#utterly useless knowledge

[quantumwitchgame]

The nintendo gamecube wasn't actually a cube.

But how many gamecubes would we need to make an actual cube?

For this I'm assuming we remove the awkward handles, and have a gamecube of 110h x150w x161d in mm

Let's figure out how many we'd need to make a gamecubecube.

First, get the prime factors of each dimension

110 = 2 5 11 150 = 2 3 5^2 161 = 7 23

The product of the prime factors is 265650 so each edge of our gamecubecube is going to be 265650mm.

Now we can see how many gamecubes would make up our gamecubecube.

It would be 265650/110 high = 2415

265650/150 wide = 1771

265650/161 deep = 1650

So with those dimensions, we'd need 7,056,992,250 gamecubes to make a gamecubecube

I don't think it's practical to get hold over over 7 billion gamecubes to form a gamecubecube that's over 265 meters high though.

But I feel better for knowing this.

[dkettchen]

pro tip for anyone seeking stable work in the uk after long unemployment:

make sure you have proof of Stuff you've been up to/lack thereof for the last few years, ie proof of studies, HMRC letters to prove freelance income, being registered as unemployed (ie if you're getting benefits or smth)

like- if you're a full NEET for a while and do not qualify for benefits make sure you still have Something each year you can prove, because a future employer may ask for that stuff as part of their pre-employment checks and my chronically unemployed but not registered as unemployed bc didn't qualify for benefits ass had to scrape the bottom of the barrel to prove I was working/not working in this country for the past three years o.o

[randomarceus]

Largo using 様 [-sama] to refer to himself in the Japanese version is so funny to me. Like yeah. Yeah. That's my boy alright.

Twice!

[steddiehyperfixation]

steve harrington's phone number

@steddiebingo prompt: van | 1.7k words | T |

“Stupid- useless piece of shit!” Eddie barely manages to pull his coughing, spluttering van over to the side of the road before it chokes to a stop with a dying wheeze. “Fucking drama queen.” He gets out and gives the side of the van a good kick, chastizing it for its very loud and inconvenient death. 

Just his luck it would decide to break down here, on a nothing stretch of road several miles outside of town. Too far to walk but not all that long of a drive if his stupid car could’ve just toughed it out a little while longer. “You really couldn’t have held on for like ten more minutes?” he grumbles, kicking the van again. The van, of course, does not answer and remains quite dead. Eddie mutters a few more curses and pulls his jacket tighter around himself against the late November chill as he wanders around to the front of the car to pop the hood. 

It’s an entirely useless gesture, popping the hood. Even before he opens it he knows he’s still not going to have a single clue what’s broken or how to fix it. The inner workings of a car are utterly foreign to him, an alien language of metal and grease that he stupidly never cared to learn. He stares blankly at the incomprehensible jumble of machinery before him, cursing himself for all those times he’d evaded and complained his way out of Wayne’s attempts to teach him how to do his own auto repairs. His uncle’s boring handyman lessons would’ve really come in handy right now, if only he’d had the foresight to listen. 

With a huffed out sigh, Eddie slams the hood back down. He’s going to have to call someone.

Thankfully he can see a roadside payphone not too far off in the distance, about half a mile out maybe. He rummages through his pockets and paws around the front seat of the van for any spare change he could use. He’d just blown through most of the money he had on him at a record store in Indy, but he manages to scrounge up enough coins for one call. Just one. So he has to choose wisely. He starts his trudge to the payphone while he runs through a mental list of options, feeling increasingly frustrated and hopeless as he crosses each of them off one by one. 

A tow truck is too expensive. His uncle is at work. Half his friends can’t drive, and not a single one of them knows anything about cars anyways so they wouldn’t be much help beyond a ride home (and he’d really rather not have to just leave his van on the side of the road). He needs someone who’s free, can drive, and has enough of a working knowledge of cars to possibly be able to give his van enough of a second wind to make it home. 

Which is how he finds himself in a dingy little phone booth punching in Steve Harrington’s number - a number he’s never called before yet somehow memorized, recalling it clearly in his mind’s eye in the scrawl of Steve’s handwriting on notebook paper. 

“Harrington residence, Steve speaking,” Steve’s voice comes through the line, automatic and rehearsed.

“Okay, I’ll make fun of that weirdly formal greeting later,” Eddie decides, “but right now, uh- man, I really hate to do this, but do you happen to know anything about fixing cars?”

“Eddie, hey,” Steve sounds almost startled to hear from him. “Um, yeah, I mean, I’m no expert or anything, but I know enough to get by. Why?” 

“My van just broke down on my way back from the city and I was hoping you might be willing to do me a huge huge favor and come out here and see if you can help me get her started again.” Eddie puts all the desperation he can into his voice, which really isn’t hard. His distress is 100% genuine. “Please? I’m desperate here, Harrington. I’d be forever in your debt, I’ll-” 

“Okay,” Steve says before Eddie can start bargaining. So simply, so easily. He really wasn’t expecting it to be that easy.

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll help you. Where are you?”  

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh thank god- thank you. Thank you thank you thank you. I owe you my life, seriously-” 

“Munson,” Steve cuts him off again, repeating his question, “where are you?” 

“Right, yeah.” Eddie gives his best approximation of where he is and Steve promises to be there as soon as he can before hanging up. Feeling a little bit lighter now, Eddie treks back to wait by his van.

The sun has just dipped below the horizon, streaking the sky with pink and gold, when Steve’s BMW pulls up and he steps out of the car bathed in the orange glow of sunset, looking every bit the rescuing angel. A dashing hero straight out of a fairytale; Eddie can almost picture him with a sword in his hands instead of a toolbox, a noble steed behind him instead of a car. 

He expresses only a satirized version of that sentiment, clasping his hands over his heart and gasping theatrically in greeting, “Harrington, my hero!” And he grins as Steve rolls his eyes in response. 

“Hi, Eddie.” Steve approaches, plunks his toolbox on the front of the van and leans against it. “You know, I’m surprised you called me. It didn’t seem like you were ever going to.” 

Eddie shrugs, hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I just- I couldn’t think of anyone else who’d be able to help me. I’m sorry if me calling you, like, freaked you out for a second there.” 

Steve’s eyes narrow and his head tilts like a confused puppy. “Why would you calling freak me out?” 

“Well, I mean, you only gave me your number in case something happened with the kids, right?” Eddie states. “So, I didn’t mean to make you worried at first that there might’ve been, like, a Dustin emergency or something.” 

“Oh…” A number of emotions flicker across Steve’s face as he seems to come to some sort of realization, and his expression ultimately settles on vaguely amused. “Right, yeah. Totally.” 

Now Eddie’s the one who’s confused, feeling like he’s missed a punchline. “Is that…not why you gave me your number?” It’s not like it had actually been explicitly stated, but they’d just been talking about the kids right before Steve had written his number down, so Eddie had just assumed that was the reason. 

“No, it-” Steve shakes his head and smiles, a little bit fond, a little bit like he’s still sharing some kind of inside joke with himself. “It’s not important right now,” he decides. “Let’s just figure out your van first, alright? What was going on with it before it broke down?” 

“Well, I don't actually know,” Eddie says, “but she was being very loud and dramatic about it.” 

“Huh, I’ve heard of pets developing similar personalities to their owners but I’ve never heard of cars doing it.” 

“Oh shut up.” 

Steve grins, pushing himself off the front of the car so he can open the hood and take a look. He immediately starts to tinker around with some stuff. Eddie has absolutely no idea what he’s doing, but he sure looks good doing it. There’s a cold breeze in the air, getting colder by the minute with the slowly darkening sky, but something about watching Steve’s arms as he works a wrench into the machinery has Eddie feeling strangely warm. 

Steve’s talking, probably trying to explain what he’s doing or what’s wrong with the van, though Eddie’s not catching a word of it. He couldn’t pay attention even if he tried, and not just because he’s distracted by Steve’s arms. The other half of his mind is still stubbornly stuck on the whole thing about Steve’s number, racking his brain trying to figure out why the hell else he would’ve given it to him. 

He spends way too long replaying that moment, and all their previous and subsequent interactions, over and over again in his head before his memory finally starts to give notice to all Steve’s lingering glances, subtle once-overs, and suggestive smirks.

“Holy shit, you were flirting with me!” Eddie blurts out the realization as soon as it hits him. “When you gave me your number - you were trying to hit on me!”

Steve, who had been interrupted mid sentence, barks out a laugh. “Now he gets it,” he teases as he glances over at Eddie. “You know, I couldn't figure you out for a while. All this time you never called but would still say hi to me when I picked the kids up from Hellfire, I figured it was some sort of soft rejection. But you really were just completely oblivious, huh?” 

“No yeah, I just have fucking rocks for brains apparently,” Eddie says, shaking his head self-deprecatingly as he rushes to reassure him, “I was definitely not rejecting you. Definitely, definitely not. Believe me, if I’d’ve known- I would’ve called so fast, man. I mean, trust me, your phone would’ve never stopped ringing.” 

“Good to know.” Steve smiles, his eyes so golden and warm in the dusk it almost seems as if the sun is on its way back up. He returns his attention to the van, just for half a second to give the machinery one last tweak, and then he straightens and closes the hood, wiping the car grease from his hands off on his jeans as he announces, “Well, your car should start now, if you wanna test it out and make sure. And then we can, uh, continue this conversation?” 

Eddie nods, hops back in the van, and turns his key in the ignition. It rumbles to life, and he lets out a laugh like a cheer. “You’re a goddamn miracle worker, Stevie!” he shouts.

“Glad I could help,” Steve calls back proudly. 

Eddie revels in the sound of his not-dead van for a moment longer before he takes a deep breath, turns off the engine, and jumps out to stand in front of Steve again. “So.” 

“So.” 

There’s a brief beat of buzzing silence. Eddie finds he doesn’t have all that much left to say, and he’s feeling far too giddy right now to be able to stand through some sappy discussion about how they feel about each other when it’s entirely unnecessary. He suggests instead, “Do you wanna just skip the conversation and go make out in the back of my van?” 

Steve grins at him. “Absolutely.” 

[fishparasite]

terrible two years but also truly the best years of my life so far simply because i had friends who liked me and who i liked in return

art college got me drawing but it also made me suffer while drawing in incomprehensible ways

[cosmictuesdays]

CHEMIST HAS THE POWER TO TAME SKUNK'S SPRAY

Copyright 1994 Chicago Tribune Company Chicago Tribune November 25, 1994 Friday

HEADLINE: CHEMIST HAS THE POWER TO TAME SKUNK'S SPRAY

BYLINE: By Peter Kendall, Tribune Staff Writer.

Salk conquered polio. Einstein unraveled relativity. And Krebaum? Well, Paul Krebaum, it appears, has developed the first home remedy for skunk spray.

If ever an idea was in the air, it was this: How do you get rid of the smell that comes from two tiny but ingenious glands at the business end of a skunk.

A garden hose is impotent, soap is utterly useless, and tomato juice is a quaint old wives' tale that has left many people with skunk-sprayed dogs that not only stink, but are pink.

But Krebaum's formula, distributed nationally in recent months on e-mail and in state agriculture department bulletins, is winning over converts who thought the only viable antidote was the passage of time.

The story of how Krebaum, a Lisle chemist, has conquered the fetid, putrid odor of skunk is a simple tale of necessity being the mother invention.

But, alas, Krebaum's formula will never bring riches to its inventor, for the solution is trapped within a cruel chemical Catch-22.

The very chemical properties that make his formula deodorize skunk spray make it impossible to package. It will burst out of any bottles.

