#this took to much time and effort for such a mediocre result

[oxygenunavailable]

made this about a year ago. lumpy boy but he’s mine.

[starstruckbyacomet]

REVIEW: 9-1-1 Season 8 Never Finds Its Rhythm

I just read a review of 9-1-1 Season 8 by Katey Stoetzel. Once again, I agree with every single thing she wrote.

It actually makes me sad, because these are some of what she mentioned:

For much of this season, it didn’t seem like there was ever a plan in place. Many ideas feel hastily thrown together and fail to deliver on a larger scale.

Episodically, the season succeeded more than any overarching story.

A lot of Eddie’s story this season feels like a result of not knowing what to do with him, and it’s become very obvious on screen by how little effort is being put into writing him a decent storyline.

For Hen, the rest of 9-1-1 Season 8 was a series of inconsequential moments.

Maddie and Chimney (Kenneth Choi) also lacked in their stories this season, hardly getting much to do in the first half. (Because Brad Torrence took up most screen time in the first half of the season 😒)

9-1-1 never seems interested in exploring their characters to that level of depth in 9-1-1 Season 8, especially for Buck.

Great performances kept 9-1-1 Season 8 tethered while its storylines didn’t. (Exactly! The writing is garbage in many ways. If the show didn't have exceptional actors, it would not survive this long).

However, what hit me the most is this paragraph:

If 9-1-1 Season 8 gets credit for anything, it’s for boldly killing off a main character. Bobby’s death, while tragic, was the most interesting thing this show has done in a while. It shakes up the status quo for every character, something 9-1-1 needs. But by the end of the season, it ultimately falls flat. The three-episode grieving arc to close the season did not live up to expectations, much like the rest of what 9-1-1 Season 8 promised. 

Bobby's death is arguably the most important storyline in the show so far. In my opinion, it's even more important than the Begin episodes. This is the one storyline where Tim Minear was supposed to deliver his best. Yet, the landing is still flat and disappointing.

I've seen a lot of major character death and the subsequent grief in other TV shows. They are always handled with care. Although heartbreaking and often devastating, those storylines are among the best I've ever seen, except this one.

If this is Tim's best effort, I have little confidence in how he will deliver Season 9 and beyond. Especially because I suspect that he was forced to let Peter go. I don't think Tim actually has a clear path about what to do with the remaining characters after Bobby's gone.

There are moments when I feel that Tommy Kinard is trapped within this show. This is one of those moments. Tommy is a great character, and he's held hostage by a mediocre writer whose writing is so unreliable, that he has to rely on gimmicks like outrageous disaster scenes and shipbaiting to keep people interested.

Tim's shipbaiting has ruined several characters in the show. He made some fans dislike Maddie. How come Maddie told Buck to call Eddie, but when Buck asked her should he call Tommy, she told him to learn to live alone? Didn't she just tell Buck to call Eddie? So, she thinks it's better for Buck to live alone than being with Tommy, but Buck doesn't have to live alone when he could call Eddie? If Maddie doesn't like Buck to be with Tommy, she needs to say it out loud. No need to use 'Buck has to learn to live alone' as an excuse. It makes her look like a wishy-washy character who lacks a backbone.

Tim also made Buck a man-child who couldn't decide for himself when it's about Tommy. After Tommy broke up with him, Buck repeatedly asked other people whether he should call Tommy or not. Why couldn't he decide for himself? Then he used Tommy as distraction from his loneliness, and hurt Tommy's feeling by making Tommy feel like a cheap hook up. After that, instead of apologize, he only called Tommy when he needed a favor. Tommy deserves a better partner than this Buck.

Last but not least, Tim ruined Eddie's character because of his baiting. First he made Eddie hurt — and ultimately broke up with his girlfriends, using Eddie's undying love to Shanon as an excuse. It seemed romantic in the surface, but actually he made Eddie look like an asshole. I think Tim just wants to make Eddie perpetually single to feed the Buddie delusion. It's also why he made Buck usually dumped by his LIs.

However, after the backlash, ABC seemed to oppose the Buddie baiting. Then the show took a 180⁰ turn. Eddie repeatedly became hostile towards Buck, probably to thwart any romantic accusation about them. Unfortunately, once again the show made Eddie look like an asshole in the process.

At moments like this, I half-wish that Tim let Tommy go with a happy ending, so I can also let this show go. The fanfictions treat him better than this mediocre show anyway.

[sereinlikessleep]

Little rant about Grusha because I had time

So uh listen to my ramblings I had nothing better to do and I’m bad at articulating my points and thoughts 😭 ok cool? Cool

Rant about Grusha because I have nothing better to do. So like I’ve been noticing a lot of people are dissatisfied with Grusha’s injury and it’s been bothering me a tad because the main reason is that it isn’t lining up with their head canons or the severity isn’t enough. That’s fine feel that way but people are treating it like Grusha’s being dramatic and while I agree the little shite can be dramatic at times with all of his ice puns he’s not wrong. As someone who has a former athletic background and has dabbled in snowboarding a bit and has multiple people around me who do snowboarding on the regular I feel qualified to give my 2 cents on the topic. So based on the anime Grusha has a leg injury and as someone who has and has a family with a loooooong history of knee injuries it isn’t a small thing. When your sport requires balance the knees are crucial, while I sustained a minor knee injury for pushing myself too hard in running I have family and friends who had to go through literal years of physical therapy and muscle training and they still can’t achieve the same results they had before and after injury. And that’s why this injury is so big for Grusha, it’s been well established that this man is a perfectionist and cares about results more than anything else. (IE why he quit snowboarding and failed Liko) I also don’t think people understand how fast snowboarding is, a turn that Grusha took at the speed he was going (average snow boarders go 30-40 mph since Grusha was at a pro comp we can assume he was going at least 50-65 mph) and the fact that it was his leg got hurt likely meant he fell feet first or landed on his knees which makes the likelihood that he broke his leg even higher. A close friend of mine was snowboarding and tripped while she was doing it and she’s not pro, she was doing it casually but she landed so hard that she cracked her helmet into 2 pieces and would’ve died if she wasn’t wearing it. Lesson take away is that snowboarding is dangerous and Grusha is very lucky he only ended up with the injury he has now. 

Now comes the hard part after a sports injury, physical therapy. A broken leg is going to require months of physical therapy at the least and knowing Grusha and how closely his identity as a snowboarder was this was probably hell for him and when he was finally cleared to go back he can’t get the same results he used to get. I’ve seen this happen, someone can’t get the results they used to and because you’re just trapped in this cycle of going from the best to only mediocre and you can only go as far as mediocre. For someone who was once considered the 2nd best snowboarder in the world this has to hurt. I didn’t mention it but even after physical therapy you still have to be careful because now you’re more at risk of re-injuring that part of your body. My cousin used to be good at basketball but she had a knee injury and had to quit because she couldn’t keep up and she was always close of injuring her knee again. For someone who likely did snowboarding almost 24/7 much of Grusha’s identity was intertwined with the sport not being able to return to his glory days is world shattering. Now he has to find something else to do, and pokemon battling was that next thing, he obviously threw himself into it with the same and possibly more effort than snowboarding because this is the one thing he has left and cannot let it go. So forgive him if he sounds dramatic or his injury wasn’t as sever as you expected it to be just know that Grusha is a perfectionist who values results more than anything else, snowboarding is dangerous, injuries suck and can last long times and be career ending. Thank you for coming to my ted talk :3

[beesmygod]

"A GHOST STORY" IS A WEBCOMIC I MAKE THAT I WILL BE RE-POSTING, GRADUALLY.

the top row is from 2013, the bottom row is from the 2018 re-draw. while the panel progression in the re-draw is much better (as well as the consistency in sound effects and gutters), i think it was a mistake to change the black eyed kid's sniffing posture to the one where he's not clearly trying to get a big whiff of the air. whiff whifff...like an animal in the Savannah.

posting this so far has been making me feel very, very sad. but i have a feeling that most of my really bad feelings are connected more to the generalized anxiety of having to put work i no longer stand by on display for people to judge. these posts are, ostensibly, supposed to entice you into reading the comic that has consumed my life for 10 years (and i think about near constantly). but the idea of trying to convince people that something i made is good enough to spend their time on is a really stomach-churning task. it is frightening. i do not like myself enough to ask people to make investments in me both financially and in terms of their free time.

also the world at large is very bad right now. it is hard to navigate the world and "hustle" when everyone is doing so poorly and you know it's annoying to be subjected to someone's mediocre creation that they have outsized feelings about. the question i always ask myself when i hit print on my comic is "is this something i would read?" and the answer is still no. but i'm getting closer. i feel like i've been honing a knife edge for a decade but it's nowhere close to being up to the standard i want. but it's not like the knife isn't getting sharper. it is. but is it beneficial to ask others to help me sharpen it? what are they getting out of it?

regardless, this is the comic i was capable of making at the time. both times. the top row pages reflect the best efforts of someone working a desk job and going to school and the bottom row reflects the efforts of someone who worked on these pages in between their usual 2x a week update schedule (when possible, the re-draw took several years to make)

why am i making "A Ghost Story"? first, it was because it was bursting at the seams with ideas and had the energy to execute them. even if the end result was sloppy, it was freed from my mind. now its because i can see It. i can see the arc the story and the characters are taking and i want to shepherd them there. there's something at the end there, if not for me than for them. just to get them to where they need to go and where they need to be. is that enough? these things that only exist and matter to me actually hold on that thought is way too big for this already huge post. maybe next time.

short version of that long thought, for now: i am deeply troubled by wondering why people do the things they do, and push my dolls around to understand the actions of other people and also myself. there's more to people than the surface and rudimentary opening chapters of my comic were looking to explore. i needed to go deeper. i want to know what drives people. and i want to make people laugh while doing it.

---

♥ read the comic: A Ghost Story ♥ support the comic for as little as $1 a month on Patreon ♥ pay what you want for the re-draw of the first chapter on itch.io

you can block the tag "#AGS repost" to keep this off your dash

[tumblingxelian]

The Semblance of Chloe Bourgeois

So, while currently on an ML hyperfixation, my decade long love of RWBY has never faded. As a result I tend to love looking other franchises characters and thi8nking about their potential Semblances.

IE, the manifestation of their Soul in the form of a power, usually awakened either naturally through time & effort or via trauma/survival which serves as a window into the characters identity & if it evolves, their growth.

This led to Chloe thoughts, as it typical of me.

I know most people give her a spin on Venom and that's fair, tis a very believable Semblance. But I also think it doesn't dig deep enough because Chloe's ties to paralysis came from a Miraculous, not herself.

No, what I think Chloe's Semblance would be is a form if mimicry!

This is quite possible in canon, book protag Velvet Scarletina can mimic people's fighting styles & created a weapon that lets her project hard light copies of their weapons to utilize it best.

We also have backstory character, Marcus Black who could literally steal people's Semblances, doing so to his son as a means of control... It didn't pan out & Mercury beat him to death XD

So there's several ways it could manifest but all of them would align well with Chloe. Who built so much of her identity around copying her mother, trying to adopt roles to suit a situation over "Being herself" and tried to copy Ladybug as well. This is a deep part of her character and it doesn't need to be healthy to be a Semblance.

What's more, it could easily factor into all of her self esteem issues. From lacking a strong sense of self. To a lack of real ego as she knows "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery mediocrity can pay to greatness". Said Semblance likely has limits. But! But it would be impressive enough that she could boast about it on a surface level.

More below:

1: Combat Style mimicry: This would let Chloe memorize and mimic how people move, talk and fight. Whether these memories are perfect and last forever, or are only one use, or can be lost by simply forgetting them is up in the air.

But the end result is it would definitely allow her to coast a bit through training, but also leave her feeling she lacks a distinct style in herself. Let alone the fact it likely feels like she'll never 'master' any of them, just keep collecting little stolen fragments of what others have.

2: Soul Witness: Just by seeing a persons Semblance, Chloe is able to essentially recreate it. However her version is watered down, weaker and almost certainly temporary if not one use, or perhaps only lasting a day.

This is again, extremely potent in theory, and in a combat School or Academy or tournament environment, its more than a little broken. Because so long as she has Aura she can keep switching up Semblances. But at the end she knows the imitation is weaker & she is always left empty at the end of the day.

3: Soul Touch: Like the above, Chloe can copy people's Semblances, but here she needs to physically touch them to do so. This allows for a perfect copy, but not instant mastery or control & as before likely fades with time or will be replaced by the next Semblance she takes.

