#you tell that freaking purple snake man

[cobaltfluff]

can’t believe they got me to cry again already

[gettingfrilly]

Out Chapter 4

I'm back baby B) Read it here or on ao3

My Own Worst Ed-emy

“Eddy!”

Explanations die on his lips as his reason for running over here like a lunatic gets firmly shoved onto his mental backburner. Double D looks like shit. He always looked like he’d weigh ten pounds soaking wet, but the hollow cheeked skeleton of a man before him looks like he’d collapse under the weight of a feather. Eddy’s surprised the heft of his eye bags alone aren’t enough to bring him crashing to the ground, a deep and sickly purple that makes him think of one of Rolf’s radioactive looking fish dishes from the old country. But Eddy’s not the only one getting distracted by appearances here.

“Is that blood on your mouth?!” Double D freaks, grabbing Eddy’s face in both of his cool hands, tugging his blocky head closer while leaning down to get a better look. It makes Eddy’s breath catch in his throat, feeling all at once like it’s the first time he’s been touched this tenderly in his life and as if Double D had never stopped touching him in the first place. Months of distance churn in his gut before rising to his face in a heated blush, his eyes locked onto Double D’s. What did Double D call it that one time? Fight, flight, or freeze?

“Good lord, you’re bleeding.” 

“Huh? Oh.” Eddy follows Double D’s worried gaze down to his own hand, lifting it up to look at the still slowly oozing wound. With the shock of seeing his brother’s trailer followed by the fright Double D’s frail form gave him, he had completely forgotten about it. 

“Yeah. Fell on some broken glass, I think,” he explains hollowly.

“Outside?!” Double D hisses the latter half of the word like the world’s most offended garter snake, breath whistling through the gap between his two front teeth. “Quick, quick, get in, get in, we can’t have you standing in the cold precipitation and weakening your immune system when your protective epidermis has been breached by litter.”

He tries to summon up their typical banter, maybe tell Double D not to have a cow or blow a gasket, but his tongue sits heavy and useless in his rapidly drying mouth. He’s too dialed into the feeling of Double D’s grip on his wrist as he tugs Eddy across the threshold and deeper into his house. His eyes stay glued to Double D’s slender fingers wrapped around his fat wrist, the tips unable to meet on the other side. Once they start climbing stairs, he has to switch his gaze from Double D’s irritated cuticles to the steps underneath, finding it harder to keep his footing when he’s got Double D dragging him along. Then it’s a short walk to the upstairs bathroom, Eddy finally tearing his eyes away from Double D’s grip on him to look around once the lights flick on (had the rest of the house been dark?) And… wow. Okay. That’s a lot more sticky notes than usual. There’s cascades of little yellow squares on every wall, some stacked on each other where Double D’s parents ran out of space. He’d be proud of Double D for finally sticking it to the man if it didn’t further display just how out of character Double D’s appearance and home are. Out of breath from the hurried climb up the stairs, he finds himself still wordless as Double D escorts him to his squeaky clean bathtub, sitting him down on the edge of it. He’s still rambling about bacteria and tendons while he looks through the cabinet behind his mirror, steadily accumulating a large pile of first aid supplies. Eddy can’t hear any of it, transfixed on Double D’s thin wrists, the way his shirt hangs off of him, how blood shot his eyes are.

“You look like shit, Dee.” The words finally find a way out through his tightening throat, blurting out and interrupting him mid sentence.

Double D falls quiet for the first time since he answered the door, stopping what he’s doing to glare at Eddy, frantic nervous energy hardening into something cold and slicing.

“Astute observation, Eddy,” he replies as if just remembering he’s supposed to be mad at him.

Shit. “That’s not what I— agh.” He slaps the palm of his uninjured hand against his forehead, groaning in frustration as he rakes his fingers through his hair. Why do his words always come out wrong?

“I just… when was the last time you ate?” He tries to insinuate that his ‘astute observation’ came from a place of concern, not mockery.