If the story of Krebaum's formula is ever made into a movie, the first scene will show Krebaum working away in his lab at Molex Inc. in Lisle. His face is screwed up as he smells something bad.

He is doing research using chemicals called thiols--some of the nastiest smelling chemicals around.

Thiols are produced by many things, including the degradation of proteins. Thiols are responsible for the odors that comes from decomposing flesh and fecal matter.

Most animals have a deep-seated repulsion to thiols, a gift of evolution that keeps them from eating things that will make them ill.

Using basic chemistry knowledge, Krebaum figured out a way to get these foul smelling thiols out of his lab by changing them into other compounds. The trick was oxidation-getting oxygen molecules to bond with thiols and change them into things that didn't smell bad at all.

To do that, he made a solution of simple ingredients-hydrogen peroxide and sodium bicarbonate (baking soda)--that did the trick quite well. The solution threw off oxygen like a dog shakes off water, and some of that oxygen grabbed onto the thiols and neutralized them.

Meanwhile, in Lisle and elsewhere, evolution had been chugging along for eons and produced an animal that scientists call mephitis mephitis, the common striped skunk. Natural selection led the skunk to develop a spray that exploits other animals' aversion to thiols. Skunk spray is, fundamentally, essence of putrification.

But fate never would bring mephitis mephitis and Paul Krebaum together, at least not directly. Krebaum has himself never smelled skunk spray at any greater concentration than that lingering in the air on a country road.

There were, instead, intermediaries--one of Krebaum's colleagues and a pet cat.

"He came in to work and said his cat had an encounter with a skunk," Krebaum recalled. "He said he had tried tomato juice, and it didn't work, and the cat still wasn't able to come into the house."

Krebaum knew skunk spray was made of thiols ("general knowledge," he calls it), and suggested using a variation of the formula he used for getting rid of thiols in the lab.

"He came back the next day and said the stuff worked like magic, that every trace of skunk odor is completely gone from the cat," Krebaum said.

The variation he developed for the cat was this: 1 quart of 3 percent hydrogen peroxide, which costs about $2 at a drugstore; 1/4 cup of baking soda; and 1 teaspoon of liquid soap, which breaks up the oils in skunk spray and allows the other ingredients in the solution to do their stuff. The solution should be rinsed off the pet with tap water.

In October 1993, Chemical and Engineering News published Krebaum's formula.

One of the most interested readers of the article was Tom McCutcheon, who was then with the West Virginia Department of Agriculture. McCutcheon, a plant pest biologist, was something of an answer man for callers to the department.

"We'd get probably a dozen calls a year, 'What do we do, our pet's been sprayed by a skunk,'" McCutcheon said. "Tomato juice is the old remedy. Everybody would say, 'We've tried that, and it doesn't work at all.' We really didn't have a remedy."

When he read of Krebaum's formula, he was skeptical. Over the years, he had learned never to recomend [sic] anything he hadn't tried himself, but getting sprayed by a skunk posed practical difficulties.

"I asked my dog if she'd volunteer, but she said no," McCutcheon said.

It was while driving last February through the hickory and oak forests of Roane County, West Virginia, that McCutcheon spotted a road-killed skunk. More hit than run over and preserved by the late winter chill, the skunk was in fine shape.

Carefully, he wrapped the skunk inside two plastic bags and put it in the trunk. He knew he had a potent specimen for his experiment when he went into a drugstore to buy the ingredients for Krebaum's formula and the druggist noticed the smell on McCutcheon's clothing.

Back behind his office, he made up the solution.

"The whole time, my eyes were watering--I had never been this close to a skunk in all my life," he said. "I dunked the skunk in the bucket, and immediately the smell went away. I was very surprised and impressed."

Krebaum had briefly considered trying to figure out a way to patent his formula, but quickly abandoned the idea.

The formula is, essentially, a chemical engine for churning out oxygen, and all that oxygen refuses to be bottled.

"Once you mix the hydrogen peroxide with the baking soda, it is no longer stable," said Krebaum. "You can't store it in a bottle, because it would explode from all the oxygen."

"It wasn't worth trying to get a patent on it because I couldn't put it in a bottle, said Krebaum. "So why not make this a free-gift-to-humanity type deal."

-end-

[ooffmlsorry]

OP Men Dating a "Girly Girl"

A/N: sorry this took so long and I haven't posted anything original in a minute my life is mess and I'm so very tired jfc...I know this isn't more than my usual group but I was just gonna stop at Luffy and then decided to add Ace and Sabo as a thank you because writing these and putting them on Tumblr has been really good for me, so thank you for always being here to indulge me 🥲 ❤️

Sanji, Zoro, Law, Luffy, Ace, Sabo

Sanji

Let's be honest, girly-girls drive Sanji craaaazzzzyy (not that all women don't, but he's definitely more partial to the feminine ones) Your make-up, pretty skirts and dresses, jewelry, and manicure, he can't help fawn over you constantly 😍Although you do it because you enjoy it, it's nice that your efforts are so appreciated!!

He spoils you soooo baaaddd!! He literally can't help himself when he sees something pretty or cute that reminds him of you, he has to get it for you. You're drowning in squishmallows at this point.

A river of blood shoots from him every time you show off a new outfit. You're going to kill him and he'll thank you for it.

Dressing up in nice outfits together, especially on date night, is a shared activity that you love to do together. Y'all are living your best happily ever after lives.

Ya'll definitely have scheduled self-care nights. You put on some slow music, open a bottle of wine, draw a bubble bath, all that.

He's utterly useless when it comes to helping you pick your outfits or makeup if you're stuck because he loves you in everything, it's too hard for him to pick. You're his perfect, beautiful Y/N-swaaaaan 😍💖💖✨

He does love to see you in pink or red though so he might default to those colors

Don't try to test your makeup on him lol, you're going to re-awaken the gender identity crisis...I mean Kamabakka trauma

Listen...I'm not saying Sanji has a mommy kink...I'm not even at Whole Cake Island so idk wtf is going on there. All I'm saying is if you give this man a bath, wrap him in a towel to dry him off, and rub him down with luxurious lotions and oils, you might awaken something...that's all...👀

ZORO

He has no clue wtf you're doing. If it weren't for the fact that there's no proof that witches exist in this world, he'd think you are one

He looks at your vanity full of serums, creams, scrubs, lotions, etc, not to mention the makeup and he's like "??????" Just completely baffled

But what do you expect? This man would use that five-in-one Irish Spring soap if he could.

Just because he doesn't understand it doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate and admire the fact that you have extensive knowledge in something he can't even comprehend

He knows you like nice shiny things, and again, while he doesn't get it, he does think it's really, really cute when you go starry-eyed over a necklace or an outfit in a store.

In the same vein, he knows how much you love cute things and animals. He has absolutely found a cute animal in the jungle, picked it up, and brought it to you just to show you because he knew you'd love it.

Sometimes in his own gruff way he'll agree with you that it's pretty cute. Thank you for helping this manly man admit things are cute and that's okay.

Other times, he's the one making sure you don't get distracted because it's so cute

Unfortunately and fortunately, you're pretty to him no matter what you do to yourself so it's all kind of a moot point to him.

You can try to ask him about which 'x' to wear, sometimes it's helpful because he'll throw out a really practical answer and then other times he's like "How 'bout you just go naked" 😏.

He'll wear a face mask with you like...twice a year. And he's going to bitch and moan about it but he does it because he loves you. The entire process is like trying to give a cat a bath "WHY IS IT SO COLD? THIS STAYS ON MY FACE FOR HOW LONG???"

Exfoliate this man at your own risk...I'm dead serious that water is going to be brown

LAW

I need you to know right now this man will let you paint his nails!!! I mean, not like gel or acrylics or anything, but he'll let you paint them any color as long as it's a dark shade of that color. You once designed Bepo on his middle fingers. He did in fact flip people off a lot more often when he had them.

Let's you wear a pastel boiler suit because you he loves you and wants to see you happy

Much like Zoro, he's got no clue what you're doing. He'll stand back and watch you while making the exact same face as the gif above.

He thinks he's being stealthy peaking around a corner to watch your morning or night routine, but you quickly catch on. Please please pleeaaassee ask him if he has any questions because he does. He's just really curious why you're doing what you're doing and what it does. It's basically skin medicine and he's really fascinated.

Knowing that you like shiny things makes his life admittedly a little easier, it's not that he doesn't think of what to gift you, he puts A LOT of thought into what he gives you, but knowing that earrings, necklaces, and bracelets always make you happy is great just in case of analysis paralysis or he forgets. Sorry.

Also you wearing the jewelry he gets you does something to him, especially a necklace he can pull on a little, mmhhm you're making this man struggle with impure thoughts.

You both love cute things, it's something y'all connect on. It's really good that you help him access that very neglected inner child of his and encourage him to coo and fawn over adorable animals with zero reservation.

He'll do skincare with you too when he's not super busy. He can admit it's kind of nice to sit in bed with a book, glass of wine, and a face mask and just bask for a minute

He acts like he hates when you rub serums across his face and use a derma roller on him but he loves it

Law doesn't really pay attention to your clothes, but when you really go all out he breaks out in a sweat and he can't keep his eyes off you.

LUFFY

I'm not saying he thinks it's stupid, it just...why have an hours long care routine when you could be going on adventure with him??? 😭😭😭

He will help you pick out your makeup but don't expect it to look good. You're gonna end up with neon orange eyeshadow and green lipstick. Like literally every "My Boyfriend Does My Makeup" youtube video.

Plays around with your stuff but that's because he has no idea what all these strange contraptions are. The moment you try to explain his eyes glaze over and next thing you know he's whisking you away to go do something more fun.

He likes the shiny bright stuff (highlighter), makeup probably is the only part he even remotely engages in because it's

Explain how contour works to this man and watch him lose his fucking mind, he thinks you're a shape shifter now (honestly this applies to all of them except Law and maybe Sanji)

He never notices what you wear, Nami is gonna have smack him on the back of the head to get him to realize you put on something fancy

Luffy points out everything, it just so happens that things he points out sometime happen to be cute animals

Hides in all the stuffed animals and squishmallows in your room to surprise attack hug you

*throws mud at you* "Is this the kind of mud you like, Y/N??" He really means well though.

You know those hair masks with all natural ingredients like honey and banana? Yeah, he's gonna start sucking on your hair like spaghetti...I'm so sorry.

He'll bathe with you but that's because he wants to be close to you, it's definitely not about being pampered or relaxing.

Try to put a face mask on him or something else and it'll just become a game of tag around the Sunny. You can't catch him and he's having a great time outrunning and outwitting you.

He knows this is all important to you so even though he doesn't get it he'd never make fun of you for it and the moment someone calls you "extra," he's kicking their ass.

ACE

Maybe all the glam is a little silly to him but that just makes you extra cute!

He will also absolutely let you paint his nails. Hell, he'll let you do a full beat on him just for fun and he'll wear it for the whole day because he's so unserious lol

...As long as he gets to do your makeup after...Much like Luffy you're gonna be covered in neon colors that don't even remotely match, but you guys have a great time lol

Admittedly likes to be pampered by you when he gets back from a long mission.

Please take a bubble bath with this man, it's not like the water is ever going to get cold!

I'm pretty sure you'd legitimately lead to Ace taking better care of himself. Got this man out here talking about his cuticles and shit lol

Honestly, it's really good for him because self care leads to self love and Ace needs a lot of help with that.