Powerful and theoretically versatile, she has plenty to be proud of, but it is also only as strong as the last Semblance she took, only as effective as Chloe herself is, only as good of a decision to take it as she made. So it keeps coming back to Chloe not being enough.

Conclusion: As I said above, Semblances can evolve, Lie Ren went from subtly empathic and able to suppress his & others emotions to a full on empath capable of perceiving and understand other people's emotions at a glance as he overcame his unhealthy coping mechanisms.

I am unsure how a Semblance like mimicry would evolve if Chloe came into having a better head space regarding her own identity, or the Semblance itself. Though its possible it wouldn't need to change, but merely be her perspective that needs an update. Like how Qrow came to realize his Semblance that caused passive misfortune had more to do with his own self loathing than it did it being like a curse.

But those are just my thoughts, hope they were interesting!

[valeriefauxnom]

Euden's Moral Confusion of Self

Let me introduce this rant/analysis (rantnalysis?) in a more humorous way: did you know that the act Euden did for the circus event never was specified? No, it never was, but I have a pretty good guess what he excels at: mental gymnastics!

Jokes aside, Euden had a very... robust set of tendencies that were not quite so healthy, and sometime in the future I'll probably go over more of 'em. First, though, I'm attempting to tackle his deceptively-poor self-image. Of course, long post ahead!

To start framing what I'm getting at, I'd like to cite the scene I used in a previous rant, wherein Euden declares his efforts to continue the path he's pursuing 'selfish.'

It's a very small footnote of his overall character, but it is consistent. He, in short, has flipped his (well-known) tendencies toward self-sacrifice and otherwise protecting other people from a 'virtue' to a 'vice'. We can see this in anything from Jurota's to Mitsuhide's stories, the latter wherein he wins her otherwise unwinnable game by framing his act of saving villagers as 'selfish' instead of 'selfless' to beat Mitsuhide's "no acting for others' sake rule" in her Uprising Game.

Taken to its logical extreme, this means that pretty much all those times Euden was being recklessly selfless or otherwise sacrificial, he himself views it as a completely selfish action. There is something to be said, in that he's not entirely incorrect: he is acting because acting that way makes him feel good/reaffirms his moral code, but past a certain point this view is...harmful.

For Euden also outright will raise a rare criticism to those being selfish to the point of endangering others. It is a 'bad' thing to be selfish in his mind, especially when it starts endangering others, and understandably so. I think largely that's a view many cultures share.

Still, it is a twisted little part of a psyche when you can frame any degree of self-sacrifice as being selfish in my view. In what probably will be another rant/analysis someday, Euden seems to have a lot of trouble with identifying himself as his own person, on his own merits, even before Nedrick entered the picture. Even in a bit of a lighthearted note, he rarely identifies himself as a prince or otherwise someone held in esteemed position very quickly, often leading to miscommunication and surprise on many people's behalf to learn that this teenager is actually lord of the land, like Elisanne experienced first when she took him as Zethia's manservant.

But I digress. The end result of that is the same: Euden seldom voices thoughts about himself as a person, but even rarer are positive ones, and this is a prime example of it. He's cultivated an self-image of mediocrity, 'nothing special', and with him flipping 'virtue' to 'vice' with his extraordinary (say, supernatural) selflessness, he can't even take some esteem in "I think I'm kind/generous/good at giving back" we might throw around in a 'introduce yourself to the class' introduction.

We can see the overall message I'm trying to get across plain in Gala Leif's story. Here's two notable highlights for my ideas:

(Oh, Luca, yes they do have 'unique personalities', and they're all their own unique messes. I love them, though, disasters that they are.)

Ahem. Here, Euden lays out plain that he views his desire for a future to be built without sacrifices and making everyone happy as selfish, himself as arrogant instead of kind, and otherwise unremarkable in any other sense.

All in all, though, this starts to paint a sad picture. What good qualities Euden does have, he flips to negative attributes instead (Selflessness=selfishness, developed sense of right/wrong/kindness=arrogance, etc) and what negative attributes he does have are kept as-is, and neutral attributes are viewed as standard for anyone and not something that should be praised (he sometimes flips 'positive' to 'neutral' attributes instead, though, sometimes attributing his selflessness to nothing special or something expected of everyone).

So...yeah. Euden doesn't hint to it often, but he's got a bit of a twisted view regarding himself, something I'm sure has no negative repercussions in any other aspect of his life...(not foreshadowing at all, no, no...) He goes beyond modesty and into self-deprecation. Even worse, he has it perfectly straight when it comes to dealing with other people. Self-sacrifice is a virtue, even if it was done out of duty or pride, etc. This mess of morality is all for him and him alone. And that's kinda messed up.

If you've stuck around this long, though, thank you! I hope I'm not spamming the tag or anything. I guess all this new access to be able to articulate my many non-fanfic thoughts on Dragalia where people will actually understand them has been too tempting of late! I'd also like to reiterate that I'm always down to discuss Dragalia (I miss it!), so if you've questions/comments/rants you want to ask about it (or Tales of the Abyss, a lot of other JRPGs I'm not listing here, or my fanfics) feel free!

[micah-mohammed]

THIS ESSAY WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE IF YOU LET IT.

Ever since I was capable of deep thinking, I’ve wanted to share my insights in the hope they would help others as they’ve helped me. But I never seemed to follow through. It felt as if something was holding me back, preventing me from taking action. I thought maybe I just wasn’t that interested in writing, so I did what many others do—I chalked it up to “this isn’t for me” or “I’m just procrastinating.” And just like that, I’d fall into inaction, letting unproductive days pass by, each filled with the anxiety and resentment that lingered beneath the surface, whether I realized it or not.

The problem wasn’t some dark, magical force like procrastination conspiring against me. It was something deeper: a short-term, failure-oriented mindset. In my case, I wanted to be a writer, but I was stuck in a mindset where all I could see were potential failures. I imagined uploading my work only to see zero views, no followers, no likes—maybe even some demotivating hate comments and scrutiny. I focused on all the reasons not to act, from biased algorithms to intense competition.

You might say, “But those concerns are valid. Your first content likely won’t gain much traction, and established authors have years of experience.” And you’d be right, to a point. But here’s where the logical fallacy lies:

I was viewing results at a fixed point in time, like looking at a single dot on a graph without considering the trajectory. I didn’t see that success isn’t about instant results; it’s about perseverance over time. Every pursuit has its initial ‘test’—a period where you get little to no results despite your efforts. This test filters out those who merely wish for success from those who are willing to act and make sacrifices to achieve it. Who knows how many journals a writer must write before gaining traction, how many songs an artist must create before building a fan base, or how many paintings a painter must produce before receiving the recognition they deserve?

The result of this test determines whether you’re deserving of success. If you don’t pass, it’s likely due to a failure mindset that focuses on why things won’t work out and fixates on the initial period of no results. But if you pass, it’s because you embraced a winner’s mindset. You see the upward trajectory, understanding that the initial quiet period is just a filter to separate the deserving from the undeserving. With this mindset, you view obstacles as opportunities. What others see as demotivating comments, you see as valuable critiques to help you learn and improve.

Only those with a winner’s mindset can have hope, and with hope comes belief, and with belief comes action. Action develops vision—the ability to see the upward trajectory. Vision leads to growth, and growth breeds confidence. This confidence transforms you into an unstoppable force.

A wise man, Dr. Jordan Peterson, once said that the purpose of life is found in the pursuit of excellence. I invite you to start pursuing whatever art you admire—whether it’s pottery, painting, singing, dancing, or music creation—and do it as if your life depends on it, because your legacy does. I recommend watching the movie Whiplash (2014), which delves into the role of obsession in achieving greatness. Remember, those who don’t pursue their dreams and merely exist are like walking corpses. As Benjamin Franklin said, most people die at 25; we just don’t bury them until 75. Every day a mediocre person lives, he becomes more bitter, filled with hatred, regret, and resentment because deep down, he knows he’s not being the person he could be if he just took action. These emotions only grow stronger with age as the realization sets in that time is running out.

Whoever you are reading this, know that you don’t need to create a famous piece of art to be a winner or one of the greats. To the mothers reading this, you are already a creator—you’ve created life. To the fathers, you are winners too, having built stable, healthy, productive families. Recognize the art you’ve already created in this short life. Remember this if you forget everything else: We Are All Creators. The extent to which you are a creator is within your control. It’s up to you whether you craft trivial or profound, noble art pieces worthy of who you are. So go on now—better your life, and create, and create well.

Author: Micah I.H. Mohammed

Journal Entry: 21/08/2024

[chris-aok]

Notetaking

If you had told me years ago that I would now enjoy taking notes, I would have told you to get the hell out of my face with that mess.

I've always recognized the value of taking notes, and while I would take notes at times, I can't say I much enjoyed taking notes, knew how to best take notes, or how to get the most value out of my notes.

In fact, I would argue I'm still mediocre at taking notes, but thanks to some technology and a few habits I've developed, I've gotten better at it, enjoy it more, and get more value out of it than I did for years.

The first rule of notetaking is: Assume you will forget everything. Write your notes accordingly.

The second rule of notetaking is: Don't write everything down. Write the most salient points down so you can connect the dots and make the necessary connections when re-reading your notes later.

The third rule of notetaking is: Assume you are writing your notes for a complete stranger. Make your notes clear enough that anyone can re-read them and understand them clearly. This is because when you will re-read your notes much later, you might as well be a complete stranger to who you were when you originally took the notes.

I find notetaking especially valuable to me when I'm learning something new. Notes are a way of making sure the time and effort I spend learning isn't wasted or lost because of my poor memory. More than a tool: They're a friend. They're there to help. They're you helping yourself later.

I love technology, so I'm always trying to find ways for tech. to help me with things. Hand-written notes have their value and I won't debate their merits, but I'm more efficient with a keyboard than I am with pen and paper. Plus, with notes taken electronically, you can search for a specific word or phrase through all of them, which has come in handy several times.

For every job or task, you need the right tool for the job. In the case of notetaking software, you need two kinds of notetaking tools:

A tool for quick notes: We all have notes that we need to quickly take but don't necessarily need to keep in the long term. This is what this tool is for. Formatting and presentation are not the priority here: Speed is. Good software for this are Microsoft Notepad, Microsoft Sticky Notes, Microsoft Visual Studio (VS) Code, Sublime, Atom, Notepad++, Apple Notes, and any other lightweight text editor that isn't necessarily pretty but that you can start writing in within seconds. Despite not necessarily needing the notes to be kept, I still like something with a cloud backend that synchronizes notes. Just in case. I also like being able to access my notes from the various operating systems I use. For these reasons, I prefer Microsoft Sticky Notes on Windows and Apple Notes on macOS, iOS, and iPadOS.

A tool for persistent notes: This is the main event. This is what we usually think of when we think of notetaking software. This lets you add various forms of media such as diagrams, pictures, video, audio, or even hand-written portions. The need here is to be able to make complex, pretty notes that will be accessible for years to come. This necessarily means the tool has to have a cloud backend to make sure your notes are always saved online so they are never lost and are accessible from everywhere. The major contenders here are Microsoft OneNote and Evernote, among others. I personally prefer OneNote.

The thing I noticed after making my notetaking software choices was that once I had picked them, I ended up using them more. A tool you use more because you want to, is a good tool. As a result, this has helped me keep more things for posterity (Hello, my name is Chris, and I am a digital hoarder.) The benefit is that I take and keep more notes now than I ever did before, which means I retain more knowledge, thoughts, ideas, and information than I did before and that's a net positive.

Notetaking isn't just about the software you use, though.

There needs to be a methodology to make sure you get the most out of your notes. Follow these steps:

Write your notes as you're learning the thing. They don't need to be pretty; but they do need to be minimally understandable. This step can be done in a quick notetaking application with a cloud backend.

Within 24 hours, go over your notes and rewrite them so they are structured and pretty (Heading 1, Heading 2, bulleted lists, identify action items, etc.) This is the most important and valuable step that I didn't do for years. This step helps you make sense of your notes, but more importantly: Of what you learned. Most of the value of your notes are yielded in this step. In this step, you might even come up with questions you hadn't thought of when you first took your notes. Questions whose answers will likely yield further insight and understanding into the new thing you're learning. This step needs to be done in a persistent notetaking application.

Within 7 days, review your notes. This helps you make sure your notes make sense, but also helps you recall what you learned. Feel free to edit, update, or tweak your notes to make them even more easy to understand

Refer to your notes whenever you need to in the future. You will likely have a better understanding of your notes because you now master the subject better, but your notes are also much clearer than they were in the first step

To be clear, I am not some notetaking guru or expert. This is just what has worked well for me over the years.

