#The other clip was longer but here's the short and sweet version | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ironwhumper359 · 3 years

Note

“Just a short little prompt fill” I said to myself. “Something to work on in my downtime between longer fics.” Oops I made a whole au and I’m attached to it now, lol.

14: “Good news! I brought you a friend.”

CW: Pet whump, creature whump, fantasy au, restraints, referenced conditioning, child whumper

---

“More tea, Daisy?” Matilda asked, holding up her porcelain teapot. Daisy eyed her for a moment, and Matilda giggled. “You can answer, silly!”

“Yes please, Lady Matilda,” Daisy said immediately.

“Here you go!” Matilda said, tipping the pot forward to mime pouring. “One lump of sugar or two?”

“Two please, my lady,” Daisy said, and Matilda nodded primly, picking up a small set of tongs.

She mimed dropping two lumps of sugar into Daisy’s cup, then one into her own. She put the cup to her lips and pretended to drink, grinning when Daisy did the same.

“I have to say, Daisy, your wings are looking particularly ex-quis-ite today!” Matilda chirped, slowly sounding out the larger word she’d often heard her mother use at grown-up garden parties. “I love how the light catches them just so!”

An expression Matilda couldn’t quite read flashed through her fairy’s eyes for a moment, but before she could figure it out Daisy’s smile was back, wider and brighter than before.

“Thank you, Lady Matilda.”

“You’re welcome!” Matilda said cheerfully, swinging her legs a bit as she pretended to take another sip of tea. “Oooh, ooh, guess what!”

“What is it, Lady Matilda?” Daisy barely had time to ask before Matilda launched into her story. Mother often said she talked too much for polite conversation, but that was part of what was fun about playing with Daisy, Matilda didn’t need to be polite!

“Father will be coming home today!” she said, clapping her hands. “And that means I’ll get a present! He always brings me a present when he comes home from trips, and I hope it’s something really nice, he’s been gone for so long this time…what do you think he’ll bring me? Maybe a new dress, or a box of sweets...do you think he’ll bring something for you, too Daisy? Oh I’d like that, maybe a new satin cushion for your cage, or a set of gold combs for me to put in your hair, wouldn’t that just look so beautiful with your leash and collar?”

“Matilda!” her mother called sharply, interrupting Matilda’s musing about her presents. “Time to put your toys away now, your father will be home soon.”

“Aww, but Mother-”

“I won’t tell you twice, Matilda,” her mother warned, and Matilda sighed.

“Fiiiine.”

She got to her feet and quickly scooped up the dolls and teddy bears she had set around the table to make up the rest of the tea party’s guests. She dropped them into her toy chest, then walked back to where Daisy was sitting, unhooking her leash from the brass loop on the side of the table.

“Come on, Daisy,” Matilda said, tugging on the leash, and Daisy quickly scrambled to her feet. When Matilda had first gotten her last year, Daisy had stood a few inches taller than her, but Matilda had grown a bit since her eighth birthday, and now she was about the same height as her pet.

Matilda led Daisy to her cage, which took up the entire corner of the playhouse. Her father had ordered it to be custom made just for Daisy, and it reminded Matilda of a bigger version of the parrot cage she’d once seen at a party at her cousin’s estate. Daisy slipped inside, waiting patiently by the door as Matilda made sure the lock was secure before reaching through the bars to unclip the leash from the shiny golden collar she wore around her neck. She hung the leash on a hook on the cage door, then grinned, waving at her pet.

“Bye Daisy!” she said. “I’ll come visit you again after supper, alright?”

She skipped out into the garden, where her mother was waiting to close the playhouse door behind her.

“Did you remember to lock the cage, dear?” Mother asked, and Matilda rolled her eyes.

“Yes, Mother.”

“Good. Now, come with me. Your father will be home any minute, and he has a surprise for you.”

A grin stretched across Matilda’s face. She couldn’t wait to find out what it was!

---

Matilda was not an unkind little girl. She was sweet, polite, and as far as Lorrella could tell, never hurt anybody on purpose.

This, of course, did little to soothe the chafed skin beneath Lorrella’s collar or the ache for freedom in her heart.

Matilda did not seem to realize that her beloved fairy was a prisoner in the opulent playhouse her father had built her on the grounds of their family manor. She never registered Lorrella’s discomfort, though that was mostly because Lorrella took great pains to hide it from her. Matilda was bound to become upset if her pet wasn’t acting happy, after all.

And rule number one was Don’t upset Matilda.

So Lorrella couldn’t really blame the girl for not realizing when she was uncomfortable, but Matilda still didn’t seem to think twice about leading her around on a leash like a dog or locking her in a six by six foot cage whenever they weren’t “playing together.” She certainly hadn’t been interested in learning Lorrella’s real name, content instead to dub her “Daisy” because it sounded pretty.

Daisy was a dress up doll, a hair model, an audience for impromptu storytimes and a companion for tea parties and garden outings. Whatever Matilda wanted for as long as she wanted, that’s what Daisy had to be. Lorrella was allowed to exist only in these quiet moments when Matilda left her here alone; when nothing was wanted of her and she could whisper her name into the empty room so that she would not forget it.

The most frightening thing was that while Lorrella longed for such a reprieve when she was with Matilda, whenever she was alone, she’d begun to find herself wishing for the girl’s company. Lorrella was nobody, did nothing, belonged nowhere when Matilda was gone. Daisy, at least, had something to do, had something to be, even if that something was little more than an object to be shaped and molded by someone else.

Daisy belonged to Matilda, but Daisy had a purpose. Lorrella belonged to no one, but her life had ceased to have meaning altogether.

The door to the playhouse suddenly burst open and Lorrella jumped in surprise as Matilda darted into the room.

“Daisy!” she cried, running up to the cage and grinning from ear to ear. “Good news! Father brought you a friend!”

Lorrella blinked and tilted her head, a silent question. Matilda reached through the bars and patted her on the head, then grabbed her collar and pulled. Lorrella suppressed a wince at the sudden jerk of movement and leaned forward so that Matilda could clip the leash on.

“Come on, come on, you have to see it!” Matilda said. As soon as she had Lorrella out of the cage, she dashed out of the room, and Lorrella had no choice but to follow as quickly as she could.

Matilda hurried through the grounds and Lorrella stumbled after her, biting back a yelp every time Matilda ran too fast or turned too suddenly for her to keep up. Her neck was already growing sore, and she’d tumbled over enough times that her knees would be bound to have an angry smattering of fresh bruises by morning. She desperately wanted to call out for Matilda to slow down, but she held her tongue.

Rule number two was Never speak unless spoken to.

Matilda finally skidded to a halt outside the family stables, and Lorrella let herself fall to her knees beside her, gasping for air.

“Father!” Matilda called, knocking on the stable door. “I brought Daisy to come see it too! Can we come in?”

Lorrella stared at Matilda incredulously. All this fuss just to meet a new pony?

Matilda’s father appeared at the door, and Lorrella shrank back, casting her eyes downward.

“Yes, my dear,” he said. “But you must remember to move slowly, alright? It is still quite wild, and not used to people yet.”

Matilda nodded solemnly, and her father opened the door wide, allowing her to pull Lorrella inside. They passed through most of the stable and Matilda occasionally paused to wave at a favorite horse, but they didn’t stop moving until they reached the end of the row of stalls. The stall at the back was open, and as they approached, Lorrella could hear the stable hands muttering to each other.

“Shit! Hold the damn thing still, will you? I can’t buckle these straps tight enough when it’s squirming so much!”

“I will thank you,” Matilda’s father said coldly,” to not swear in front of my daughter.”

The two snapped to attention instantly, twin looks of apology on their faces.

“Yes, Lord Tracey, sorry Lord Tracey,” said the one who’d cursed, ducking his head.

“Can I show Daisy now?” Matilda asked, and her fathers face softened as he looked down at her.

“Of course, my dear. The creature is secure?” he added to the stablehands, and they nodded quickly.

“Yes, my lord. Took a fair bit of wrangling, but it shouldn’t be a problem now.”

They stepped aside, revealing the animal in the stall, and Lorrella was unable to stop herself from gasping. She froze, glancing up at Lord Tracey, but he only had eyes for Matilda, who was staring at the creature with a wide grin

It was not, as Lorrella had first assumed, simply a new pony; it was a centaur. Their upper body was wrapped up tightly in a harness that forced its arms behind its back, and their face was partially covered by a bitted bridle, the lead of which was tied to a hook on the wall.

Lorrella had never seen a centaur before, and she was no expert on horses either, but even she could see that the creature was only a child. Judging by the face alone, one not much older than Matilda herself, or at least whatever the centaur equivalent was to eight years old. The poor thing was clearly terrified, too; they were trembling slightly and pawing at the ground with one of their front hooves.

“Daisy, this is Coco!” Matilda said happily. “Coco, this is Daisy! The two of you are gonna be the best of friends, I know it! What do you think, Daisy, isn’t she just the greatest present you ever saw?”

The centaur flinched when Matilda spoke, and Lorrella glanced back at Lord Tracey, who was watching the whole exchange with what on the surface looked like a bored expression. She swallowed, and shot the centaur what she hoped was an apologetic look before answering.

“Yes, Lady Matilda,” she said quietly. “She’s perfect for you.”

#whump #whump fic #creature whump #fairy whump #centaur whump #pet whump #nonhuman whumpee #child whumper #matilda's playhouse #my writing

66 notes · View notes

babbushka · 3 years

Note

As someone who recently learned about their Jewish heritage (and wants to know more about the traditions), I'm so excited to see your Passover Prompt List! What do you think of Situation 1 and Dialogue 1 or 5 with Clyde Logan?

Anonymous said: “You look handsome.” “My yarmulke makes my ears stick out.” “Yeah, but still handsome.” w/ big grumbly bear clyde?

(1.1k, no warnings just fluff! I hope that you enjoy this ficlet my kind friend, and Pesach Sameach!!) Clyde x Jewish!Reader :)

He’s nervous, Clyde is.

Hand tightly gripped on the wheel, knuckles nearly goin’ white. He didn’t remember the last time he had been so worried about somethin’ going wrong, probably not since the war. He reckons that Seder dinner at your parent’s house was less high-stakes than Iraq…but then again, he wasn’t so sure.

The sun is settin’ behind the West Virginia mountains as Clyde drives you in his car down to your folks’ place, sittin’ quietly as you tell him for the tenth time the story of Passover. He’s ignorant on the subject, hadn’t even realized how little he knew until he had started to read about it, started to hear you tell the story.

You’re tellin’ the story again, tellin’ him all about the exodus. He had heard about it briefly as a child when his Ma and Pa had put their kids in Sunday school o’course, but he never really thought about it much. It holds more weight on his shoulders knowin’ that that was your people, and he wants to get it right.

“…And that’s all you need to know!” You smile, when you come to the conclusion of the story for the tenth time, your eyes bright as you reach for the water bottle kept in the cupholder for the drive.

He steals a glance at you from the corner of his eye, tryin’ his best to be a good driver, an overly cautious driver the way he always is. The last damn thing he wants is to get into trouble on the road on a night so important like this.

“D’ya think we can go through it one more time?” Clyde’s voice is soft, gentle as always as he chews on his lip, fidgets his fingers on the steering wheel, “I’m worried I’ll forget.”

Your smile softens at him, somethin’ in your chest flutterin’ like butterflies. Datin’ Clyde had been a dream so far, an absolute dream. You were comin’ up on one year together, and as the days had gone by, you only fell more and more in love with him. You’d been worried, like most Jewish people are worried, about the possible reactions to them findin’ out you’re Jewish. Some people weren’t too kind about it, and it was always a risk to open yourself up like that.

But Clyde, your handsome boyfriend Clyde, sweet and gentle and soft-spoken Clyde, was never anythin’ other than good to you. And what’s more, he didn’t brush aside your culture or try to ignore it, or try to make you give it up for his own. He wanted to learn about your history and heritage, wanted to be a part of it.

“Clyde we’ve been over it all week, you’re going to be fine.” You rest a hand lightly on his arm, soothing his bicep with short rubbing motions as you chuckle, “Besides, you won’t even have to do anything but follow along, I promise.”

“But I want to do more than just follow along.” He turns those big brown eyes on you then as y’all come up to a red light, fully faces you with as much genuine earnestness that you’ve ever seen on a man. Letting go of the wheel for just a moment, just long enough to hold your hand and give it a proper squeeze, he continues, “I want to really participate. One more time, please darlin’?”

You had no idea how you got so lucky, with a man like him, and it makes you have to look away, your heart poundin’ hard. You could marry this man, you think to yourself as he reclaims his hand to put back on the wheel when the light turns green.

“Alright honey, let me get a sip o’this water first, my throat’s dryer than the desert.” You wink, and he cracks a little smile at the joke.

You recount the story once again, a cliff-notes version of the longer winded tale you had already told him nearly a dozen times. And this time, like the times before it, Clyde can’t help but feel the emotion in your voice as you do.

The pain you hold when you speak of the slaves in Egypt, how they were tormented and worked to the bone. The sorrow when you recount the way Pharoh refused to listen Moses, to the to the call for freedom, even at the threat of disaster. The awe in the way you describe the plagues, all ten of them descending down onto Egypt, punishing those who punished the Jews.

The story of oppression sits heavy on your chest, and Clyde realizes this was not the first time your people had to flee their homeland, and he knows it would not be the last. He wonders what it must be like to never have a place to call your own, constantly having to move, having to find somewhere else only to be kicked out from there too. You call it the Diaspora, and though he knows he’ll never really understand, he tries.

By the end of the story, when the Red Sea parted and the Jewish people knew they were free from this tyrant, Clyde can’t help but be misty-eyed. It’s a powerful story, one worthy of remembering year after year.

“Okay, we’re here.” You say softly, bringing Clyde out of his day-dream as the house comes into view from around the corner. Looking up at him, you give his arm another rub and ask, “Are you ready?”

Whether he’s ready or not, Clyde nods his head. He figures if your people can wander through the desert towards uncertain future, he can attend a Seder. It seems foolish to even compare the two, so he nods again and gives a quiet, “Yep.”

“I really appreciate you doin’ this Clyde.” You tell him honestly, tryin’ your best to not get too emotional over how much you love him, takin’ another sip of water. “I know it ain’t really somethin’ you’re familiar with or used to, and it just…it means a lot to me.”

“If it means a lot to ya, then it means a lot t’me.” Clyde replies just as honest right back to you, tryin’ to lighten the heavy mood with a shy, “How do I look?”

He clips the small head-covering to his neatly brushed hair, and you grin, absolutely beamin’ up at him.

“You look handsome.” You cup his cheeks and plant a big kiss right to his mouth, lovin’ the way a blush starts to creep across his nose.

“You sure?” He glances at himself in the rearview mirror, suddenly growin’ beet red. “My yarmulke makes my ears stick out.”

“Yeah,” You chuckle, because it does, even as you reassure him, “But still handsome.”

And Clyde knows that even if he messes up tonight, you won’t go teasin’ him too badly. He parks the car and opens your door for you, and follows dutifully behind you as you lead him into the house, and to his first Seder – hopefully the first of many to come.

----------------

taggin’ some Clyde lovin’ friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @the-unmanaged-mischief @lovinghufflepuffgirl @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @groovetoob @bxnnywriting

#elizabeth-or-lily #clyde logan #clyde logan x reader #clyde logan/reader #clyde logan x you #clyde logan/you #clyde logan imagine #clyde logan fanfic #logan lucky #adam driver fanfic #adcu #passover #jewish!reader

49 notes · View notes

xoxo-ren-xoxo · 3 years

Text

Unpopular Opinion /lh /rp

Talking about dSMP character’s heights and sort of their body types? Not in a weird way just in a ‘how I imagine them’ way. Loosely based off of their irl heights, but some of them I don’t know, so it’s mostly guesswork and vibes. Also if you disagree you’re wrong. (Just kidding leave your ideas in the tags/replies)

Obviously this is all roleplay/character stuff. None of it is intended to be weird or to reflect on the irl people! I’m just having fun with headcanons :)

Tommy is 6′3 and very very lanky. This child is not short. Stop drawing him short. He’s taller than Techno. He’s not as tall as Wilbur, but he’s tall. He towers over most people. Emphasis on most because everyone is so tall on this server what the hell?

Anyway I think the mental image of this super tall kid actively trying to make himself look shorter/smaller is heartbreaking. Like imagine him curled up into a corner trying to make himself as unnoticable as possible in Logsted. Imagine him slouching when living with Techno to try to make himself seem like less of a ‘problem’. Imagine Dream telling him that he’s a ‘big strong man’ and that he shouldn’t need help, he can defend himself, so when he goes back to Tubbo, he tries to make himself look *tiny* as a cry for help. He wants comfort.

