s a Bluetooth device, she’s not crazy.

The jeweler nods.

Kite-man: Well don’t worry, rival. I’m just paying for my ring and I’ll be gone.

Spoiler, talking to the jeweler: You cool with this?

Jeweler: I live in Gotham and he’s not robbing the place. I’ll take his money.

Spoiler: Excelente, I’m out. Kite-man, don’t break the laws for like a few weeks and congrats on the equally weird woman possibly being your wife.

Kite-man: Thanks, rival.

Spoiler: He’s kidding. I just happen to meet him the most out of the other… bat people.

Jeweler: That… that sounds like you’re his rival.

Spoiler: Wasn't asking you, thank you! I’m out of here.

Kite-man: See ya!

Spoiler rolls her eyes leaving the jewelry shop. She hears sarcastic clapping.

Stephanie: Oracle I swear to God.

Barbara: Oh that’s not me, Jason is with me.

Spoiler: If you guys say anything I’m going to hurt you.

Jason: That threat means nothing to us. Barbara was right though, you’re quite helpful to your rival.

Spoiler: He’s not my- I’m starting to miss the days with my freaking dad!

Story so far: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4

[mimssysciest]

NEED them as returning antagonists in season 2 of fop: a new wish.

WE WERE LITERALLY ROBBED OF THE PIXIES TEAMING UP WITH DALE AND BEING THE SEASON'S MAJOR ANTAGONISTS!

i bet he would be part of their newest 37 years fairy world takeover plan. actually, HP and he would spent hours talking about stocks and absolutely enjoy eachother's company.

BUT!!! THERE'S HOPE FOR THEM. even after they just switched dale and the pixies for dev and anti-fairies in the show's finale and main plot, there is still hope that if the show s2 gets greenlightned they might recycle this idea of the pixies returning and teaming up with dale, after all, he got set up for a way bigger role envolving project H.

HOWEVER, MISS DOOMBRINGER WAS ROBBED SINCE DAY ONE! YALL BELIEVE THEY MADE A PROFESSIONAL FAIRY HUNTER ANTAGONIST, WHO PUBLISHED A BOOK WITH ALL THE NECESSARY KNOWLEDGE TO CAPTURE THEM,

WITH THE CAPABILITY OF SMELLING MAGIC AND MANIPULATING GODKIDS, WITH GENIUS EQUIPMENT THAT CAN DETECT FAIRY DUST. ALL THAT FOR ONLY ONE EPISODE?!! HOW COME Y'ALL MAKE A CHARACTER WITH SUCH HIGH POTENTIAL AND NEVER BRING HER BACK AGAIN??? I DEMAND TO KNOW MORE ABOUT HER!

she could've been a rival to crocker, back in the og show days, or even an ally. i would rather have them as fairy hunters duo than whatever the fuck they tried to do with the L.O.S.E.R.S. but of course, i believe she has enough potential to be a stand-alone antagonist, maybe even a major, or recurring one, if properly written.

anyway, please ANW writers, bring back this wasted queen and let her shine for at least one or two episodes.

[bibibbon]

The funny thing with Bakogou getting so many votes, is that he isnt even really the "Sasuke" from Naruto - who atleast got so much attention, some fans even got angry cause one wouldnt see Naruto for many chapters lol.

Hell Sasuke actually kept up with Naruto, while Bakogou, after his weird win in the rematch fight, never really caught up again, especially not after the 7 qurik thing - not even getting a real villian fight against AFO

And even the AF0 defeat seemed lto me like a way to say "oh shit, I have to make Bakogou Dekus rival, so lets him blow up an evil baby" lol Hell maybe thats why there was that random murder of Kurogiri - to make it look like Bakugo saved Deku and the battle in the end?

This is out of topic but I hate seeing people say that izuku and bakugo are sasuke and Naruto in a different font because they are not!!

First of all bakugo and izukus rivalry is one sided. Izuku's character once used to admire bakugo and while I do believe that bakugo was supposed to be a challenge for izuku, Izuku ended up outgrowing him but hori still had to make sure that bakugo was relevant so he gave him power ups and made him kill kurogiri and watch AFO die. Bakugo's character revolves around izuku and in a badly written way (it's not like Narutos character that very much circles sasuke and learns from his experiences) and it's bakugo who ends up being extremely aggressive towards izuku while that's not reciprocated. Izuku simply takes the hits and moves on (this is unlike sasuke who actually got his comeback on Naruto when Naruto tried to trap him in the early arcs)

Both Naruto and sasuke get development outside of eachother and are able to feel good and bad emotions about one another but Izuku can't feel bad emotions about bakugo. Both Naruto and sasuke are well developed (to a certain extent kishi drops the bar when it came to the last arc) and kishi takes time to properly develop and delve into their characters while giving the perspective of both characters equally unlike horikoshi who robs Izuku of intropsection and agency while bending bakugos character so far that he seems ooc in some moments like the 'apology' he gave.

Both Naruto and sasuke have their own feats and accomplishments outside of one another's help but I can't say the same for bakugo and izuku.

[catcze]

i know we don't know much about wriothesley but

con man reader x wriothesley tho

MANNNN that would be, like, one of the most satisfying slow burn enemies/rivals to lovers with Wriothesley ever HAHAH

(I,,,,, got so carried away with this. So very very carried away with this oh my god.)

Like imagine the reader being a con artist, but in a robin-hood esque kind? Like, they scam a lot of the corrupt nobles and the residents of the higher-end of the city that wouldn't even feel a few hundred thousands of mora leaving their pocket, all for them to use it to support the residents of Fontaine that the rich don't often bat an eye at.