He tells Pops about all the stuff you do 1.) because he loves you and 2.) he hopes some of it will help Whitebeard heal a little, god bless him 😢

All of your hardwork doesn't go unnoticed, he legitimately gets kind of misty eyed when you really dress up because he's so so so lucky. He swears he doesn't deserve you.

He always brings back some kind of gift even whether it's a cute plushie or something exotic to wear from all of his long travels

I need to stress how much this means to him, everyone of these things is like a little proposal because he already knows you're it. Every little gift is leading up to a ring from this man.

He's also just genuinely impressed by the skill it takes to do your makeup so well, especially after he tries doing it on you

Much like his little brother unfortunately, he does play with all the little contraptions in your vanity, especially in the beginning because have you seen an eyelash curler? He's so confused lol

SABO

Sabo and Ace truly are his brothers because he really don't get all the effort lol

Admittedly, a lot of that is because he thinks you're so hot already what's the point???

Once he gets this is just how you are he's less confused, he's probably the most normal out everyone. He lets you do your thing, although he's really curious how you managed to always look amazing while being in the fucking revolutionary army!!?? Where are you getting the time???

If someone were to intrude on y'all on a free afternoon you're both in fluffy robes with face masks on and Sabo loves to pretend to act like a bitch when he's in selfcare mode with you lol

"Are you seriously bothering us right now, ugh! I can't even right now!!" And then you both break out in laughter

He really thinks you should teach others how to contour and do makeup because it has great applications for disguises and infiltration.

And brags about your skills to everyone

Wonders how many of your makeup supplies could actively be used as a weapon *eye roll* jfc Sabo

There's a part of you that secretly worries all your boujieness will remind him of his blood relatives, but he assures you that it doesn't because you have a good heart and he never doubts that

Besides, being a little extra with him helps him associate those things he used to associate with his blood relatives with you instead so it's even better

He spoils you so bad, but with a Sabo-flair, ie. stealing from shitty people and bringing it back to you because you're oh so more deserving of nice things let's be honest

He gets jealous of the cute animals that you squeal over hehehe, please hug him when he starts pouting

He'll always wear a little pink just for you ❤️

[littlestarlightseverywhere]

A Little Help

Pairing: Lucien x Reader

Summary: When Lucien’s lover is overcome with pain from her cycle, only one thing can help

Warnings: None (period pains, maybe??)

Notes: So random and not developed at all, just a small little blurb to help get me out of my writer’s block <3 Taking a brief break from my usual Azriel brainrot to give Lucien some love

The pain was neither kind nor forgiving in the way it permeated her dreamworld before she even had the chance to wake.

It slowly pulled her from her slumber until she found herself no longer under the duvet beside her furnace of a mate, but clutching the cold bathroom tile for an ounce of relief instead. The torment was relentless, spasm after spasm seized her lower belly until she couldn’t help but moan into the toilet.

Her elbows rested on either side of the porcelain bowl, a weak hand propping her head up as she rode out the last wave of torture. In an effort to take her mind to some place far away from the misery, she tried to recall what she had been dreaming about.

She was somewhere pleasantly warm with endless golden light bathing every surface. Lucien was there. Near a lake, perhaps, as the sound of gentle water lapping over itself felt right. Feyre was around too, with Nesta and Azriel– a holiday? She tried harder to recall more details, paint a picture vivid enough to distract her, but the effort was fruitless. There was nothing she could do and the knowledge of it left her so helpless, so irritated. Suddenly, the fact she was crouched at the toilet bowl repulsed her, the light in the washroom was far too bright on her eyes this late in the night, and all she fucking wanted was a damn second to breathe.

“Love?” His deep, sleep-leadened voice pulled her from her thoughts. She slowly opened her eyes to find Lucien standing at the threshold of the washroom, eyebrows furrowed disquietingly.

“Sorry if I woke you,” she meant to sound calm– totally cool, totally collected, like she totally had it all under control. But it was hard to put up a front with Lucien when her body so naturally relaxed in his presence, so it really was unavoidable that her voice instead came out depleted and small.

“Oh baby, do you need the toilet?” He didn’t waste a second in crouching beside her, placing a large hand on her back. When she took a moment to reply, he slowly ran his hand up and down the length of her spine, trying to soothe her in any way he could. He knew he was utterly useless in this situation. Lucien hated seeing his mate in this pain. When she was otherwise injured, at least he could see what was wrong and fix it. Physically mend a cut, salve a burn. He could hardly reach into her and soothe her from the inside, though she knew he would if he could.

He did not even want to think about what he would do if he had to go through this every six months. To be honest, Lucien didn’t think he, nor any male for that matter, could handle it, at least with as much grace as she does. He made sure to tell her this each time she was on her cycle because it always earned a small smile from her when nothing else could.

“Can you please get me a cloth?” Without hesitation, he went into the cabinets for find one for her.

“Do you need help?” Lucien asked, handing her a thick pad.

She quickly shook her head. “I can do it, can you just put my hair up? I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

Lucien quickly took the hair tie around his wrist and gently twisted the hair curtained around her face into a loose bun at the back of her head.

“Better?” He asked, kissing the back of her shoulder. She let her head drop slightly when the cool air kissed the back of her neck, whispering a breathless, barely-there thanks.

“Can you get up?”

She nodded, but she lifted her arms anyway. Lucien took the cue, sliding his arms underneath her to slowly help her up from the ground, heart breaking at her groan. She felt the flood as soon as her legs straightened, along with a fresh cramp tearing through her muscles, and grabbed onto Lucien as hard as she could. He didn’t even flinch, only waited with her until she was ready to move.

“I can carry you if you need me to,” He offered.

“No, I can walk,” he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, that even at her most vulnerable she could be so stubborn. He’d be lying to himself if he said her bullishness wasn’t what drew him to her in the first place. “Just, don’t let go of me.”

“I’m not letting go, love.”

Slowly, he helped guide her to the bed, where she collapsed into the covers. He climbed in next to her, pulling her body gently into his. Lucien knew when another wave of pain would come over her with the way her body tensed under him, and he gently squeezed her hip where his hand rested to remind her he was right there.

“How bad is it right now?” He murmured into the top of her head into her hair.

“Lucien I can’t even think of anything else right now,” Her voice was so small, so unlike her. “Every time feels worse than the last.”

He felt an anger that almost wasn’t his ripen in his chest at her anguish, but he quickly subdued it, reminding himself it was not about him at this moment– he would let himself feel it, alone, after she finds some peace.

“I’m sorry,” He cradled her head in his chest, feeling her erratic breathing against his torso as she fought to maintain her composure against the relentless cramping. “You’re doing so good.”

Her hand softly held his wrist as the pain subsided slightly. “Luc, can you do the thing?

She was so exhausted, so out of it, she couldn’t even describe what she needed, but with Lucien, she never needed too. He always knew.

“Of course, love. Get on your back for me.”

She did as he said and guided his hand to her lower belly, right where the cramps would come and go as they pleased.

“Here,” she lightly instructed him, the weight of his heavy hand a welcome pressure. “I’m sorry, you must be so tired too.”

He shifted on his side and propped himself up on one below so he could look at her face as he said to her, “You don’t need to worry about me love.”

She smiled at him, finding comfort in how safe he always made her feel. She did worry about him. All the time. She worried when he went over the wall where the humans were. She worried when he returned to the Spring Court to check on Tamlin. She worried when he went into town, when he worked on their house, and even when he laid asleep beside her. But however much she worried for him, Lucien worried for her an unfathomable amount more. Becoming Lucien’s lover was like becoming a celestial body of the universe, for she’d never known what it felt like to be someone’s world until she became his. Lucien never let her forget it, not in the words he spoke to her or the things he did for her.

Like now, as he gently pulled up her night shirt and laid his large hand over her lower belly, she felt his palm heat up over her, bringing almost immediate relief to the pain. Her hand rested on top of his, absentmindedly running her fingertips over his calloused knuckles. It wasn’t lost on her, the way her cycles were much easier on her, with him. There was only so much that could be done to ease an inescapable pain, but Lucien had still found a way for her.

“Too hot?” He checked in after a few minutes of her silence.

“No,” she mumbled. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

He watched her melt into the covers, the features of pain recede from her face. He’d never been called perfect before he met her. Not with his long red hair, his whirring eye, his scar. The girls wanted a Rhysand or a Cassian, even a Tamlin at some point. Never had he felt perfect, it was never even a word in his vernacular, but things were different now. He’d started to believe he could achieve something close to perfect, if only for his mate who deserved nothing less.

He’d helped so many people, done so much good, with his fire magic. Still, nothing felt as meaningful and important as when he was able to use it to help his mate. Even the times where he’d used his powers to hurt and destroy, she always gave him a way to remember he is not these things at his core. This– using his fire magic to warm the pain he could not physically reach– is who he was. She knew that, and so really, who gives a fuck if no one else did?

“I love you,” he spoke softly, knowing she probably didn’t hear it. From the open window, a breeze sighed into the room, carrying his words into the sky for the stars to hear instead, but they already knew.

Lucien did not sleep until she did. He didn’t mind the lack of sleep at all, though. On nights like these, he took the opportunity to reflect. In the very beginning he struggled to sit with his thoughts, plagued by so many created against his will. Now, it came easier to him with much more to be thankful for, to live for, than before.

Nothing is so difficult anymore, he thought to himself as he watched her finally find peace in her sleep beneath his touch.

[demonicbaby666]

Territorial

One shot | Supergirl Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Supergirl

Pairing: Kara Danvers x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 2.9k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, jealousy, fingering, semi-public sex

Summary: Attending an event with Kara seemed a good idea. It had never been an issue in the past, but when she returns from mingling to find you enjoying the company of another guest, things take an interesting turn.

A/n: I want to say that I've thoroughly proofread this, but I cannot because I am lazy and also not motivated enough to do that :)

Kara didn't want to leave you. On the drive over to the reporter's gala, you'd heard her say just that, even if you were the slightest bit distracted by how her muscles bulged under the sleeves of her blazer. 

She knew you were no social butterfly and had sworn to stay by your side when you needed a breather from small talk and scheming questions—a hero even when she shed her cape. You'd tried to reason with her, explain you were not a child, that you'd be fine alone. Alas, it proved useless. She wasn't having it. 

However, that was the drive over when Kara had yet to be faced with renowned reporters, endless opportunities for stories and the chance to fill a whole page, front and back, with media contacts. So, when the time came, you were proud to admit you succeeded in swaying your girlfriend to do all the things you knew she was most looking forward to with a "Please don't let me stop you. I had been wanting to check out the bar anyway." 

You did receive a dejected look from Kara as she was dragged away, one that reminded you of a little lost pup. That wasn't entirely a pleasant sight, but when you arrived at a too-tall bar stool and peeked over your shoulder, you were happy to note Kara was lost in conversation. The twinkle in her eyes she only got when intrigue grew and questions were formed was bright as ever. She was utterly consumed. It was a happy sight. A sight that, mixed with alcohol, made your chest flush a little too hot for liking. 

Time ticked by, and for a while, it was okay. You watched Kara move around, go from person to person, nursing your drink between glances and taking in the room decor. The thought of joining her did cross your mind but was quickly stored away when you realised how hard it would be to reach the blonde across the ocean of bodies. Better to sit tight and save yourself the trouble. 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the event hall grew too loud. Not loud from rowdy patrons or blasting music. The accumulation of too many polite voices and clattering sounds combined to form a monotonous hum was what was beginning to drive you crazy. You waited. And you waited. And you waited some more. You waited for as long as you could, feeling more and more how your cheeks began to burn until it got a little too much, and you found your way outside to the stone stairs of the grand entrance, heart beating a little too fast for your liking.