But he’s also incedibly skinny. Back in L’manburg and Pogtopia, he developed some muscle from all the fighting. His shoulders broadened out and he looked slightly intimidating. But like most teenage boys, he was still lanky as hell. This only got worse when he was exiled to Logstedshire, with little food (and no drive to eat the food, or get up, or exersise) he became more malnourished and he just looked *small* despite being 6′3. This probably isn’t helped by the constant use of golden apples when he moves in with Techno, which give him energy and strength but no real nutritional value. Techno was just trying to get the kid to eat normally. When he finally stands at his full height, Techno is shocked that he didn’t notice all the slouching.

Anyway Techno is 6′2. He’s taller than a lot of people but not as tall as his brothers. He makes up for this with muscle and strength and a healthy body. Wow, the only healthy person on the server. Amazing. You love to see it. Good for him. He could win in a battle of raw strength against anyone else on the server. He’s quite broad, which makes him look bigger generally.

Wilbur is 6′5 and also he is a stick. Just. Straight up and down stick. Nothing there! He is just a pale sickly stick. This gets worse the further into the timeline you go. When claiming L’manburg and fighting in the war he starts to get insomnia, causing him to look like a corpse half the time. When in Pogtopia, he’s too busy to take care of himself properly, so he only looks worse and worse. His hair is a mess, his skin is far too pale, and he only eats enough to be able to hold his own in a short fight. There’s a reason he doesn’t wear armour or really try to fight at all. He’s subconciously self-destructive, then actively so when he blows the place to the ground. He’s always been too busy for self-care.

Ghostbur is a much more healthy, younger version of Wilbur. I would say he’s ‘water rising’ era Wilbur. The life returned to his body, in a morbid kind of way. He’s still tall but he prefers to make himself seem shorter just to be less threatening.

Phil is 5′11. He has an average build, with slight muscle from the years of playing in hardcore. He’s older, now, but he can still kick your ass. Also, he taught Techno how to fight smart, not hard. He doesn’t need to be super strong because he’s intelligent enough to outwit most people on the server. He has a wordly knowledge that others don’t possess. He also has wings, large and grey, clipped so he could get onto the server (there is a no flying rule after all).

Fundy is... 5′10, just a little shorter than Phil. His fox genes make him smaller, despite his father being 6′5. He’s got a healthy, svelte build. He’s sneaky and light on his feet. In the wars he built up some muscle, but it was quickly lost since he prefers to take a backseat to any fighting outside of those times (especially now) and he’s built for spying.

Schlatt is an interesting one because a lot of people are gonna fight me on this, but he’s not actually old. Everyone calls him old but honestly I think he’s younger than Wilbur (in canon, I feel like Wilbur is in his late 30s, early 40s, simply because). I think Schlatt’s around 35-ish, but he looks older due to his shitty health. People call him an old man either to demean him or because they see his actions and appearance and go ‘yeah, this guy is old’. Which is fair enough, because irl Schlatt and c!Schlatt both act like they’re from the 1950s.

This guy looks like shit by the end, but he looks alright at the start. Slicked-back hair, sharp ram horns, golden animalistic eyes. He’s intimidating. And loud. Then everything shifts, right towards the end. He’s frail and deteriorating throughout his short presidency, and by the end of it he’s practically a corpse, just like Wilbur.

He’s 6′3, with broad shoulders and a silhouette that seems strong not only because he carries himself as if he can fight, but also because of the percieved power that comes along with it. In reality, Schlatt is a poor fighter, and the abuse he ends up putting his body through (working out excessively to try to fight his condition, and turning to alcoholism as an escape) completely destroys him, making him probably one of the least healthy and weakest people on the server. It doesn’t really show until his death scene, since he’s covered up the deterioration since day one. Basically, mans is dead.

Glatt, or Ghost Schlatt, or whatever you want to call him, would be a healthier Schlatt. Again, from the ‘water rising’ era. I headcanon him to have longer hair in that era. Not sure why.

Ranboo is the same height as tommy, but is more naturally lithe than made that way by lack of food. His enderman DNA can be blamed for that. He’s healthy most of the time, but may have spirals where he doesn’t take good care of himself (perhaps he forgets) and he looks pretty bad. If he goes a few days without keeping up his self-care routine, he looks a lot worse than he actually is. Sleep tends to be his biggest issue, his mind keeping him awake all night and leaving him looking like shit in the morning. Really, he’s just a kid with a troubled soul, and it shows sometimes. Most days, though, he looks very well put together.

Tubbo. He’s 5′6. He’s more childlike than Tommy, which only makes it worse when he acts in the way he does in season 2. He has burn scars across one side of his body, from his execution, and he is partially blind in one eye because of it. He takes very good care of himself, since he has to look good while being president if he wants those sweet sweet approval ratings. But when he’s super stressed, he will pull all-nighters and forget to eat. He’s got a lot of issues, but his body is very normal and healthy, all things considered.

Quackity is 5′8. Which is really funny because that’s his actual height. He’s less sharp (?) than a lot of people on the server, but he has some muscle because he’s constantly training to ‘take down Technoblade’ (in reality, it’s a habit he picked up in Schlatt’s era, and never had the heart to drop). He tries his best to stay healthy (again, to better kill Techno) and he’s careful with his life, knowing that it’s his last.

Niki is 5′5. She’s also able to kick so much ass. That is all.

Dream is a bitch and therefore I will not be discussing him. Also he’s a blob or whatever so I guess height is irrelevant. Or maybe he’s a mysterious figure with a mask. Who knows.

No one else is important enough to talk about /j (but really I’m tired so I will stop here). Put your own thoughts in the comments, tags, and rbs. This was all in good fun, so don’t get mad haha.

#dreamsmp #dream smp #jschlatt #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #tw alchoholism #tw self-destructive behaviours #quackity #tubbo #dream #ranboo #philza #technoblade #niki nihachu

74 notes · View notes

wheretoputyourobsessions · 3 years

Text

Alright I feel bad about not expressing how much I love this movie so I made a list of some of my favorite moments/details:

Emma looking like she’s gonna cry after they announce they are canceling the prom and all the reporters are swarming her

The Eleanor musical costume and theater bits

Very grateful that they changed that line at the end of ‘Changing Lives (Reprise)’

Trent wearing his Julliard shirt for (almost) the entire movie

Just before ‘Just Breathe’ When Alyssa walks by and the two of them just look at each other like: 😍

THE GODSPELL BUS

Barry and DeeDee talking about the cellphone incident

Hawkins’ reactions throughout ‘It’s Not About Me’

Literally any of Emma’s outfits

I actually enjoyed James Corden as Barry more than I thought I would (definitely still have strong opinions on Barry’s portrayal & story line though)

‘Dance with You’ was ADORABLE, the flowers and the spinning just 🥰

Are we not going to talk about Emma doing the little come here gesture near the end of ‘Dance with You”???

The almost kiss + Emma’s lovesick stare when Alyssa walks away

The delivery of “well this isn’t america this is indiana!” was on point and the PTA’s reactions made it even better

‘The Acceptance Song’ plus the scenes right before and after were very funny (even if they did cut it short)

“Apples and Bees”

‘We Look to You’ was awesome, seeing Swallow the Moon and DeeDee preforming was a great visual that you can’t get in stage musicals

BETSY NOLAN!! i love her, what an icon

We got to see Emma’s truck!

The shopping montage was really fun (remember when we could go outside?)

The school parking lot being empty and even if you’ve never seen the stage musical you know something is about to go wrong even before it’s mentioned (it hurt but I loved it)

ANGIE WIPING AWAY A TEAR AFTER EMMA TELLS HER SHES A GOOD FRIEND

Angie & Emma, their entire dynamic

THEY KEPT THE FANCY ICECREAM LINE

Emma clearly going through a bit of gay panic during ‘Zazz’

“Blueberry heart”

The romcom scene with DeeDee and Barry was really sweet (even if it did take away from Emma & Alyssa’s time) and Corden’s acting was fantastic

At first I was disappointed with the lack of the iconic ‘Lady’s Improving’ outfit but then we got more of Swallow the Moon and it was worth it

“Not charging for an apology is not a selfless act” “ What the hell?”

again the hesitant, “apples and bees?”

Emma and Alyssa holding hands during ‘Alyssa Greene’

That last line of the song being sung while Emma is walking away from her (again it hurt but it was good)

‘Love Thy Neighbor’ being as iconic and high energy as always

Andrew Rannells was an amazing Trent

THEY KEPT THE TAMBOURINES

Dramatic use of water foutains

DeeDee and Hawkins smiling and having a good time as they’re getting out of the elevator was so cute

The whole bit where Emma tells DeeDee that she won’t go on tv

“YOU OWE ME A HOUSE” “SHES A VERY PASSIONATE WOMAN”

‘Barry is Going to Prom” was really good and I liked seeing young Barry the whole thing was so well done

UNRULY HEART

IT ALWAYS MAKES ME CRY BUT STILL

THEY WERE ALL SO REAL AND RELATABLE???

i could rant about it for hours so i have to move on before i get distracted

DeeDee hiding when she knows they’re going to ask for money

Okay,,, the scene they added with Barry and his mom

I have very mixed feelings about that whole plot line but im trying to stay positive

The acting was phenomenal and very real so kudos to them

The way that Alyssa says “Well I think it’s brave” (honestly even though her development isn’t as obvious as in the stage version (at least to me) I love those moments where you can see her growing and getting ready to just be herself)

Hawkins and the flowers

“You guys are the best middle age people I’ve ever met” First of all, I know for a fact that the bar is on the floor, second of all their reactions kill me

I once again have mixed feelings, this time about the coming out scene because it not being as public took away from the impact it had and how nerve wracking it would have been for Alyssa as well as Barry’s speech to Mrs. Greene not happening

BUT STAYING POSITIVE: Kerry and Ariana’s acting was soo good (return of good but it hurt)

ALSO angies face while she was watching it go down :O

When Alyssa goes to try and hug her mom but she moves away: >:O

When Alyssa hugs Emma in front of everyone: :D

Emma holding the back of her head was 🥺

Emma and Alyssa walking into the empty gym but this time they are together and it’s only empty caus they are early, its a nice little parallel that I just noticed

another small detail that I saw was Alyssa being the one to reach for Emma’s hand before they walk in

Emma going around and hugging everyone at the start of ‘It’s Time to Dance’

THEM DOING THE SPINNY THING THAT THEY DID DURING ‘DANCE WITH YOU” AGAIN

Anything Angie did throughout the entire movie was just *chefs kiss*

All the couples coming in is always adorable but this was even better

also the wide range within the couples was also a nice touch

KAYLEE AND SHELBY HOLDING HANDS WHEN THEY COME IN WITH THEIR BOYFRIENDS IS HILARIOUS TO ME

The moment between Mrs. Greene and Alyssa after they hug was amazing and Alyssa dragging her mom into the room

HAWKINS AND DEEDEE KISS!!!

They kept the “do not let me destroy him” but cut the corset line :/

I don’t know why but it made me so happy to recognize the choreo (especially that Alyssa danced during the boys part like always, I was worried they would change it and i’m glad they didn’t. it’s a little detail that I’ve always loved)

THE KISS

You think I would make you read this and then exclude the kiss?

the way that before they kissed the actors were all watching to see what would happen

Alyssa turning to look at her mom after she kisses Emma

And her mom giving her a little nod to let her know she’s okay

‘Wear Your Crown’ was actually really good

And all the clips in the credits were so adorable

Especially Emma and Alyssa in the prom queen and king crowns

I’m very grateful that they kept the full versions of ‘The Acceptance Song’ & ‘You Happened’ on the soundtrack

We finally got ‘Tonight Belongs to You (Reprise)’ on an album but at what cost

I know there is more that I’m missing but this is already longer than I’d planned

#are we not going to talk about mrs greeenes dress????#the prom #im gonna make another one of these but i probably wont post is unless im asked about it #the prom movie #mine

85 notes · View notes

dawnsprout · 3 years

Text

Here’s an updated version of my old gif guide! I’ll be editing this every now and then for anything I missed / clarity / etc., but I think it’s pretty good to go for now.

This guide will cover modding, recording, and editing. More under the cut.

Everyone has their own way of doing this, but this is mine, in case it helps anyone! It might be a bit outdated since I tend to stick to what I know, but might still be helpful.

Requirements

This guide is written with the assumption that you can run GW2 fairly well in circumstances where you’d be recording. We will also be using Open Broadcaster (OBS) to record and Photoshop CC to edit, though you’re welcome to use whatever makes the most sense to you.

Modding

First and optionally, using something like GShade or NVIDIA Freestyle. These are real-time post-processing filters that modify how your game looks to you and your recording software. While not always the flashiest visual changes, they can make a difference when wanting vivid recordings.

They have their pros and cons: they can cause extra strain when recording, but some effects, such as depth of field blur and greenscreening, can be hard to replicate without them. If you have a lot of trouble getting good recordings, consider dropping this step.

Recording

In OBS, first you’ll want to set up for gif recording. Under the Video and Output settings, you’ll want to record videos of the highest quality you can. Loss of quality that may not be casually noticeable in a longer video become very apparent in short, looping gifs.

Record in windowed mode, and the fewer players around the better, generally. Anything to help your FPS.

Try recording a few things to get a sense for what you can record without stutter. You may be able to record idles without stutter, but may not be able to get fast movement like griffon dives without some tweaking. If you’re having a lot of stutter in your recordings, try one or more of the following:

Lower your recording quality.

Reduce the size of the GW2 window.

Record in an area with few players (like guild halls or other instances) and/or few assets to load (like the edges of maps).

Lower your graphics quality in GW2 (especially player model limit).

A little stutter can be worked through, but large frame drops are a problem. I suggest finding your sweet spot early so you can get to the fun parts: actually finding things to record.

Mess with animations! Find pretty areas! Grab your friends! Have fun!

Editing

Unfortunately this part will assume you’re using Photoshop, but other editors may have similar functions. I can only talk about what I know, and this is it!

Once you have your video, you’re ready to actually turn it into a gif. If you have a larger video, you’ll want to trim it down to the second or two that you want to comprise the gif. This can be done quickly on Windows by opening the video, clicking the pencil icon in the bottom right, and selecting “trim.”

Once you have your video clip, in Photoshop go to File > Import > Video Frames to Layers.

In this window you’ll likely want to leave most of it alone, unless you want to further trim the video. You may also want to check “Limit to Every # Frames” if you’re having a lot of stutter, the gif seems too slow, you have too many frames to begin with, etc. Play with it.

Notice that my video only records my GW2 window and that that window is really tiny in the recording. I was recording something with a lot of in-game movement, which my computer has trouble doing without a ton of stutter. An itty bitty window solves that for me without having to sacrifice in-game graphics quality. I don’t change the output size from my monitor resolution since I don’t want anything scaling funny. Personal preference.

Once it’s done importing, open the timeline window and you’ll see every frame of your video is now a frame in Photoshop, as well as it’s own layer. Play the animation in the timeline window to make sure it’s not too choppy and that you’ve got the frames you want. Once you’re sure of that, you can get to editing.

The first things I usually do are crop and resize. When resizing, you may want to change the resampling method, if you prefer crisp gifs. I usually prefer bicubic sharper.

Note that I’m downsizing to 540px in width. This is the width of a tumblr post on a desktop dashboard: if you don’t want tumblr making your gif fuzzy, this is the width you want. Two gifs side by side need to be 268px wide, three side by side need to be 177px (for the sides) or 178px (for the middle).

You may also want to go through your frames one-by-one and make sure none of them have doubled (or tripled) up; smallish hangs like this can usually be smoothed over simply by deleting the duplicate frames.

Once that’s settled, you can play with things like color and luminosity. You can toss adjustment layers (Layer > New Adjustment Layer) on top of all the other layers to easily effect every frame in the animation with one adjustment. I like using curves to lightly deepen shadows and brighten highlights.

You’ll also want to change the frame delay, which is done in the timeline window. I generally pick something between 0.05 and 0.07 for my gifs, but this is personal preference.

Once you’re happy with how it’s looking, you can move to saving it as a gif. Open the Save for Web window (this is getting deprecated I think, but it’s still handy for me, so use ctrl+shift+alt+s to get there).

Here you’ll be able to adjust Photoshop’s output, as well as what your gif is actually going to look like. Here’s my settings, I tend to try my best to be able to use the full 256 colors, and use pattern dithering. Color reduction algorithm (here it is listed as Selective) I tend to change more often between gifs. You need to keep your gif under 5M (lower left corner) for posting to Tumblr: you can adjust your settings here to try and get it under that if you’re marginally over.

If you’re a large amount over, you can try trimming frames or decreasing color count. Anything to get file size down!