And the reader is good at sneaking around and being a criminal (being an antihero, you would argue) but the authorities of Fontaine are also good at their job, and you've been caught once. For your first transgression, you had been sent to the Fortress of Meropide for just a few months. Then, Wriothesley didn't think much of you. You were just a convict under his care for a bit. Attractive, maybe, and perhaps the first time he saw you he couldn't help but think that you're his type. In your time in the fortress, you even converse with him a little bit, and he learns about you and your motivations and who you really are. He won't lie and say that he doesn't enjoy talking to you, or that he won't miss the way you both easily fall into conversation like puzzle pieces. But for your own sake, he hoped that he wouldn't see you in this prison ever again.

But then, when your time is up and you're let out back into society, it isn't even three weeks before news reaches his ears about your newest scam, and how the guards are on the hunt for you once again. When he hears the news, his hand is already reaching up to cover his eyes and massage his temples. He sighs, deep and frustrated at your antics because what the fuck.

You're caught sooner than later, and once more toted back to the Fortress of Meropide, and Wriothesley is there to chew you out for being an idiot and landing yourself back there again, this time with a much longer sentence.

("Oh, don't be so mean to me, Wriothesley. You're going to make me think you're not happy to see me!"

"Well I'm certainly not happy to see you practically on my doorstep in handcuffs. Again." )

But to his utter bewilderment, you somehow manage to escape the fortress. He doesn't know how the hell you did it, and no investigation that anyone tried to do over the coming weeks turned up any signs to how you did it. It's like you just upped and vanished out of the Fortress one day. You even managed to snag your weapon and your vision from their storage room on your way out! If he wasn't so flabbergasted that you pulled it off, Wriothesley might have actually been impressed.

You con more people, you continue to rob from the rich to give to the poor, and Wriothesley reads all about it in the paper. Then you're caught just like before, and Wriothesley is once again receiving you at the entrance of the fortress, though he can't help but think that you look much too happy with yourself to be there.

("Should I be expecting an escape attempt from you anytime soon?"

"I only just got here and you're already planning for my leave? Looks like you missed me much less than I missed you."

"Just–" He sighs. "Can you not escape again? I'm not exactly looking forward to greeting you a fourth time, you know."

"No promises, warden!")

No promises, indeed. You escape a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth, and a seventh. Each time, you do it without leaving a trace and without much fuss. You're just there one day and gone the next. No surveillance or maximum security measures hinders you at all.

Each time you come back, a wide grin on your face, calling out your greeting to him before he can even begin to scold you. Each time you're back, you have new stories to tell him of the things you'd done in your freedom (in-between gathering funds for those under your care, of course.) You tell him of travelling to Liyue and sampling their food. Of going to Mondstadt and learning of their culture. You're even gone to Snezhenaya, and felt the chilly air freeze you to your very bones.

The eighth time you're brought to the Fortress, however, you seem a little different. When you talk to him, it's not about how you pulled off your latest endeavor or your newest discovery in a far-off land that doesn't know your name.

("The people that I provide for... they've told me they're happy now. That I don't need to risk myself for their sake anymore."

Wriothesley remains silent, and you shoulder on. You don't look at him, eyes towards the ceiling of the fortress, gaze locked on some far-off view hidden beneath the miles and miles of ocean that traps you in.

"They told me that I should be living my life for myself now, and that I should look for my own happiness."

"And?" he asks. "Will you?"

You look at him then. You're deep in thought as you stare at him, mulling the thought over in your mind. Your own happiness. For once, the look in your eyes is unreadable. Wriothesley can't make heads or tails of what you're thinking in that moment, all he knows is that this is possibly the most somber he's ever seen you.

"...I don't quite know if i should.")

You escape again, because of course you do. But unlike every other time, there is no word of you even a week after you're gone. No mention in the papers of any of your newest schemes, no indications of anyone in Fontaine having sighted you. The only mention is how you've escaped and the authorities are on the prowl for you once more.

Even after another two weeks, then a month, then several months, you don't pop back up again, and your deeds eventually fade from the forefront of public concern. For some reason though, Wriothesley can't help but still search for your name in the papers every day. Because, and against everything telling him that he absolutely should not hold sentiments for you, he does, in fact, miss you. Quite a lot, actually. But above all else, he's glad that you're somewhere else, hopefully living a better life, hopefully looking for your own happiness now. And secretly, even though he shouldn't, he still hopes that he can meet you again one day, and that you'll regale him of even more stories of what you've been up to while you were gone.

(Years pass. Many of the Fontaine rich have forgotten about you. What you've stolen from them was easily made back, after all. Wriothesley, however, has never once stopped wondering about how you're doing.

It's during a bright spring day in the city while he passes by a new cafe. He's heard this one originates outside of Fontaine, and that had been popular enough to open a branch here. It's still early enough that no one has yet entered, and he thinks to himself that it wouldn't hurt to learn what all the fuss is about.

When he enters the counter is devoid of personnel, and he thinks that they must still be preparing supplies in the back, so he takes his time in looking through the menu.

"The Valberry Black Tea is one of our bestsellers. Just the right flavor combination of the fruity sweetness of the berries while still holding onto the mild bitterness of our black tea. I think you'd like that one."

And there you are, leaning over the counter with a wide grin that's all too familiar to Wriothesley. To his relief, you seem happy. Brighter, even, than before. These last few years have been kind to you, is a thought that brings a smile to his face and a skip to his heart.

"I made that one specifically hoping that you'd try it one day, and that it would be to your liking," you tell him, straightening up and readying all you need to make his drink. Over your shoulder, you flash him a fond smile, and he can't tear his eyes away. "Grab a seat and I'll be right with you. There is so much catching up we have to do.")