That was where Kara found you. She'd wrapped up her conversations as fast as possible, asking and answering rapid-fire questions, absorbing every bit of knowledge offered while keeping track of the time. It couldn't be helped that now and again, she lost herself in stories that she imagined would one day be hers. She knew you'd understand. But then, too much time had passed, and she knew it as she hurried over to the bar, already panicked about how best to apologise for leaving you alone for so long. 

By the time she did find you, after discovering the bar vacant, her worries were gone, and Kara was joyous to finally be so close to you again that she could smell your perfume. The stories she'd heard were waiting on the tip of her tongue to be regurgitated, along with an apology kiss, which she had decided was the foolproof option on the walk over. However, when she turned a corner and finally saw your unmistakable figure, she did not expect to find you with company. More so, she did not expect a pristine blazer that was not hers to be wrapped around you, keeping you warm from the evening's light breeze. 

Watching from a close distance, Kara could see it. She could hear it pierce her ears—the bitter sound of laughter. You were smiling, listening attentively to what this random woman spewed at you, and it drove Kara crazy, filled her veins with fire, and turned her knuckles white. She hated this part of herself, the wiry-clawed green-eyed monster that came out so often around you. She'd been pushing it down all evening, all week, hell, your whole relationship, whenever she saw someone's eyes linger on your figure too long. But this, whatever was happening between you and this woman, was, for some reason, Kara's last straw. 

"It's freezing." She strode over, steps heavy, tone sharp as she announced her presence.

It was, in fact, not freezing, and you were about to mention that as you turned to greet Kara, but the second you saw her stony expression, you decided otherwise. 

"Kara, it's so nice to finally meet you," the woman beside you said, extending her arm to the blonde with a warm, charismatic smile. "Andrea." 

The reporter outright ignored the greeting, stared at Andrea with flared nostrils and then back to you, her eyes softening only a smidge. You hated to say it, even if it was just to yourself, but something about seeing Kara this way deeply affected you. Of course, you loved sweet Kara, the Kara that would never be able not to help, the Kara that left a trail of sunshine behind her as she walked, the Kara that giggled at double entendres, and that's what she said jokes. But this Kara, fierce, protective and territorial Kara, the Kara that would crack someone's neck if they looked at you the wrong way, throw them over the side of a building if they even thought to touch you, drove you mad with undying lust. 

"Why are you out here?" your girlfriend asked, snapping you out of your daze. Her eyes grew smaller, and her lips thinned as she stared at the blazer still around your shoulders. 

Sensing her hostility and heavy eyes, you got the hint. Well, it was less of a hint than a blaring alarm. Nonetheless, you understood. "I got a bit hot inside, that's all," you calmly answered, beginning to shrug off the satin jacket that seemed to be Kara's new adversary lest she burn a hole right through it. 

"Nice seeing you, Andrea," Kara said dryly, sporting a sarky smile as she took the blazer off your shoulder and handed it back. "I'll be taking my girlfriend inside now."

With an arm hooked around your waist, you were ushered inside, unsure what the hell had just happened until it was too late to turn around and apologise for Kara's out-of-character behaviour. 

"Did you have to be so rude?" you whispered. "She was only being nice." 

Kara was indifferent, her face expressionless. "I thought you didn't want to socialise," she finally said, manoeuvring past groups of chattering clusters. 

"She approached me. It would have been rude to ignore her," you tried to reason.

"The blazer?" Kara countered, nails digging into you so hard you felt them pierce the silk material of your dress, forcing you to choke down a whimper. 

There were so many things you could have said, so many things you should have said. You could have given Kara one of the many valid reasons you had at your disposal. But no, you did nothing of the sort. Seeing Kara this pissed off, even if she was trying to hide the true extent of it, was absolutely divine, and you wanted it to last. 

Leaning over to her ear, keeping up with her quick pace on your tippy toes, you sultrily whispered, "I was chilly, and she offered to keep warm." 

Kara halted, standing stark still in the middle of a desolate hallway. You saw her jaw lock, the way her veins in her neck bulged. Her eyes, shining a scorching shade of blue, looked off into the distance, and that was when Kara truly lost herself to silent rage. 

When her feet started moving again, no words were spoken. She only pushed you down the corridor and then to the left, each step growing more daunting as the woman beside you remained stoic. You started to consider that perhaps you had gone too far. 

"Kara, I-" you tried but were cut off by the force of Kara roughly shoving you inside a side room. With no warning, your body was slammed against the back of the door, forcing it shut with a bang that echoed in your ears, its remnants reduced to a faint buzz. 

Kara had kept her hands on your waist, body a safe distance away as her azure eyes roamed your face in rapid intervals, eventually landing on your lips. 

"Do you need a reminder?" she snapped. 

Fidgeting and momentarily adverse to maintaining eye contact, you looked around at the collection of coats, studying all the colours, all the various items poking out of pockets, and the occasional umbrella brought in by the wary, inherently failing to answer Kara's vague question. 

The quiet grew to be biting; its teeth gnawed away at your confidence until breathing became almost impossible. Thankfully, the room itself was chilled, air circulating well enough to ensure that dust particles and the distinct smell of dampness would not stick to the fabric. Only two windows painted the room, both of which were located to your right, one jammed shut with rust and debris, the other slightly ajar. And as grating seconds passed like hours, and eyes locked onto you, hot breath rained down on you, the timid breeze that began to sweep in through the small crack of that old window became your new best friend. 

You focused on it as you looked to the floor and watched your toes curl. You heard its high-pitched whistles alongside the squeaking leather of your shoes, and you felt its light fingers caress your flushed cheeks just enough to dull your panic to a manageable seven. 

Of course, this did not last long. Your senses eventually found you, and you remembered the lingering question dancing in the air and the unhappy blonde who deserved an apology. But it was too late. For the second time that evening, you concluded that you'd pushed your girlfriend too far. 

Your punishment was a hand coiling around your throat, calloused fingers threatening to mark you with blotchy bruises but not daring to squeeze hard enough to hurt. Beneath the firm grip, you closed your eyes, frustrated with how painstakingly annoying it was to have something so wrong feel so good. So fucking good you were struggling to hold in a moan. 

"Do you need a reminder that you're mine?" Kara calmly asked, fractionally squeezing just that little bit tighter to force out a strained whimper. Her pupils were blown wide, dark whirls of something foreign polluting the bright shine of her irises. 

Distant music seeped in, filling the silence between rapid breaths. Eyes sharpened their focus on one another, studying the new hues of lust, committing the new palettes to memory for lonely nights. Then came the slip—your submission offered with one last shuddering breath and the slow close of your eyelids, and Kara, sharp as a whistle, acted accordingly. Her lips, soft yet bruising, devoured you at a moment's notice, pulling you in with deceiving memories and false promises, only to demolish them with biting nips and trailing scratches. She tasted of pure possession, each slide of her tongue more demanding than the last. 

She wanted control, and you happily gave it over. 

Kara pulled back, beginning to plant kisses from your mouth down to your neck. She drew you into her mouth, sucking hard enough to have surely left a mark, and you'd have cared if it weren't for the svelte fingers shamelessly working under your dress, rising to the juncture between your thighs to tease your clothed cunt with light touches. 

There was no remorse when your shivers were felt, when your pitiful rendition of a beg was heard or when your hips started to grind down in desperation. The reporter was hell-bent on prolonging the torture. 

Hand on the underside of your knee, Kara encouraged you to wrap a leg around her waist. She hauled it up as if it weighed nothing and held it in place, momentarily allowing you to find some needed friction along the column of her toned stomach. It was then you realised why Kara wanted you to have some leverage. Savagely, your underwear was torn, fabric protesting louder than you did in fear you'd anger your tyrant and be deemed unworthy of her illustrious treatment.

"I want them to hear you," Kara drawled, dipping the tip of her finger inside you. "Hear that you belong to me." 

Instructions clear, she thrust three fingers into your welcoming pussy and began fucking into you at an unforgiving pace. There were no words to describe the ecstasy that was being stretched so abruptly it almost hurt, so you settled for a silent cry instead, gripping onto muscled shoulders for leverage. 

It stung when Kara pushed harder and moved faster, but the tendrils of pleasure did not lessen, circulating through your body and bubbling in your stomach, so you endured. 

Your moans were carrying, spilling out of the room to ricochet and bounce around the high-panelled ceiling and walls of the corridor. The occasional gasp that did reach your ears left you desperately wanting to be ashamed, to do the sensible thing and tell Kara to stop. The embarrassment of exiting the cloakroom and coming face-to-face with the many people who knew exactly what had happened was enough for you to listen to your rational mind. But what remained stronger was the need to chase your impending orgasm. 

That's what made forgetting so easy—the vehement need for ownership being met, even if it was being done in such a precarious place. It's probably why you didn't stop the following words from coming out of your mouth.

"Yours." You wanted her to know. Hell, you wanted everyone to know. So you kept saying it, over and over, louder and louder. "Yours yours, yours, only yours." 

All you could do was continue to pull Kara in, clenching around her fingers, and beg her to go impossibly deeper with the firm grip of your leg and crackling cries. Soon enough, there was no need for Kara to hold you close; you were stuck to her like glue, and the blonde chose to take full advantage.

Her hand lay flat on the wall to gain some leverage, her fingers starting to move so fast they felt like they were vibrating. Soft kisses along your throat became harsh, teeth latching onto skin repeatedly, mercy momentarily shown with soothing slides of a slickened tongue. In the back of your mind, you knew what was happening. The reporter was marking you as hers, and when you left that tiny room, there would be no mistaking it. In the upcoming days, she wanted you to see the bruises staring back at you in the mirror, a warning for you never to forget. Hers. 

"Mine," Kara growled, her voice raspy. 

Your chest was rising and falling alarmingly, your breath short, and your lungs exerted. Everything was moving so fast you scarcely noticed Kara place her thumb over your clit till it was too late, and all that was left to do was gasp so heavily your lungs felt like they may burst. 

With the duel stimulation came the lack of awareness, and it seemed, even for Kara, your volume was rising to a level that would amass too much attention. Her lips found yours, and muffling your cries, she drove her tongue into your mouth.

Her thumb continually ran in circles, each drawing you closer. Your stomach was so tense it felt painful. Still, the persistent waves of satisfaction were worth the strain, and unsurprisingly, in little to no time, you felt the inevitable crest of your orgasm, releasing an open-mouthed gasp against velvet lips. 

You came with a silent cry, your head thrown back and slamming against the wall, forcing Kara to separate her lips from yours. She watched you fall apart in awe, milking you for you had till you were shaking so badly you could scarcely hold yourself up. 

"Keep holding onto me," she whispered, and you obeyed, wrapping your hands around her neck, breathing heavily and dropping your head to her shoulder. With a delicate kiss on your temple, Kara slowed her fingers down to languish thrusts and placed her hand over your ass, taking the majority of your weight. "I've got you." 

Assured there was no chance you would collapse, Kara kept going, continually pulling meek whimpers from you with every curl of her fingers. It felt like your orgasm was never-ending, waves of full-bodied pleasure rippling through your system over and over, burrowing into your skin till it felt like you were on fire. Finally, when a grimace replaced the gratified smile you wore and your moans began to sound more wounded, she stilled, slowly withdrawing from you. 

Weakly looking up, you watched Kara bring her fingers into her mouth and sample your unique taste. Her eyes fluttered shut as the familiar tangy nectar coated her tongue, and a satisfied hum vibrated in her throat. 