[rensynaes]

[<< previous (ch.8 part 2)]

Chapter 9

“You took your time,” Thel mumbled, lying down on the basement floor with his back to the stairs.

He couldn’t find the strength to move when the door, opened ajar with a creak, spilled a ray of yellow light across the steps ; above the parcel of dust he was drawing on with the tip of a fingernail, black polish chipping away, the wall gleamed faintly. Although reluctant, he turned over.

“Go ahead, revoke your invitation. I don’t care anym–uh?”

Instead of meeting Nathaniel’s sullen gaze upon being evicted, Thel was greeted by my silhouette – ethereal, lit by a diffuse halo. A heady scent of lilies had flooded the basement.

His stupefaction made him resemble a carp out of water; I chuckled, flattered. My last apparition had turned out quite mediocre, falling short of expectations – a blurry, colorless specter, overly vague – so much so that I had endeavored to take on a more accurate form, from the citrine hues of my hair to the opalescent gauze of my négligé. My freckled skin, the curves of my arms, the marbling of my thighs, everything had been remodeled exactly as it was before, up to the hand-poked tattoo on my hip: a ridiculous little crow born from Thel’s still imprecise needle, fifteen years old at the time, whose two-tone double adorned his ankle; his magpie was a creation of my own, not my best (some would say my worst) but he had grown fond of it, refusing to cover it up even to this day.

I walked down the stairs, treading with dignity, and knelt to face him. He seemed tensed; understandable, following ghostly outbursts worthy of a poltergeist.

“Len? It can’t be, where is Nath?”

“Asleep. Don’t be afraid,” I said, serene; although distorted, my voice sounded soft and natural, a puzzling departure from my previous efforts. Thel was as surprised as I was.

“But–how? You can’t–”

“What happened upstairs mortifies me, you know… your lies, the shadows; it all hurts me to the core, yet… my fit of anger was merely the result of a misunderstanding. Amnesia has made me vulnerable, unfairly wary of you. My love, you could never have harmed me willingly… could you?” No response. I closed my eyes, and lied brazenly: “I forgive you.”

He was caught completely off-guard when I gripped his bloodless face and joined my mouth to his, in a tender and resolutely corporeal kiss; the illusion was flawless.

Delighting in his fleeting astonishment, my hand grasped the nape of his neck as I slipped my tongue between his lips, which yielded with no resistance, eager to receive me beyond the keen barrier of his fangs. Albeit momentarily bewildered by this new spectral knowledge of mine and an apparition he thought impossible after my previous surge of power, Thel was too happy with such a turnaround to exert caution. He surrendered to my embrace body and soul, heaven-sent – carnal.

His two brain cells were undoubtedly competing for third place, I thought, petty, a hand busy unbuttoning the tattered remains of his shirt.

It had taken me years to fully understand his affinities. Where I used to experiment avidly, teenage girl with a thirst for learning and enraptured by the multitude of sensations I could be partaking in, any and all attention Thel received was like water off a corvid’s back, impervious to the motivations of his interlocutors. Those around us blamed his lack of interest on an imaginary closet in no way denied by the concerned party, which made him a prime target for middle school students with a knack for humiliation – and despite being in the wrong, my cousins reveled in it, at the time.

Only upon leaving our native Alsace to move to the capital and begin my art studies did it finally click for me, the thing that allowed him to overcome a very real indifference: his desires required feelings, an emotional connection without which physical attraction was null and void; and for me, he had feelings galore. My imminent departure had lead him to lay his heart at my feet, and he had followed me to Paris not just as a favored confident, but as a lover.

Willing to sacrifice anything on the altar of his devotion, he had made an idol out me.

May he pray for mercy.

As I was kissing him, my fingers weaved through the folds of my bodice; light fabric slid off my shoulders upon pulling out what I had concealed, pale breasts exposed, a meager distraction.

I could feel him stiffen under the pressure of cold metal pressed against his throat.

For lack of access to the ornate daggers that once had been my pride and joy, I had sneaked into the kitchen beforehand to purloin a chef’s knife; just enough to slice the reluctant flesh of an overly trusting vampire.

Yet he did not flinch. His pulse, imperceptible so far and which I had thought nonexistent, intensified. I tightened my grip on the handle and slid the blade across his neck, incising the skin with disconcerting ease; as it nestled into the hollow of his clavicles, I pushed the tip further in, gently, by a few millimeters only, as to gauge his reaction. He merely gazed back at me without any intention of pushing the knife away, quite the opposite in fact: far from being frightened, my gesture had turned him on.

Thel took hold of my weapon hand and pulled it towards himself, causing the end to penetrate deeper at the base of his throat, then twisted it ever so slowly; blood gushed forth, thick and enticing. From subtle, the breath against my face became labored; his excitement, contagious. I smiled and planted a kiss over strained knuckles; leaning over the blade firmly embedded above his sternum, I examined the edge with the tip of my tongue, from guard to point; upon reaching the wound, the acrid smell of blood filled me with exhilarating feverishness and in pure delight, I began to lap it up. A euphoric moan resounded, so far away – mine.

Nothing could have prepared me to the magnetic appeal that this wretched blood exerted over my incarnation, to which I succumbed nonetheless. Without thinking, my mouth had latched onto the incision and started sucking the crimson fluid, savoring every gulp. The turmoil that stirred my physical body – this skillfully thought out illusion, increasingly harder to maintain – went beyond my mind, independently of my will; legs straddling the vampire’s hips, I got back to our fondling with renewed fervor; Thel returned my embrace, a familiar pressure arising against my inner thigh. Holding the knife in place with one hand, the other one slithered across his stomach until meeting his belt, that I hastily unbuckled to release him from the tension of his fly. Well aware of his shortness of breath in my neck, of the fist feverishly entangled in my hair and my own husky sighs, I let a bloodstained hand feel the contours of his erection – so trivial, as human as the obliviousness heating up his crotch – then arched my back as to better guide our union within my flesh, incite him to disappear into the devouring blaze of our intertwined bodies.

But he didn’t; at least not in the way I hoped.

Blinded by pain, I could only yelp as the fangs ripped out my throat, thirsty for the warm, all too real blood spurting from the bite; and yet, an electrifying wave of ecstasy surged through me, body tensing against my will; as I clenched my legs tighter around his pelvis, the knife fell down to the ground and my nails dug into the vampire’s skin, desperate for his lethal kiss to last evermore.

A flash, dazzling. My vision faded.

Stretch of white snow; damp shill along my spine; straitjacket of lace and silk.

The heft of a man above me.

I was lying down, helpless, in a pool of my own blood.

Main actress of my final act, performed in a dingy basement once more.

The projection I had so carefully crafted slipped from my control completely. Thel must have figured out my trick at last, for he stood frozen in place, teeth stuck deep within my mutilated throat as I disintegrated into a muddled succession of visual glitches. He pushed me abruptly before tearing himself away from me, torn between abject horror and a hard-on that wouldn’t come down; I grabbed his jaw and pulled his blood-soaked face towards the distorted, hideous mask I wore.

“Traitor,” I growled with an echo that reverberated, threatening, across the basement walls, “murderer!”

Any semblance of femininity had vanished from my voice, the hoarse rasp of a larynx damaged by years of tobacco and alcohol. Voluptuous curves turned protruding ribs were draped in nothing but a frayed bathrobe that fell over scarred hips, much less alluring than the diaphanous négligé from earlier; my blanched skin purged of all freckles displayed an abstract artwork of cuts and bruises.

O how I hated that vessel! Too tall, too thin, too masculine; a dislocated carcass donned by a hopeless sensory parasite that was getting less real by the second, rooted at the core of this borrowed flesh; without a better alternative, I would have to endure a little bit more. The important thing was to make sure I did not go too far beyond the limits of this body, which had already been exceeded, at the risk of losing it. I felt a throbbing pain radiate from my broken left wrist, temporarily mended by weakening spectral energy – and the veins pouring out their life force, severed by the bite.

The sweet aroma of lilies had been replaced by a whiff of stale tobacco. No, no, not now! I had to take back the reins at all costs: my unruly vessel was threatening to kick me out, and such a violation wouldn’t remain unpunished.

Another flash of visual aberrations; I was but a foul mass of hazy shapes shifting back and forth between two conflicting appearances, both dear to the target of my grudge. As he tried to get away from me, I brought a knee up against my chest, then struck his sternum with my heel. There was a crack: the vampire got thrown backwards, his head hit the wall, followed by a cry of pain, and he collapsed heavily onto the concrete floor.

Knife in hand, I hurled myself at him and thrust the bloodied blade into his unscathed throat. The incision carved during our foreplay had already healed: this one, however, I was resolute to make it last. Despite the clumsiness of a precarious, ill-controlled body, my supernatural strength was enough to pin him down on his back. He writhed fervently as I did my utmost to cut through muscles and tendons, veins and arteries, trachea, larynx; whatever met the edge of my blade, I ripped to shreds in an attempt at throat slitting verging on beheading, splattered by an intoxicating red geyser. The taste of iron in my mouth revived my aching flesh; my hand clutched the handle tighter, the attack became frenzied, but nothing could have stopped these murderous cravings – not even the painful promise of euphoria stirring my loins.

I hadn’t taken into account the cervical vertebrae, though, tough, sturdier than my weapon. The knife scraped against them, edge chipped; Thel took advantage of my halt by grabbing my elbow and jerking it forward.

Clack.

Staggered, I saw my host’s arm sway limply at our side, helpless; the humeral head dislocated from its articulation bulged oddly at the shoulder. A moment’s hesitation allowed the vampire to roll to the side and jump on his feet as to escape from me – a short-lived truce.

His lack of combative volition was evident: my current vessel bothered him, and he refused to abuse it any further. Adorable.

“You didn’t make such a fuss upon tearing out my throat.”

He opened his mouth, distraught: speaking without any vocal cords proved to be complicated. After all, I had cut them alongside the rest.

I made him face me, gripping his chin.

“I was pinned to the ground. Do you remember? I do. Suffocating in your hold. Paralyzed. Your fangs in my flesh, sucking the life out of my body.”

Gathering my power as much as the deplorable state of this meat puppet would let me, I cast a tailor-made ectoplasmic manifestation. One point of contention we could never agree upon was his insurmountable arachnophobia, that extended to a host of other unpopular critters I enjoyed raising in my spare time. Leaving behind my terrariums upon moving in with him had been an ordeal which I still lamented to this day.

No more concessions: the time was ripe for retaliation.

I regurgitated a swarming mass of worms and maggots over Thel’s delicate face, held tightly in my hands; larvae wriggled in unison, tangled in his hair, falling atop his shoulders and into his mouth. He tried to spit them out, but I prevented him from doing so by gagging him with a pressure of my palm; why should I show him mercy? For me, he had none. Not even the successive spasms of nausea turning his stomach inside out could have slowed me down. Once my vengeful will had been transmitted to the gelatinous cocoons oozing ectoplasm, they hatched one after the other in a chorus of sickening schlops; spindly legs extricated themselves from their envelopes, an arachnid colony intent on invading every nook and cranny of his clothes and oral cavity – still gagged with a firm hand – where their multiple limbs squirmed, crawled, relentless.

Overcome by an emetic reflex I couldn’t counter, Thel vomited a spray of blood and ectoplasm all over my forearm.

I let go of him suddenly, assailed by a searing pain in the depths of my core; new distortions shimmered over the surface of my incarnation. I groaned, bent over, my ectoplasmic creations reduced to a small viscous puddle.

Then I began floating, invisible, above my collapsing vessel.

Nathaniel narrowly caught hold of the handrail before he could fall to the ground, worn out yet in full control of his own body. Not for long: letting my murderer get away was out of the question. Thel had stopped halfway through safety, divided between his desire to flee and the urge to help the spirit medium; Nathaniel’s dirty look dissuaded him from doing so.

“Run,” he rasped under his breath, harsh, while stepping back against the basement wall.

Sound advice: were Thel to leave the manor, I would be entirely cut off from the medium’s influence and would go back to my previous ghostly ineptitude. Hard to say whether he wanted to stay away from the vampire or give him a head start; either way, it wasn’t enough to stop me.

I returned to my physical shell with force, propelling it awkwardly up the stairs. My target was fast, but I bridged the gap between us with a throw of spectral vines. Filaments wrapped around his ankle and unfurled a myriad of thorns into his tender skin; then, abrupt tension pulled his foot away from the step. His forehead hit the edge, violently, and another blow sent him crashing down the flight of stairs. As I was about to fight him hand to hand, the skeletal joint of an outstretched wing struck my Adam’s apple, momentarily knocking the wind out of me.