Double D looks away from him, rearranging his tower of bandages and antiseptics on the counter. “Why do you care?”

Okay, yeah, that gets him an eye roll. Stupid question for such a smart guy.

“Uh, for the same reason you’re getting your panties in a twist over my paper cut?” he answers in a questioning tone, wiggling his sluggishly bleeding hand in front of him.

Double D’s shoulders slouch, the collar of his shirt slipping lower to reveal the deep dip between his collar bones. “Paper cut, he says. Get over here.”

Eddy complies, walking over to the sink and placing his hand in Double D’s waiting palm, showing no resistance as he maneuvers his hand under the running water in the sink. It’s silent again for a while, Eddy flinching and trying to keep his pained noises trapped in his chest as Double D pokes and prods and looks at the cut from all angles, water running pink down the drain.

“No debris,” he mutters in what sounds like relief, taking Eddy’s hand out from under the water and gently dabbing it dry with something from behind his mirror. “And not deep enough to need stitches.”

Eddy braces himself for the stinging assault he knows is coming as Double D slathers the cut with sprays and ointments, standing valiantly still while he winds a bandage around the wound. Double D gives his work a once over before nodding to himself and letting go. Eddy keeps his hand hovering in the air between them for a stupid, bereft moment before lowering it back to his side.

“You’ll need to change the bandage and clean the wound at least once a day. Use soap and water, even if it stings. A bit of petroleum jelly over the wound will help keep it clean.” He delivers his instructions while packing everything away as neatly as it was stored before he took it out. 

Once everything’s put away and clean, he stands there with his arms laying limp at his sides, staring at something just to the left of Eddy’s head. Eddy clenches his jaw, teeth aching from all the unresolved animosity in the air, tension pulling him taught and clamping around his lungs like a vice. Something thick and vile wants to climb out of his gut and splatter on the ground, make a mess of the clean titles and leave him feeling purged. He wonders if Double D feels the same thing.

“Eddy—”

“Come on,” he demands in his usual commanding tone, brushing past Double D and out into the hallway.

“Wha— where?”

“To your kitchen. C’mon already.”

He doesn’t make sure Double D is following him, just marches on ahead as if he owns the place. He may as well, he’s spent enough of his life in the sticky note covered halls for it to feel like home. And yeah, yeesh, he was right, the rest of the house is dark, the hallways just as full of sticky notes as the bathroom is. That’s not the only alarming thing, though, face twisting in concern as he looks down at carpet that badly needs to be vacuumed. It’s the same story in the staircase and downstairs, and God he wishes the lights were on so he could see into the other rooms and check the state of them. Every dust bunny he passes makes his gut sink further and further, bottoming out somewhere around the core of the earth. It’s not until he’s heading into the kitchen that he turns to see if Double D is following him, letting out a small sigh through his nose when he spots him just a few feet behind. He looks so small, like some kind of starving ghost floating silently down the dark hallways of a haunted house. Yeah, haunted. That’s what this fucking place is. The three of them have always lived in haunted homes.

He says nothing, just turns the corner and flicks the lights on before beelining it for the fridge. The kitchen isn’t too bad, at least, but not up to Double D’s standards. The soft scrape of rubber chair feet against linoleum reaches his ears as he scowls at the lit and empty shelves, nothing but some jarred goods and condiments pushed back into the corners. Well that’s a bad fucking sign.

‘ Don’t think about it, ’ he thinks to himself before moving onto the cupboards, standing on his tiptoes to peer up at the non-perishables. It only takes a little bit of hunting before he finds some pasta and unopened prego sauce, pulling them down onto the counter before grabbing a pot, just as familiar with Double D’s kitchen as he is his own. He peruses Double D’s spice rack as he waits for the water to boil, feigning being deep in thought about his choices so he can avoid choosing between standing around awkwardly or, God forbid, talking to Double D.