Head falling forward, knees still shaky, mind certain, you whispered the only thing that seemed to be running through your head, "Yours." 

Lips to your temple, Kara happily muffled her confirmation, "Mine."

Taglist: @iliketozoneout @homo-oddity @noahrex @lovelyy-moonlight @camciel | Click here to be added to my taglist

[theoddest1]

Okay so this new episode that came out (Episode 4) was poorly handled.

TW /// SA

- No warning before the show starts...why? And even if there is no way for Viv to add one, for some stupid ass reason, why didn't she announce to the fandom properly "Hey, this will have very deep topics and imagery that may not be suitable for all audiences."? Why have arguments on threads and fail to do this very easy thing. At least if the episode came out, people would get a heads up, and the word would spread faster PLUS people would see that you at least TRIED

- The episode opens up with a scene of CNC porno played for laughs in an episode that tackles SA. Complete tonal whiplash. Why did it have to open up with Angel showing everyone a porno? It serves no purpose other than to get a cheap laugh (that never came) out of me or anyone else who watches and because of the topic of the episode revolved around it. I'msure that if the episode WASN'T ABOUT SA, that joke would not have been there....but it is. There was legit no good reason to start this fiasco off with such a tone deaf opening.

- Charlie is actually fucking useless and a burden in this episode, serving no other purpose other than being the gateway to further the issues that befall Angel when "trying" to help. This all screams forced. Worse of all, Charlie does nothing to actually HELP Angel out of this, even though he has a clear black eye thanks to it all and literal mirrors breaking as a result of the abuse. We never see an actual development between the two thanks to her foolishness and garbage writing, and it's resolved easily as if this is some early Disney cartoon season that's on a strict deadline. Regardless of whether she apologized or not, she essentially caused the issue and did NOTHING to actually clean her mess. The goddamn B A R T E N D E R had to be used to salvage the pieces. So far, Charlie, as a character, is utterly pathetic and has been a burden to the cast twice so far. Vaggie, who tried to prove herself (moreso Vaggie's fault for going the extra mile for no reason but an obstacle nonetheless), also had an issue that involved Charlie's utter lack of a backbone. Hey, what was it that Charlie said in the pilot that her dad taught her and one of the only thingsshe learned from him? "You don't take shit from other demons"

- Only one scene from the abuse shown was handled well, and it was when Charlie visited, screwed everything up, and Val asked Angel to come to his dressing room. Aside from that, the whole SA imagery is jarring. While this time, the fast pace of it all is not bad, the quick shift into it all with Angel switching from enjoying to hating, to smiling, to frowning, ALONG with the quick pace of it all with the PRIOR KNOWLEDGE SHOWN and the SONG PLAYING, I am getting mixed messages here. Imagery? Shows Angel getting assaulted multiple times with either a forced smile or for some reason ENJOYING sex with Val and the role play situations showcased, is he INTO his abuse? Lyrics? He seems to find arousal in Val controlling him. The song legit reads as follows

"Addicted to this feeling, I can't help but swallow"

This doesn't read like he is "forced" it reads like he is yearning the toxic relationship. Now if this was one of the main issues with the abusive relationship, where it was a codependency built on romanticising the abuser and Angel learning to break free from that horrible view of someone who never loved him and actively harms him, this lyric would make a lot of sense....but that's not what we are shown at all. From the jump, we are shown that Angel HATES being with Val, to the point of him straight up avoiding his texts and voice messages, they actually do an okay job (despite the shoddy voice work) on showcasing how manipulative Val is and his outright explosive temper through this scene in episode 2. We see that Angel does NOT wanna have association with Val, is tired of it all, and even got drunk to down his sorrows. Yet these lyrics present it all as though it's just a very rocky love life like those songs you hear on the radio with the singer lamenting about how awful their relationship was but still miss their toxic boo-boo. It just...doesn't read like an SA song and could mean anything regarding the type of abuse he is facing. It's kinda vague in hindsight. That's MY take on the lyrics, though.

- Husk's song is a trash fire. He sees Angel is down in the dumps and proceeds to talk shit about him pretty much relaying his sorrows, saying it's okay to feed into your vices, and downplaying the actual situation at hand. So let's get this straight.

Angel- A sexual abuse victim forced into sex slavery to appease all sorts of people's sexual desires whether he likes it or not, including pleasuring his pimp who physically abuses him often all cause he sold his soul

Husk- Gambled his life away and lost his title as overlord, serves under Alastor all cause he sold his soul.

How is this even...the same at all? Even if Husk is lacking some context, he SEES that Angel normalized drinking roofied drinks and works for Val SOMEONE HUSK SHOULD KNOW ABOUT AND WHAT HE DOES but nah, screw Angel. Even if he honest to God (irony) wanted to actually help, why tf would Husk think this was sound advice? Why does Husk just SUDDENLY care? No build up, no memorable dynamic, no nothing. Realistically, CHARLIE should be the one singing with Angel or maybe Vaggie because she heard the story from Charlie. Not Husk. He is self aware enough where he knows this "advice" wouldn't work but nah. Nothing about the song makes sense. Telling someone going through it that "you're a loser" pretty much a no one, an insignificant individual, when VAL has made it clear that Angel would be nothing without him...yeah no the only reason why this whole song "worked" was cause the writers wanted it to, so Angel is happy with being a loser for being a victim of SA and selling his soul to someone who abuses him in various ways consistently.

This episode is terrible

Jarring for any newcomers

Who have no idea who these characters are

[deinocheirus]

I have come up with a terrible dragon idea.

He was probably an egg kicked out of a nest, and unfortunately got picked up by a bird. He spends his life being utterly delighted by the joys of being a little pigeon in a lovely little forest, tries talking to everything else, which often leads to him being shot, attacked or partially eaten, but he's just so thrilled by being such a lovely, pretty little pigeon he does just fine. If he knew he was a dragon he would probably be incredibly miserable with the knowledge of being a small, weak, useless little reptile the size of a purse dog with no redeeming qualities, but as it is he thinks he's a little magical pigeon who's prettier and cleverer than all the other pigeons, so he's very delighted.

He's not very smart.

YES

[richard-hei-long]

Consequences and Blame(And why you shouldn't misplace them)

It's somewhat common knowledge in the Miraculous community that one of the "Rules" of the show is as follows: "Marinette always makes a mistake and learns a lesson... Even when she's not actually at fault."

This means that, no matter what she does or doesn't do, Marinette will always be blamed for the episode's problem, regardless of if she's actually at fault or not.

Many authors alleviate this issue by either having Marinette call out people for always blaming her for their problems or simply not having that stupid rule from the start. But I would like to propose an... Alternative take on it.

So lets turn back the clock in the Miracu-verse to when Marinette is but a smol child. She's smol, she's innocent, and... She's being blamed for literally everything wrong in the world and just cannot win no matter what she does.

Marinette hits a kid because they were being a jerk? She receives detention and told that she should've gone to a teacher.

So, next time it happens she does just that... And the teacher(Cough Bustier Cough) tells her to be a "Good Example" and the teacher doesn't do anything about the kid.

Seeing that the teacher was utterly useless, Marinette goes to her parents and... They just tell her to avoid the kid.

She tries, but then the kid seems hellbent on hunting her down and tormenting her. She tells her parents about this and... They don't do anything about the problem.

So, she changes tactics again, and again, and again... And no matter what she does either nothing changes or she gets punished for it.

Even worse, she starts getting blamed for things that simply aren't her fault or for situations she wasn't ever involved in. Kids blame her for pranks, adults blame her for "Acting out", both blame her for "Misbehaving".

No matter what she says, no matter what she does or doesn't do, it's always the same. She's the one to blame, she's the one whose wrong, she's the one to face consequences even when she doesn't deserve it, she's the one who always suffers.

After an entire year or two of this treatment, Marinette comes to a conclusion, that the universe was trying to teach her one, simple lesson.

Everyone will always blame her and say that she's in the wrong, so why bother trying to be right? If they want her to be a problem, then be the biggest problem ever.

And so, Marinette adapts her tactics once more, only this time it's towards being as much of a nuisance as possible, to cause as many problems as possible, to make everyone around her suffer as much as possible for always blaming her for everything!

And everyone very quickly comes to understand just how badly they fucked up by constantly antagonising the smartest and most creative kid in class.

Pranks, traps, and all sorts appear everywhere in the school seemingly overnight, so many that people can barely get into the building without getting splashed by water buckets or caught by net and rope traps.

Of course, everyone blames Marinette again, and her response is one they do not expect.

"Yes, it was me, unlike all of the previous times you blamed me for things I didn't do." She said, staring strait into their souls before walking away, but not before giving them one last ominous warning.

"And it's only going to get worse from here."

And it did get worse. So, so much worse.

Torn clothing, graffiti on houses, jumpscares from very well put-together costumes, Marinette put her creativity into overdrive in bullying everyone around her and getting payback, constantly finding new and more efficient ways to torment her classmates.

Naturally, her parents are informed of her behaviour and try to ground her, but Marinette, being Marinette, already planned for this outcome.

And so, she hung her head, put on a sad face, and went to her room like a good girl, pretending to be cowed by their scolding, leaving her parents satisfied with their "Success" in curbing their daughter's tendencies.

The next day, they woke up to find their daughter gone, several of her things missing, and the cash registers smashed to bits and raided of their loot, the front door left wide open.

Marinette had run away.

It shook them to their cores, to see their beloved daughter be so uncaring, but they made their stance clear. They weren't with their daughter, so Marinette would no longer be with them.

Living out on the streets was rough for Marinette, but nothing she couldn't adapt to, she was an intelligent fighter after all, so she quickly picked up good shelter spots, who and where to avoid, and generally just how to survive the Parisian streets.

She lived out on the streets for a few months before a familiar, yet unexpected face appeared before her.

"Dupain-Cheng?" Chloe Bourgeois asked(?) in surprise as she saw the blue-haired girl that used to ruthlessly torment their entire school.

"Oh, it's you. What do you want Bourgeois?" Marinette replied coldly, remembering how Chloe used to bully her before her "Vengeance" phase.

To Marinette's surprise Chloe's response wasn't one of malice and spite, but rather friendly delight as she told Marinette that she missed the now sorta-orphan girl's presence in class, complimenting and outright praising Marinette's tactics and planning capability.

It was... Unexpected, but nice. Nice to have someone compliment her, to be on her side, to not blame her for every wrongdoing in existence for no reason whatsoever.

And then, Chloe made an offer she wasn't expecting.

"Hey, why don't you come back? I can have daddy set you up a room in the hotel and we can hang out whenever we want!" She asked enthusiastically, surprising the bluenette.

Deciding to give it a shot, Marinette agreed. Worse case scenario she ended back up on the streets anyway, so she was willing to try it out.

Just this once.

And, much to her surprise, she's welcomed with open arms by Chloe's father who was happy that his daughter had another friend.

He might have been a corrupt official, but he still tries his best to be a good father dammit!

And thus, Marinette now had a cushy penthouse room in the best hotel in Paris. And better yet, she wasn't surrounded by people who blamed her for every problem they encounter!

Chloe, her father, Sabrina, they never told her she was wrong, they never told her that she was responsible for events outside of her control, they never told her to apologise for mistakes that don't exist!

To Marinette, it was paradise, and she will forever be grateful to Chloe for granting her this privilege.

She even eventually meets Adrien Agreste and finds him to be utterly delightful! He listens to her problems and tells her that the other people were the problem and that he's sorry she had to go through all that. It was wonderful.