He growled, with the distorted gurgling of still-healing flesh: “Kill him, and you’ll lose the only way to get to me.”

“He wouldn’t be where he’s at now if only you’d accepted your fate,” I shouted, “it’s up to you to take on the responsibility of his decline, or to join me.”

I had been thrown to the ground like a rag doll on impact, however I persisted and laboriously climbed up the stairs, each push of my exhausted legs more grueling than the last. Thel was no more: before me stood a grotesque skull of a face, foaming at the mouth, inhuman, bristled with uneven teeth sharper than the knife laying on the ground. His animal tail whipped at the air, and a muffled grunt warned me not to try anything against him as he was cautiously backing up towards the door, never taking his yellow, sclera-less eyes with slit pupils off me.

What could he even do? Any harm done to me would affect Nathaniel as well, who he was determined to spare. I took a step forward; he turned around at once and retreated towards the entrance hall, my flesh puppet hot on his trail.

A repeated thud resounded at the front door before he could reach it: someone was knocking insistently. The Order, already?

I didn’t feel like going through a conjuring at the moment, and was far too tired to defend myself against a pack of inquisitors. Retreat was the only way, at least temporarily. Nathaniel lost consciousness and fell down to the floor as I left his battered body, pallor eclipsed by the miry build-up of blood and ectoplasm soiling him head to toe. Thel hesitated, then flew away swiftly in bat form, leaving behind a heap of tattered rags and personal belongings that hit the floor with a metallic tinkling sound.

Broken down, the door swung open.

[next (ch.10) >>]

[totallynotadarlansassasin]

well the wellbutrin gave me depression but I came out enlightened because of it!

this drawing means much more than a project to me now.

so for some reason an art class I'm taking said that we had to write ten adjectives, then draw lines depicting those adjectives. The word I chose to draw was "scattered"

I, a non artist, who does not draw nor exhibit any sort of artistic talent or hand eye coordination required to pass an art class Decided to do one of the hardest patterns ever (not actually!).

You can see why that was a bad idea.

BUT I thought it would look cool when I finished so i just went with it.

until i couldnt?

and I snapped.

I was never the best student. I was barely even average. I was struggling to get by. Every semester, every assignment, every day.

If it wasnt math it was science. If it wasnt science it was history. If it wasnt history in was english. You get the gist.

Every school year wore longer. And it wore me down.

People kept telling me that thats just what it feels like.

That school is supposed to be hard.

And I told myself that too.

I put aside all of my anger and frustration and my mental health to achieve the goals my parents had for me.

Every year I'd fight to maintain my GPA. Id fight to comprehend the assignments. To remember every due date. To join every club.

It got me nowhere. I gained nothing from it. I made friends! I felt incompetent. It felt never ending.

As long as i can remember i'd work twice as hard and get half the results. so i was always echausted.

Feeling like youre going insane for a mediocre result.

Teachers would scoff at my work sometimes. " you cant turn this in"

You have to make an effort.

You have to 'try'

none of them know what trying actually feels like.

I got a 2 year degree

Went back to start a four year.

Taking all art classes this semester. I thought that I'd get a break. That i'd finally do something I enjoy. I was wrong.

I was insecure about everything I drew. Every time I put my pencil to the page, something was wrong. The line was crooked. The angle was off. The shape was wrong.

"I hate everything. Everything I draw is stupid and wrong and I hate my life-"

"are you ok?"

I didnt even realize I was rambling out loud.

"its fine"

I filled out my transfer application

realized i took the wrong class.

broke down.

went to finish my work.

realize that i took the wrong class and that the other class was RIGHT!

broke down a gain.

A lady prayed for me in the middle of a starbucks

The idea of going back to college filled me with so much dread.

Thats when I realized I just shouldn't go.

So im not.

Its a tough decision.

At 23 Im ditching the only thing Ive ever known. School. But I know that I dont have another semester in me. I know that if I went, i wouldnt glean anything from it. And when I think about where I will be in a year from now, I genuinely dont believe I'll be back in college. And it fills me with joy. It brings tears to my eyes.

[xocasper]

Sharing Is Caring

Pairing: Frank Iero x Reader x Mikey Way Summary: Mikey is staying with you and Frank for a little while, and your bedroom walls are thin. His are too, though, resulting in a sinful discovery that leads to a night far dirtier than you anticipated. Warnings: NSFW content, potentially ooc lmfao Tags: oral sex, orgasm denial, rough sex, dirty talk, dacryphilia Word Count: 2388 A/N: This is mediocre at best. The ending kinda sucks because I don’t know how to write endings, but the actual fic is fine lol.

When Mikey had asked to move in with you guys, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal. You had been dating Frank for about two years, and you’d been living together for half of it. Mikey had just gone through a messy breakup and his ex-girlfriend kicked him out. He had little time to search for an apartment and no desire to sleep in his car, so he reached out to Frank, who was more than willing to sacrifice his guest bedroom.

Things were a bit awkward at first because he felt out of place, not sure what to do or where to go, all while dealing with being dumped. You tried to tone down the PDA a bit, which Frank struggled with more than you. He had minimal experience with keeping his hands to himself, but even the effort made Mikey warm up a bit.

Over time, he grew more comfortable, finally accepting that he was staying here for a while and that he wasn’t intruding. You were quite fond of him, and you’d always made sure to spend time chatting with him when you’d hang out with the band. He was quiet, but not opposed to talking if you sparked a conversation. Plus, he was attractive, so you really couldn’t see why his girlfriend would leave him.

Mikey thought you were attractive too, and the feeling only grew stronger as days passed. It was all passive, so he figured it couldn’t be that bad. Finding your best friend’s partner hot isn’t totally immoral; it just means they have good taste. He tried not to think too hard about it, pushing away the guilt he felt each time you crossed his mind.

The first time he gave into his intrusive thoughts wasn’t awful. He knew he was doing something wrong, so that had to count for something, right? Besides, he didn’t approach you or anything. He had merely walked into the hall at the same time as you, except you were only in a towel, soft skin wet and exposed, making him flush and head right back to his room. You didn’t think much of it, laughing at his awkwardness and moving on with your day, oblivious to how hard he came that night as he replayed the scene in his head.

After he gave in the first time, the ice was broken. Obviously, he was filled with shame each time it happened, but he couldn’t help himself. You and Frank had talked about being quieter during sex because the walls were incredibly thin and neither of you wanted to make Mikey uncomfortable. It was a good idea in theory, but it didn’t last long–not that Mikey minded. You guys were loud, no matter how hard you tried to suppress it, and sometimes he wondered how your neighbors put up with you. He could hear almost everything from across the hall, muffled moans sounding through the apartment. Oftentimes he’d get himself off on the sound, but when he was too tired, he’d manage to fall asleep to it, awaiting the unfortunate mess he’d have to clean up in the morning.

It was shameful, really. He knew he shouldn’t be doing it, shouldn’t be attracted to you. He felt dirty, but he couldn’t help it. His attraction didn’t run deeper than physical, not wanting to take you from Frank, simply needing a rebound and you happened to be pretty damn enticing. No matter how hard he tried to reason with himself, it only made him feel worse, but at least he was quiet about it, right?

Wrong.

It took one night for the truth to come out. Maybe you had been too quiet that night, or maybe he was too loud. Perhaps the walls had become even thinner somehow, making the smallest noises audible from the other room. Frank had gone down on you, face buried between your thighs while you tugged on his hair, whines and curses floating through the air. You definitely weren’t expecting an echo when you moaned, especially not one from Mikey. It was faint, but loud enough to reach your ears, turning you on more than you would’ve liked.

“Frank, he can hear us,” you choked out, still writhing under him. He stopped for a moment, looking up at you, eyebrows furrowed before he realized what you meant. “I mean it’s kinda hard not to.” Okay, maybe not. “No, he’s—Frank he’s—just listen,” you told him, and he reluctantly inched up to you, leaving light kisses on your thighs before planting himself next to you. Sure enough, he could hear his friend through the wall.

“Alright,” he said, looking completely unfazed. “What do you want to do about it?” You knew Frank was open to almost anything, typically giving you control so he didn’t push you past your limits. You floundered a bit; you could ignore it, or be honest with him. “Could you talk to him about it?”

You traced his tattoos to keep yourself from looking at him. God, this was embarrassing. He knew what you were getting at, but he wanted to hear you say it. “Mhm, what do you want me to say?” He was grinning as he kissed your jaw, clearly having the same thought and being open to it.

“Just—tell him to make himself useful.” He laughed quietly before kissing your lips, pulling his pants back up, and heading off to Mikey’s room. Your stomach churned as you waited, hoping Frank wouldn’t embarrass him, or worse, you. Honestly, how did you even get into this situation?

The next few minutes were excruciating, their conversation sounding jumbled as you pressed your ear to the wall. You distracted yourself by fixing your hair and putting your pants back on, your shirt lost on the floor somewhere.

Silence fell over them at some point, snapping you out of your trance. You supposed that was the end of it and you’d never be able to look Mikey in the eyes again, but they appeared in the doorway a few seconds later. Frank came over first, waving Mikey over, who looked beyond embarrassed. He was blushing profusely, and his erection was obvious through his sweatpants.

“C’mon Mikey, I won’t hurt you,” you said reassuringly, holding out your hand while Frank pulled you into his lap. He still looked lost but took your hand anyway. “I’m not gonna kick your ass, don’t worry,” Frank laughed, head resting on your shoulder. Mikey relaxed slightly, and you smiled up at him. “Do you want to do this?” you asked him, still nervous but not nearly as much as him. “Yeah.”

You pulled Mikey over to you and he stumbled onto the empty half of the bed before being pulled into a kiss, your lips soft and wet against his. He reacted instantly, one hand flat on the bed while the other held your jaw. Frank kept his hands on your chest, stroking the exposed skin and unclasping your bra before you could notice.

Kissing Mikey felt different from kissing Frank, who was more playful, while Mikey held back a bit, still apprehensive. You pulled him closer while Frank kissed down your neck, your tongue slipping past his lips, swallowing his moans as you tasted him.

You pulled away to get a good look at him, admiring his slick lips and how he eyed you up, his hand now resting on your thigh. Frank stopped his work on your neck, turning your head to press his mouth to yours, his hands trading places with Mikey’s. His tongue slid against yours while his hand slipped past your waistband, shifting gently beneath you.

Mikey’s breath was warm on your skin, cupping your breasts as he placed gentle kisses on them. His lips trailed down to one of your nipples, flicking his tongue against it experimentally. You let out a shaky gasp, urging Mikey to continue. Frank pulled away, his nose nuzzling against your neck while his fingers dipped into your panties.

You were already wet from earlier, the throbbing between your legs getting worse as both men touched you. Frank ran his fingers through your folds, smirking as slick covered the pads of his fingers. His fingers rubbed around your clit, intentionally avoiding it as you ground against him. Softly, he pinched the skin, cock jumping as you let out a loud moan.

“You’re still so wet,” he commented, continuing to ghost his fingers over your clit. “How about you ask Mikey to finish what I started?” Mikey looked up at you expectantly, a small grin creeping across his face. He seemed to realize that he had some control, the gears in his head turning as he grew more comfortable. “C’mon, don’t be shy,” he said, caressing your skin as you stared at him, speechless.

“I want you to eat me out,” you said, quiet and embarrassed. Mikey quickly shuffled down the bed, hastily tugging off your pants as Frank drew his hand away. “Such a slut, letting Mikey eat your pussy in front of me,” he said, lips ghosting your neck while Mikey’s tongue swept across your folds. Frank’s hands held your legs apart so he could dive deeper, licking bold stripes along your cunt. “Let him hear you, baby.” Shuddered breath turned into soft moans as Mikey buried himself deeper between your legs, sucking on your clit before thrusting his tongue inside of you.

He groaned when your hand flew to his hair, vibrating against you as you tugged him impossibly close. Every time you rolled your hips, Frank would moan against your skin, head buried in your neck as you ground against him. You felt your abdomen tighten, Frank’s hands sliding up your legs to your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers.

“Fuck, Mikey,” you moaned, hands pulling at his hair as he hummed against you. “How’s it feel?” Frank asked, sucking bruises down your neck. You could barely think, much less form words, moaning in a feeble attempt to convey your pleasure. He nipped your skin gently in warning, urging you to speak. “Feels so fucking good.” Mikey glanced up at you, pupils dilated as he held your gaze, repositioning your legs to pull you closer.