Fuck, what would he even say? Hey Dee, sorry for being a hostile and cruel bastard. You know how I am, with the emotional constipation and stunted empathy and bullheadedness. Okay, now it’s your turn to apologize for being a shithead to me because you wouldn’t do something as easy as take your damn meds, which you’re clearly still not taking, and look where that’s gotten you, idiot, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one, why won’t you just fucking listen to me you stubborn fucking—

He grips the edge of the counter and squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep breath in through his nose and letting it out through his mouth. Unhelpful thought patterns. Stay in the present moment. Find your fucking center or whatever.

“Eddy.”

He whips around to look at the sudden break in silence, flaring his nostrils at Double D before he forces himself to neutralize his expression into something less like a caged animal.

“What?” Yeesh. That was louder than he meant it to be.

Double D says nothing in return, just points at the stove. Eddy turns back around to find the water almost boiling up and over the pot.

“Shit.” He turns down the heat as panic washes over him, opening the box of pasta with jittery hands to put in several servings worth of spaghetti. Breathing deeply repeatedly through his nose, he dumps the prego into a separate pot and puts it on low heat, eyeballing half a tablespoon each of nutmeg, cinnamon, and red pepper flakes into the sauce. By the time he’s draining the water and adding the sauce to the spaghetti, he’s finally quieted his nerves enough to look like a somewhat normal human being. He fetches a plate and a few tupperware containers, scooping a serving onto the plate and sliding it towards Double D before separating the rest into equal portions to be covered and put away in the fridge, still steaming. Once that’s done, he turns to find Double D just staring at the plate, hands folded tightly in his lap.

“Do I have to do everything around here?” he mutters impatiently, grabbing the fork and napkin that Double D was too lazy to get for himself, placing them on the table next to the plate.

Still he sits unmoving, staring into his graciously served homemade meal. Eddy waits at the other end of the table, one hand on his hip while the fingers on his other drum loudly against the table, muffled slightly by the tablecloth.

“... Eat! Manja, for chrissakes,” he demands, finally losing his patience. Double D startles a bit before doing as he’s told, getting a forkful of warm food and blowing on it carefully and eating at a snail’s pace. Eddy can feel his face twist in concern at his slow speed before he decides to distract himself with cleaning up. The sound of running water and clanging pots at least fills the silent air, bringing some life into a house that feels as though it’s been long dead. Unlike the rush job he usually does, he takes his time to scrub and scour, letting the soap in the sink foam up into stiff peaks. He’s more than used to playing things by ear, but this shit is on a whole other level. He needs a plan. A plan to… um… ah, fuck. The gears in his brain jam completely, thoughts struggling and failing to eke through. What is even the end goal here? To talk about what happened? To get out of here as soon as possible? To interrogate him on why the fuck he looks like a halloween decoration? To shove his tongue down his throat and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him and—

“Ah!” He damn near jumps out of his skin when he feels something brush up against his shoulder, dropping the saucepan back into the soapy water and causing it to nearly slosh over the edge of the sink and onto the floor. When he looks to see what touched him, it’s just Double D, staring at him with two wide, slowly blinking eyes, looking plenty startled himself.

“I was just gonna offer to help,” he explains softly, hands held up in surrender. 

Blushing furiously, Eddy looks back into the sink to thoroughly rinse the saucepan before handing it to Double D.

“Here. Dry,” he mumbles under his breath, still not looking at him. 

When he feels the weight of it lift from his hand, he dives back into the water to clean the pot he boiled the pasta in. They’re quiet as they work together, shoulder to shoulder, just like they used to. Well, back then there was more bickering, laughing, and soapy water fights, so not really just like. More like a shadow of what used to be, a fading bruise leaving an impression on both of them. To Eddy’s further dismay, once everything is dry and put away, Double D puts plastic wrap over his half eaten meal before putting it in the fridge. He wants to pester him to finish his dinner in the same nagging tone his mom uses, but restrains himself, knowing it wouldn’t help. Before he can even start to alight his already agitated nerves with the question of what now, Double D is turning towards him with his brows drawn and his jaw set.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

Well that’s not what he was expecting. Unable to look at him while he answers, he looks down and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“You know why.”