She started crushing on Adrien after that, but refrained as he was Chloe's crush and Marinette was loyal to her friend and saviour. However she was completely unaware that she was Chloe's crush and the "Adrien Crush" was just a cover story for it because Chloe panicked and wasn't ready to confess just yet.

Eventually, Marinette returns to school, and her classroom. She sees some familiar faces, and some new ones, while others were missing. But that didn't matter to her.

What did matter was the recognition and utter fear she saw appear in their eyes as she entered the classroom with Chloe and Sabrina.

"Surprise bitches, bet you thought you saw the last of me!" She said with a downright feral grin, knowing that the next few years were going to be fun.

And so, Marinette goes back to screwing with her classmates, getting away with it completely thanks to Chloe's connections.

Though, she's a bit more lenient this time around. Not out of altruism, but just because she finds bullying her classmates to be a rather boring affair nowadays and just does it to keep them in line.

She still pranks them to remind them of how bad she used to be, but her Rage and utter Hatred has cooled off since then. She still holds a grudge, but now she only really unleashes her full fury on those who accuse her of a wrongdoing she didn't actually do.

And thus, this was how Marinette became Chloe's most useful enforcer, making sure all of their classmates don't get any funny ideas about trying to usurp Chloe's position as Class Rep and ensuring their compliance with all of Chloe's commands.

This went on for a few years, until the Miraculous come into play...

(This is Part 1 of the idea, I'll make Part 2 once this post gets 100 Likes because I'm tired and need a break. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed)

[aneveningsword]

𝐔𝐧𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐬

pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader warnings: not proofread words: 685 summary: a spare hair tie becomes the solution to Spencer's problem

masterlist

It's common knowledge that the curls Spencer Reid had were untammable. No amount of brushing, hair product or spray could keep them at bay. They seemed to have a mind of their own, and nothing could control their will. If they wished to defy gravity, that is what they would do, if they wanted to stick out the sides of his head making him look like a chicken, that's what they would do.

You found it endearing how no matter how many times the man tried to push the curls out of his face, they simply flew back into place. The annoyance was almost pliable, the emotion etched clearly on his face for everyone to see. You could not help but find some amusement in the Doctor's frustration. How something that seemed so simple could get the better of him. Spencer could recite useless facts off the top of his head, and he could pinpoint the general area where an unsub might be, but he could not win against his curly hair.

From the coffee machine, you could see how Spencer's body rocked with a deep huff as the hair he just pulled back from his face, flopped back into his eyes. It was a sad sight, seeing the frustration tense up his slender body. You felt a bit of pity for the man who was clearly debating just cutting off all his hair.

A warm cup of coffee in hand you head towards Spencer's desk hoping to provide the genius a simple and obvious solution to his problem. "Hair giving you some problems?" The question held a small joking tone as the coffee was placed in a small clear space on his desk. A place for it to sit as you pulled the hair tie off your wrist.

"Is it that obvious?" The man asks with an underlying tone of annoyance, something you do not take to heart. A small smile forms on your face as you are behind the desk chair he was perched on. His face contorts into one of confusion as he tries to follow you around, chair moving slightly as he tries to keep you within eyesight.

"Sit still, eyes at the front." you scold jokingly, grabbing the back of his chair to swivel him around to where you want him. A small huff would leave Reid, but he would not move from the spot you put him in. The elastic hairband in your hand would snap slightly as you begin carefully moving his hair into your awaiting hand. You attempted to be as careful as you could be, not wishing to tug on his hair and cause some pain.

With most of his locks secured in your hand, it was time to finish it off with the hairband. With precision and care, you would loop it around a couple of times to ensure it would not fall out before letting go of his hair altogether. A proud grin on your face as you eyed your work, while not all his hair was captured by the hair tie, it was good enough.

There was a moment of bliss as your fingers threaded through Spencer's hair, taking care not to get caught in the curls. It was relaxing, having someone else play with your hair. Soft and careful hands ran through his hair, curling it around your finger, it was bliss in his mind. A sensation he did not wish to stop.

"Done," Your voice pulled him from his thoughts as you spun him back around carefully to face you. Warm eyes look up at you expectantly, waiting for you to decide if your work was well done or not. He watched the concentration fill your eyes as you scanned over his face and hair, making sure no rogue curls were going to annoy him too much.

"Perfect, utterly perfect if I do say so myself." Your voice was filled with a sense of achievement, the smile you wore was contagious. The stress of his hair problems leaves him with the help of your simple solution. A well-placed hair tie.

[matchanon]

you know that doomed apocalypse isekai plot had given me some thoughts too and as the inspirator for this im holding u responsible for these ideas so im dumping these in your inbox (im sorry haha)

<<being isekai'd into an rpg-like otome game>>

- first of all, unlike the other reader, this one had lowkey highkey been playing this game and all its routes so they KNOW their shit. maybe this game is notorious for its difficulty and bad endings, maybe it's rng bullshit all together, who knows but the reader lmao

- the moment they wake up they either go panic mode until they realize what world is this or they excitedly roam around and figured out which faction they had woken into.

- if they had awoken into castrum kremnos, it's the hardest faction to stay alive and keep yourself afloat in the original game. it has so many hard events and scenarios, not to mention even meeting the main guy of this route (mydeimos) is a task and a hurdle. but wooing him is probably the easiest when you can prove yourself worthy and stay by his side.

- waking up in the grove is the easiest place you could start at as the beginning stages are the best places to level up and grind, only at the end is where the big harder events come in (and in game by the time you get there, you should be fully equipped and leveled) the hardest part about this route is no doubt the guy (anaxagoras) as he takes nearly as long as the entire route even for him to begin acknowledging you as he's much more interested in uncovering the secrets of the tide.

- the third route in okhema seemed to be the most balanced out of the three. There would be random battles and scenarios that would be hard when you are unprepared but it's nothing brain-numbingly hard like in castrum kremnos. and the main guy (phainon) isn't half bad or too easy to go for either! no, the main game isn't the hard part--it's the endings he would pursue. care too much and he becomes the villain deadset in only caring about YOU and not the world. care too little and why would he bother with anything else except for his revenge? make a minute mistake and he ends up as flame reaver rather than the deliverer. forget to do something and he fails his final trial.

so, what where would reader end up in and what route would they choose?

i didn't want to air out this ask cuz we were VERY close to anaxagoras banner, so i waited a bit for it, though it doesn't make particular difference in this case, the outline remains pretty much the same. anyways... have you ever watched overlord? i personally find it fun when game translates terrifyingly into reality :3

since we don't have an actual otome plot to go off from, i will be free balling this.

————

you, the reader, do not have the luxury of choice.

and of course you don't have a choice. if you did, you wouldn't be here. you would've never chosen this world from all the games and novels you could've chosen. you wouldn't have chosen to transmigrate, period. in this reality that should've remained a game, you do not choose the hows, the whys, the whens, or the whats.

games are games, novels are novels, they are fun to play or read after 8 hours of work, but the real thing is decidedly not fun.

in fact, it’s downright horrible.

no matter where you start off, it’s a very horrible world years (in the two digit numbers at most) away from utter annihilation. the people are on edge. the regulations are strict. the food is managed and the population in each city kept an eye on. the monsters are hideous and smelly and terrifying. they have dinosaurs for pets and one of them almost crushes you beneath its foot. this world sucks balls.

a world based off an otome is still a shitty world. you are not protected by a screen nor do you get to go back and redo your mistakes. you work, eat, sleep, except this time you're utterly alone. you're also kind of useless in stuff except game knowledge.

you can't use swords or bows. you don't know how to plant corps, sew a straw basket, or even skin an animal. you don't know the protocols and unspoken rules set in place. you only know that the world is real. you bleed. you hurt. you can die (or worse). a seven year old here has more survival skills than you do and had even comforted you when you had broken down like, twice, patting your back like your mom used to do when you were small (and what humbling experience that had been).

no one knows you. no one cares about you. you are truly, horribly, indescribably alone. you are terrified, and you must fight for your very survival now. the world is going to end soon. you are going to die if you don’t do something, but what can you do?

if “you” try to “wander” around, you are going to die either by monsters or fellow humans. if you stay without doing anything, the world marches to destruction. any day there is danger of corruption swallowing the place you live. what is knowledge worth when you had been a law-abiding civilian form the modern era and cannot act, fight, or survive on your own?

you know the characters. you know the routes. you know the items, the cheats, the lore. things you used to pour over in forums and discussion groups for fun are now things you desesperately try to recall and depend on for survival.

after mere weeks living in this game world, this knowledge is exactly why you can understand just how fucked you are.

the world is infamous for its bad ends, fights, and rng (oh god, the rng is the worst, you are NOT lucky), and so far none of it looks pretty in person. you certainly haven't been very lucky. if a single dromas can almost accidentally send you to heaven (not a fun experience, 0/5 stars review, despite the cuddle afterwards that left your face wet from licks), what makes you think you can survive fighting by the capturable targets' side and aid them?

drastic circumstances, you think, call for drastic measures.

ROUTE #1: YOU WAKE UP IN 《 "MURMURING WOODS", GROVE OF EPIPHANY》

one of the most hated routes ever because the gameplay used to have math problems in real time :) in the real world, it's even shittier.

after you transmigrate, you suddenly have to cram religion, quantum physics, history, agriculture, arquitecture, magic voodoo, alchemy, and math. you are not going to survive. might as well lay down and wait for death.

time is ticking. you don't have the time - nor the brain cells - to get into any of anaxagoras' classes. just thinking about studying masters degree levels of stuff makes you want to pass out. he might think you are lying, and by the time you can for sure prove you're not, you are pretty sure it's going to be late and you're all going to die.

this is the real world. you are not constrained to routes and choices in a screen. you must use think outside the box. think hard, and realize this: your only option is not professor anaxagoras.

instead, before doom decimates the grove of epiphany and you become a faceless face amongst the statistic, you must find a way to attract the gaze of cerces, the titan of reason residing at the core of the academia.

alriiiight, time to prep yourself to spout some of the biggest bullshit in your two lives.

gods, you can't believe all those hours pouring over game lore for shipping purposes is going to save your life.

(of course, your other option is to shoot all your subjects to hell and get yourself expelled, but that runs the dangers of being sent to a city that is not okhema.)

ROUTE #2: YOU WAKE UP IN 《 "BLOODBATHED BATTLEFRONT", CASTRUM KREMNOS》

simply put, you are fucked.

figuratively speaking, the dynasty of castrum kremnos had long since become an abandoned fortress by the time you meet the warrior of okhema, mydei, in the main storyline. it becomes a plot device used to bond with mydei and something many fans had gushed over and cried about. despite being a mere plot device, there is enough lore on castrum kremnos for you to know enough and understand that when you wake up in the still standing city of castrum kremnos, you are in deep, deep trouble.

the city was not felled by the black tides, instead, it had been taken down in rebellion against its current king eurypon by the banished and presumed dead crown prince, mydeimos. by the timeline of the main story, castrum kremnos is only an abandoned wastelant of madness and rubble.

(you don't know, you don't know when and where mydeimos is...!!! what year did castrum kremnos fall? when did he finally leave the sea and meet his comrades? how many years did he spend wandering? how long did the rebellion last? has aglaea already sought him out in alliance?)

it is not a kind city for the weak. glorious though its walls and warriors might be, its customs are steeped in might and war. people die for pride, glory, and senseless slaughter, something you have read in the game but cannot truly understand when seeing it with your own eyes.

even now, lurking in the whispering crowd, you watch as men and women venture into a labyrinth and come out as mangled corpses. more keep going in, and just as many come out. the kremnoan warriors are proud and seek glory through strife. your problem here is not the supernatural forces that will destroy the world, but the human civilization you find yourself locked within, like prey surrounded on all sides by predators.

you have to survive until the rebellion. you must.

but hey, at least you didn't wake up in the castrum kremnos ruins of present day, right? you would've died five minutes in, either because of titankins mobs or the boss monster itself, lmfao.