Congrats, you made a gif! Keep trying new things and have fun!

If you have any questions feel free to hit me up.

#mine #tutorial

92 notes · View notes

consumeconstantly · 4 years

Text

Small Buff Girl Sightings ch. 3

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | ao3

Marinette wonders when she got used to the crushing weight of expectations that had been imposed upon her by the Powers That Be. She also wonders when she got used to being lonely. These are two separate events, she’s fairly sure, but it isn’t like she keeps a diary anymore. She has long since fallen out of that habit, because she doesn’t want another Sabrina incident. With the class the way it is now, she can’t even fathom how much damage her diary could bring to her classmates, and likely, the whole of Paris. Because for some reason, Hawkmoth has some sort of a vendetta against her class.

Which is the whole reason why she didn’t transfer out of Mademoiselle Bustier’s class in the first place. Sure, she tried for the first few months to expose Lila and get things back to the status quo, but Marinette can only try and fail so many times before getting tired of her classmate’s willful ignorance. Then, she stayed in class for Adrien. Such a sweet, misguided boy. Marinette wonders how he would have turned out if his father was less of an asshole, or if his mother were still around. No use crying over spilled milk; she still feels bad for him, but she’s no longer staying in class for him. Her crush on Adrien is a thing of the past.

As it is currently, Mlle. Bustier’s class simply provides the most excellent cover for all of her escapades and an excellent vantage point to see what the next akuma might be.

After all, their class encompasses both the people who are most often akumatized-- minus Monsieur Ramier and Augustine-- and the people who are most likely to cause somebody’s akumatization. These are the usual suspects:

Chloe, who has admittedly improved her attitude after reconciling with her mother, but still doesn’t know how to deal with people like an ordinary person would.

Lila, whose lies and half truths have ended more than one person’s dreams (as well as her own penchant to get akumatized willingly, but that hasn’t happened often after the first year, and Marinette doesn’t really want to go into that).

Adrien, who never intends to get anybody akumatized, but ends up doing so when the media catches him doing anything. Because everything he does gets covered by the media heavily. So when he goes out with friends and is mistaken for having a lover, there are a lot of angry fangirls who get akumatized.

Oh, and then there’s Marinette herself. She’s honestly not sure how or why so many people around her end up getting akumatized-- maybe she takes other people’s luck in exchange for having an abundance of her own-- but there’s certainly quite a number.

And if she’s talking about family relations, this class takes the cake too. Adrien’s father lashes out at his employees so often that Marinette is surprised that all his workers haven’t quit yet. Gabriel’s attitude has also convinced Marinette that she never wants to work at the man’s self-named brand. Mayor Bourgois and Audrey Bourgeois are both… frightening in their own ways. Both can end careers easily, but Audrey definitely goes about ending careers in a more harmful way. Juleka’s mom pisses off anybody who tries to come down the Seine; numerous akumas have appeared in response to her loud music blasting at all times of the day. And Ivan’s parents? Sweethearts, but both are so sensitive that their family is a prime target for Hawkmoth.

She wonders when the new boy, Damian, will get akumatized. She doesn’t think-- hopes-- that he won’t, but with the track rate of their classmates, it was highly unlikely that he wouldn’t. So far, Marinette and Adrien have been the only ones in the class who haven’t been, including the series of brief transfers to their classes last year. Maybe he’ll be another to add to their number. And Marinette and Adrien both moonlight as superheroes. There’s probably some Miraculous magic involved, but Marinette’s not entirely sure. Master Fu doesn’t have answers for many of the questions that Marinette asks.

Damian seems like a decent person with a good head on his shoulders. Marinette hopes that he transfers away from this class soon, because she would feel awful if he does end up getting caught up with her classmate’s delusional version of reality. Because even though Lila has calmed down a lot and no longer tells such outlandish tales as she did in her first year at Francois Dupont, everyone else still follows her so mindlessly that it isn’t a healthy relationship for anyone involved. Marinette is almost certain that there are multiple people in the class that must know Lila was lying but now perpetuate this twisted version of reality because they’re afraid. Ninth and tenth year were important; if Lila really did lie about all of her connections, that means they messed their own futures up and need to work on themselves to fix it--something that is difficult to admit and commit to matter what age a person is. To admit that they did something wrong and take steps to fix it-- Marinette doesn’t think any of her classmates have that kind of mindset. After all, if anyone else had guts, there’s no way that Chloe would have been class president for as long as she was.

Lunch comes around quickly, and Damian manages to catch her on her way out, grabbing and holding her forearm. Marinette is cautious, making sure that none of Lila’s lackeys are around. Despite her agreement with Lila, her classmates tend to make everything a much bigger deal than it should be, and they always tell Lila whenever Marinette steps so much as a foot out of line. Lila doesn’t always act on her classmates' words, but when there are too many voices that say that Marinette is doing something wrong, Lila has to act; if she doesn’t, she’s at risk of losing her position of power. Once Marinette is sure there is no one from Mlle. Bustier’s class watching, she pulls Damian with her to an alleyway a short ways away from her family’s bakery.

“I’m telling you again. You really don’t want to be seen with me.”

“If you think I care about Lila, you’re mistaken. I will be seen with who I want to be seen with.”

Marinette’s hand is warm and calloused. Her fingertips are extra soft, like she takes care to moisturize them more than the rest of her hand.

The alleyway is surprisingly nice. Much nicer than any alleyway that Damian would find in Gotham, that’s for certain. It doesn’t have any blood stains and there are no crazy psychos hiding in the shadows. Instead, sunlight is let through the shorter of the two buildings, only five stories. Sure, the place smells slightly of urine and trash and there’s broken bottles everywhere, but that is par for the course for any major city.

Marinette’s not sure why Damian seems to be going out of his way to talk to her. She’s seen him interact with the other students, and he was positively stoic with them. His words are still clipped when he’s talking to her, but at least he speaks full sentences.

“It’ll be bad for your social health if you keep trying to talk to me.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t believe I ever asked for you to look after my social health, and I certainly don’t want to talk to the idiots in that class.”

“I don’t think you understand, Damian. You might not mind being alone, but being lonely is different. It feels bad, and Hawkmoth will take advantage of you.” Marinette knows what being lonely is like, because despite her loving parents and all of her friends that she’s made outside of school in the past two years, before that, her world was limited. Sometimes, she wishes that some magical being came with Miraculous. Someone that she can actually talk to about all of her problems, both hero-related and those in her everyday life. As it is, Marinette never talks about what she does as Ladybug, unless she’s referring to herself in the third person and is forced to. Marinette doesn’t need people trying to figure out she is Ladybug, and despite Master Fu’s assurances that people without a Miraculous will never, ever catch on, she prefers to err on the side of caution. And as Ladybug, she only ever talks to Chat Noir, never deigning to talk about her personal life because it will be way too easy for Adrien to make the jump between her everyday problems and Marinette, because Adrien is a Miraculous user, and the Identity Concealment magic supposedly is less effective between Miraculous users.

“I don’t believe we’ve interacted enough for you to judge my mental fortitude. Besides, you might have told me to avoid you, but I never agreed.”

The former part of Damian’s statement isn’t true, but Damian doesn’t know that. As a superhero, Marinette needs to know how to judge people quickly and effectively. She’s read plenty of books on psychology and body language, clocked endless hours of videos on the subject. There’s also the matter of her bountiful personal experience, what with figuring out the issues of the ever increasing number of akumas that pop up around the city. Still, it isn’t like Marinette can actively refute his statement.

For a while, the two of them stand in contemplative silence.

“Fine, then, I’ll tell you why you need to avoid me. We might as well get out of this alleyway, though.” Marinette eyes the dumpster that stands a few meters away from them.

“And here I thought you were fond of alleyways,” Damian says, in reference to the first time they met.

She laughs, and it feels good. Marinette hasn't laughed in quite some time. Lately, her parents are always busy. They want to expand their patissiere by opening a second branch. That means they don’t have much family time, and when they do, it’s typically spent talking shop. Manon has continued in her bratty toddler stage, and the rest of the kids that she babysits are in a similar state. Uncle Jagged and Aunt Penny are still touring, bringing Luka around for the ride, Kagami’s currently in intensive training for the World Cup, and she simply hasn’t had enough time to see any of her other friends.

“I’d like to think that I'm more fond of my parents' macarons, than I am of alleyways.” Marinette leads him through the other end of the alleyway and through a few streets to get to the back entrance that leads directly to their house instead of the bakery. At least since Maman and Papa are so busy with business, she never needs to talk about her friends in school, or lack thereof.

“Let me get this straight,” Damian says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You had four transfers last year and each of them ended up as akumas multiple times because of her lies, students who don’t believe her get expelled, suspended, or bullied, and the teacher and school refuse to do anything about it?”

“Well, Principal Damocles refuses to do anything; Mlle. Bustier believes her.” Marinette sips the cup of hot cocoa she prepared and lounges on her chaise. She doesn’t bother saying that all the transfers occurred in a six month period, after which Lila let up on her tyranny and turned into an average albeit still incredibly charismatic teen. Neither does she bother mentioning that Lila doesn’t lie anymore-- at least, not any big ones-- and has stopped getting herself willingly akumatized. She’s trying to get Damian to transfer out, after all.

“That’s even worse. They’re useless.”

“It depends on your point of view. They’re very useful if you’re Lila or the rest of the class.”

Damian swivels the chair so he’s facing Marinette in her entirety. “How have you managed three years with that orange demon? Better question, why have you not transferred?”

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” It’s not like Marinette can tell him the real reason why she’s staying in the class. That’s why she hasn’t told her parents about all of this. If they knew, they would definitely make her transfer classes, if not schools.

“That is no good reason for me to continue to stay with her group. I hate lying manipulators.” Damian’s mother is a good example.

“You might hate them, but if you can’t beat them and you can’t leave, you have to join them, or at least make a truce. And there’s no way Lila is going to give you up.”

“I really should just transfer.”

“I agree whole-heartedly. Please do.”

“But I can’t. My father won’t arrange a transfer for me. He wants me in that class.” More accurately-- Damian knows how many akumas came out of that class, and there is no way that he’s going to transfer away from it. It’s easier to figure out a game plan if he’s able to watch the action.

“I could arrange a transfer for you, if you want.”

“No, that’s too much trouble.”

“It’s no trouble, and if it helps one person by preventing them from getting akumatized, that’s great.”

“Why can’t you just expose her?” Damian counters.

“Tried that two years ago. Failed. Miserably. I almost got expelled.” She tactfully leaves out the fact that Lila also got her back in school. After years of making up excuses for where she’s been when an akuma attack calls her away, she’s gotten very skillful at lies by omission. Besides, if they’re to help someone, that’s okay, right?

“If you can’t expose her then how are you going to get me transferred out?”

“Those are two separate issues. I might not be able to persuade a classroom that’s very interdependent on their relations with each other, but I was class president for two years, so I know people.”

Damian decides to revise his tactics. “I don’t back down from a challenge. Besides, I want to see her empire crumble.”

The last part isn’t true. He cares little for the Italian girl, even less for their other classmates. People like Lila are alarmingly common when you run in the circles of the rich and powerful, and there are certainly people whose charisma is infinitely more dangerous. Lex Luthor, for instance. He shakes off thoughts of the dangerous business man. Damian needs to stay in this class because it’s the best lead that he’s got right now. He’s trying to be as covert as possible, under League request. Apparently, the Justice League of America isn’t supposed to interfere with what’s going on in Europe unless they call in for help. Damian thinks that’s a stupid rule-- in the end, they’re all just trying to protect the world-- but he agreed to secrecy and keeping his head down when accepting the mission. That means he’s not suddenly going to start asking his classmates about akumas unless they’re brought up in conversation. Unnecessary suspicion is a bad thing in this instance.

He takes another bite of the pastry that Marinette brought up for him. It’s much better than a lot of the other vegan options he’s found in Paris-- not that there are many to begin with. Everything in this damn city is made with butter or cheese. There is a lull in the conversation, and then, “She has no reason to hold on to me. I’ll just stay with you, in the back of the class.”

Marinette laughs at this.

“Lila isn’t going to let you go.”

“What do you mean by that? She let you go.” Damian almost feels like he should be affronted at some of the statements that Marinette has made. He feels like she doesn’t appreciate or know how capable he is. It feels weird to have somebody not hold him to the impossibly high pedestal of a genius billionaire’s son. Now that he’s with Marinette, he’s glad that the Justice League sent him under a different last name. He can only imagine the chaos that it would have caused when he arrived.

Marinette rolls her eyes. “She didn’t willingly let me go. She only did because I was constantly undermining her, though unsuccessfully. And besides, there’s a very big difference between the two of us.”

“I’m very capable at undermining people.”

“I have no doubt about that,” Marinette snorts. Damian Grayson is quite the character. They’ve met in the oddest of situations each time. At first, she thought he might be a stalker, but after getting to know Damian a little better, Marinette believes that it’s coincidence-- there’s no way that someone with as much pride as Damian would go out of his way to follow a mere girl. If he wanted to go out with someone, he’d simply demand it. “But the key difference is our gender. Lila Rossi may be bisexual, but her desired gender of arm candy is male. I’m sure you’ve seen her with Adrien. The blonde one?”

At Damian's nod, Marinette continues. “Don’t get your ego even more inflated, but you are good looking. You’re Lila’s type. Tall, muscular, green eyed. You’re the perfect balance to Adrien’s sunshine demeanor. Besides, she can’t have a girl with self-confidence within her circle, so there was no way that we could have peacefully coexisted in the same group to begin with.”

Marinette’s comment about his appearance makes him feel an unexpected shock of pleasure. He knows he’s good looking. All of the Wayne kids are. He’s gotten enough compliments on his appearance to last him ten lifetimes. But knowing that Marinette finds him attractive feels different. She doesn't seem to be the type to exaggerate, and has a good objective eye for beauty.

“Yes, she already has Adrien. She doesn’t need me as well.”

“Greed never stops.” Marinette finishes her cup of hot cocoa and now stares at her ceiling, then at the wall opposite her, covered in fabric and design sketches. It seems like it was only yesterday when the walls of her bedroom were filled with the countless modelling endeavors of one Adrien Agreste. Now, there are very few pictures of him at all. She wishes that she got to hang out with him more, civilian to civilian.

When she figured out that Adrien Agreste and Chat Noir were the same, it was a day for the record books. She had so much emotional whiplash that day that it still gives her nausea just thinking about it. Marinette figures that it is a good thing she found out when she did, otherwise she might have continued with her crush on him and would have ended up pointlessly heartbroken. She still loves him, just not the way lovers do. Marinette also suspects that Adrien himself is not looking for a relationship of any sort besides friendship. He’s been more tense in recent months, and Chat Noir confessed that people touching him made him uncomfortable.

Marinette wants nothing more but to rip Adrien from Asshole Gabriel’s hands. But she can’t, because Marinette doesn’t have the trust of Adrien Agreste. Not in the capacity that she needs him to. Not in the capacity that will allow her to unseat Gabriel as she so desperately wishes to. If Ladybug entrusted Marinette to help Adrien out, there is no doubt that Adrien would figure out her alter ego, and that is dangerous knowledge. Especially since he is so tense with everything else going on in his life. It’s a recipe for a powerful akuma and the horrifying possibility of Hawkmoth learning her civilian identity. Ever since retiring the other heroes, Marinette knows that she can’t afford to have Chat Noir or Adrien akumatized. She’s certain that she can beat him in either form, but on the off chance that Hawkmoth decides on a mass akumatization, she can’t beat them all. She’s just not strong enough, no matter how many hours she trains and no matter how many times she takes down baddies in her civilian form.

“So what, I should just let her put her hands all over me?”

That… admittedly sounds unpleasant. Marinette isn’t sure what Adrien and Lila have going on, but Marinette knows that they’re not actually in a relationship. She’s fairly sure that Adrien and Lila have stuck some sort of deal on their own, but she’s not close enough to ask Adrien, and she’s definitely not going to ask Lila. Still, when Marinette addressed her concerns with Lila’s touchy tendencies, Adrien gave her a weak smile and said that that was just part of Lila’s nature. He implied that he dealt with worse, which made Marinette worried to hell and back, but ultimately Adrien convinced Marinette that touching him was not done with ill intent by Lila and that her touch warded off other people’s interest. He promised that he was fine, and that he would tell Marinette if he was really uncomfortable. So Marinette let sleeping dogs lie, because despite her initial animosity towards Lila, she was good at manipulating attention away from Adrien whenever he was having a particularly bad day.

“I told you, I can get you transferred out.”

“And I told you that I never back down from a challenge.”

“Then it seems like we’re at an impasse.”

“I suppose we are.”