“Are you gonna come?” Frank said, voice barely above a whisper. Your soft cries were telling enough, his lips twitching into a smirk at how helpless you sounded. “Come on Mikey’s tongue like the whore you are.”

You came, as ordered, calling out Mikey’s name while he cleaned you up, tasting every inch of your cunt until your muscles went lax. “Listen to yourself, moaning his name in my bed.” Frank beckoned Mikey over, who was already stepping out of his sweatpants. “You’ve got such a pretty mouth; how about you put it to use?”

Mikey flushed at how quickly you nodded, grateful for the dimly-lit room. He watched eagerly as you slid off of Frank, waiting patiently on your knees as he stripped off his jeans. You reached out for Mikey, tugging at the waistband of his boxers. Honestly, he had never been so turned on before.

His eyes were glued to you, watching how slowly you pulled his boxers down, giving him time to back out. He could hear how your breathing stuttered as his dick sprung free, staring at it like a gift from god.

The moment your lips wrapped around him, he lost his composure, moaning without restraint as your tongue swirled around the head of his cock, running flat against him as you took him deeper. Frank didn’t wait long before rejoining, kneeling behind you as he bent you onto all fours.

Gently, Mikey pulled you back to help his friend, cursing as you whined at him. Frank didn’t miss this, grinning as he planted his hands on your hips. “Shit, you want it that bad?” Shamefully, yes, you did. “Answer,” he demanded, slapping your ass. You bit down on your lip to prevent a moan, which would undoubtedly lead to more trouble.

You answered with a small ‘yes,’ but it wasn’t sufficient. “C’mon, tell me what you want us to do.” You looked up at Mikey, then to his dick, and then thought about how Frank was right behind you, ready to fuck you. You could swallow your pride for a couple seconds.

“I want you to fuck me,” you said, and it seemed to be enough for him. He thrust into you, and Mikey stepped forward, splitting your lips again. He held the back of your head, moaning and cursing as you took every inch of him.

Frank snapped his hips against yours at a rough pace, barely giving you time to adjust. Your mind went blank, watching as Mikey threw his head back, lips parted while Frank fucked you stupid.

The same tightness from earlier began again, muscles wound tight and you stared up at Mikey with glossy eyes. “Don’t come until we do,” he told you, thumb brushing against your cheek.

It didn’t take long for him to come, releasing as you moaned around him. He probably could’ve come again after your tongue lolled out, showing proudly that you had swallowed. Where the fuck did Frank find you and where could he get one?

Frank wasn’t as quick, getting close but not close enough. He could tell you were struggling, thrusting harder each time. “Frank, please,” you begged him, but to no avail. “Don’t. Come.” Mikey was kneeling in front of you, pressing kisses on your neck as tears welled in your eyes. “They cry so pretty,” Mikey commented, Frank moaning at his admission.

He came hard shortly after, fucking you full of his cum before giving you permission. You felt your knees grow weak, walls fluttering around him as you came. You were completely spent, falling back against Frank the second he pulled out. Mikey sat at the end of the bed as you caught your breath, looking ready to return to his room but too shy to say anything.

You gave him a tired smile, kissing him on the cheek before laying down again. He stared at Frank, cracking a small smile as well and walking out. The rest of the night was quiet, your mind hazy as you bathed in the afterglow. Reality hadn’t begun to set in, waiting until tomorrow, which would definitely be interesting.

taglist: @lubbockshusband @yachiiko @newgirlinhell @tomoora​ @blackberryblossom @whothefuckisfranklero @griffinfinity​

[silversatoru]

Hi love! ❤️

Mkay so like.... Suguru walks in and finds out his gf has a cam acc- and just like straight up ruins her online

This has been on my mind all day but idfk how to write it

a/n: AHAH hey babe!!! this concept is 😌👌 so i hope i did you proud w this. also if ur really into the whole getting-ruined-online concept and you fuck w dabi may i recommended @katslutski ‘s smile for the camera series; it is one of my favs

getou suguru x f!reader

tags/warnings: masturbation, degradation, humiliation, dumbification, filming, facial, mild bondage, mild overstimulation

w/c: 1.4k

you rubbed your clit in rushed circles, projecting a cluster of fake high-pitched moans and arching your back for the camera. it really didn’t feel that great, but you were damn good at pretending it did — and the cash was flowing in as a result. 

you could see the notifications of donations and new patrons popping up on the side of your screen and you let a soft sigh of satisfaction leave your lips. these fuckers were so horny that they’d send you stacks of their income just to see you fondle your cunt — pigs.

between the blood rushing to your ears from your approaching orgasm and the soft music playing through you room you didn’t even notice the sound of your front door opening. you were completely unaware of your boyfriend’s presence in your home until he was standing in your bedroom doorway — a confused but amused expression across his face. 

“am i interrupting something?” he cocked an eyebrow at you. 

“suguru! i thought you were busy today, i-” you scrambled to explain yourself and grab a sheet from your bed to pull over your exposed body. 

“plans changed,” he shrugged and cut you off, entering your bedroom, “maybe you should start locking your front door when you’re doing shit like this”. 

you stared at him with horrified eyes, worried that he might break up with you for this kind of thing — he didn’t seem mad but he definitely wasn’t happy either. you quickly lunged for your laptop/camera set-up, attempting to end your livestream, but suguru moved quicker. he grasped your wrist in his strong fingers and looked at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. 

“leave it on, doll,” he purred at you, releasing your wrist and pushing you back towards the bed, “go ahead and finish the show for them”. 

completely stunned, you fell back onto your elbows and gave him a hesitant look. it’s not like you were embarrassed or anything— shit, you did this like every day, but you were severely confused by his reaction.

he nodded at the computer screen with hazy eyes, “they’re waiting. why are you so shy all of the sudden? you should be used to having an audience”. 

after a final moment of hesitation you leaned back, fingers returning down to your clit to resume where you’d left off. it was a little more awkward with suguru watching, but the way he was ordering you around was kind of hot, so your stiffness quickly faded.

and you knew your body well, what worked and what didn’t, so it was only a matter of minutes before you were rocking your hips into your hand and letting exaggerated whimpers slide between your teeth. the orgasm was mediocre at best, but you had to dress it up and wrap it in a bow for your precious patrons.

at some point during your little show suguru had rid himself of his clothing and was now climbing into the messy sheets with you. 

“let me see your hands,” he stated blankly, his fingers gripped around the belt that had been looped through his pants just a few minutes ago. 

“this is live you know,” you gave him a concerned look — you were confused but not opposed, holding your hands out behind your back.

“oh, i know,” he took care in gently wrapping your wrists together as tight as the belt would go and then helped you onto you knees.

the duskiness of his eyes filled you with a splendid mix of fear and excitement, but before you could even get a good look you were being shoved into the bed.

“put your face in the pillows, doll,” he ordered lazily as you faceplanted into one of the several pillows at the head of your bed.

his strong hands were quickly gripped around your hips, the tip of his rock-hard member brushing teasingly against your entrance. you were already practically dripping, the sticky liquids from your earlier orgasm still glistening around your edges. it made his access easy, his aching cock sliding with little effort.

“let’s show all of your fans how much of a dumb cock-whore you become when i’m inside you,” he thrusted using hard, firm strokes right from the start.

and of course he was absolutely right — you lost any inkling of a coherent thought once you were stuffed full with his length. you moaned, whimpered, and squirmed underneath him like the pathetic little cam girl you were. but with suguru, none of your performance was a façade — he truly knew how to make you melt under his touch. and melted and useless was exactly how he liked you, so he had every intention of fucking you dumb in front of your audience today.

and that’s exactly what he did. it was his own foul way of punishing you; turning you into a drooling cum-slut who had completely forgotten she was being broadcasted live. if you wanted to be a whore for a living, he’d show everyone just how much of a whore you were — but only for him. 

you’re not even sure how long it’s been — all you know is that you’re orgasming for the fourth time; or was it the fifth? sixth? you’d lost count somewhere along the way.

dull waves of pleasure racked through your body and sent quivers under your skin. you whined and wriggled, murmuring incoherent babbles as you rocked your hips back and forth on his cock to milk the most out of your climax.

“that’s five times, baby,” suguru’s voice sounded miles away, “my dick feels good inside you, doesn’t it?”

you thrashed your head up and down against the pillow, mumbling the word yes over and over as your body twitched from overstimulation. glistening mixtures of fluids were squelching out as he continued thrusting into your cunt, some dripping all the way down your legs.

and he didn’t let you take any breaks — nonstop fucking you even while your pussy was throbbing with sensitivity. the overstimulation was excruciating, and you were a complete mess of trembles and whimpers.

“so pitiful,” you heard a dark laugh rumble from his throat, “there’s thousands and thousands of people watching you be my disgusting little fuck-toy right now, and you’re just gonna keep taking it, aren’t you?”

you weren’t even sure what he was saying, honestly. your brain had short circuited a while ago, and you were just absent mindedly nodding your head and mumbling agreements to everything he said. the pillowcase beneath your head was nearly soaked in saliva now too, your feeble mouth hanging open while drool continued to seep from the corners of your lips. 

“i think i want you to finish me with your mouth, doll, how does that sound?” he slowed his pace, pushing lazy thrusts into your hips while you mindlessly nodded your head again. 

“pathetic little baby; you have no idea what i’m even saying to you right now, do you?” you heard suguru laughing from behind you; but all you could manage in response was a few scattered whimpers. 

he abruptly unsheathed himself from inside you, and strangled whines escaped your throat at his sudden absence. no! more, please, please, suguru please, you murmured with an embarrassing lack of control and your boyfriend couldn’t do anything but laugh at you in your shameful state.

“turn around and open those pretty lips,” he reached down and helped you to flip over before straddling your chest and pressing his hot, sticky member against your lips. 

you opened them graciously, too braindead to even notice the bitter taste of his precum mixed with your own fluids. he mouth-fucked you with obscene force, the walls of your throat painfully expanding every time he thrusted in. you choked and sputtered, drool leaking down your lips and all over your chin. 

when suguru’s own orgasm was right on the cusp he removed himself from your mouth and sprayed his seed all over your face. from your forehead to your chest you were coated in sticky globs of semen, and you sucked down the drips that made it into your mouth like they were liquid gold. 

“lets see how many of your precious viewers come back after this — now that they saw you disintegrate into the helpless little cum slut that you are, now that they know you’re mine”. 

[gale-gentlepenguin]

ML Fic: Soulmate Survey Part 37

Shout out to @asongeverlasting for beta reading for me and making sure I actually got this out.

Check her writing out on AO3 as Ramblingwren

(Master post)

(Read the fic in a more condensed on Ao3)

(The latest chapter will be up on there once this reaches over 300 notes on tumblr)

_____________________________________________________________

Simularé looked out over the city from the top of the school.  Using her replicated powers, she took the form of Volpina so they'd be able to alter the illusion quickly should something pop out and accidentally reveal the true form of the school. Thankfully the sentimonster didn’t need to do much in order to maintain the illusion; Paris was a surprisingly quiet city.

As far as they could tell, no one in the city outside of the school had any idea what was going on. And that worked out perfectly for them.

“So, this is where Lila has you stationed,” a voice called out, resulting in the faux fox turning around. The figure behind them was a woman clad in dark blue, with blue skin and a feathery fan. She looked confident and the sentimonster instinctively felt that this individual was very much aware of what it was.

Mayura had quickly deduced it was the sentimonster as it was in Lila’s previous akuma form, Volpina. With Lila now Masquerade, it was unlikely she would choose to take such a form. She would likely want to stay in her new form to show it off.

“Do not be alarmed, Simularé, it is your creator. Mayura,” Mayura spoke again.

The shapeshifter leveled a sharp glare at the woman. What made her so certain of that?

“How do I know that is true?” Simularé questioned.

The villainess took a moment to examine the sentimonster. Mayura had to admit that this sentimonster was her finest work to date. The amount of emotion harnessed from Lila to create it made it far more unique, much less of a mindless creature than her previous creations. Amoks were created much like akuma were, locking on to intense emotions before sending off. But unlike akuma, amok can be shaped and tailored with enough focus. Simularé was a special case, as it was made from the conclave of emotions that Lila was experiencing during her breakdown. It had been quite difficult to focus on one specific feeling but Mayura had pushed through. Simularé was sculpted to be Lila’s ideal ally, but it was also so much more than a simple asset. This Amok embodied Lila’s core personality. Her cleverness, her cunning, her mistrust of others, her playfulness, her pride and so much more. To put it simply, this Sentimonster was Lila’s spirit given a new form.