ROUTE 3: YOU WAKE UP IN 《 "ETERNAL HOLY CITY", OKHEMA》

you spill the beans to aglaea.

before aglaea decides you're a threat and kills you, you seek her out and swear to help okhema reach the most optimal ending to the prophecy. you would've even fall to your knees if necessary (it doesn't come to that, gratefully). of all the characters, she's the one you know will believe your words because you cannot lie to her strings.

all routes, all hidden endings, all enemy weaknesses, all hidden npcs, all the tricks, all the hidden items and weapons, all the knowledge you can remember-- you will offer it all up to the flamechase prophecy. you have seen the endings and the devastation of the world. you cannot presume to be smarter than aglaea or tribbios or even crown prince mydeimos, but by the gods, you will offer everything and also use your tiny brain to pour through everything like a good, obedient, obsessed fanfiction writer and seasoned reader of novels and games.

you do not even consider taking phainon's route. his routes are infamously easy to enter and just as infamously hellish to progress. even on other routes, he is the epicenter of the game and is embroiled in all manners of political nitpicking and conflict.

of all the targets currently stationed in okhema, he had been one of your favorites otome targets ever, but the fondness for character does not translate well to reality when you realize this is the very same man involved in approximately 325 endings (both his and the others'). haha, no, you are not touching him. you don't have the brain cells to deal with him. get out.

no, no, your best bet is the golden weaver, aglaea.

she's beautiful and smart and scary as hell. you regret not taking her seriously in the game. she is your most dependable benefactor for survival in this world-game. her goal is the completion of the prophecy and the era nova of amphoreus. just as well, they coincide with your survival.

no, your survival depends on her.

ironically, despite your allegiance to aglaea, anaxa might be interested in you if you land first in okhema, because you can't lie your ass about your faith and aglaea's strings pouch for it. your knowledge (which is affirmed as your truth by aglaea's strings) will also keep him close.

.

[chezzywezzy]

Yandere L Lawliet (2/6)

WC: 4k

AN: I forgot I had OCD and can't start something unless the prior thing is finished so.

R was sat on the couch with Misa after finishing an episode of a beloved childhood show they bonded over. They were cuddling like lovebirds while bundled in an unnecessary amount of blankets. The outdo began playing and R released an R.

“Gosh, I forgot how wonderful this show was!” R squealed. “Shows like this make me happy to be a girl!”

“Oh-em-gee! And have you ever watched the remakes? It was awful. I’d love a remake of this exact plot with updated graphics,” Misa chirped in agreement. “Gosh, Light and I are going to be like Raven and Musa.”

“That’s not a good thing,” she pouted. “Raven is a total asshole! Besides, you’re so radiant that you’re obviously Stella! I don’t know which one I would be, though.”

“Oh, you’re so-o-o Flora or Aisha, R. And those two are my favorites anyway so it makes sense.”

“Oh, Misa, I love-love-love you!”

The girls squealed, hugged, and took turns kissing one another’s cheeks and noses as they tended to do. As they settled down and Misa stretched and yawned, R copied, realizing the time. 

“My goodness! I should shower and go to bed. You should too, my love!”

“You could stink like an ape and never bathe and you’d be the most radiant woman. Why can’t we just cuddle all night?”

The back-and-forth compliments continued until R could finally break away and head upstairs. She had insisted otherwise, but her bedroom was the second largest in the house. R could at least claim the dignity of decorating herself, although it was hard to tell her and her roommates apart - they had even adorned matching pajamas. R was the Cinnamoroll to Misa’s Kuromi. 

L’s attention had been glued to the various television screens with fascination and anticipation. Cameras had been littered all over the household, bathroom and bedrooms included. Even if he knew R was not either Kira, Misa may have some braincells to ensure that R would take the fall for any evidence of the killings. Besides… 

He did not mind the view.

R picked up a towel and bathrobe and headed into the bathroom. She did her various skincare routines while the shower was heating up, something that L had learned like the back off his hand, even if that knowledge was completely useless to the case itself.

L was simply glad that this was the one time his specially acquired task force visiting and Watari knew better than to hover an unnecessary amount. That left his almost nightly routine of watching R (and pretending that he did not enjoy it) for his own personal enjoyment.

His breath caught as the anticipated moment arrived and here pajamas rolled off her body and she entered the shower, washing the day off of herself. R was the epitome of perfection in a way that even L couldn’t deny; she was active enough with dance classes to maintain her healthiest body weight.

L couldn’t help but feel something new in his stomach and chest stir. He continued to analyze how she was utterly attractive - to others. She was just barely socially stunted enough to come off as having a fun and cute yet strange personality. R had a mirage of hobbies that ranged from popular to have in common with others to more niche ones that made her stand out as interesting. Although not overbearing, she was friendly and open and agreeable. And above all, her records showed how humbly talented and intelligent she was. 

As far as humans came, there was nothing overtly flawed about her. Quite frankly, it bewildered him. Statistically-speaking, R was a hundred-percent desirable in every aspect.

L knew how he was perceived, and quite frankly, was. He was uncaring and apathetic. He did not care to emulate social cues and was either assumed to be a creep or antisocial, with no in between. He had come to learn that intelligence and skill alone were not alone desirable traits; in fact, even if people pretended otherwise, they preferred someone like Misa over him. Attractive and sociable, even if the woman as clearly an obsessive and arrogant airhead.

L blinked and realized that the minutes had flitted past and R had turned off the shower and pulled on her bathrobe.

“Why did Misa tamper with the shower head?” R muttered in vague irritation. “It’s way too high for me to reach - I thought she knew that…”

He didn’t notice the smile that tugged at his lips. She was so intelligent. L felt sudden embarrassment as he tried to ignore how abnormally tight his jeans were.

~~~

L had decided in the moment that he ought to reveal his identity to R. He had ignored the idea altogether for the past few weeks because he knew there was hardly a real reason to do so. But as R approached him after their last class of the day, he felt the sudden desire to involve her in every aspect of his life, as lacking as the logic was.

“Hi, Ryuga,” R greeted, skipping up the man. She was making use of the remaining good weather and was wearing a cute strawberry dress. On occasion, L noted, she wore something that was not merchandise from her hobbies. Both styles suited her. “Why do you always sit in the back? You could sit with me if you’d like. I would join you, but my eyesight is horrible since I refuse to wear my glasses.”

L blinked and hummed, having gotten lost in thought for a moment. He shoved his hands into his pocket and suddenly was aware of how sweaty he was in the mid autumn weather. “I often assume you would have other friends to sit with. I apologize.”

R tilted her head and grinned. “I’m not that popular, Ryuga. Besides, I don’t think I know anyone in that class as well as I know you. Would you like —“

“Yes. Very much.”

The pair usually had a conversation driven by R’s various interests. She often knew how to spin conversations that were never dull. However, L knew she had noticed his eagerness and could sense that he had a topic in mind. However, it was not until they were settled with some sweets and were in their usual deserted booth, that L felt comfortable enough to interrogate. 

He recognized the only reasoning to clue her in: the fact that, recently - although not to her knowledge - her stalker had died from a heart attack. All the more reason to suspect Misa and Light. Misa was enough of a fool to not have become aware that her every move was being assessed.

“R, how do you feel about Kira?” L blurted out.

She blinked in surprised. “Oh…? Well, I understand you may care about that as a future detective. Hm… I suppose I am rather neutral. All power corrupts, but what Kira is doing is also beneficial in certain cases.”

“Explain.”

“I would be bigger fan of Kira if he did not have a big ego. If it were criminals who escaped after heinous crimes, or exclusively hate or violent crimes, I would support him. However, he also attacks those who commit lesser crimes such as thievery, fraud, and laundering. He clearly views the world as black and white rather than by individual circumstance. After all, money is not nearly as important as human life, and there’s plenty of criminals who only steal for the sake of survival… Sorry, does that answer your question?”

“Yes. Although I am of the opinion that Kira is pure evil. A good man and woman could never commit this sort of mass genocide with respect for human life. How do you feel knowing that Kira killed your previous stalker?”

R was clearly taken aback by the question, trying to recall if she would have ever had a reason to inform the man of her previous troubles. However, she put her faith in finding out how or why her friend was asking such bizarre questions.

“I guess I was glad. It helped my family stop worrying about me.”

L glanced as she rubbed the tattoo on her lower arm which he’d learned was her childhood stuffed animal that he also knew sat on a pedestal in her bedroom. Although R never told him, he noticed when R was anxious or uncomfortable, she pinched and played with it. Her foot was tapping against the ground as well.

He was often in awe at how well-placed and tasteful - although exclusively lacking in color, except for the stuffed animal - all of her tattoos were. She had an eye for style and did not place ink on herself for fun. She’d once described it as ‘decoration.’ The one that peeked at the top of her body (a ‘chandelier,’ he’d learned it was called) was —

L shook his head, realizing that R could hardly make eye contact and was fiddling with the strap of her backpack. He almost flushed in embarrassment, realizing he’d been lost in excruciatingly unhelpful thoughts.

“You must be unsure of why I am asking,” L sighed. “Well, it is because I am L.”

R’s nose scrunched in confusion. “Who?”

He almost coughed in surprise. Perhaps it was his own ego to assume she knew him, or perhaps it was his high faith that she cared about current events. “L. The world’s number one detective in the world, although I do not mean to brag. Have you not watched the news?”

“Oh. Really?” R scratched the back of her neck as she blushed. “I’m sorry. I just try to avoid the news. I feel it would only harbor unhappiness. I only know about Kira because my roommate worships his feet… But I suppose I could believe that you’re a good detective.”

“Well I’m not only good - I am the best, R.” L felt that was unnecessary to state but could not prevent the words. “Do you not care to know why I revealed myself to you?”

“Not particularly, but you can tell me if you’d like,” R chuckled. “I thought it was because you trusted me as your friend.”

“Friend…?” L felt heat crawl up his neck and cheeks. “Well - I have never had as friend before…” He pressed a thumb to his lips, considering the notion. “Yes. Perhaps that is why I did. What a novel idea. Yes. Perhaps.”

L blinked and silently realized he had not explained himself and R was patiently waiting. She still gave off anxious body language and couldn’t help but desire to offer her ease. “The reason I had  thought of is because you are connected to the Kira case.”

R’s reassuring smile dropped and her face paled. “Me? What do you mean?”

“Your stake - his crimes were only advertised in local news, and even further, is a case from over half a year ago. Kira one is targeting larger, more public criminals and would never notice a crime like that without personal motive. Kira two is clearly fueled by passion and obsession for both Kira one and those from her personal life rather than justice. And, you see, Light Yagami is Kira one and Misa Amane is the second.”

The woman bit her lip and furrowed her brow in concern. L continued.

“You see, Kira two revealed herself after Miss Amane first recognized Light. I do not know how she realized his identity as Kira, but not soon after, a second Kira emerged and made quite the show. Of course, this is only one of the many theories I have, but it is the one best supported by my investigation.”

“So, then… why are you telling me all this? You should have gathered by now my priority is those I love, not the larger notion of justice. Ryuga, as intelligent as you must be, I know Misa. With all due respect, I love her, but she is too stupid to be Kira, or else she would have been caught by now.”

“That is because Misa has officially met Light and, now, has Light’s instructions to follow.”

“But she never told me —“

“She is not allowed to. Light has surely informed her how suspicious it would look for him.”

“You still didn’t answer my question, L.”

R leaned across the table and suddenly grabbed his hand, squeezing it. She was not happy by his deductions, but her touch was meant to be reassuring. L froze momentarily and looked at her hand. It was so soft and warm —

“I believe your input could be valuable to my investigation. Neither Light nor Misa is currently aware of my revealing the truth to you, R,” L explained, feeling almost timid. “And although neither would fully admit something directly incriminating, the comparison of how they behave toward you versus me may be observed.”

“Wait…” R sighed. “Is it not an issue to be out in public with your identity? Even being at college?”

“I have a tracker placed on Miss Amane to ensure I am never in her sight. As observed from the media, Kira two is of a different breed. She does not need a name to kill - only a face. And in the off-chance that we were to encounter one another without my elicit decision to do so, I… have men who can deal with that.”

R paled and shook her head. She leaned back and removed her hand quickly, crossing her arms. She shrunk into the seat, sick at the implication. L withheld a frown, although his eye twitched in disdain from the actions. Her touch had not been undesirable, as difficult as it was for L to admit.

“I just… I wish you hadn’t told me, Ryuga. How would someone like me ever be useful? Sure, I am decently book smart, but I can hardly read anyone unless if they directly say what they think or feel…”

“Consider it a kindness instead,” L insisted in monotone. “Would you rather be shocked by the outcome all at once? I am preparing you for the inevitable.”

“How is this inevitable? You sound positive it is the both of them - so why haven’t you just arrested them?” R reasons, overcome with fear for her best friend. “From what I assume, your methods are not textbook law-abiding. And I thought you had other theories!”

L tapped his chin. “Well, Kira one is competitive, arrogant, and hates to lose. It is the one area where we intersect, I suppose.”

“One last question… did you tamper with my house? Things aren’t perfectly in the right place. My shower head —“

“Yes. Cameras have been installed in your house, except for the bathroom and your bedroom.” The lie slid off his tongue elegantly and shamefully. “The shower head was to assess if Miss Amane or Light Yagami noticed and left it that way. Of course, you were the additional variable and you returned it the way it was, so it was not very helpful…”

“…Oh. I’m sorry.”

“No. I apologize. But please, pretend they are not there. It is not you I am observing, after all.”

Silence fell uncomfortably between them. L’s arm almost lashed out when he saw that R had pulled on her backpack and slid out of the booth. Instead, he waved to her, his gaze unwavering. R still looked concerned, but he was glad she did not seem spiteful or angry. He understood that it must be a lot to take in.

She waved back before leaving.