Marinette’s phone alarm goes off, and she jumps from her chaise. “We’ve got to get back to school. Class starts in five. You go first, I’ll clean up.”

“I am not a rude houseguest.”

“Well, I don’t want to be seen with you in school, so leave.” Marinette’s sudden burst of rudeness is unlike her, but she chalks it down to her deep-rooted desire for Damian not to end up like the four transfers last year. She keeps in contact with some of them still, and not all of them are doing all too well. Marinette really doesn’t want Damian to end up like that.

Damian’s mouth sets itself into a thin line. “Fine then, have it your way. Give me your phone number.”

A shrug. “If that’s what it’ll take for you to leave me alone during school.”

And then, Damian is off.

4:50PM | Unknown number: I’m testifying next Thursday.

4:55PM | Marinette: Damian?

Damian: Yes.

Marinette: oh

Marinette: me too

Marinette: i’m going to visit renee tomorrow

4:58PM | Damian: I’ll come with you. I’ll meet you at your parent’s bakery after school.

6:42PM | Marinette: uh

Marinette: how about that alleyway instead

Damian: If I must.

Marinette doesn’t really know what to make of Damian. The first time she meets him, she almost thinks he is another stalker. Almost, but not quite; he looks far too reluctant to be following her and looks too unfamiliar with the streets that they were going down to have done this before. Still, she doesn’t want to take any chances, so she makes quick work of her first stalker and immediately gets on the phone with the police, leaving her stalker in the alley despite her normal protocol to stay with the criminal until the police get there. She makes an exception for this, because even from a distance, the second person following her looks much more dangerous than the first, and she doesn’t want to fight with someone who’s bigger than her in a place that’s hard to run away in.

When he appears near the alleyway he seems annoyed, then relieved and surprised when he sees the body in the alleyway. Like it was something he didn’t want to deal with.

When she brushes past him, there isn’t a hint of recognition in his eyes. Nothing except for surprise, and maybe a little bit of admiration. A raised eyebrow, saying, really? This short little girl just beat a man twice her size up?

She ends up in violent altercations as a civilian on an almost regular basis. According to one of her stalkers, she was just so friendly. Clearly she wanted to go out with him. It’s her fault for coming onto him. When she isn’t fending off creepy men whose profiles were nearly all the same-- five to ten years older than her, with some sort of fetish for asian women (she shudders at the thought of being called exotic)-- she does her duty as a plain-clothes hero. Because her conscience will never let her get away with walking away from an instance that might end up harming someone else. Marinette feels an overwhelming sense of responsibility. She won’t forgive herself for not protecting the weak.

The next time she meets him, she’s surprised that he actually approaches her and asks if she needs help. He clearly doesn’t actually want her to take him up on the offer, so she immediately turns him down. Marinette isn’t sure why he feels so compelled to offer his help when he clearly didn’t want to but-- oh merde. The class is going to leave her behind again if she doesn’t run and try to catch the bus now. She can take the metro, but she is short on the amount she needs to get all the way home. Marinette is also unwilling to turn into Ladybug, because Ladybug only ever shows up on night patrols and when there’s an akuma, and she doesn’t want to send Parisians into a mass panic.

Despite his obvious unwillingness, she reneges on her words and asks him to watch over the thief. He seems more at ease with it than she expected. Maybe he really had meant his offer. Weird. She is usually pretty good at reading people. Why can’t she get a good read on this guy?

His posture, too, is more at ease than she would expect of any civilian. Usually, if she ever asks somebody to watch over somebody she’s detained, they’re nervous and a little jumpy. Their hands are glued to their phone, ready to make a call if the slightest thing goes wrong. But this guy is relaxed and confident. Just the way he’s standing screams of years of training, in fighting and possibly in etiquette. Maybe he comes from some high class family.

She doesn’t have time to contemplate why and where and how. She just leaves him.

Then he comes in like a ghost, when she’s helping poor Nicolette. Somehow, Marinette knows this voice, this step pattern. She only needs a single glance up to confirm her beliefs. It’s the guy she keeps seeing around town.

Despite her initial impression that he wasn’t dangerous, she still takes the proper measures to protect herself, just in case. She can never be too sure in situations like these, and although he has been nothing but helpful, she doesn’t particularly want to be on the receiving end of one of his punches. He looks like an athlete. Long, lean muscle. Dangerous too, if his eyes are anything to go by.

They’re dark green and calculating. He’s gone through Things. Marinette can almost guarantee that the guy has encountered at least a few life-threatening situations.

She wonders how it is that he only ever seems to appear once she’s done with whatever issue she’s dealing with. Is he stalking her to see the extent of her abilities? Is he trying to make her let her guard down? Something about him makes Marinette anxious. He looks like he wants to tear her apart to see her inner workings. To figure her out. He makes Marinette feel like he’s always on the verge of finding out her biggest secret, and she hates it.

Still, he makes for a pretty reliable cleanup partner. She doesn’t think that she would trust a regular civilian to keep watch over any person she thought was dangerous. Fraser is just a little too dangerous for Marinette to consider leaving alone in the street. She certainly would not have passed his care to any regular stranger.

But Nicolette is clearly in need of comfort, and Damian looks like he can take care of himself and any trouble that comes his way. Which makes Marinette even more wary of him. Would she be able to beat him in her civilian form? She is certain that she could if he is just some common street thug-- she’s taken down people bigger than him-- but she gets the foreboding feelings that he is more than that.

It’s almost comforting to see Damian’s reaction to Ladybug and the akuma. He looks equal parts confused and awe struck. There is a touch of cynicism in there, for sure, a little bit of disbelief, but somehow, it lets Marinette breathe a temporary sigh of relief.

He doesn’t know what is going on in Paris. He doesn’t know her-- either side of her. And it is going to stay that way.

Of course it doesn’t stay that way. Marinette uses up all of her luck during her time as Ladybug, so the person who is currently at the top of her Avoid list shows up to her school as the American transfer. Of course he decides to sit next to her. She bemoans the loss of her blessedly empty desk. Damian is taller and larger than most boys their age, but he sits far enough away from her.

That’s a good sign. He’s not going out of his way to touch her or make contact with her. Maybe this whole thing is just a coincidence. Please, let this whole thing be just a coincidence

Then he starts talking to her, and of course he notices the whole thing with Lila, how can he not? She didn’t make a wrong judgement on his level of perceptiveness. Great. That is one thing she would have gladly lost a bet on. Now, she has to deal with possible ramifications of Damian, six foot Adonis, not wanting to get along with Lila. Lila will not like this. Marinette knows exactly what she wants in her little circle: attractive boys and girls that are less pretty or less confident than her. People who are easily controlled by promises and tall tales. And although Damian only fits one of those categories, he will undoubtedly be on her shopping list.

After their awful first year together, Lila proposed a truce of sorts. They could either try being friends or they could stay out of each other’s ways. Lila wouldn’t actively bully Marinette, and Marinette wouldn’t actively try to expose her.

She can feel Lila’s eyes on her. Green. It seems like everybody and anybody who brought her trouble nowadays had green eyes. Tonight, she’ll throw out all the green items that she owns. Marinette doesn’t need any more bad luck around her.

They return from lunch, and Marinette prays to every God whose name she knows that he is no longer sitting in the back seat. That Lila successfully swept him up.

Of course she hasn’t. Damian’s too smart for his own damn good. Which means that she needs to start preparing for the consequences of the inevitable fallout. She really doesn’t want Damian to turn into an akuma. She’s pretty good at telling which people will be more powerful (devastating? devastating.) in their akumatized forms than others, and she’s pretty sure that Damian would round out her top five, alongside Adrien, her Maman, her cousin, Bridgette, and herself. People who have more control over themselves are that much scarier when they fall apart.

This time, Damian shows up before things are completely settled, and she’s thankful for it.

If she wants to build a case against this woman, she does not need accusations of her own violence levelled against her. Thus, Marinette had been almost entirely ready and willing to feel the woman’s slap, maybe even her nails cutting through her skin. None of that matters, though. Not in comparison to Renee’s future.

In Renee, Marinette can see a lot of Adrien. He is blonde, is soft spoken from what little she’s seen of him, and lives firmly under a rich and manipulative parent’s thumb. Even though he’s scared of getting hit by his mom, Marinette can feel, instinctively, that if she hits the woman back, not only will she be in trouble with the case, she will also have scared Renee.

Damian steps in at exactly the right time, and leaves her free to call the police.

Though he’s quiet throughout the ride to the station, she does see him look at the little boy in concern. Other than that, he seems curious. A little child-like, even. His eyes are darting around the inside of the cruiser. It’s almost comical. Maybe he’s scared of being in the back of the police car, but she can’t find it in her to bring out a laugh. Not when Renee is on her lap. Not when she can feel his tears through her shirt and his soft little hiccups. Marinette hates that woman. Hates her so much. Hates Gabriel, too.

Marinette is focusing more on Renee and the woman more than Damian, but when she does spare him a glance, he seems unsure. Discomfited. Maybe he wants to reassure Renee that it will be alright.

She has been preparing for a situation in which she can take Gabriel to court for almost an entire year now. Despite this, Marinette still pulls out her phone and checks a few websites to make sure that all of the information she has is correct. Damian pulls out his phone too, though he’s just fiddling with it so his hands have something to do.

By the time Marinette breaks past the woman’s painfully bad facade of being a good parent, Marinette feels her blood boiling. She knows that she is not immune to being akumatized, and is very glad that it’s highly unlikely Hawkmoth sends out another akuma today.

It hurt a little when she first discovered that she could be akumatized. She was thirteen, Ladybug, and invincible. Then, she was thirteen, Marinette, and scared. Despite the situation at the time, Marinette could never bring herself to fully hate Lila. In part, because she believed--and still believes-- that Adrien is at least partially right. She sees it, periodically. How lonely Lila is behind her lies and friendships. Marinette doesn’t know what the girl is missing, and she doesn’t particularly care to know, but Lila is young and immature and has time to shift her course. And after their truce, Lila backed down a lot. Her lies are soft, now. Quiet. Most times nonexistent. She doesn’t need to do much to manipulate the class into loving her because she laid down all the groundwork during that first, horrible year.

But Marinette feels entitled to be angry at these parents who treat their children like they are nothing more than tools. Like they are subhuman. Maybe some parents can’t love their children-- she understands that to some extent-- and maybe they can’t be with them all the time. However, if love isn’t possible, they should still treat their child with the basic courtesy of human decency. And there is a point where neglect turns into abuse. Marinette knows that-- sees that with Adrien and Gabriel-- all too well.

Marinette is glad that all of her previous encounters with criminals taught her to record from the moment she interferes. She is glad that she sprung for a phone with extra amounts of storage. Her palms are hot and trembly, but her head is cold. She feels a twisted sense of accomplishment wrenched from her gut as she watches Renee’s mother flee from the room.

It is in this cold daze that she finds herself outside with Damian. Alone together, again. And he asks her about Lila, and she doesn’t want to deal with whatever dangers Damian brings with him. She’s had to fight off an akuma, deal with an absolute horror of a woman, and when she goes home, she will have to finish a commission and study for a test tomorrow. Damian is an unnecessary complication.

Somehow, her life has become a never ending cycle. At least she will sleep better at night knowing that Renee is in better hands.

#miraculous ladybug #dc #mlbxdc #daminette #sbgs #original content #adrien agreste #lila rossi #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne

110 notes · View notes

captainmeowvelwrites · 4 years

Text

You Times Two (Ch.10)

Pairing: Marinette/Ladybug | Adrien/Chat Noir Words: 3950 Summary: Ladybug knew this was necessary. She was the Guardian. He had the Cat Miraculous. But when his suit evaporated in a glow of pale green, she sure hadn’t expected him to have something far more precious: her heart. Cross-posted: AO3 and FFN

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | ...

Recap: Previously, on You Times Two… Swagdrien showed off his killer dance moves, Marimoo considered tuning along to Sonata The Hedgehog's song, and everyone but Foxy Lady, Turtle Boy and Chilluka was a jealous wee bean. Upon seeing Golden Boy's apparent discomfort at Pastrami's hands-on approach to her envy, Maribug tripped mid-dance and busted her poor ankle. And of course, after a week of no akumas, Mr Perfect Timing's back at it again. What doth the author hast in store for thee?

---

Chapter Ten

The boings of Alya and Nino playing Super Penguino only somewhat muffled the soft and mellow strums of Luka’s guitar. It was a nice melody, Adrien wouldn’t deny. He’d thought the same thing a week ago, when they’d all sat by the Seine with André’s ice cream in hand.

But back then, he hadn’t known Luka had composed it just for Marinette. That it was supposedly her song.

How could he have known?

It was soft, but not nearly sweet enough. And laidback, rather than lively. And while it was pleasant, it lacked the passion befitting of his friend.

Her passion for sewing.

Her passion for helping others.

Her passion for standing up for what she believed in.

Adrien watched as she drew out a breath from her freckle-dusted nose, as her pink lips curved into an easy smile, as her bluebell eyes fluttered shut. Her elbow brushed his own as she tipped her head against Luka’s shoulder.

He felt pressure on his hand—a reminder that he still held Kagami’s. His eyes met hers, and the question that clouded her gaze was enough to spark surprise in his own. Someone had squeezed the other’s hand, but that someone hadn’t been her—

A gasp stole his attention. “Dudes!” Nino’s left hand clutched half of Alya’s iPad, while his right jabbed toward the TV. “Check out the news!”

Adrien did just that.

And sucked in a breath at the sight he beheld.

The concerned face of Nadja Chamack filled the screen. Live footage appeared of an offensively coloured tower that soared into the sky, its abstract surface jarring against the bygone architecture of the buildings around it.

Adrien knew the area. At least five minutes away by baton.

Alya lunged at the coffee table. “Unmute!” she screamed, snatching up the remote with a crazed look in her eye. One fierce jab of her finger—

“—in Montparnasse, where a new villain is turning Paris into an abstract nightmare!”

The screen flicked to a series of clips. Fleeing Parisians. Multicoloured beams. Anything they touched – people, buildings, buses, pigeons – transformed into an eye-achingly colourful and contorted version of its former self.

“As always, authorities advise all Parisians to stay indoors until Ladybug and Chat—”

Zap!

Colour swarmed across Nadja’s body. Her lips swelled. Her nose went freakishly thin. Her left eye bulged and climbed a good three inches up her face. And although her body was off screen, Adrien had a sneaking suspicion it looked just as ill-proportioned. With a gasp, she stumbled out of frame.

A figure dropped from the sky, his body as obnoxiously bright as the tower that loomed behind him. He skulked toward the screen, a sneer scrunching the enormous, triangular nostrils on his severely misshapen face. “I am Putricasso!” The footage faltered at the hands of an unseen cameraman. “And soon, all of Paris will be as breath-taking as Picasso’s fine creations!”

With narrow eyes, Putricasso aimed an oversized paint brush at the screen.

The TV went static.

Adrien’s knee bobbed. Their first akuma in a week. Of course, it had to happen mid-group gathering. His eyes zipped around the apartment. He needed an excuse—

Marinette flew to her feet. “Actually—” A wince warped her face as she reeled back onto the sofa, hunched forward with her hand around her ankle. “I’ve – uh – changed my mind.” She stood again, this time slowly and with greater success. “I should definitely see a doctor. Just in case.”

He sprung up beside her. “I’ll take you!”

“NO!”

By the sheer desperation in her voice, one might’ve thought he was dragging her into danger right along with him.

“I mean YES!” She slapped her hands together. “Take me now!” Her eyes flew wide. “To the doctors! Take me now to the doctors. Please.” He didn’t miss her limp as she looked between Nino, Kagami and Luka, an apologetic smile at the ready. Her eyes lingered on Luka especially.

Alya was too busy frantically tapping her phone screen to pay them all any mind.

“Sorry I couldn’t stay longer, guys.” Marinette’s fingers drummed against her pink, flowery clutch. “Injury aside, it’s been fun!” She was already hobbling toward the front door.

Adrien scooped his grey messenger bag off the floor, threw it over one shoulder, and turned to Kagami. He was met by a question:

“Can I come along?”

His shoulders shot to his ears. “Err – No need, Kagami! I’ll, uh, be quick.”

Her gaze swerved to Marinette, then back to him. “Okay.”

“Hey, Marinette?” Luka’s voice drew Adrien’s focus. “Are we still on for tomorrow?” The musician smiled at her from the sofa, guitar propped in his lap.

She was halfway to the exit, but stopped to beam at him all the same. “Of course! No way am I letting my clumsiness ruin our movie date.” For the second time today, she winked at Luka.

Adrien’s smile felt forced.

Until her attention turned to him.

“Ready, Adrien?”

He nodded and, after a brief farewell to his friends, rushed to her side. “Let’s go.”