“Trust me Simularé, you would be best not to ask that,” Mayura warned.

The sentimonster felt as if it was being talked down to and clearly did not approve of anyone talking to them in such a tone, save for its master. It charged at the peacock villainess, ready to make contact, But, before it could get close, Mayura stuck out her hand and pinched her fingers together, causing the sentimonster to feel as if some force was pulling its essence out. The pain it felt was indescribable! It felt as if its very being was being ripped out. Mayura was in range to sense the Amok and could easily remove it without difficulty, much like Hawkmoth could with an akuma. Though Mayura had a feeling that letting the Sentimonster know that keeping her out of range of the item was the key to its survival would not be wise. It was best in this moment to display power.

“Stop! Please!” Simularé begged. “I … I believe you! I will do whatever you ask, just please stop the pain!”

The villainess smiled, it seemed there was even more to this Sentimonster than Mayura had anticipated. It had a powerful sense of self preservation, something controlled sentimonsters didn’t seem to have. She took note of that.

“Good. Now, you are going to explain to me your master’s end goal and where Ladybug and Chat Noir are in the building.”

Simularé felt the grip that Mayura had on its essence and held back its burning resentment towards the blue bird villainess. She would behave. For now.

“Okay… I will tell you everything.”

_____________________________________________________________

“Duck!” Ladyice called out as she had Ice Noir lower their bodies to avoid oncoming ice projectiles.

“Surprising that she's only attacking us with ice. She's Stormy weather. You'd think she would be attacking with more, maybe some rain or like a vol....” Ice Noir commented.

“Don't talk about that! Do not give her any ideas!”

The two had skated out of the room and made their way through the now icy hallway while Stormy Weather gave chase.

“I was just saying it seems weird how...mediocre her attacks are.

“It’s like we saw before, the akuma servants are like robots, they can’t react quickly so changing up her powers is likely just as much of a problem. She's probably not as dangerous as we initially thought.”

“So maybe we should face this problem head on now that we aren’t cornered?”

Ice Noir changed direction and began skating towards the umbrella-wielding akuma.

Stormy Weather noticed the approaching cat and raised her umbrella, creating a mighty gale to blow him back and ending him flying past Ladyice to the end of the hallway.

“She can use her other powers… can confirm,” Ice noir commented as he got off the wall, still dazed.

Ladyice skated up to the dazed cat and helped stabilize him. Despite seeming like a wasted effort, the cat’s brash antics actually inspired Ladyice with a way to take her out.

“I just figured out how we can stop her, think you can give her one last charge for me?”

“Why Bugaboo, asking me to rush headfirst into danger? How heartless.” He feigned hurt.

Ladybug rolled her eyes.

“Silly Kitty. Just be ready to hang in there when she blasts you with wind. Don’t get blown back this time.”

“Got it.”

Ice Noir quickly skated across the ice as he drew his weapon. He was ready for her this time.

“Hey breezy weezy! The weather today was supposed to be sunny with a 20% chance of raining Cats and Dogs!” Ice Noir called out, clearly happy with his lame joke.

Stormy Weather saw the cat approaching once again and prepared to send another wind blast at him.

But the cat was prepared this time around and extended his staff to anchor himself to the walls on either side.

“Nice try!” Ice Noir snarked. “But a small little puff of wind won't blow me back again.”

The storm akuma decided instead of creating just another wind blast, she was going to step it up with a cyclone attack! A powerful tornado tunnel would surely blast the cat down for good.

“We were wrong! She can amp up the power too!” Ice Noir exclaimed as he held onto his staff with all his might while his body was being blown back by the massive winds. “This was not well thought out!”

He focused on digging his claws into his staff and doing his best to remain in the wind tunnel. The powerful winds blew into his face and he could see Stormy Weather slowly approaching.

“I don’t think I can hold on much longer, Ladyice!”

He felt his grip slipping. Any second now, he was going to get blown back.

“Don’t worry, Kitty. I got this.”

Stormy Weather didn’t get a chance to react when she felt something tackle her full force and rush her into the wall on the opposite end of the hallway.

The wind died down and Ice Noir was able to land on his skates. He released his grip on his staff and fixed his windblown hair to resemble its original state before quickly skating down the hall to help his partner.

“Nice job, Ladyice.”

The red-clad heroine stood up from her grapple with the storm akuma.

“Actually…”

Ice Noir looked up to see that his partner had shifted power ups. Her skates and ice skater aesthetic were replaced with a suit that had red spacesuit-like plating, a jetpack with retractable wings with red and light blue colors that matches her helmet.

She had changed into her space form, Cosmobug.

“Space power up! Because you can fly through the wind! Genius!”

Cosmobug smiled.

“Well, Stormy Weather is dazed but probably not for long.”

The two heroes noticed her about to grab her umbrella, but Chat Noir’s cat-like reflexes helped him snatch it first.

“Oh no you don’t!”

Ice Noir broke the umbrella over his knee.

“I don’t think she will be as mobile without her powers.”

Stormy Weather tried to stand but slipped on the icy floor she had created.

“Let’s just make our way to the boss,” Cosmobug said. She used the jet on her back to swoop up Ice Noir and fly slowly down the icy hall.

“Just like you to sweep me off my feet. But don’t think I will be a smitten kitten like usual.”

“Oh? Is that so?” The bug heroine raised an eyebrow. “It’s hard to imagine that you haven’t been dreaming about this scenario.”

“It helps that you aren’t riding a horse with the wind blowing in your hair,” Chat Noir joked back, catching Ladybug’s teasing.

Cosmobug quickly moved them to a part of the hall where there was no ice. Both undid their potion transformations, reverting back to their usual hero forms.

“Not keeping the jetpack?” Chat Noir asked. “It is really cool.”

“The room halls are pretty limited, and there's not much mobility, otherwise I might have,” Ladybug confessed.

The two heroes took a moment to catch their breaths and figure out their surroundings.

“We should thank Stormy Weather.”

The cat looked at his partner skeptically, remembering how a few minutes ago, the wind had nearly sent him flying through a brick wall.

“What makes you say that?”

“Lila probably had Stormy Weather out and about to flush out other people in the school and make sure the area was difficult to traverse. She likely sent out a bunch of other akuma to do the same, which means her forces are scattered and we have a better shot of dealing with her with fewer obstacles.”

Chat Noir nodded. He would not have deduced such a thing from one encounter with a weather akuma.

“Good to know, so the plan is to locate her and save the day.”

“No need to figure out where she is, I already have a good idea where she should be.”

Chat Noir noticed Ladybug had already started moving. He quickly followed behind, though he didn’t need an explanation this time. He already knew where Ladybug was heading — to his homeroom class, but he couldn’t say that without revealing what he knew.

_____________________________________________________________

‘This was a ridiculous decision.’

That was the thought running through Chloé’s mind as she ran for her life from a large group of Reflekta clones.

The two or three she had run into early were easy to avoid, but now it seemed like a horde of those tacky clones. And all of the ice that surrounded certain hallways made it impossible to traverse. She was limited in her running space and she was running out. But what made it all worse was that now those Reflekta copies had adjusted to running.

“HOW CAN YOU RUN IN THOSE HEELS!?” Chloé screamed as she ran down the hall.

She just had to try and be a hero. Why was she even doing this? The assistant probably got turned into one of those gross clones or got masked like those other students. She could have just sat back and just waited for Ladybug and Chat noir to find her or let them handle it.

“You can’t run forever” The crowd of clones sang in Rather impressive and creepy harmony.

Chloé took a turn down the hall and went into the door of the nearest room.

She closed the door and locked it before smelling the musty wet air.

“What the… EWW!” She spat in disgust as she realized she had locked herself in a janitor’s closet.

“Why did it have to be in such a gross smelly room?” she moaned.

Unfortunately, her comments caught the attention of the crowd chasing her.

She heard banging on the door.

“You can’t hide, we will find.”

Chloe put her back to the door to keep them out and felt herself slide down it in despair.

Was this how it was going to end? Getting turned into one of those fashion nightmares after hiding out in such a rank smelling closet? She didn’t even save… wait. She did save someone. She saved that old man. It hadn't been glamorous, but she did manage to save at least one person.

“I guess I did do something good after all. May not have been exceptional… but it was something.” Chloé smiled for a brief moment.

She took a moment to look at the positives, Ladybug and Chat Noir would likely come in and save the day, plus there were those other two heroes. Perhaps that would be enough. But she had to admit, finding solace in that was getting harder to do when the smell of the closet was destroying her nostrils. Just then, she remembered she had some nice perfume in her bag that she could spray to alleviate the smell.

“Well, at least I won’t smell awful when they capture me.”

She put her hand in her bag and felt around for her perfume. As she searched, she felt an unfamiliar object in her designer handbag. She pulled it out.

“What is this?”

She noticed a note on top of it. It was a bit dark to read so she pulled out her phone and turned on her flashlight.

“Return to Ladybug after mission?”

Chloé’s eyes went wide. Could this be what she thought it was? How was it possible? She didn’t have time to question it.

She opened the box and out came a floating bee creature, who Chloé recognized right away. It was real.

“Pollen!” Chloé exclaimed with cheer.

“It has been a while, my queen.” the bee kwami said.

Chloé would have loved to revel in this moment more but she knew that door was going to burst open any minute. She needed to be the bee heroine.

“As much as I would love to talk more, we need to hurry. We have some akuma clones that need bashing.”

“Right away, my queen!”

Chloe put the bee miraculous in her hair.

“Pollen, Buzz on!”

_____________________________________________________________

“It is a good thing there are so many copies,” Ryuuko stated as she leaped over a few Reflekta copies.

Viperion swerved and dodged the replicas of his sister’s akumatized form while avoiding getting caught in the bubbles that froze them and floated them up in the air.

Deadzone had been doing a lot of friendly fire thanks to its single minded obsession.

“After this, I really hope I never have to see my sister take this form again,” Viperion commented.

“Right, Adrien mentioned that you were Juleka’s brother. Older brother, right?”

“Older twin brother. But yes.”

“Really? You seem older.”

“I am a grade ahead of her, but we are the same age,” he explained.

“Could have sworn you were at least a year or two older.”

“A lot of people think the same thing. Even my mom forgets, sometimes. Rose, my sister’s girlfriend, says I radiate ‘big brother energy’ or something.”

“You learn something new.”

“What about you? Any siblings?”

“Sadly no. I was an only child.”

“Too bad, I think you would have made a great older sister,” Viperion encouraged

“A snake charmer, are we?”

“Well I am the snake, and I am not charming myself, so I think the more correct term would be dragon charmer.”

“Change that to fun killer because you killed my fun right there.”

Before Viperion could retort, they had made their way down to the end of the hall and noticed that it was frozen off.

“Dead end,” they say at the same time.

“No, Deadzone.”

The two turn to see the deadly akuma amalgamation pointing its blaster at them.

The two heroes looked at the deadly akuma.

“Any ideas?” Ryuuko questioned.

“Just one.”

Viperion moved his hand to his bracelet.

“Second chance!” Viperion activated his power.

“Now we have some options.” Viperion explained.

The akuma fired a bubble blast at Ryuuko, and she was frozen.

“Second chance!”

Things reset to how they were a few seconds before. Viperion grabbed Ryuuko and pulled her out of the way of the oncoming bubble blast.

“Thanks. For a minute there, I thought that thing had me.”

“It did, but I used my power to stop that. we still have to get out of here.”

“Look out!”

Ryuuko got hit with another bubble as they got up, protecting him from an attack.

“This might take a few attempts…”

_____________________________________________________________

Hawkmoth paced inside his lair.

Mayura was out there, his son was out there… and things were not going the way he planned. Masquerade seems to be building a base for herself and was more concerned with that than getting the miraculous. Adrien is MIA, and Mayura isn’t responding.

“I might need to step in. But there is a lot of risk in this. Far too many variables that I can't account for”

Hawkmoth never liked leaving his lair. It had too many risks to it. After Heroes' Day, he had nearly been exposed. And after that fiasco in Shanghai he didn’t want to risk getting taken out by his own akuma. He had already taken plenty of risks that had blown up in his face. Would this be another one of those times he would need to risk his miraculous?

“But it could also be just what is needed to beat Ladybug and Chat Noir once and for all.”

With an akuma this powerful, the two would likely have to use their special powers multiple times. If he can just locate them and wait for them to do so, he could potentially gain the advantage. Maybe Mayura was on to something with her actions.

Hawkmoth walked to the window.