“I really don’t.”

Eddy shrugs. He hears Double D sigh before trying again.

“Okay. Let’s try this. Why are you here?”

Déjà vu settles thickly on the floor of his skull just as the reminder of his current predicament seizes around his chest, his breathing becoming a conscious effort. Right. Fucking yeah. How did he manage to stop thinking about his brother’s trailer in his driveway? Was Double D always such a distraction to him?

“Eddy?”

Double D’s voice graces his eardrums with gentle timidness, the interrogative tone from before leaving the building. Christ, he must look like a wild animal or something, wary prey that Double D is trying not to spook. He hates him for that gentleness. He misses it even more.

“Chuck’s back.” No use playing coy. Despite everything that’s happened between them, there’s no one Eddy trusts more with his weaknesses than Double D. Also, he’s just not in a good headspace to quickly think up a convincing lie.

Double D tilts his head and squints his eyes, which Eddy recognizes as his rifling-through-the-neatly-organized-files-in-my-brain look. It occurs to Eddy with a mixture of surprise and concern that he’s never said his brother’s name in front of Double D before. Yeah, he can psychoanalyze why that is never.

“My brother.”

The lights flip on in Double D’s brain, eyes widening and breath catching.

“What?! Do your parents know?”

“They must, seein’ as his trailer is parked in their driveway.”

He’s gone in a flash, Eddy left to stand alone as he blinks away the after image of Double D’s quick departure. A cursory scan of his surroundings confirms that Double D is at the window, pulling back the curtains to peer outside in the direction of Eddy’s house. His bony hand claps over his thin lips, his other hand nervously fiddling with frilly trim. 

“Why?!” he asks, whirling around to look at Eddy with large, searching eyes. Eddy shrinks in on himself under the scrutiny.

“I dunno.”

“Well didn’t you ask?”

“I haven’t been home yet!” His explosion only lasts for a moment, fizzling out as he shrinks back down even further, shoulders hunched up on both sides of his head. “I was coming home from work when I saw the trailer.”

The part about him immediately running to Double D and pounding on his door like a dying man seeking sanctuary is left unsaid, but judging by the look on Double D’s face, he didn’t need to say it. Eddy watches him lick his lips and tap his fingers together in front of his chest, can almost hear a robotic voice saying ‘recalibrating.’ When he realizes Double D is waiting for him to say more, he just clams up even tighter.

He’s not surprised by Double D’s resigned sigh, but it still ticks him off.

“If you need a waypoint to gather your wits before reuniting with your brother, I offer my abode to you temporarily.”

“Gee, thanks Shakespeare.”

Eddy winces at the dry look Double D gives him. “... Really though, thank you.”

Seemingly satisfied by Eddy’s more sincere gratitude, he heads back to the kitchen table, sitting down heavily. Eddy follows suit like a lost puppy, opposite him and staring down at the table cloth. How many times did they sit at this same table together, sometimes just them, sometimes with Ed, laughing over shared food and gross-out competitions? The oppressive silence laying over them feels wrong.

So he breaks it.

“So, what gives?”

Double D doesn’t meet his eyes, staring at his nails as he picks at the skin around them. “You’ll have to be more specific, Eddy.”

He specifically rolls his eyes, knowing damn well Mr. Smart Guy knows what he’s talking about. “Okay, fine. Let’s start with why you look like something I could buy at Spirit of Halloween.”

Still not looking at him, Double D replies. “The trek to the kitchen is… arduous.”