As she continued to limp toward the exit, he identified a glaring flaw in his escape plan. He needed time to take her to the doctor’s. And time was something he had none of right now.

…

Crap.

Adrien could think of several reasons as to why he couldn’t ditch her.

Reason one? It’d be a terrible thing to do.

Reason two? It’d be awfully suspicious after offering to take her in the first place.

Reason three? She really did need his help.

But damn it, so did Ladybug. And all of Paris for that matter. Maybe he could speed things up somehow—

“Hold the fort, Nino!” Alya, who Adrien was sure had been on the sofa just a second ago, flashed by them in a blur of orange and blue. “Your girl’s gotta bounce!”

“Babe?!” Nino sputtered from his seat. “You’ve – You’ve got guests!”

Alya swung the front door aside, revealing a public stairwell of wooden steps and copper railing. “Montparnasse is, like, a twenty-minute metro away. If I jet now, I might make the end of the battle!” She threw Marinette a one-handed finger gun. “Rest that foot up, girl!” And with that, she was off.

Marinette frowned at the front door, still ajar. “I swear she has no sense of self preservation.”

“With Ladybug protecting Paris, at least we know she’s in safe hands.”

She met his smile with one of her own. “You mean Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

His lips parted, a merry “thank you” at the ready, until he realised that’d be a pretty odd response from Adrien Agreste. “You’re right,” he said instead, following her through the front door. “I’ll be back soon, everyone!” (He hoped.)

While he clicked the door shut behind him, Marinette limped up to the first set of steps in their way. With her fingers around the handrail, she put her right foot forward, gauging her weight on step number one as though testing the temperature of a swimming pool.

Hold up.

Did she plan to scale these stairs on her own?

He stepped forward. “If you’d like, I can—”

“No.” Her answer was short, but not impolite. More like she was on a mission. “I’ve got this.”

“You sure?”

The front of her ballerina flat touched the first step. Seeming satisfied with the level of pain, she ventured forward.

“Yeah, I’m—”

Her ankle buckled.

He lunged after her.

One hand clutched the curve of her waist.

The other gripped her shoulder.

“—totally in need of a little assistance.”

A little giggle followed her words and he couldn’t help but smile. He levelled her onto her feet. “Say no more.” Knees bent, he eased one hand across her back, while his other reached down to loop behind her legs.

A thought made him pop back to full height.

Was it socially acceptable to carry her bridal-style?

“Err – With your permission?”

The question hung in the air. And was it a trick of the light? Or were her cheeks a little rosier than usual? Maybe he needed an ice breaker. The kind of comment she’d expect from Chat Noir. He’d carried her bridal style on more than one occasion.

“No altars, I promise.”

“I – I – Uh—”

Mistakes were made.

Her eyes darted every which way. None of those ways crossed paths with his own. And— Oh no! Her cheeks were definitely rosy now. Had he just made her more uncomfortable?

“Sure,” she squeaked, much like the sound that had inspired the nickname ‘Marimouse’ last night. “Fine. Totally fine. Like, one hundred percent A-OK.” She placed her right hand across the nape of his neck, emphasising her words.

With a quiet sigh of relief, Adrien lifted her from the stairs into his arms, and her left hand slid behind his neck to join her right. He hadn’t started out his day expecting to sweep a cute girl off her feet, but here he was. That joke rode the tip of his tongue, barely withheld, because jeez, his last attempt at ice breaking had gone just splendidly.

As he began their descent down the stairs, Marinette spoke up again. “Sorry if I’m heavy...”

He almost laughed.

That hadn’t even crossed his mind.

His thoughts drifted a day into the past, to the puns they’d cracked in her kitchen. “Must’ve been the cheesecake. I’d batter be extra careful while carrying you down these stairs!”

Eager for her reaction, his eyes flicked from the steps to her face. She didn’t disappoint.

No, she rolled her eyes.

He smirked in record time.

“I swear you’re like a walking punpedia.”

“You’re meant to egg me on, Marinette. Have I tarte you nothing?”

Banana puns. Baking puns. He was on a roll today. Punning against an artsy villain would be a piece of cake.

“Gosh, I pun with you once and suddenly, we’re pun buddies.”

Had his hands not been preoccupied, Adrien would’ve placed one to his heart. “Why, I hope you’re not planning to dessert me?” This time, she groaned, but he didn’t miss the slight upward tilt of her lips. “Because that would mousse definitely make me sad.”

With a shake of her head, she finally cracked a smile. Briefly, he wished he didn’t have to watch where he was going, so he could freely enjoy the fruits of his labours.

A few seconds ticked by, the thumps of his shoes against wood filling the silence. He reached a stair landing, strode by two doors, then continued down another set of steps.

Marinette sighed. “I feel kinda bad about leaving early.”

Adrien’s brows curled. If either of them should feel bad right now, it was him. He’d invited Kagami, after all, and here he was leaving her despite knowing she wasn’t at ease around acquaintances.

“Don’t feel bad, Marinette. Your health comes first. Any one of our friends would say the same.”

She was silent.

But one glance at her face revealed lips pursed by thought.

“Is this about leaving Luka?”

From the corner of his eye, Marinette nodded. “I just feel so lame for ditching him.”

Adrien shrugged. Well, as much as he could with her in his arms. “I’m sure he understands. I know I would if I was in his shoes.”

A quiet pause.

“You’re right.”

Adrien didn’t need to peel his eyes from the steps to know she was smiling. “So, uhh”—he cleared his throat—“did he really compose that song just for you?”

Another nod on her end.

“That’s pretty cool.” Even if it didn’t suit her as well as it could’ve. “Maybe I should compose a song for you,” he thought aloud, already sifting through piano pieces he knew for inspiration. Something bright. Strong. Resilient. Joyful! Playing it needed to make him as happy as being around her did.

“I, um… I should probably text my parents.” Her left hand dropped from his neck to pull a smart phone from the front pocket of her pants. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to take me to the doctors, so you don’t have to.”

“Oh. Well, I…” It sure made transforming easier, but he still had to ask, “If that’s not too much trouble?”

With a shake of her head, Marinette held her phone near his shoulder. “‘Course not.” It clicked as she typed. “And this way you don’t have to leave everyone.”

Little did she know.

While Marinette tucked away her phone, he scaled the last of the steps and approached a wooden door, its surface scuffed from years of use. “Could you—”

Sure enough, she was already reaching for the brass knob.

They exchanged a smile as he planted his back to the door and reversed his way into an open-air corridor. “Nice work, team.”

That got a giggle out of her.

With Marinette still in his arms, Adrien strode by rows of beige mailboxes, a letter half hanging from one of the slots. She extended a hand and pushed it the rest of the way in.

“In case it’s something important.”

“Very typical of you,” he said with a wink.

Her eyes fell to her lap, but not before she smiled.

As they approached an iron gate, he recalled her earlier advice that it was never actually locked, and coaxed it open with his back. The street was fairly quiet. A few pigeons. A couple of motoring cars. And an old lady walking her sausage dog.

He glanced back at the entrance corridor beyond the iron gate. It’d make a good transformation spot. Well, as long as Marinette didn’t see him race inside, only for Chat Noir to leave a second later.

With that in mind, Adrien rounded a nearby corner to be met by an equally quiet street. Bending his knees, he set her down on the sidewalk and placed his hands on her shoulders, ready to catch her at a moment’s notice. “You okay to stand, Marinette?”

Her answer, as it turned out, was to press her petite fingers flush against his chest.

A second later, he froze as she slapped her hands to her face. “Sorry!” She peeked up at him from through her fingers. “I – Uh – The designer in me! She felt bad for creasing your dress shirt!”

That made sense.

Adrien placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Marinette. I’m a fashion model, remember? Unannounced crease correcting comes with the territory.” He chuckled. “Besides, I prefer you doing it as opposed to some stranger.” After two light pats on her shoulder, his hand returned to his side, and his fingers drummed against his thighs. “So, err…” As much as he needed to scat, leaving her alone felt a little impolite. “I can keep you company until your parents get here?”

Marinette toyed with the hem of her cardigan. “That’s, uh, awfully nice of you, Adrien, but there’s really no need.” She tapped her fingers together as she peered up at him. “I – I mean, not that I don’t want your company. Your company’s great. You just… umm… probably wanna get back to everyone else, right?”

Well, not exactly.

He slipped a hand behind his neck. “Are you sure, Marinette?”

“Adrien.” The boldness of her tone alone made him still. “Gateau of here.”

Did…

Did she just…

The smile that swept across her lips was answer enough. Man, she was awesome!

“How can I say dough to that?” With a broad grin, he took two steps back the way they came. “Take it easy on that ankle, okay?”

“Uh – Yeah! Will do.”

“And I guess I’ll… see you Monday?”

“Yup. Monday! That’s when you’ll next be seeing me.”

“Great. See you then!”

With a two-fingered salute, he ducked around the corner and backtracked through the gate, rows of mailboxes affixed to the wall on his right.

Plagg zipped out of his messenger bag. “Finally!” By the way he snickered, he wasn’t really bothered. “Parting with your girlfriend is such sweet sorrow, hmm?”

Nope. Definitely not bothered.

“You said the same thing yesterday, Plagg.” He fiddled with the cuff of his dress shirt. “You know she’s just a friend.”

His kwami floated closer. “Don’t you mean a pun buddy?”

Adrien gave a wry smile. “Speaking of which”—he launched out his fist—“Plagg, claws out!”

In a flash of blinding green, Chat Noir stood where Adrien Agreste once had. He approached the gate, scanned the street for any onlookers, then raced out onto the sidewalk.

One tap of his baton launched him heavenward—and with a highly essential flip, he dropped to a nearby rooftop. In the distant cityscape, Montparnasse Tower stood like a sky-high circus.

“Good thing I’m wearing my clown costume.” He tapped the glowing paw on his staff, revealing its screen. “No messages from M’Lady? Well colour me shocked.”

A few taps brought up the latest akuma update. No heroes on the scene yet. He glanced at his Bugabeacon. By the looks of it, she hadn’t transformed yet. Seemed he wasn’t the only one running fashionably late.

Chat gripped his staff tighter.

This was their first battle since his reveal.

Ladybug’s first battle with Adri—

No.

Her second battle with Adrien.

And an agonising reminder of his desire to prove himself.

Sure, Chat Noir had done so for over a year, but he wasn’t just Chat Noir anymore. No, he was also Adrien Agreste, who’d failed to save her as Aspik for three months straight. Adrien Agreste, whose nightmares had been haunted by Desperada ever since. Adrien Agreste, who longed for redemption.

And today was his chance.

---

Marinette tottered into a nearby alleyway and propped her back against a weather-worn wall. Two painkillers, a dollop of anti-inflammatory cream and twenty minutes of ice-pack time, yet somehow her ankle throbbed more now than it had right after her fall.

Tikki whizzed out of her pink clutch, concern swimming in her eyes.

“Our first akuma in a week and I’ll be spending it stumbling through Paris.” Marinette pushed off the wall to test out the injury. A little weight was wince-worthy, but bearable. Anything more active was another story. “Will my transformation do anything to ease the pain?”

Her kwami shook her head. “I’m sorry, Marinette! Injuries you get while de-transformed are out of my control. You’ll just have to be extra careful.”

So it looked like she’d have to keep anything too jarring to a minimum. Well, try to. Running and jumping were kind of necessary when it came to yoyo swinging and dodging dangerous projectiles.

“I’ll have to fight through the pain.” She shifted her weight to her good ankle. “At least it’s just a sprain. Or there’s no way I’d be standing.”

Five storeys up, a blur of black leapt over the alley.

Tikki frowned. “What about Chat Noir?”

A touch of dread rematerialized, gripping her chest as it had upstairs. She’d thought – well, maybe freaked out – about that on the way down. Though observing Adrien’s own ditch attempt had been a welcome distraction. And a fascinating one at that.

“He saw me walking fine during patrol last night.” She cupped her chin. “It’ll be hard to come up with a believable excuse, but...”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Marinette nodded. “I have to.” Purpose hardened her eyes. “Tikki, spots on!”

Latex washed up her body in a glow of pale pink. Immediately, Ladybug reassessed her ankle, hoping for a miracle.

Alas, Lady Luck couldn’t solve everything.

She flicked up the screen of her yoyo. According to her Kitty Tracker, Chat Noir was already five blocks ahead of her. “He’s really hightailing it over there,” she thought aloud, and hurled her yoyo at the rim of the roof above. One tug sent her skyward.

Her toes touched down.

Her ankle caved.

Her knees slammed against the roof.

Ladybug groaned. “Focus!” The second time in a week she’d said that very thing. She’d let down her friends, her master, all of Paris. She refused to be that useless today.

Never again.

Ladybug hoisted herself to her feet and stared out at the Parisian skyline. Montparnasse Tower reached for the clouds like a multicoloured beacon. It’d already been about ten minutes since that footage had aired. She needed to get there fast.

But how could she do that with a busted ankle?

The Horse Miraculous wasn’t an option. The Miracle Box was stowed away in Master Fu’s old phonograph, atop the chest that housed Adrien’s many birthday gifts. Getting home would take almost as long as stumbling to Montparnasse.

A lightbulb went off in her head.

What if she embraced her inner Spider-Man? Swing more. Land less. Rest her ankle on the way there. Yeah, that could work. It’d be better than pushing her ankle before she’d even engaged Putricasso.

With her mind made up, she hurled her yoyo at a distant chimney. And as she spideyed her way over to Montparnasse, a month-old memory replayed in her mind.

The sinking sun set the sky ablaze, splashing the Arc de Triomphe with its golden glow. Her legs swayed off the ledge of the aged monument in time with Chat Noir’s, while cars hummed underfoot.

“Hey, LB?” He grinned at her, the tiny straw of a juice box brushing his lips. “Has it ever occurred to you that you’re like a female Spider-Man?”

“Y’know, my friends were discussing that very thing this week.”

“Ha! Mine too.” He took a hearty sip. “It makes sense, right? You’re both bug-themed. You wear lots of red. You swing around the city.”

“So if my comic counterpart’s Spider-Man, who’s yours?”

Chat puffed out his chest. “I am Batman,” he rasped, his voice an octave lower.

She snorted. “I was thinking more along the lines of Cat Woman.”

With a pout, he passed the juice box to her awaiting hand. “Why not Black Panther?”

“Who?”

“Wow, M’Lady!” He slapped a dramatic paw to his heart. “That hurts my very soul!”

Through a smile, Ladybug took a small sip of juice. “Well,” she eventually said, “I think Chat Noir’s a much cooler superhero anyway.”

The smile he flashed her could’ve powered all of Europe.

Then he opened his mouth.

“Does this mean I can’t call you Spider-Woman?”

Ladybug couldn’t help but laugh as she soared through the autumn air. She considered telling him their silly talk had come in handy. Maybe she’d even let him call her Paris’ friendly neighbourhood ladybug. He’d get a kick out of that for sure.

Up ahead, Montparnasse Tower was a fast-approaching eyesore—and a reminder that she still needed a reason for her injury. One scan of the area drew her attention to an ice rink. A very familiar ice rink. An excuse bloomed in her brain. A skating accident. One she’d suffered from first thing this morning. It wasn’t her finest cover-up, but her choices were gut-churningly limited. If ever there was a day for her luck to shine through, today was it.

With each street she swung through, the beige brickwork and timeworn buildings of Paris evolved into a mess of colourful shapes. Rooms stuck out at odd angles, far from structurally sound. Flying pigeons defied the laws of aerodynamics, their wings branching from their bodies like two featherless triangles. And Parisians panicked in the streets, their faces distorted and their bodies a jumbled state of jagged shapes. If a unicorn caught a stomach bug, she imagined the aftermath would look a lot like this.

A multicoloured beam sliced through the sky—just past Montparnasse Cemetery, where an expanse of tombstones dotted the land. More beams burst from between a distant street and with narrowed eyes, she veered toward them.

#ml fic #miraculous ladybug #you times two #adrinette #marichat #ladynoir #ladrien

2 notes · View notes

embracethecringeside · 4 years

Text

So I’m writing an over all bigger fic where the pieces all kinda fit together and I have the links to my first chapter on both ao3 and fanfiction.net but I thought I’d share this little tidbit that I wrote up really quick on here because it isn’t super long and I’m not quite sure where it fits into the narrative yet lol but I kinda like it? It’s super rough with no real editing because I just had this itch to write it and just sort of went with my gut but I thought maybe others would enjoy it? Maybe?

So anyway this is written in third person, but the main focus is on Storage Rick (from Pocket Mortys) who lives with Cop Rick and Doofus Rick and is starting to have feelings for at least one of them. (the official Pocket Mortys twitter tweeted this and since it is supposed to be run by Storage Rick it got me thinking and I got this idea stuck in my head)

Word Count: 1,996

I am not good with titles so this doesn’t have one. Yet.