“There will be a right time. I just need to wait for it.”

He felt an itch in the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure what it was but he could tell one thing, something big was going to go down, and he needed to figure out the right call soon or it could cost him dearly.

_____________________________________________________________

“…And that’s her plan.” Simularé finished. “As for Ladybug and Chat Noir… I am unsure. I lost track of them before I was given a new assignment. But they are in the building and they have not tried to leave.”

Mayura smiled at the information. While it was quite unfortunate that she didn’t have the exact location of the two heroes, it was good to know that they were still in the building, and Lila’s plan was certainly something interesting.

“Indeed, that is quite a clever plan. Ensuring everyone in the school couldn’t escape was pretty smart. You likely had a few escapes anyway, with how clumsy some of the akuma were. You are fortunate that neither one was Ladybug or Chat Noir. Still, though, it isn’t your master’s fault for that. They are basically mindless puppets. But then again, it seems that there might be zero escapes since there seems to be no new reports on the subject of a school takeover.”

Simularé let the peacock villainess muse, analyzing her movements as if trying to figure out any advantage it could handle.

“So, the next step now that all communications are cut is to send out a message that Ladybug and Chat Noir have already been defeated, so as to cause massive despair in order to create even more minions. Sounds a bit derivative, don’t you think?” Mayura mused.

Simularé said nothing. It held its tongue. Deep down, it knew that starting any dispute with this peacock was not wise. Especially given that crazy power she had over their being.

“Still, it is quite a plan. And with all those extra akuma recruited and Ladybug and Chat noir cut off from their guardian, they wouldn’t be able to get any sort of back up. They wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight before all of Paris is under Masquerade’s thumb. I approve of the plan.”

“I am glad you do,” Simularé stated with a forced smile.

Their conversation was cut short when an akuma appeared. Seeing one it did not recognize, the artist akuma prepared to fight. But thankfully the shapeshifting sentimonster stepped in.

“Stand down Evillustrator, this one is not our enemy,” Simularé ordered.

Evillustrator eased and walked over.

“Masquerade has ordered that we start reinforcing the building. She wants this place to be like a fortress,” he parroted.

Mayura looked at the artist.

A fortress? Yes, Simularé mentioned that Masquerade wanted to reinforce the school so that she could ensure Ladybug and ChatNoir would have less chance of escape.

Simularé nodded at the akuma servant.

“Alright, so she wants us to drop the illusion, then?”

“She wants the place to be like a fortress.”

“Go ahead and start,” Simularé motioned. She figured that her master likely didn’t care about the illusion much as she was prepared for stage two. But she would maintain it for a bit.

The akuma moved to the end of the roof and begins working to reinforce the walls

Mayura began moving to the door of the roof to get back down into the school.

“Tell your boss I will be heading to her, and she best be welcoming,” Mayura ordered.

“As you command,” Simularé replied, hiding a large amount of anger and resentment towards the blue bird.

As soon as the blue peacock is out of sight.

Simularé contacts its master.

“Simularé, what is going on? Did Evilustrator reach you?”

“Yes. He is working to make this place a fortress. You want me to maintain the illusion, right?”

“I am about to go public shortly. After I make the announcement. Drop the illusion and make sure this place is a full-on fortress. After that is done, report back to me.

“Yes master. By the way, I had an idea.”

“Oh?”

Simularé smiled sinisterly. She was going to show Peacock why she was sorely mistaken.

“I will report the details to you shortly.”

_____________________________________________________________

“Everything is set up,” Robostus noted.

“Excellent. Let’s do it now.”

The Reflekta camera crew was all set, and Gamer had set it up so the moment they went live, every screen in Paris would show Masquerade.

Masquerade got off her call with Simularé. Something seemed a bit off with her sentimonster but she was intrigued that she had a plan.

“We are live in 5….4…3….2…” the gamer stated before pressing the go live button.

Masquerade smiled.

“Good afternoon, citizens of Paris. You may not know who I am, but don’t worry! You will be very familiar with me very soon. I am Masquerade, and I have decided to make Paris my personal kingdom.”

She paused to let that sink in.

“Now you are likely very alarmed by this declaration and that is normal. It will only be a matter of time before I spread my influence to everyone in Paris.”

She paused to let her words hang in the air before continuing.

“Do not be afraid, I am no monster. I plan on being a fair leader. All I ask is for your undying admiration and absolute loyalty. After that, you are free to live your lives as you normally would. Do not resist and you will have no problems. However, if you do… well, I can’t guarantee your safety.”

Masquerade took a calm breath before finishing.

“This last message goes out to the heroes of Paris, Ladybug and Chat Noir. I know you are here, I know you believe you will stop me, and I know you have allies here. But you will fall to me. Your days of superheroing have come to an end, your miraculous will be taken from you, and I will expose you as the failures you are,” Masquerade finished with venom.

She ended the transmission.

“Now make sure that it is being looped,” she ordered.

“Already is,” Gamer confirmed. “And panic is starting to rise.”

Masquerade smiled. Her plan was already working.

It may have seemed like a simple ego boost, but that speech of hers was a crucial part of her plan. Her charm bracelet could hyper focus on anyone that was akumatized in the past and have their biggest insecurities exposed. But that one by one process took far too long, if the hope of the entire populace of Paris was already demoralized. Then all she needed to do was send out her masks and let them take hold. And all she needed to do was go out there and send the masks.

She could already feel massive amounts of negative emotion from outside of the school. As soon as she headed out of the school, she could easily go and get more akuma soldiers. She could feel her bracelet trembling with all the potential additions.

She was prepared to leave, activating one of the charms to give her black angel wings, but something she remembered caused her to stop.

“Simularé I am moving to phase two of my plan. Get down here.”

It only took a few seconds for the sentimonster to jump from the roof and knock on the window.

One for the Reflekta copies opened the large window to let in what appeared to be Dark Cupid, before it shifted into the phantasm form that was its base.

“Right on cue. So, what is this plan you wanted to suggest?” Masquerade inquired. “And be sure it is not a waste of my time.”

“What if I told you I could get you a Miraculous?”

The sentimonster could feel that Masquerade was very pleased with that idea.

_____________________________________________________________

37 attempts.

It took thirty-seven resets before Viperion figured out what they needed to do.

“Ryuuko, follow my directions exactly,” Viperion instructed. “I know how to win.”

He quickly pulled her towards him to make sure she dodged the first bubble.

The akuma was surprised by the avoidance.

Viperion smiled.

“Your next line is, ‘How did you know I was going to blast at her?'” Viperion stated confidently.

“How did you know I was going to blast at her?” Deadzone parroted in shock before realizing they had said exactly what Viperion had said they would say.

The dragon heroine looked at the determined expression of the snake. She could see experience and certainty in his posture. All her years of fencing taught Kagami the art of reading body language, and the hero in front of her was someone that exuded an aura of confidence. She knew she could trust him.

“Alright, Sassy Snake, I will let you take the reins.” Ryuuko responded.

“Jump to the left in 2 seconds and start running.”

Ryuuko followed the instructions and sure enough avoided yet another bubble attack from Deadzone.

“Head to their left and bounce off the locker at the end.”

Ryuuko dashed past the akuma and jumped as Viperion instructed, perfectly avoiding the barrage of blasts sent her way. Viperion had perfectly mirrored her motion as he explained the next steps.

“Now somersault twice and draw your sword.”

Ryuuko somersaulted as Viperion leaped over her and the dragon turned to draw her sword, now on the other side of the hall.

“Now as soon as it fires a bubble at you, activate your wind! No matter what! I believe in you Ryuuko.”

The last words seemed a bit strange to the fencer. What did he mean by that?

“Will you shut up!?” Deadzone shouted before sending a bubble at Viperion.

“For my final glimpse into the future, you will say, ‘Not so tough now are ya?'”

The bubble contacted Viperion.

“Viperion!” Ryuuko cried out.

The bubble enveloped the snake and floated to the ceiling, taking his frozen form along with it.

“No…” Ryuuko muttered. She looked down in sorrow.

I failed to protect him. He ended up protecting me. He had been backing me up to make sure I wouldn’t do anything reckless.

Ryuuko felt her mind flashback to a few days ago which now seemed almost like it happened a year ago. They had made such a good team back then and now… they get a chance to be heroes again and she couldn’t cover him like he did her.

“Ha, not so tough now are ya?” Deadzone stated with confidence.

Ryuuko’s ears perked up at the statement. That was the line Viperion predicted they would say. That means… Viperion knew this would happen! Which meant his previous statement was to show he planned this. She knew what to do.

Deadzone turned its attention to Ryuuko.

“Don’t worry, you will join him shortly.”

Deadzone fired another bubble right at her, but this time Ryuuko wasn’t moving. She was at the perfect distance to do what she needed to do.

Ryuuko smiled.

“Wind dragon!”

The dragon-themed heroine turned into a cloud and blew the bubble right back at the akuma.

“What!”

The bubble encapsulated the akuma, causing it to freeze in place and then float to the ceiling.

Ryuuko returned to her original form and smiled, seeing how they had finally incapacitated the akuma.

“We did it, Viperion. We took them down. I'm sorry it cost you so much… I won't let you down!”

She raised her blade, upon realizing that her partner was indeed trapped in a bubble.

“Wait a minute…”

Ryuuko walked underneath Viperion’s bubble. She wasn’t entirely sure if this would work, since akuma magic was weird and often unpredictable, but it would make a lot of sense if it did.

“It is a bubble, so this should work right?” Ryuuko questioned as she used the tip of her sword to touch the bubble. She pushed it forward a bit causing the bubble to pop.

Her partner dropped to the floor.

“Ugh… my head.”

“You’re okay!”

Ryuuko hugged her friend, but then realized her sudden action and quickly jumped back up. A bit flustered, she could swear Marinette was rubbing off on her.

“I am glad you are alright, friend. You had me concerned — slightly,” Ryuuko corrected herself.

Viperion was surprised by the quick motions but managed to steady himself.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course. But make it quick, we will need to get a move on.”

“Okay… Who am I?”

Ryuuko froze at the question. She could see the confusion on his face. He was completely serious.

“Oh… that is not good at all.”

_____________________________________________________________

Masquerade is on phase two of her plan and Simularé is starting to make waves.

Who will get to the akuma first, Mayura or our heroes.

What will happen to Viperion now that his memory is gone?

Will Queen bee be the right choice?

Reblog and Comment . Your support is invaluable in keeping this fic alive. And I love hearing your thoughts on it

[tvrningout-a]

here we are with an oldie but a goodie from makiko's old blog: a headcanon discussing her issue with motivation and resulting confidence issues! it's lengthy as most of my headcanon posts are, but it's worth reading to understand her hesitation to pursue volleyball when she loves it so much :' )

     so makiko struggles heavily with motivation and has done so since middle school. it was around this time that her parents began to compare her to her older siblings who both excelled academically and were successful with their extracurriculars. makiko on the other hand struggled with school mainly because she held little interest for some subjects and would often space out during class. with enough effort, she might have done as well as her siblings, but makiko never saw the point in pushing herself in areas she didn’t enjoy.

     her parents didn’t understand such a mindset and weren’t overjoyed with merely average grades, so suddenly makiko gained a lot more attention from them and absolutely hated it. she would come home to lectures about hard work and having ambitions; had to endure disapproving looks when she’d pass a test with a B instead of an A; would have to listen to everything that she was doing wrong, and “ why can’t you be like your siblings? ” eventually makiko took on track and piano to hopefully take away some of the pressure on her academics, but that backfired when her parents wanted her to push herself further and further. they wanted her to be the BEST, but makiko just wanted to enjoy herself. 

     how could she possibly live up to her siblings’ accomplishments anyway? makiko hadn’t thought about it much before, but her parents’ comments planted a seed of doubt that she could ever be like her brother and sister, that she could ever succeed and be someone to admire. she loves yuki and yuuta, but she’s so different from them. it was never fair to compare the three.

     despite makiko’s natural talent and love for track and piano, she abandoned the two activities entering high school. there was too much pressure for her to take her talents as far as she could, and she now lacked the confidence to even contemplate competing with other kids who were surely better than her. no, it was better to just not try rather than risk being mediocre at something she loved. her parents weren’t happy of course, but makiko would rather endure that and force herself to raise her grades than reinforce the idea that she wasn’t anything special.

     so when makiko starts volunteering at the community center where no one knows her or her family, where she can try different things without any pressure, where she discovers volleyball and she’s finally excited again -- she doesn’t want anyone to know. she’s terrified that if her family or her classmates find out, she’ll lose that excitement. her parents will want her to push herself, will try to force their ideals on her again, and she won’t be able to enjoy volleyball anymore. and what if she does give it her all, but she’s no good, and everyone sees that? or what if she is good, and people start to expect more from her? what if she disappoints them?

     what if? makiko feels like she’s choking when she entertains the question.

     rather than put herself through all of that stress, she decides to keep her new interest all to herself. it’s something very close to her heart that she wants to protect, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t itching to try out for her school’s volleyball team. there’s a part of her now that wants to be challenged and wants to see how far she can go. but until makiko can work past her doubts, she settles for being the boys’ team’s manager and keeping volleyball practice for the community center.