Confused by that cryptic as hell answer, Eddy waits for further explanation. When he receives none, he rolls his eyes and moves on. “Okay. Here’s another specific. Not that I ever thought you should be listening to those stupid notes, but why haven’t you been cleaning?” The following silence is long enough that he considers grabbing Double D by his scrawny shoulders and yelling the question again in his ear. Just as he starts to jiggle his leg impatiently, Double D glances at the clock on the oven and opens his mouth.

“120 days, 15 hours, and 12 minutes.”

“Huh?”

Double D pulls his feet up onto the chair, wrapping his arms around his knees, face contorting like a pissed off pug. “120 days, 15 hours, and 12 minutes since I last saw my parents.”

“Shit…” The swear comes out on a breath, airy and quiet and diffusing into the tense atmosphere around them. “But— the notes.”

“They come in the night, while I’m sleeping.” A pause, Double D’s hands holding each other tighter and tighter until the bony knuckles turn white. “They are clearly avoiding me.” Eddy’s brows crease, pursing his lips as they curl down into a frown. “But why?”

Double D’s expression sharpens, cold as steel as opposed to the heated and pressurized anger being forged just moments ago. “You’d know better than I would, Eddy.”

The blow lands as intended, slicing him open and forcing him to desperately attempt to hold his guts close, trying not to let them spill. “Dee—”

“Don’t.”

“No. I’m gonna.” He holds his ground, shoulders square and jaw set. “I shouldn’t’ve said what I said. It was— I was being shitty. But don’t act like you were innocent in that mess.”

‘ I fucking hate it when you act innocent. ’ He keeps that last bit in his own thoughts, not in the mood to open that can of worms. Double D wars with himself, face twisting and turning as his hands clench and unclench, looking everywhere but at Eddy. Finally he settles on one expression, slumping in defeat and letting go of his hands to lay them against his knees. “... I know. I’m the farthest thing from innocent.” He sighs. “There are a lot of things I said to you I wish I didn’t say. Things I wish I didn’t do.”

Eddy’s own tension eases at that, body slumping along with Double D’s. The thick and vile thing in his gut isn’t completely cleared out, not by a longshot, but damn does he feel like he just hacked up a lot of it. He’s so relieved that he gets mad at himself, at both of them, because shit, was that really all it took? Six or so fucking sentences? What a couple of stubborn assholes they are, waiting over almost a year to say what they shoulda said right away.

“This has been such a shit year,” he grouses, rubbing tiredly at his face.

“Unnecessarily so,” Double D empathizes, looking as exhausted as Eddy feels.

“We’re unbelievable,” Eddy continues, exasperated to the point of laughter now.

“Horrendously.” A small smile graces Double D’s face, and damn if that doesn’t smack Eddy right in the jaw. He can already feel the bruise forming.

“I—” He stops himself, tension returning with a vengeance as his entire being clenches around the words he wants to get out, emotionally and verbally constipated.

“I’ve missed you too, Eddy.”

He snaps his head up to look at Double D, at the small smile still planted on his lips and the patience in his eyes. Damn him for being so smart. And thank God he’s so smart. “And I’m still angry with you.” Double D tacks that part on, holding his knees a little tighter. Yeah, okay. Eddy would be living in dream land if he thought it’d really be that easy.

“Well, I’m still pissed too,” he retorts, not one to be outdone in the holding grudges department.

For a moment, Double D looks like he wants to argue back at him. Whatever wall he’s trying to push through to get the words out finally collapses on top of him, expression falling and feet dropping back down to the floor.

“Maybe we don’t have to forgive each other. Lord knows our friendship is rife with buried transgressions. Maybe this is one we just… move on from.”

Eddy’s breath catches in his throat, unsure of what to say to that. Could it really be that simple? Fuck, he wants it to be. And who is he if not the type of guy to always go after what he wants?