He couldn’t stop replaying that morning's events in his mind, even though they were nothing special or remarkable in any way, shape, or form. In fact that morning had been like every other morning he had gone to work, but he still had it fresh in his mind, on repeat. See, every time Storage actually decided to drag himself to the Morty Daycare, Doof would stop him before opening the portal.

“W-w-wait! Don’t-don’t forget this,” and he would clip Storage’s name badge onto his shirt for him with an extra little pat for security sake.

Rick Sanchez is not a man who just forgets things. He knew he needed the badge. He knew that every night he slapped the down on the dining room table and every night Cop clipped it on the key rack so he would be able to see it when he walked down the stairs past the front door. He knew he could just leave it in his locker at the daycare after his shift instead of doing any of that. It was all so pointless. Yet he found himself falling into the routine time and time again. Willingly. Almost with anticipation.

Storage waited for the sensation of light tugging on his shirt as put the clamp on the fabric, the pat on his chest, that big goofy smile with and stupid buck teeth sending a burst of oxytocin through his synapses, all the while he had to make sure he was rolling his eyes with a sour expression so his… aquintance? Wouldn’t notice. Then he’d play it up with a rude remark in a rushed tone.

“I’m capable of r-remembering something as simple as my badge.” There, that meant that as far as Doof knew, he was annoyed and bothered that he would even suggest that he could possibly be that forgetful, therefore discouraging him from performing the action again. Thank goodness he never listened.

“Oh! I-I packed you lunch as well.” Another non surprise, he made lunch for everyone that lived in that house everyday. He broke into another idoitic smile as he proudly presented a paper bag. “And I put some extra brownies in there, so don’t be afraid to-to share some with the M-mortys, okay?” Using his portal gun, he opened the portal to the Citadel of Ricks.

“Pssh,” he scoffed as he snatched the bag out of Doofus Rick’s hands. “As if I’d s-share with those little m-monsters.” Although he had just insulted Morty, that dingbat still managed to look so damn happy, which made Storage acutely aware of his rising heart rate. Doof even stifled a laugh before telling him, “Have a good day!”

He leaped through that portal just as he felt his cheeks beginning to flush. Yikes.

So in short, absolutely nothing special happened. Nothing remarkable, incredible, or amazing. But there he was anyway, stuck in that moment, thinking about his brown eyes, his overly chipper demeanor, his ridiculous bowl cut, his kindness, his moronic smile that was too-

“Rick?”

Storage glanced to his right to see a Morty, a rather well dressed Morty sitting criss cross applesauce on the counter staring at him, looking all smug.

“W-w-what? What the Hell do you want?” Ugh, in just a moment he was fully brought back to the reality of his day job, the smell of unwashed teenage boys and the uncomfortable closeness of the tightly packed building that was somehow supposed to hold over 300 brats.

“Just-just wondering what you’re thinking about,” he said in a mocking, cocky tone.

“Pushing you off my counter.”

“No you’re not,”

“Like you would- as though you could ever understand the things I think about Morty.”

“You have that look on your face Rick. That-that look that I get on my face when I think about Jessica.”

Of course at the sound of that name was met an astounding sigh of, “Ahh, Jessica” that spread across the room.

“I do not.” he snapped, turning so he was still looking out, away from the Daycare, but so Morty couldn’t look at him anymore.

“Y-you can deny it but I’ve seen my own face enough times to know!”

“At least you can read your own facial expressions Morty. Good to know you can read something.”

There. That ought to shut him up.

“So,” Damnit. Maybe not. “What’s her name?”

Storage grit his teeth. He noticed Morty scoot closer out of the corner of his eye. He tried to think about literally anything else, but when he sensed Morty’s hand moving toward him, he firmly grabbed his wrist before he got a chance to touch him. He made sure to give him the harshest stare down he could. But that Morty was either brave or stupid, Storage was betting on the latter, because he did not take the hint.

“I’ll just keep bothering you until you talk.”

Oh. So that’s what he wanted huh? Wanted Rick to open that big mouth of his and start talking? Well. If that was what he wanted.

“T-t-tell me M-Morty, what-what is it about Jessica you like so much?”

“W-w-well,” He wasn’t expecting that. “Uh, gee, I don’t know, w-what’s not to like? She’s really hot, and has red hair, and-and she has boobs.” Morty paused, clearly uncomfortable with the undivided attention he was receiving from Storage Rick, and began to sweat as he peeled his eyes away from his steely stare, looking behind him for any kind of support from, well, himself.

One Morty shrugged. “Aw geez, I-I don’t know! D-don’t look at me! You already mentioned her boobs.”

“They- they really are great boobs Rick, trust me,” another spoke.

“A hot redhead with nice tits, a good pair of jugs, some real bazongas, a piece of eye candy to jerk off to huh Morty?”

Ew, it was gross to hear a version of his grandpa put it that way. But he nodded, because as nasty as it was, he was right.

Unibrow raised, Rick prompted, “What else?”

“Um,” he wasn’t sure what to say. And apparently no other Morty did either.

“I thought you were in love with her Morty.”

“W-well I-I am, and-and one day we’ll get married and have kids-”

“Have you even had a conversation with this girl? With this Jessica?” He smiled, but not the dreamy peaceful one he had earlier, more of a vengeful smirk.

Morty squirmed. “W-well, n-no, not-not exactly-”

Rick laughed. “Y-you want to waste the rest of your life with her but all you know is she’s a banging chick with the name Jessica?” He continued laughing, and let go of Morty. “That’s nothing more than pinning, lust, and raging teenage hormones Morty. D-don’t waste my time with it.”

He expected that to be the end of the conversation, so he was a little perturbed when Morty, in his little blue suit, didn't move.

“B-but I do love her Rick.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Rick.”

“I’m tired of talking to you. Go play. Or masturbate. Whatever teenagers do. I don’t really give a shit.”

Not only did he not get down from the counter but he stood up to make himself tall and started yelling. “Y-y-you don’t- you can’t tell me how I feel! I know I love Jessica! Y-y-you don’t get to decide that for me just b-because you’re old and bitter and-and have never cared about anyone but yourself!”

Honestly, it was impressive, seeing Morty, literally stand up for himself, but that didn’t change Storage’s mind. He was right. Morty was wrong.

“Oh yeah! What a monster I am! Suggesting that you actually know something about the person you claim you want to be chained to forever. What are her hobbies? Her interests? Do you share similar tastes in movies? In books? W-w-what if she’s a bitch? As mean as they come, a real pain in the ass?”

“She’s not!”

“And you know that how? From easy dropping on her and her friends at school like some kind of creep? Like-like a stalker? She could be horrible! I-in fact everyone has horrible traits they try to hide all the time. W-w-what if she doesn’t recycle? Or-or is an anti-vaxxer? She could be a homophobic, racist, sexist ass Morty! What? Y-y-you think only men can be sexist? Have you ever been forced to talk to a conservative white woman before? That-that could be her Morty!”

His fists were balled up so tight his nails burrowed into his palms. “W-w-why do you have to think about it that way Rick? Always so-so negative, she could be perfect! I like to think that she’s sweet and kind with a big heart to match her breasts, and-and that she's smart and fun! She could be all of those things too Rick, did-did your big brain ever think of that? You-you factor that in genius?”

Storage grumbled. “Yes, of course I thought of that.” It was something he thought about a lot. How Doofus Rick wasn’t a doofus at all. He was just as smart and capable as any Rick but he found a way to stay kind and care for others in a way that most Ricks couldn’t or wouldn’t. Which brought him to his response, “What if she’s amazing and she doesn’t like you back?” Because why would he? Storage Rick was a mean, cantankerous, foul mouthed, grimy old timer who had started a screaming match with his almost grandson so he could avoid talking about his feelings. “W-w-why drag you around if she's out of your league?”

Well, that accomplished two things, Morty was no longer on the counter and he had stopped talking, but only because he was crying. He really hadn’t considered anything Rick was talking about, he thought , adults did it all romance was so easy, adults did it all the time. He was supposed to marry his high school crush and live happily ever after, wasn’t he? So simple, cut, and dry.

Instead of feeling victorious, Rick just felt like an ass. He didn’t want to make Morty upset, he just wanted to make him drop the topic. And get his ass off the counter. It was as though he could hear Doof’s nagging already. Oh please be nice to Morty! H-he’s just a kid Storage, be gentle with him. With a groan he used one foot to pivot so he was facing the inside of the daycare building. “Wait, Morty,”

“Which one?”

“Me?”

“No! Clearly not you, the one all dressed up with nowhere to go. The hopeless romantic.” He waited a second, but Morty didn’t turn around. “There is another possibility,” he rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, “It’s possible that you both end up really liking each other and end up getting married and junk.”

Using the sleeve of his jacket, Morty wiped his eyes and glanced back toward Storage Rick. “R-really?”

“Yeah. Anything is possible, Morty.” Then he wasn’t expecting to be rushed into with a hug, he let it linger for a moment before voicing his disdain. “D-don’t fucking touch me, get-get off.” And he got an idea. “Say, I’ll give you a few flurbos and let you run over to Salesman Rick’s.”

His little face lit up as Rick handed him the money.

“Now I’ve heard that he has ice cream.” He stated as he lifted Morty up and over the counter and out of the daycare. “Why not try and get some? Make sure and tell him Storage Rick sent you.”

“Wow, t-thanks Rick!” As he watched him run off, he heard the gaggle of Mortys behind him discussing whether or not he would be triumphant. Spoiler? He wouldn’t be. And Salesman Rick was going to be rather testy.

One particularly scruffy Morty whined. “Rick, he never has ice cream. When will you stop sending us on this wild goose chase?”

“When it stops being funny.” Hm. Maybe he would have to share his brownies after all to make up for the trouble he caused.

#rick and morty fanfiction #storage rick #doofus rick #rickcest #well kinda...#morty smith #sorry about my garbage!!

4 notes · View notes

talltalesandbedtimestories · 4 years

Text

A View To A Winchester (Part 18)

Series Page

Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.

A Dean X OFC story. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle.

Section Word Count: 4,800

Section Content: fluff, flirting, angst, light smut, R-rated language

FINAL CHAPTER

~~~~~

Right after Seger sang Dean and Julie into some sweet, sweet sanctuary, Dean had expected, prepared for a flood of questions. He’d steeled himself for the barrage of inquiries that would spill from Julie’s mouth. He walked back to his room without a single weapon to defend himself. As naked as the day he was born, he hoped that display would be a little distracting for Julie. Even debated rocking his hips like a Thunder From Down Under as a further diversion. Maybe they could get down to more of that love making business. That. He was ready for that.

But what he wasn’t ready for was finding Julie fast asleep when he snuck into the bedroom. He’d only been gone, what, not even five minutes? Then, he remembered how sound of a sleeper she’d mentioned she could be. Under the right circumstances, it seems.

He froze in place, stopped to take in the woman in his bed. She was somewhere between a side and stomach sleeper when not forced into a spoon position by a needy bed sharer. Arms burrowed under the pillow in a tight hug. The long mane of hair fanned out behind and over the cushion like she was free falling into a dream. He licked his bottom lip at the curve of one breast teasing his eyes and the slope of her bare back. The sheet had only made it up to her waist.

Did I love you to sleep, baby? He eased in beside Julie, curling in as close as he could without disturbing the slumber. He frowned at the tiny scrap of sheet left for him to pull up along his midsection. Is she a bed hog? Her breathing was steady, relaxed, mouth parted. He wanted to kiss that little hint of a smile right off her face. If her eyes opened at that moment, she’d be staring directly into his. He smiled and felt that tug at his heart again. The one he’d felt so many times that night. He closed his eyes. An occasional moan that seemed to be her version of a snore broke the silence. But it wasn’t keeping him awake. All his mind could do was race.

When they crescendoed with the song earlier that night, his fingers had dipped into her wetness, exploring the spot where their bodies connected, and the friction of his fucking created a raw heat, melting them together. Then, flicks and twitches in her response as his utmost priority became assaulting that swollen bundle of nerves. He needed to feel it, feel her come around him. That was when he felt the tug. But, it hadn’t been the first time that night.

Dean had always craved that amazing experience of being inside a woman when she climaxed. Any woman. It didn’t matter if it was a waitress in Muncie (Melanie?) finishing a double shift; bent in half as Dean took her in the diner’s back alley after the saddest, soggiest order of fries he’d ever had the misfortune of eating. It didn’t matter if it was Cassie, sneaking him into her dorm and riding him while her roommate pretended to be asleep. Who could’ve slept with all that noise? It didn’t matter if it was Lisa teaching Dean the kinkiest Downward Facing Dog position. I pulled a muscle doing that. It didn’t matter if it was Anna allowing Dean to take her celestial body for a spin in the back seat of Baby. Would’ve been a perfect time to play some Aerosmith.

It didn’t matter. Because as much as he’d cared for every single one of those women, no matter the brevity or extended duration of their time together, in his own way, it was that second of fractal explosion that made it all worth it. That moment he had helped create, build, release, appease, fulfill. It was pure, fucking joy. And all those other big words Sammy would use.

He’d held onto those moments, kept them for safekeeping to remind him of what he was capable of during his darkest ones. They’d kept him company during his year in Purgatory; when he bore the Mark of Cain; when he’d become a Knight of Hell. They’d been the part of his humanity, his old life, that crept in on occasion when he’d been strung, stretched, and quartered in Hell. Over. And over. Wash, rinse, repeat. It was a miracle he didn’t remember all the torture he’d endured and then inflicted on others in Hell.

Cas had to have wiped my memory when he raised me from perdition. Or I would have popped out of the ground cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. He still felt the phantom pain every so often. The decades of torture under his skin, the scars on his soul from all those he’d eviscerated. No one could carry back all that and not have their psyche crumble under the weight of it. He’d always wanted to ask Cas, the angel saddled with the rescue mission, if he’d been given some omniscient knowledge of exactly how much Dean could bear. But another part of him never wanted to know the answer.

The answer he did want to know, and had needed since the first time he’d been with a woman, was if he’d pleased, made her feel wanted, complete, even if only for a moment. It was easy for Dean. And he could see it in their eyes, hear it in their moans, feel it in their after shivers, even if they never actually said it.

He didn’t really understand the need, the chase for that answer, over and over. It was fun, of course. And he was a horny bastard. When is sex with a beautiful woman not fun? But something had always been missing, out of reach.

And then he’d felt that heart tug, the first time, when Julie confessed. I’ll always come back, Dean. If that’s what you want, what will make you feel safe. You deserve that, same as everyone else.

His eyes opened. Safe. Has that been it the whole fucking time? Saving people, making sure they’re safe. Has it been my mission because I’ve wanted it? For me?

“Guess I’ve gotta find a way, sweetheart.” He whispered, staring at her. She showed no sign of waking. Find a way to believe I deserve that. Heavy lids won out.

~~~~~

It had been a few weeks since the festival.

Baby had been in stop and start mode for the past hour in early afternoon Interstate traffic. On a Friday. Dean still wasn’t quite used to the herd mentality of the eastern shore population in the summer. A curse on his lips berated himself for not wrapping up his job in New Jersey earlier. Snatching the skip had taken longer than expected. Fucking beach traffic.

He leaned an arm out his open window. Hand tapped the exterior of the Impala, warm from the strong summer rays, the concrete under her wheels and exhaust from all the other vehicles sandwiched tight together. Head bobbed to Back in Black. Dean got a nod in approval from a man that looked his age, loosened tie and white collared shirt, steering a sensible sedan that ebbed and flowed alongside. “Sweet ride.” The man called out from his own open window. Dean saluted at the comment.

An inner debate had been ping-ponging back and forth since a text from Sam came through that morning. Baby had the chance to sprint for a steady clip before slowing down. The screams of children in a nearby minivan stuffed with beach cargo forced Dean to roll up his window. He turned down the radio and tapped his phone.

“Hey.” Sam answered.

“Hey.” Dean mumbled. “Busy?”

“No, I will be in a few minutes, though. Walking to class. How’s things? Julie?”

“Good. She’s good.”

“Good.” Sam answered and waited. “Well, we’re good here. Thanks for asking.”

“Sorry. I’m just. Look. No bullshit, Sammy. I need an answer. Simple yes or no.”

Sam huffed on speakerphone. “Alright. Shoot.”

Dean sighed.

“Today, Dean?”

“Am I fixable?” Dean barked out the question.

“Are you flexible? Absolutely not.”

“No. Fixable?”

“What?”

“Fixable? F-I-X able? Just answer the damn question! And don’t think. Am I fixable?”

“Yes, Dean. Of course you are. Everyone’s fixable. Why are you… oh, this has to do with Julie.”