[secondhand-trash]

Haikyuu boyfriends and how well they do as your personal photographer

Bless their souls but it amazes you how they manage to look at the screen and think “yeah that’s seems alright ”

Ushijima — he genuinely thinks you look good in every pic and that’s sweet but that’s exactly where the issue is. The way he takes a pic from a angle that looks like your legs were cut in half length wise and your eyes were like a dead fish but still thinks you look gorgeous stunning beautiful meant you would not get a pretty picture from the regular public’s standard anytime sooner.

Kageyama — his idea of what “help me take a picture” means is way more simple than what you had meant for it to be. You stand there, he presses the button, that should be it. He doesn’t get why people spend so much time looking for angles, or fixing exposures. It’s a picture????? It goes “click” and that’s it right??? He spends no time looking for a nice angle or even wait for you to pose, resulting in a lot of pics that are out of focused😌

Iwaizumi — he is an “awkwardly flex and puff his chest out while locking his jaw” type of guy himself, he tries but he really has no idea what is flattering and what is not. The grid references confuses him and he gets even more tensed when you try to give him instructions. Somehow always manages to take the picture when you’re blinking or making some sort of weird faces because you felt something on your face.

Not a natural, but they’ll go the extra mile just so you can have your pretty pics for insta

Nishinoya — he goes the extreme for your pics. If you ask him to crouch down to get your best angle, you bet he is gonna get so low on the ground until his arms are near touching the concrete just to give you that long✨leg✨effect✨. If you are an awkward poser or felt uncomfortable when you pose, he’s gonna go out of his way to run around behind to camera to catch your attention so you can have the most natural posture and the best smile.

Tanaka — he belonged to the last category when he was just starting out but then he sees the way you just didn’t post because you thought you didn’t look nice in any of the pics and he was just like “nah fuck that I’m gonna get good at this for your feed”. Follows so many of those “photo hacks”/“posing tips” accounts just so he can help you take nicer pics, now he’s a pro👏🏼

Bokuto — he has no idea what the hell he’s sounds and what he’s supposed to do but he has hella patience when it comes to doing things for you. As long as you look like you’re enjoying yourself and he seems like he’s doing good, he’s all game for taking 1528126826 pictures of you in the same spot with the same pose just to get that (1) perfect picture.

Mediocre photographer, editing KING

Suna — he gets very familiar with the photoshop settings from trying to make memes and stickers packs to clown the twins. The absolute GOD in terms of helping you remove people that got into your frame and making it look seamless. Probably has vsco and those camera apps that tries to make your pics look like they are taken with Polaroids on his phone.

Miya (Atsumu) — he learnt his lesson the hard way after getting clowned by his brother (and later vball teammates) for having wiggly bricks and crooked fences at the back of his pics because he tried to make his waist look smaller and legs longer🥲if you took a pic where you look really hot but “wow my hair doesn’t look fluffy enough” he can probably give you a free perm just by using facetune.

Kozume — he just... he just knows what he’s doing. He has very little patience during the photo taking process, but if you told him there’s a pic you like but you didn’t like this or that he would silently fix all those things and send it back to your without you even asking him to.

Today’s mvp, you should pay them just for how nice your feed got

Oikawa — he seems like the annoying type when he’s the one asking people to take his pics so in returns, he also knows what to do to get the best outcome. He knows all the tricks, all the hacks, the best pose that goes best according to what you want people to pay attention to. He probably has his pick of Instagram filters, one of them is probably that one with the sparkly effect. (But it comes with a cost because the amount of effort he put in for you, he expects you to do the same for him😌)

Akaashi — he just seems like he knows his shit LMAO he probably won’t make you look like an Instagram model but you’re gonna get very aesthetic artsy pics. Super good at finding hidden locations in places where everyone is crowding around that (1) visually pleasing spot and you couldn’t get pictures there without a seat of people at the back. He makes you look like a French art film star and I just think that sounds pretty nice😌

Yachi — not an hq boyfriend, she’s an hq girlfriend BUT THIS GIRL KNOWS WHAT SHES DOING. She works with graphic design right so she knows what proportions and what props to use to get the most balanced structure. She’s gonna make you your own magazine cover if you ask her to. She has a lot of experience with trying to make herself look taller in pics so if that’s what you want, she can make your legs look at least a good several inches longer 😌

[scariusaquarius]

just a dare.

George ‘Joji’ Miller x Female! Reader

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Synopsis: He was never one to back down from a dare, but this was a dare that might give George ‘Joji’ Miller more than what he bargained for.

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A/n: So this is probably really different than what you guys are used to, but I wrote this because A: I fucking love Joji and B: i wanted to write this for a friend. The style that I wrote this in is kinda kinda different than what I usually do, but I was freeballing this one ngl so if it sucks: that is 100% why. I don’t know how Joji is as a person, so if this doesn’t seem like something he would do then lol we die like idiots on this tumblr.

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Genre: Romance, Slight Angst Rated: Everyone Warning: None

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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He knew it was wrong to let it go on for this long, but there was a part of him that longed for it to never stop.

George ‘Joji’ Miller was a man of many things. He was a musician, a past Youtuber, a performer of many arts, and a friend. He was a son, a student, and sometimes during typical shenanigans with his friends, a character named Filthy Frank.

However, one thing that Joji didn’t like to consider himself was a liar.

Joji typically didn’t like to lie about things, even if they were small white lies. Sure, he’d lie to get out of petty trouble, but to lie to people he didn’t even know? Joji didn’t consider himself that much of an asshole (even though he did enjoy harassing them at times, especially when he still ran his Filthy Frank channel). However, if there was at least one thing Joji could admit about himself, it was that he never backed out of a dare or challenge, no matter how fucked up it might be (unless it was incredibly illegal, of course.)

Even if it meant fake dating someone and breaking their heart after a certain amount of time.

During a night of drunken shenanigans with his friends Max and Ian, they had engaged in a particular drunk game of Dare or Drink. It was a game of truth or dare, but with a twist, and it was personally a favorite of Joji’s, even if he did end up drunker than a dog before the night was even over. However, during this game, it had given Joji more than what he had bargained for.

“Hey, so you know that one girl that helps with the crew during shows? That (Y/n) (L/n) chick? I dare you to ask her out and date her for a couple months.”

That was how it started. A stupid and meaningless dare that was supposed to have ended months ago had Joji had the balls to break your heart. However, during his time in ‘dating’ you, he had found more out about you that he had never known about you before; more that made Joji rethink his choice of breaking you and up with you.

You were one of the crew members that had been hired to help him during his shows and music career, but you did so much more than just help set up the stage and handle the light sequences. You were almost like an assistant manager for his agent, helping with scheduling and setting up interviews and meets, designing merch and handing off the designs to his agent, and other incredibly important things that Joji hadn’t even thought about before meeting you.

Even though Joji knew you, he hadn’t really bothered to ever actually befriend you and get to know the real you. You were a fleeting image to him; always only glimpses as you hustled about and did your job. It was almost rare that Joji ever actually got to speak one-on-one to you, and that was only ever if his agent was sick and asked you to take over for the day.

From what Joji could see, you were a truly decent person with a unique perspective on things.

So, when Max had dared him to ask you out, Joji had thought it would be pretty fast and easy to do. He didn’t truly know you, so why not? As he watched you stare up at the sky, smiling softly as the snow fell and the Tokyo lights reflected off of your skin, Joji found it hard to look away; to even fathom the thought of breaking your heart.

There was a part of him that felt like an asshole for taking on the dare. Truly, Joji shouldn’t have taken it on…but there was a part of him that was almost glad that he did. To most people, you were probably considered mediocre, maybe even uninteresting…but to Joji, you were all he ever thought about. You invaded his mind at every waking moment; even invading his dreams when he would actually get some good sleep.

All he ever thought about was you and how much he didn’t want to break that soft light that burned within your heart. You were so soft; so…refreshing. Joji was addicted to you and your optimistic, even loving, outlook on life. Joji was sure that he had never met anybody who was so in love with living as you were. Joji could still remember the way you had looked at him when he had asked you out after a show one day when he finally got a real chance to.

He had taken a week to ask you because both you and him were so busy. During that week, Joji had thought about all the ways that the situation could go wrong. You could refuse, and Joji wouldn’t have to do the dare, Perhaps you already had a partner and could let him down…or maybe you just didn’t want to see anybody? If he was honest about it, it was what Joji had hoped for when he had blurted out the question when he stumbled off of stage, looking so sweaty and flushed from his time in the show.

However, instead of refusing him, you had given him a baffled look before you smiled so fondly at him; as if he had just professed his love to you or something…or told you that you looked beautiful, which you definitely had that night.

It was the moment that Joji knew he was fucked. He had taken you out the week after for bubble tea, showing you his favorite flavors while actually getting to know you. After about two months, Joji had figured that it was time to end the relationship.

However, when Joji had prepared himself and walked up to your apartment to break things off, he found his steps growing slower and slower until he was frozen in front of your door. His body wouldn’t move, and Joji cursed himself as he shuffled his feet and stalled. It shouldn’t have been so hard, but Joji never did knock on your door.

Instead, he had listened to you softly sing to one of his songs, sounding so pretty and soft as you sang alongside him. He had listened until the end of the song before turning and walking away from the door, sending you a sweet goodnight text. He almost hated how the heart emojis on your text back made his heart flutter.

After that, Joji began to notice more of the little things that you did for him that no other significant other had ever done for him before. In the morning, you would always have breakfast ready for him, his favorite breakfast foods usually, sometimes something different to spice things up and give variety.

You would pay so much attention to what he would say to you that if he expressed interest in an item or something that he liked, you would buy it for him as soon as you could, smiling so softly as you would shyly explain to him that you remembered he wanted that thing or stared at it a little too long.

You would remember some of the littlest things about him that he would tell you that most others would have forgotten, you would ask him about his day, give him space when he wouldn’t even ask for it, and pay attention to his physical cues, not just the verbal.

It almost baffled Joji how much you enjoyed doing things for him while he didn’t invest much into you. In the beginning, Joji hadn’t even planned to do much for you because in the beginning, you were temporary. You had been just the result of a drunken dare that Joji was too proud to refuse…until it wasn’t; until you became much more than that.

During an innocent night of him sleeping over with you after marathoning Disney movies, your alarm clock had gone off for you to do some late night work for the big boss. Joji, despite having been woken up by the alarm, hadn’t moved nor opened his eyes while you shuffled off the bed quietly to get yourself ready.

And then you had leaned over him, kissing his forehead and whispering how he was going to change the world, and Joji had never felt so conflicted in his life. It had honestly given him nightmares.

It was after the third month, after that one night, that Joji began to make more of an effort. He took you out to places that he remembered you mentioning, bought you small gifts, and made sure to listen more attentively rather than passively when you would speak with him about things that didn’t pertain to work or himself.

Joji took you more seriously, and though Joji still felt like shit about the fact he hadn’t begun to date you because he liked you, there was a part of him that began to feel thankful for such a stupid dare; a part of him that began to grow attached to you.

So, when you smiled over at him, the Tokyo lights lighting up your face in a rainbow of pretty fluorescents and snow falling on your skin, Joji couldn’t stop himself from smiling back at you. His heart swelled, loving just how in love with the world you looked. How could he even break your heart? How could he snuff out such a soft and loving light like yours?

“What’s on your mind, Joj?”

Joji swallowed thickly, suddenly nervous, and he wondered if he should tell you. Should he reveal it? Should he say it? Was it too late to? Was it considered too early?

“I love you.”

Just like when he had jokingly asked you out, your eyes widened in surprise before that beautiful smile graced your lips. Your warm hand came up to his cheek, cupping his flushed and cold skin before you replied back gently.

“I love you too, J.”

And just like that, Joji knew that there was no turning back, and if the man was honest, he was sure that he didn’t want to.

[END]

Taglist: @xshadyladyx​

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