“Yeah. Maybe,” he responds, feeling like he’s run a damn marathon. Just as he starts to feel like he’s crossed the finish line, Double D moves the goalpost.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Huh?” Eddy can feel the blush rise to his face like a fever. Is Double D expecting him to do something? The hell is he supposed to do? Take his hand? Proclaim his undying love for him? Kiss him? Eddy’s really not in the headspace for coming up with grand romantic gestures at the moment. At Double D’s concerned head tilt at his lack of an answer, Eddy realizes that’s not what he was asking about.

“Oh. About Chuck.” He feels himself deflate like a balloon. “Shit. I don’t fucking know.

“You? The man with the plan?” And that’s a teasing smile Double D gives him this time, and fuck, maybe he should kiss him.

“The man with the plan that always lands me in deep shit,” he scoffs.

The smile vanishes, and Eddy thinks he might scream. “I’ve never heard you have such a defeatist attitude before.”

“Yeah, well. Guess we’ve both changed.”

Double D nods solemnly at his assessment. “Indeed.”

Silence stretches on after that, nerves bouncing around inside of him. He wants to just… blah! Blah and blab and yammer like he used to, tell Double D everything that’s been happening in his life. Except nothing has been happening. Usually Eddy has a knack for making the boring sound interesting, but his creative energy is pretty damn tapped with all the stress he’s currently under.

“I think I gotta just… do it,” he decides, standing up from his chair and planting his hands on the table. “Rip the bandaid off. Jump into the deep end. Slam my balls in the door.” Slamming his balls sounds just about as pleasant as facing his brother will be, but he can’t hide here forever.

Apparently Double D agrees, because he stands with his own look of determination, as if he’s going to march over there with Eddy. “Right. And I’m sure your parents have a sound explanation and that they’ll be sending him on his way shortly.” “Right.” Eddy parrots him. Right, right, right, everything’s all right.

Right?

Double D escorts him back to the front door, where they both end up lingering with awkward glances shared between them. Shit. His palms start to sweat at a rate that makes him worry about his bandage. He doesn’t want Double D to have to wrap him up again, he’s already put up with Eddy and his horseshit enough for one day. Damn, wait, he should thank him somehow, right? Fuck, he’s shit at that. Gifts are always easier than words for him, and he pats his jacket pockets when he remembers what he pilfered from the candy store. Locating his loot, he pulls it out of his pocket and offers it to Double D.

“Here.”

Double D stares at the jawbreaker, gobsmacked and speechless. He takes the jawbreaker as if it’s some fragile family heirloom being handed to him before his face starts to split into a smile. Out of the smile seeps laughter, just some quiet giggling at first before the guffaws avalanche out of him, whole body shaking with the laughing fit. It’s not long before Eddy follows suit, laughing to the point of tears as he grips onto Double D’s forearm to keep them both balanced. Light headed and a little wheezy, he eventually stands back up to his full height, watching Double D wipe tears from his smile-crinkled eyes.

“Thank you, Eddy,” Double D says once he’s caught his breath, his whole being radiating a warmth that Eddy hasn’t gotten to bask in the glow of for a long time. He feels pretty warm himself, scratching the rolls on the back of his neck as he smiles sheepishly.

“Ah, well. You know.”

“I do.” He shakes his head. “Make sure to message me tonight. I want to know how everything goes.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure,” Eddy answers, feeling warmer still.

“Good. Talk to you soon.”

“Yeah.” Back to lingering. Eddy shakes his head and sighs in exasperation, being the first to turn away. It’s not until he’s at the shrubs lining Double D’s front lawn that he hears the door close behind him. Double D’s ‘ talk to you soon ’ echoing in his head is the only thing that keeps him marching forward.

[tomurderornottomurder]

i don't want to talk; saul goodman

pair. saul goodman x gn!reader

summ. you and your boss are kidnapped cartel style and have a somewhat quiet moment after

gen. angst, hurt minimal comfort

wc. 1.8k+

tw. breaking bad related themes, kidnapping, guns, blood, descriptions of injuries, focus on mouth injuries, death mentions,

note. i still need to finish better call saul. old draft but i really like it.