The irritation at Sam’s ability to deduce things was brushed aside. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because, I know how many times you believed I was fixable.” Sam spoke in a hushed tone. “And, you fought tooth and nail to give me that chance to try.” Dean heard Sam take a short gulp of air and shout out a quick hello to someone passing. He resumed his quiet discussion. “I wouldn’t be here, otherwise. Remember when you worked for months on the Impala after the crash, after Dad…” Sam cleared his throat. Dean gripped the steering wheel. “Bobby didn’t see the point in even trying. It was twisted up like a churro. But, I knew you’d want to fix it. If there was only one working part in that hunk of junk, you weren’t going to give up. Just like your car, it’s going to take time. And, you have to work at it.”

“If you tell me I gotta go all hippie and meditative, Sammy, I swear to God…”

Sam chuckled. “You gotta find your own path, Dean. But, I do think you need to consider some help.”

Dean fiddled with the air vents. “What kind of help?”

Sam sighed. “A therapist.”

Dean belly laughed. “What kind of therapist am I going to talk to that’s not going to have me committed after five minutes?”

“Okay, listen for thirty seconds. You know how Garth is a dentist and takes care of his werewolf buddies because no one else would be able to work on their teeth without running out of the room screaming? Dean?”

“I’m listening.” Dean grunted.

“There are a lot of resources for hunters, too. People that understand the life and the world we exist in. Some have even lived it. You just have to know where to look. I’ve got a therapist.”

“What?” Dean’s lips pursed tight after the question.

“Been meeting with her every other week since around the time I moved to California. She even does her sessions over the phone with clients... all over the country.”

Dean understood the suggestion. “You’ve been talking to this therapist about me?”

“Well…”

“Then, help a brother out and find me another one. Clean slate, if I’m going to do this.”

“Really?” Dean envisioned the slack jawed, wide eyed expression on Sam’s face.

“Ask me again and I’ll change my mind.”

“Alright, alright, you got it. I’ll touch base with a name and contact later tonight.”

“You free around…” Dean glanced at his watch, “like three your time later today?”

“Yeah, why?”

~~~~~

Hours later, Dean sat on Julie’s couch, waiting for Brigida’s lasagna to reheat in the oven. The smell of sauce and mozzarella was making his stomach grumble. He’d called out to Julie, busy with something in the kitchen, when the faucet turned off and the clattering died down. Had asked her a question he knew she wouldn’t expect.

Dean caught the surprise in Julie’s eyes when she’d rounded the corner at the question. Her hand tapped on the doorsill. She looked comfy and edible in a faded pink, tight Spice Girls t-shirt and yoga pants. He recalled her exact words when she kissed him hello, allowing him entrance from the sliding back door with a bottle of red in his hand. My favorite guy and my favorite wine on a Friday night? I’m going to need an extra helping of both after the day I’ve had at work.

Julie’s nose twitched before she answered. “There’s time. Got another 20 minutes until food’s ready. Are you sure?” Julie darted to the entry hall mirror and fussed with her hair.

Dean tried to look annoyed. But, she looked extra cute when she got nervous. “Jules, should I be worried that you’re trying to make yourself pretty for a video call with my brother?”

She turned from the mirror and gave him a grin. “You told me he’s taken. Just want to make a good impression.”

He tapped his lap and relaxed deeper into the cushions of Julie’s couch. “You can make a good impression on me before the call.”

Julie shook her head. “Why?”

Dean frowned. “You don’t want to?”

“Of course I want to.” She shuffled back over to him in her bare feet, wedging into his side on the couch and sitting back on her heels. The warmth of her arms, draped with ease around his chest and shoulders, elicited a tiny purr from his mouth. His arm snuck around her waist. She smiled. He could tell he made her lose her train of thought and grinned, victorious. She tapped his chest and finally continued. “I mean, why all of a sudden did you ask about me meeting Sam?”

Dean shrugged. “He keeps messaging. Asking how you’re doing. If you couldn’t tell, I don’t particularly like being the middleman.” The tease of skin under her t-shirt had his mind wander to more pleasant activities. “Sooner I play catch up with little brother, sooner I can be the man under you.”

Julie crinkled her eyes. “Wouldn’t the proper term be younger? He looks way taller in the…”

Dean cleared his throat and leaned forward on the couch, propelling her back into the cushion. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

A laugh of accomplishment emerged from Julie. She does like to tease. All sorts of ways. Dean smiled at the sound of her chuckling. I gotta bottle that up and save some for later.

Sam connected to the call after about thirty seconds of lag. Dean had time to settle back into his seat and watched Julie sit proper on her ass now, pressing against his arm, not in the video frame. She bit the inside of her lip. Dean whispered, rubbing her thigh with his free hand, “He’s a puppy dog, sweetheart.”

Sam’s face filled the frame. For some reason, he’d trimmed his beard back some. He gave Dean a robotic wave. “Hey, Dean.”

Dean cleared his throat. Sam had made the explicit request earlier today to not be called Sammy on this call. This call that was supposed to appear to Julie like they hadn’t talked in a while. “Sam. How you doin’?” We are the worst actors.

“Good. How are you?”

“Good. How’s Eileen?”

“Good. Not home yet, still at work.”

Dean and Sam nodded in silence at each other. “Oh, hey.” Dean shouted way too loudly. He felt Julie twitch at his unexpected enthusiasm. “I’m over at Julie’s and thought it’d be a good idea for you two to finally meet.”

Sam tucked some hair behind an ear. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Dean nodded, then looked to Julie and offered her the phone to hold. She swallowed. Her cold, nervous fingers slid over his own in the brief exchange. That beaming smile took over her face. Her cheeks flushed pink as she looked at the screen. “Hi, Sam.”

“Hey, Julie. Nice to talk to you.” Sam gave a quick nod and gave her a genuine smile. No acting necessary. “How are you doing?”

“Good.”

“Dean’s told me a lot about you.”

She laughed. “I wish I could say the same.” Dean squeezed her thigh.

“Well, kind of the Winchester way. You’ll have to give him a pass on that one.” Sam tilted his head.

She nodded. “I have heard you’re in school. How’s that going?”

“Kickin’ my ass, along with my part time job. But, almost through.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks. Oh, listen. Eileen and I were thinking you might be able to talk Dean into a visit to California sometime soon.” Dean shot laser eyes at Sam even though he knew he couldn’t see him. This was not part of the script. “He’s kind of a nervous flyer. Might need a partner for the trip.”

Julie glanced at Dean and giggled. “He’s not at all thrilled with that idea.”

“Yeah, I know. Maybe work on him for us?”

She nodded. “I’ll try.”

Sam gave her a thumbs up. “Thanks.”

“I should go check on dinner. Take care.”

“You too.” Sam smiled.

Julie gave Dean a narrowed eye stare with a slight grin when she handed back the phone. She got up and dashed to the kitchen. “Alright. Well, I guess I’ll talk to you soon.” Dean gave Sam the I’m going to kill you look.

Sam laughed. “See you, Dean. Enjoy dinner.”

Dean ended the call with a quick tap. He heard the oven door open and shut.

“It should probably rest for another five or ten minutes.” Her voice entered the room before she did. She strolled over, then stood in front of him on the couch with her hands on her hips. “You too planned that, didn’t you?”

Dean leaned back to look up. “What do you mean?”

“That was way too awkward to not have been staged.”

He pulled her between his open legs by her hips. “Maybe that’s just how we are with each other.”

Julie nodded. “Sure.” She sighed, gave in and climbed on top of his lap, kneeling above him. Her calves squeezed against his legs, ass on his thighs. Fingers kneaded the sides of his neck. “What brought that on?”

He reclined, letting the couch cushion the back of his head. Strokes along her torso made her shirt ride up, exposing more of her tummy with each upward motion. “You’ve been really patient.”

Julie waited for further explanation.

“No questions, no asking for honest answers. Not since the festival.”

“Since you showed me your night moves.” She smiled and squirmed in his lap.

He shifted forward and deeper into the couch, wanting her core heat against him.

Julie shrugged. “I’ve got all the honesty I need right now.”

Dean felt that tug at his heart.

“Come help me set the table?” She started to pull away.

He held her at the waist. “Want to tell you something.”

Julie’s brown eyes softened their inspection. Her body relaxed more into his grip. She stilled.

Dean focused on Ginger Spice for a few seconds, wrapped up in white faux fur over Julie’s right breast. He sighed and stared back up at Julie’s waiting gaze. “My mother. Um. She, uh, she died... when I was four.” Julie’s fingers squeezed into his shoulder. Her eyes reflected pure sympathy. “House fire. My dad, well, he was never the same after that. There’s more. But, I just wanted you to know that part. For now.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Her lips pursed.

He nodded and tore his focus from her eyes. He so wanted to tell her the rest. How Mary came back. How he and Sam had lost her again, too soon.

Julie’s hand rested on the fabric covering his heart. “You’ve carried a lot.” She whispered.

Not gonna cry. His jaw clenched and he took in a tight breath through his nose. “Yeah, well, that’s life, right.”

Her fingers tilted his chin up so he was forced to meet her eyes. She smiled. “I think you’re awesome.”

He chuckled, half a sniffle escaping. “You’re turning me into a mushy mess, you know that, right?”

She frowned. “No, I’m not. You’ll always be big and strong. I just like knowing what’s underneath, that’s all.” Her frown reversed. “There’s so many amazing things underneath.”

He exhaled and gave her all the lust he could muster. “I’m hungry.”

She giggled. “Let’s go eat. And, then, you can eat some more.”

~~~~~

After the lasagna, string bean and potato salad, and a couple glasses of red wine, Dean had eaten Julie out on the couch for dessert.

Julie squirmed out from under him and rose from the couch on wobbly legs. Most of it was due to Dean’s expertise and the other had been her overindulging on the alcohol. He snatched at the air just missing her thigh. “Where are you going?”

She pulled her underwear and yoga pants back up. “I got-gotta clean up, Dean. The dishes are gonna b-be a pain in the ass later.”

He huffed. “I’ll get the stuff in the dishwasher and start it up.” He was behind her in a second, arms encircling her waist. “You get that sweet ass upstairs.” His voice rumbled in her ear. “I’m gonna want to fuck your drunk self silly, and soon.”

She giggled uncontrollably. “Silly fucking? What does that look like?” His warm, wet mouth pressed into the side of her neck. She shivered. The loud far away moan filling her ears was all rising out of her own throat.

“We’re going to find out.” He mumbled. “Can you make it up the steps without hurting yourself or do I have to carry you, sweetheart?”

She waved a hand and twirled in his embrace to face him. His wide eyes smiled back. “I can multitask.” She raised some fingers. “How many am I holding up?”

He chuckled. “I’m not the drunk one.”

“Okay, I’m going.” She waved a hand again at the table remnants and the food on the stove. “Are you sure you can handle all this?”

“I’m awesome at clean-up.” He kissed her lips. She moaned again at the taste of herself on his mouth. “Upstairs. Take it slow.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “And, if you fall asleep, I’m waking you up.”

She clapped her hands. “Yay!”

He shook his head and tapped her ass. “Go.”

It didn’t take her too long to get to her bedroom. She stripped out of her t-shirt and yoga pants and cleaned herself up a bit before throwing on a cool summer nightgown. He’s just going to tear it off once he gets upstairs. She heard a bunch of movement in the kitchen below the bathroom. Dishes clattering, drawers opening, water running. God, he’s a good man. How’d I get so lucky?

Her brain was buzzing. At least that’s what she originally thought was creating the noise until she realized it was her phone. She smiled at the name on the screen and picked up the call on her way into the dark bedroom, the bathroom light on and forgotten. “Cat? How are you doing?”

“Good, Jules. Haven’t heard much from you. Just the quick little texts. How are you doing? Is it too late to call?”

Ugh, now I remember why I didn’t call her back. Some Dean details. Julie sobered a bit. “Lot better. Thanks. And, no, not too late. I can talk for a few minutes.”

“Listen, I know I was being pushy and sticking my nose somewhere I probably shouldn’t have. I apologize. It came out of good intentions.”

Julie sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “I know, sweetie. Just tell me, is my life in danger at the hands of this man?” She already knew the answer.

“Nooo.” Cat dragged out the word.

She just needs to get it out. “Okay, fine, spill. What did you find out?”

“Well, nothing concrete. Jules, it’s like his online existence has been wiped. At least, anything prior to two years ago when he surfaced in Delaware. I don’t know. It’s like those Bourne movies or Bond.”

Julie shook her head. “What do you mean?”

“Like some government cover up.” There was silence for a few seconds. “I did find something on the dark web, though.”

“Is he a porn star? Because I can totally accept that.”

The serious tone faded from Cat’s voice. “You’re drunk. And, he’s there.”

“Yes, on both counts. So, I don’t have a lot of time or much brain function left.”

“Geez. Okay. I did find a Dean Winchester mention. Some repostings of an old blog, related to these… books.”

“Again, are we talking soft core porn? Erotic novels?”

“No, it’s a series of books. The heroes are brothers, Sam and Dean.”

That made Julie’s focus sharpen. “Wait, his name in the book is Dean Winchester?”

“Well, the author never mentions their last names in the books. Apparently, there was a super-obsessed fan that got inside information and the character’s full name. Dean Winchester is mentioned in one of those blog posts. Fan’s online name at the time was samlicker81 and she ran a site called morethanbrothers.net. Her maiden name was Becky Rosen. And, even weirder, she used to live in Pike Creek.”

Too many facts were flying around and her tracking skills were waning. Dean’s name was used for a fictional character in a book series? “Could be a weird coincidence. All of it. I-I mean, you have to admit, the name alone sounds like a pretty cool fucking character.”

“Agree. It could. Anyway, if you want, I can send you a couple of the books I found online. Might make for some fun reading.”

“Ready for round two, sweetheart?” Dean stepped into the bedroom, his deep voice teasing out the question, while pulling the black t-shirt off in one sweeping gesture. The light spilling in from the open bathroom door spotlighted the eagerness on his face and the beauty of his frame. “Kinda hoping you’re passed out so I can wake you up with my tongue.” He chuckled. He spotted her figure sitting in the dark. Once he realized she was on the phone his grin dropped. He straightened and mouthed one word in silence, t-shirt dangling from a wrist. “Brigida?”

Julie shook her head. She was pretty sure Cat had heard every word. “Sure. Send them over.”

Cat sighed. “Alright. Be careful, Jules.”

“Will do. Talk soon.” Julie ended the call and dropped the phone on the nightstand.

Dean’s brows knit together. “Who was that?”

“Cat. Checking in on me.”

The expression on his face eased. “Ah.” An impatient jiggle shook the shirt off his wrist and onto the floor. “Dishwasher’s running. Food’s covered on the stove that’s still too hot to go in the fridge. All the rest is put away. And, you’re still awake.” He smiled.