~~~

R’s feelings toward Misa had changed; and not in a negative light, no. But of concern, love, and protection. Misa must have been manipulated somehow, or at least was a boy-crazy idiot. It alarmed R to some degree how easy it was for her to not care about housing with a murderer when it was Misa - perhaps she was Kira two for now. But R was certain she’d make it so that Misa was no longer Kira two. She liked L, sure, but she was sworn to Misa for life. Such little time she’d known the woman, but she knew her well.

R would protect her.

But she had yet to know how, as L was clearly intelligent enough to anticipate every move.

She knew every move with Misa would be observed - but what about her and Light’s? She detested the man, so that would surely be under less scrutiny, yes?

And so, R sighed at Misa before leaving for school as she dawdled on her phone. “Hey, Misa? I read your diary the other night since you left it open… I hate the guy’s guts, but I can give him your number on a note if you’re still thinking about him.”

Misa tilted her head. She seemed to be considering her options rather than jumping at the opportunity. However, she Cleary knew the only answer to give was,” Oh-em-gee! You’d do that for me? You really, really would?”

And so, R took that note. She did everything else according to schedule. She knew L would find out and scrutinize the action she took - but R had reasoned that she was aiding in proving her innocence and assisting the case. There was a small chance he would buy it. Either way,, Light was smart enough to deal with the ratifications of the action she was about to make.

She went to grab her coffee and sit and read for a bit before classes. During that time, she made an addition to the note:

I know you are and who Misa is to you. Remove her from your plan or I will turn in the evidence I have of you to him. Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’ve been doing.

It was phrased specifically enough that Light would hopefully buy it. She even covered and made a duplicate of the original note - she would claim that she decided against it in the end, not wanting to tamper, while sneaking the note to him in secret.

Light was predictable after their shared class - tailing after her eagerly to make conversation. R acted all the same until she realized she’d been following him during the lunch break unintentionally. 

L was fuming from a distance. He had a sense that R had decided to use the knowledge he’d granted for the wrong reason - she did not care about justice. She cared about that girl. It baffled him. But… he could hope for a mistake.

And so, he approached, feigning ignorance. The pair had wandered around the lawn next to the tennis court for a minute, and that’s when the idea came to him.

“Hey, R! Light!” He waved eagerly as he approached, catching both of them off guard. “What are you two doing?”

Light deflated and R fiddled with her hands. She did not seem anxious for a nasty reason - more so embarrassed to be caught with the man, perhaps. “Hey, Ryuga. We were just talking about getting some lunch.”

R’s face fell. “No, we weren’t. You were attempting to ask me out to lunch, to which I dec lined several times.”

“Hey,” he chuckled, feigning bashfulness while rubbing the back of his neck,” you can’t fault a guy for trying, right? I think you’re cute.”

“Hm… well, Light, do you play tennis?” L suddenly inquired curiously, glancing at the court. “We should play. I’d ask you, R, but it’s rather windy today, yes?”

R flushed and realized during the whole walk she had unconsciously been adjusting her skirt. She smiled coyly.

Light grinned. “Well, sure, Ryuga. But I must warn you, I’m very good.”

“That is not a problem. So am I.”

“Hm. Well, I’d feel bad if R wasn’t involved. Are you alright with watching? Maybe you can be the prize. How about a kiss for the winner?”

R’s jaw dropped and she scowled. “Like you’d even win. My bet is on Ryuga, so why not?”

The game began. Little to the other’s awareness, each one had a motive for winning or losing. R could easily give Light her note if he won, and if L won, he could hopefully disarm his trust to some degree. If Light won or lost, he was either winning a point to prove he wasn’t Kira in some aspect. L could either observe their behavior if he lost or he could receive a kiss from a woman for the first time in his life.

The area had been mostly empty before, but R recognized quickly how competitive and skilled they each were at tennis. And so did passerby’s, who began to crowd and cheer. At some point, someone stepped in as a more official score-keeper, too.

L was intently focused on Light. He wanted to get that kiss and interfere with the note - confiscate it directly with his own hands, as he knew it was in her jacket pocket. Ever since R had entered his life, he’d been distracted and off track. His brain was not at full capacity with the Kira case. But with a prize like that, it helped him zone in on the number one suspect for the first time in a while.

L felt a sense of anger when Light claimed the victory. He’d never felt such a visceral reaction to something so… small. He observed as Light sauntered over and towered over R who seemed genuinely mortified.

What was her angle?

“We should play again sometime, Light,” L stated, offering a hand to shake.

Light shook it, although he was hungrily eyeing R. “So. My prize?”

“Well… I didn’t pinky promise.”

“I thought you had dignity.”

L needed the kiss to happen for the Kira case, but he did not want it. He almost couldn’t help interjecting. R was mostly angry about the crowd that was about to witness it. However, she leaned on her tippy-toes and gave the man a kiss on the cheek.

Light held a cheeky grin the entire time before going over to grab his backpack. Ryuga grabbed him momentarily, though. “Wait. What was on the note R gave you?”

He was shocked by how genuinely confused Light was by this. Light tilted his head. “Huh? What note? Was R going to confess to me or something, haha?”

L’s eyes flitted between the two. R hadn’t snuck it into his backpack. He’d have seen it. So where was the second one?

“…Huh,” he hummed, only to be caught off guard by R’s next move.

R’s soft lips pressed against the side of his mouth and held for longer than a second. L was certain he had lost his deductive capabilities in that moment. He was sure that, for the first time in his life, he was blushing. Beads of sweat built across his body and he felt so flushed.

But the moment was over quickly, leaving L to catch up.

“A consolation prize.”

Light scoffed and evacuated the area, tending to his ego through other more interested women. L had short-circuited that he hadn’t noticed from the side of his peripherals when one of the girls pawing at him handed him a piece of paper.

L and R were left on the tennis court alone. He gently pressed a hand to his cheek. What was this feeling inside of him? He couldn’t even make eye contact.

“If you’re wondering about the notes, I couldn’t do it,” R muttered. “I love Misa, but… I don’t want to be a bad person. I’m sorry. Here.”

She handed the notes over to him. L took them and blinked. His mind still felt fuzzy. Indeed, the two pieces of paper were present.She did something else, a part of him nagged. But what else could she have done? She was only recorded writing on another paper. And… it was not logical, but he was inclined to believe it.

“…Thanks,” L conceded. 

[purangelblood]

A DREAMY MEETING. . . PARANOID!MATT.

The sun brushed his skin like a warm whisper, coaxing a soft sigh from his lips. His head tipped back against the rough bark, eyes half-lidded, caught between waking and dreaming.

Due to the lake behind his house becoming a summer haunt, he hadn't been able to do this. Just sit, just breathe—without the echo of someone else's joy through it. But today, he was utterly alone.

Just him. The water, the sun, the silence. He hummed under his breath, eyes tracking the sun's shimmer on the lake. It was perfect, and he, brilliantly, had forgotten his camera.

At the lake's edge, a figure now stood. He hadn't seen it arrive. Its limbs were too long, Its outline too sharp, against the dreamy blur of trees and water. Wings—if that's what they were—didn't move as much flicker, like broken flim. He tried to look away. He couldn't.

You hurt.

Even the sun couldn't shine like that. His breath caught, broken, as his eyes fell away from you, snagging instead on the impossible flock of swans now gliding across the lake.

"What the.." He blinks. Not even a full second—just enough time for his breath to hitch. And then you were there. Close. Hovering above him.

"You always look for the light." He can't move. can't speak. The scream in his throat stayed there, useless. "It's too bad." You purred, closer now. "The sun can't save you anymore."

His eyes widen impossibly, almost popping out of their sockets. He can finally move. He clutches his chest, taking in a very much needed deep breath. There's no way this is real.

He's dreaming. He has to be. There have never been swans in this lake. "And if you weren't?" You head tilts slow, unnatural. "What would you do then?"

He squeezes his eyes shut. Focuses. It's a dream, right? Things should bend to his will. He pictures his camera—black, familiar, heavy in his hand.

But nothing happens.

No cold metal in his palm. Just the silence stretching tighter.

A chuckle, low and wrong, curls from the air above him. "Do you really think I'd let you get a photo of me, Matt?"

His name shouldn't sound like that. Shouldn't feel like someone dragging their fingernails down his spine. "Why do you think you forgot your camera?"

You crouch down in front of him, slow and deliberate. The smile you wear isn't kind—it's all teeth and knowledge, like you've already seen how it ends. Your hand presses against his chest, fingers splayed to feel his fear.

His heart stutters. Then races.

"I'm real."

"H-how do you know my— w... what are you?"

"You'll see." You murmur, eyes bright with something dark.

He gasped—lungs snapping awake before the rest of him. The world around him regrouping in a rush: bark at his back, grass under his palms, the lake still and unbothered. No wings. No voice. Just his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

"What the fuck."

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