Your wrists are freshly raw from the rope they had been bound with. You rub at them with your fingers as you twist them around, trying to massage the marks away. You sit in the arid desert on the dry, sandy ground. Your expensive, secondhand suit will suffer from the harsh minerals rubbing against the fine material. Your cheeks should be stained with tears yet none had come even face to barrel with a gun larger than the hand holding it. You were resilient in the moment, strong and silent, something you hadn't been able to be before, yet while facing death, you could finally be. Your disposition was for nothing though as you had made it out alive and yes, you were grateful but what's amazing about standing your ground and living?

The red marks on your wrists remain despite all the effort and you can only manage to sigh in disappointment. Footsteps sound behind you and you have to fight back the violent urge to turn and see who's coming. If it's your captors, goodbye; if it's your boss, well, who knows? Some would argue that it was his fault you were here but you know better, you always have. You didn't blame him and he shouldn't blame himself either, you doubt he would admit such a thing out loud anyway. You were kidnapped together, bound behind the back, bags over your heads; the whole shebang. Even behind you two, a grave dug just big enough to fit your rotting corpses but shallow so as to not show respect. What was respectable about either of you? There was nothing. There was nothing.

The footfalls stop just beside you and in a quick second, you hear the familiar groans of the older man. Saul Goodman, your boss, and he was sitting with his legs crossed like a kindergartener. You almost couldn't believe it but then again, Saul has done more unimaginable things. You look over at him, careful to not look anywhere near his face. You see his legs all crossed and his socks that peak out, you could laugh at them if you hadn't just been threatened with a barrel pressed against the roof of your mouth. You notice how high his pants come up as he sits like that, how his belt looks -too smooth to be real leather and too tacky of metal to be anything valuable. You notice the small scuff marks on his shoes that could only be from today and you wonder why his shoes are so nice and expensive but his belt isn't. You don't say anything though. (Why would you?) 

"Hey-" Saul tries to speak, genuinely too, you can tell.

You snap, "I don't want-" You lose your fire immediately, you can't even finish the damn sentence; he knows what you mean anyway. There's something in your heart that can't be mean to him. Not even now. Not after feeling the cool metal of your kidnapper's gun against your tongue and tasting your blood after your captor hit you with it. Not after sitting in the blaring heat of the sun in the middle of the desert in nowheresville USA with your arms bound behind your back and the heat weaving through your skin, waiting to coil up and take your life like the very snakes that called this place home. Not after all of that can you manage to be mean. 

You don't wonder if Saul feels bad. He does. Of course. He scoots closer, his arm touching yours. He doesn't want to freak you out. He doesn't care that much about you. You're his employee, not much more. But a shiny, purple bruise has a glare that some people -people like him- can't ignore. Right there on the left side of your face, surrounding your eye is the deepest purple Saul has ever laid his eyes on. Marks litter the bridge of your nose and it's starting to swell. Your mouth is worst of all. Blood will not stop rushing past your lips, there are cuts all over inside, a tooth was knocked out in the chaos, your tongue was cut (even just the littlest thing makes it bleed so much), and your lips are raw and scratched. It looks like someone let an animal loose inside your mouth. It's horrible. 

Saul watched it happen. Them, the people who kidnapped you both, shove a gun into your mouth like it belonged there. Twist it around and threaten you as Saul pleaded with them doing what he always does and striking a deal, persuading the audience, getting them on his side, trying to save someone; someone who he had gotten into this mess, someone he cared about -even the littlest bit. You got hit repeatedly, swung at with the gun or knuckles, a mix of the two, or a kick to the ribs. You didn't let out anything. Not a single word. You let Saul do the talking. You took the punches. That was your job in this little operation. Maybe that was always what was supposed to happen. 

You can't shake the metal that had been in your mouth. You can't shake closing your eyes and making peace and just being quiet and waiting. You don't even know what you were waiting for. Death or release or life after all of this? Freedom or pity or indentured servitude? Sweet peace or life-long guilt? It wasn't fathomable. It wouldn't be for years. 