She smiled back. “All ready for round two.”

~~~~~

Bright sunlight had roused Julie. She reached out to her right with the expectation of running her hands over some part of Dean’s bare chest. One eye opened slowly and peeked over when she didn’t feel him. The spot was empty. The covers tucked back into position, pillow fluffed, and bed made like he’d never rumpled them up during their love making last night. Silly fucking. Julie grinned at the description but the slight background pound of a hangover led to a groan.

She flopped over. Bathroom, maybe? Instead of a shut door, Julie’s eyes gazed over the light blue tiles and toilet from her vantage. A low level panic set in as her thoughts jumbled together. Dean Winchester is a fictional character. Too good to be true. Sitting up, the headache stabbed her in the forehead. She clutched at her chest and frowned at the cotton fabric of the nightgown. He’d pulled this off me as soon as he came to bed. Didn’t he? Her brain was fuzzy. The shirt he’d left on the floor was picked up, gone.

Her mouth was dry, tacky, and coated with the taste of sour, fermented grapes. Shit, how much wine did I drink?

A methodical peel of the sheets and slow deposit of her feet on the hardwood was performed in order to limit the hangover reaction. She shuffled out of the bedroom door, dazed, confused. What if…

“Hey, party girl.” His voice called out from her office. Her heart sped up in gratitude. For a second… She turned to the sound. He was sitting on the pull out couch, his side pressed into the backrest, sipping on a mug of coffee. Fully dressed, still looking a little sleepy. The shades had been pulled all the way up and the sunlight gave him a dreamy appearance. Come on, Jules. He’s always dreamy. She wandered over. On approach, his eyes narrowed. “Need some coffee?”

She scrunched up her eyelids when she stepped into the light. “Maybe.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “I can make you some greasy breakfast. Might help.”

She shook her head, the lips of her mouth smacking together and her stomach moaning at the thought of food entering it. “What are you doing?”

He shrugged. “You kept telling me about this view. Decided to take a look for myself.”

She smiled, staring into those green eyes, blazing bright in the sunshine. Those full lips rose up in that proud, sure smile of his.

Always coming back.

The pounding faded away from Julie’s head. This. This is my little piece of heaven. And, it’s all mine. For now, he’s all mine. “It’s a pretty great view.” She smiled.

His eyes inventoried her from top, to bottom, to top before he responded, “I agree, sweetheart.” He reached for her hand. Pulled her in with the utmost care for a kiss. He whispered again before their lips touched. “I agree.”

THE END

Series Page

#dean winchester fanfiction #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean x ofc #spnfanficpond

2 notes · View notes

fuse2dx · 4 years

Text

June '20

Trials of Mana

Maybe not the highest profile remake Square-Enix have put out in recent memory, but one that was pretty exciting for me. I played a fan translation of the Super Famicom original some 20 years ago, so while it's not particularly fresh in my head, there's just enough there to enjoy some infrequent little pangs of nostalgia. The move to 3D has made for some welcome changes to to combat - jumping adds a vertical element to combat that wasn't present before, and enemy specials being clearly telegraphed and avoidable puts a little more control in your hands. There's still a good amount of 16 bit jank though - combo timing feels unreliable, the camera's often a pain, there's plenty of questionable hit detection, and you definitely wouldn't want to leave your fate solely in the hands of your party's AI. Willing to put most of this aside, what actually mattered more to me was that it still had the kind of playful, breezy nature, it looks and plays nicely, and that it progresses at a nice clip. Party selection will change the way you fight moment-to-moment, but only provides minor and very brief deviance from the main storyline, most of which is the kind of schlocky cartoon villainy that will have you looking for a skip button before it would illicit any kind of emotional response. But you know what? Overall, I still enjoyed it a lot.

So while it may not be revolutionising the action RPG, what it does show is that Square-Enix is capable of acknowledging their history of previously untranslated works, and that they also now have a pretty good template for getting a B-tier remake of such titles out in a reasonable timeframe. Where do I send my wish list in to, team?

Sayonara Wild Hearts

As a one-liner found on the back of the box, 'A pop album video game' is about as on-the-nose as it gets. The old "it's not for everyone" adage is definitely applicable, and its defiance of traditional video game metrics is not in any way subtle. How sophisticated is the gameplay? Not particularly. How long is it? Not very. But how does it make you feel? Now you're talking. It presents a simple but deeply relatable story of a broken heart, and leads from there with a catchy tune into a fast and colourful onslaught of new ideas, perspectives, and concepts. That is to say: it has the potential to make you feel all kinds of things.

One especially celebratory note was how well the game is structured to fit into the album structure it boasts about. Stages flow quickly into one another, and while shorter, more compounding numbers are often about introducing new ideas and themes, moving on to the next is a few simple button presses and a brief, well-hidden loading window away. Inevitably there are more standout stages, those that feel like the hit singles; the longer, verse-chorus-verse type joints that grant the space for more fleshed out visual story telling, and that smartly synchronise their percussive hits, soaring vocals and the like to appropriate beats of play. A lot of the gameplay can easily (and cynically) be reduced to "it's an endless runner", but to liken this to a cheap re-skin of a confirmed hit-maker is to wilfully dismiss so much of what it does better and so much beside. You can play it on damn near everything, and for the time it takes, it's well worth doing.

Twinkle Star Sprites

I've meant to play this countless times before. I've almost certainly passed it by while strolling through arcades, the Saturn version has never been hoovered up into my collection, and the PS2 collection this particular version belongs to - ADK Damashii - is no longer a cheap addition to anyone's library. The digital version of it for PS4 however was however recently on sale at a point that saw me receive change from a fiver. David Dickinson would be proud.

Having now credit-fed my way through the game's brief arcade mode, there's no doubt in my mind that the nuance of its systems are going to be glossed over in this rather ham-fisted appraisal. At least at face value, there's plenty of character and charm to appreciate in its colourful and cutesy style. As a two-player, vertically split-screen title, its a pretty clean break from a lot of a shooter's typical characteristics - rather than 6(ish) stages of hell, its a series of one on one battles - and all the better suited to 2 players for it. As enemy waves come at you, taking them out in chains can generate attacks to the other player; however if these attacks are too small then it's entirely possible they'll be killed off again, and an even bigger attack will come straight back at you. Think of a bit like competitive Tetris, but with shooting rather than puzzling. It's a neat and curious little game, that's likely best experienced properly, with a friend on the other side of the sofa to hurl abuse at.

Blasphemous

Let's get the lazy-but-effective description out of the way: it's a 2D MetroidVania Souls-like. You've got "that" type of map, definitely-not-bonfires and definitely-not-Estus Flasks. You are encouraged to return to your body upon death, the combat system is very reliant on parries and dodge-rolls, and there's even a dedicated "lore" button to use on every item you pick up.

While this likely sounds dismissive, it's more about addressing the elephant in the room. To give some context, these are both types of games that I love, and the end product here has done a pretty good job of bringing them together. The exploration is pleasantly open - gatekeeping is typically done less by specific items and abilities, and more by just which areas you're brave enough to poke your head into. It's a little bit of a shame that most of the new abilities have to be switched out for others rather than adding to a core arsenal of moves, but at the same time its base setup gives you plenty of ways to deal with any number of combat scenarios. This is of course best demonstrated by the boss encounters, which are wonderful affairs - big, gruesome, thoughtful variations on approaches to combat, which drop in at a nice pace to keep you from ever getting too cocky. The theming in general is wonderful, and the name is certainly appropriate - there's a lot of deep catholic inspiration in its gorgeous backdrops and environments, but then layered on top are some chilling elements of religious iconography, along with a cast of disturbing devotees and martyrs to sufficiently unsettle you. It's arguably a small intersection of the gaming population that it'll appeal to, but if you're in there, it's a real treat.

Death Come True

The first thing you see upon starting is the game's central character breaking right through the fourth wall to tell you directly not to stream the game or to share anything that might spoil the story. The first rule of Death Come True, and so on. I consider myself fairly well versed in such etiquette, so to then have the screenshot function entirely disabled for the whole game felt a little like being given a slap on the wrists for a crime I had no intention of committing. I don't envy the team trying to market it, that's for sure.

The reasoning behind this is clear at least - it's a game that is in total service of its plot. Consider a mash-up of a 'Choose your own adventure' book and a series of full-motion videos, and you're mostly there. Unless you were to walk away from the controller or perhaps fall asleep, there seems very little chance that your play time will deviate from the 3 hour estimate - which will certainly put some people off, but is understandable given the production values, and personally, quite welcome in the first place. In terms of replay value, there are branching paths that a single route will obviously skip: as an example of this, in looking up a screenshot to use in lieu of taking my own, I found a promotional image of the central cast, only to not recognise one of them at all. One thing that such a short run-time does ensure though, is that minute-for-minute, there's plenty of action; without wanting to speak about the story itself (rather than in fear of reprise for doing so, I might add), it kicks off with plenty of intrigue, shortly thereafter switching to full-on action, and then strikes a pretty fine balancing act between the two for its run time. It doesn't get quite as deep or as complex as I would've hoped given the team's pedigree, but I do like it, and think it'd actually be a pretty fun title to play with folks who normally don't concern themselves with games. By the same token, it's probably not for the 'hardcore' types looking for something to string out over dozens of hours.

Persona 5: Dancing in Starlight

After the generous main course that was Persona 5 Royal, I figured that I'd follow up with dessert. I did however wait until a weekend where I knew my girlfriend would be away, so as not to trigger any unpleasant flashbacks to looped battle themes, and the chirpy, indecipherable voices of Japanese schoolkids that made it so painful to endure as a non-gaming cohabitant.

Immediately, it's clear that very little has changed since Persona 4's take on the rhythm action genre. The core game, while still functional and fairly enjoyable, hasn't changed a lick. Perhaps the most notable improvement to the package as a whole is in scaling back on a dedicated story mode, and instead just having a series of uninspired but far less time-consuming set of social link scenes that pad things out. The biggest flaw is repeated wholesale though, in that trying to stretch out noteworthy tracks from a single game's playlist into a dedicated music game leads to repetition - and there is a much less prolific gathering of artists involved in remixes this time. I'd be willing to wager that it's a very similar story once again with Persona 3: Dancing in Moonlight, but I'm not about to ruin a perfectly good dinner to start with the sweet just to find out, if you'll excuse a second outing of the metaphor. Still, again compare these to Theatrhythm though - where Square-Enix plundered the Final Fantasy series in its entirety, along with spin-offs and other standalone titles to put together a library of music worthy for the one single game. Cobble the tunes from Personas 3-5 together into one game, and you're still coming up very short by comparison.

#trials of mana #seiken densetsu 3 #sayonara wild hearts #twinkle star sprites #blasphemous #death come true #persona 5 dancing in starlight

1 note · View note

badmcuposts · 5 years

Text

Lifeboat

TW: Suicide, Major character death, minor character death, kidnapping, childhood sexual assault, rape, pedophilia, child pornography, orphans, guns, alcohol mention, self-centered homophobia, intrusive thoughts

Based on the song from heathers. Peter feels like it’s finally time to stop the pain he’s been in for years, before it continues to get worse.

Peter will always remember the first time he cried into this pillow. Only 6 at the time, he celebrated the anniversary of his mommy and daddy’s death by sobbing in his bedroom, alone. He will always remember the crushing feeling that began to leak inside of him that day, thick as black tar. Mainly because it never stopped.

I float in a boat

In a raging black ocean

It wasn’t much later that he met a young boy by the name of Eugene Thompson, who insisted that everyone refer to him as “Flash”. After a particularly bad asthma attack at recess, leading to Peter having to be carried by a teacher to an awaiting ambulance, Flash began to berate Peter over anything he could find wrong with his classmate. After all, Peter was an easy target. If he tried to throw a punch, he was likely to collapse. But once the slight jeers began to fester into full-on beatings, things got messier, there were more black eyes to cover up, more scratches to hide behind sleeves, and more bloody noses to clot in the school bathroom. Each day Peter felt the black tar in his stomach rise a little higher.

Low in the water

With nowhere to go

A few weeks after Peter’s seventh birthday, his aunt and uncle began going on dates again. They got him a babysitter, a young man of 23 years by the name of Steven Westcott. Steven was a fun babysitter, and liked to be called “Skip”. Skip would play games with Peter, starting with simple rounds of uno. They were soon best friends, as far as Peter’s young mind could tell. He always said that Peter was the smartest person in the world, calling him “Einstein” as a nod to the boy’s intellect. However, soon the games became more touchy. Switching from uno to twister, to cuddling by the tv, to cuddling in Ben and May’s bed, to Peter laying naked as Skip took pictures of him, to Skip laying on top of Peter while they were both naked. After 8 months of abuse Peter finally slipped up. He accidentally mentioned the ‘games’ to his Aunt May, who called the authorities. Inside of the pedophile’s apartment were thousands of pictures of uncomfortable and nude young boys in suggestive poses. And in a special folder, Peter Parker’s innocence was stored with a paper clip and stolen lock of the boy’s hair. Skip Westcott would go to jail, but the ghosted feeling of his hands would never leave Peter’s skin. And whenever those long gone hands would touch him once again, thousands of buckets of tar added to his chest.

The tiniest lifeboat

With people I know

Peter tried to ignore it. He tried to be a big boy and suck it up. But by his tenth birthday, he began to find his failures on his own. He no longer needed Flash, it was like his mind had become his own bully. Like the way his best friend made him feel butterflies when they would talk on the phone at night, which meant he must be some freak of nature. Because Peter Parker was looking at Ned Leeds the way he was supposed to look at a girl. And with each moment that passed with his newfound crush’s obliviousness, another drop of tar joined the raging sea in his stomach.

Cold, clammy, and crowded

The people smell desperate

When Peter was 12, he saw a young girl be grabbed and thrown into the back of a van. As it quickly zoomed off, he stood there. Still. Frozen in fear. His fight or flight failed as he stared off at the speeding vehicle. When he finally managed to gather the courage to move and call his uncle for help, it had been over seven minutes. They called the police, and hailed a taxi to the station. The men in dark blue uniforms had Peter tell his story thousands of times, making sure they had every detail just right. Of course they didn’t believe him the first couple times, who would? He was just a kid. A stupid, ridiculous, puny little kid. They said they believed him. They were lying. After all, why else would they have pulled up security cameras “just to be sure”?The girl was identified, and her parents were called with the bad news. The young couple had been sobbing, begging for someone to find their baby, but the car’s untraceable plate and clever route led to only dead ends in the search. 8 year old Pamela Norris was never seen again, but Peter would always imagine the worst. Perhaps she, too, began feeling hands on her stomach and neck. But in this version of the story, Peter wasn’t the victim again, he was the witness. He should have manned up and done something, anything. And each time he would imagine the faces of her parents, the way they had cried into each other’s arms after they were brought into the police station, and the tar would fill just that much higher.

We’ll sink any minute

So someone must go

He would never admit it, but the sudden urge to swallow a billion containers of ibuprofen wasn’t overwhelmingly surprising. He’d heard of this feeling, met people online who felt the pull and tug of their own brain, but couldn’t figure out how to control it. Something about the relief, the way his stomach stopped aching and his head stopped spinning, made Peter crave the chalky taste of pills. For once, he could control all of the pain in his life, and take the easier parts away. All he had to do was take one more pill, one more pill, maybe five, maybe ten, maybe he’ll just down the whole bottle. If only he could get away with it, he’d do anything for that sweet relief.

The tiniest lifeboat

Full of people I know

When high school started, Peter thought the worst of his problems were over. He was fourteen now, just barely. Being that in his short experience with life he had already hit rock bottom, there was nowhere to go but up. Well, except for the fact that he had brought a shovel. When Ben took him on that midnight run to the nearest bodega, nobody had expected for a petty thief with a gun to shoot a bullet through an innocent bystander’s head. But then there was Peter, holding his uncle as the older man bled out. And the tar rose ten inches, one for each tear Peter shed.

Everyone’s pushing

Everyone’s fighting

Storms are approaching

There’s nowhere to hide

A mere week later, Peter had been convinced to go on a school field trip for a sense of normality to return. Instead, Parker Luck decided to steal all of Peter’s normality in the form of a radioactive spider bite. Peter would spend days throwing up in his bedroom, hoping for the sweet release of death. When he was finally well again, he would be stuck with an overwhelming sense of anxiety. He could hear everything, see everything, know everything. And if a few kids whispered about him only a few classrooms over, Peter would have no choice but to listen. It was as if Flash’s words had become inescapable, now spread in a similar fashion by different students. Even kids Peter had thought were nice were soon revealed to him as snakes. He wished that spider had just killed him, because the tar was beginning to rise up his throat.

If I say the wrong thing

Or I wear the wrong outfit

They’ll throw me right over the side

Peter was angry, so angry. He didn’t do anything right, ever. He had been given an opportunity by Tony Stark to work under his supervision, and he messed up. If he had just been a little bit better he could have proved himself. To Tony, to May, to the world. But life didn’t work like that, huh? Because some evil force let him be stupid enough to be hit across the airport like a rag doll. Someone out there was playing him with a voodoo doll and he didn’t like it. Because this wasn’t a game anymore, this was his one chance to be a real hero and he failed. He had owed himself this. For the sake of every child in New York City, he should have been better. He had been benched because he wasn’t good enough, he would never be good enough. He was probably only allowed to keep the suit so Mr. Stark could laugh at him from the cameras, like everyone else did. As fate played her twisted games, Peter felt another flow of tar spill up his esophagus.

I’m hugging my knees

And the Captain is pointing

Well, who made her captain?

So now, as Peter holds onto his pillow, he reminds himself why he is here. Just why his awful horrible terrible handwriting has added a thousand apologies to the once pristine surface of his favorite pillow, now stained in black ink. An explanation for each person he owes one to. And as he drops the pillow behind him, to be found after all is done, he prepares himself at the edge of the building. Finally, Peter lets the last drop of tar begin to overflow into his mouth, and lets himself fall.

Still, the weakest must go

The body of 16 year old Peter Parker was found on the sidewalk by a group of men walking home from a bar. The designated driver of the group called the police, and the news spread like wildfire. Midtown Tech hosted an assembly to honor the life of a straight A student, People from all over queens who knew Peter in his life cried, and Tony Stark personally appeared at what seemed to be the funeral of a random boy whom he had never met. And within a week of the burial, May Parker was found dead in her bathroom, having overdosed to stop the pain of losing the boy she had raised as her own son.

The tiniest lifeboat

Full of people I know

#skip westcott #tom holland #peter parker #spiderman #spiderman fanfiction #peter parker fic #angst fic #peterned #my fics

125 notes · View notes