You almost jump at the touch. Saul's finger graces your bruise. You hold back a hiss and you wonder what he's doing. There are things you know and there are things you wonder about. Saul's touch not feeling like fire against your skin is something you can only wonder about, you will never understand that -for lack of a better term- relief. You sit silently with your legs bent in front of you and your back straight waiting. For death, release, or sweet, sweet peace. You can't choose in this one. Freely, your fate is decided by one Saul Goodman. You trust him enough for that yet you wouldn't trust him with your car keys. 

You don't want to look at his face, especially not his eyes. You know what happens if you do. You can't deal with that right now. He makes that mission difficult. He takes his fingers off your bruise and places his thumb at your nose. In a strange way, it was like a medical examination or at least with the precision of one. Like he was assessing you for damage. Maybe not so medical-like after all. You wouldn't expect less from him. It almost makes you smile. He was tallying up his losses. Smart move, you think. 

He reassigns his thumb to swiping blood from your chin even as it still dribbles out. Your poor mouth; all beat up for the senselessness of it. He wants to examine your mouth, maybe see what exactly is going on in there but he finds himself at a loss (funnily enough). He can't see this looking very good. He can't imagine how you'd interpret it and he's at a crossroads. Maybe he should talk to you? But that directly disobeys your earlier word. But he's the boss? Who tells him what to do? You, you, of course. 

He's yet to see your tears from this. A normal person would be concerned. A normal person is no Saul Goodman. 

The blood seems to stop at least flowing out of your mouth but inside is a whole other story. He wipes his your-blood-stained thumb against his already bloodied shirt. His head turns as the wheels of your captors' vehicle squeak and kick up dirt creating clouds of shit he'd rather not inhale and neither would you. He flips open his phone, one bar, good enough. He flips the phone closed. He's not so scared anymore.

What you'll think of him he cannot say nor can he decide and maybe that's good. You should have your own feelings about him, he couldn't stand it if they weren't yours. Maybe he could for a while but that's not forever, it's temporary and fake; stale like potato chips that have sat in your kitchen for months now with the bag open and you mean to throw them out, you really do, but you never quite get around to it and they are always, always just left there in the end. Your feelings for him couldn't be stale potato chips. 

Maybe he should have thought it through better but those clouds of dust must have gotten to him because he presses his thumb against your bottom lip and he doesn't say anything or give you any sort of look, you just open your mouth. It's like an active warzone inside. There's blood here and a cut there, some deep indent northbound, and an empty space where a tooth should be. Your raw lip does not feel good against his thumb. He hates it actually but it stays there for a good long moment as he totals the loss of your mouth. It was like a bomb exploded and he was picking up the missing limbs. His mind entertains the idea of what you'd look like with a gold tooth, he doesn't like it. 

He lets his thumb off your lip like letting a foot off the gas and then there's eye contact. Yours meet his, his meet yours. You look empty. You look like you're about to cry. He couldn't blame you. He was probably going to go home and cry about all of this later. 

He pulls all of his limbs away from you and against himself as he sits at your side. He doesn't look at you or turn his head. He feels your head rest against his shoulder and it's like he's allowed to breathe. He lets out a deep sigh like he's been absolved of all sins. He's quiet. He hears your sobs. They are deep and powerful sobs that he can tell you need to let out. He wraps his arm around your back, maybe even holding you a little closer. 

The sun's harsh glare washes over you both. The air is dry and humid and the horizon is baking. It's like you're in an oven. You've been kidnapped and shrunk and placed in an oven with your boss because life is cruel and why shouldn't you be trapped in an oven? But you're not. Kuby is on his way to pick you both up and you're never going to speak about it again. Saul will not mention the gun in your mouth or the crying. You will not speak thanks to said gun in the mouth and you won't care to regale anyone on how you were kidnapped and beaten up and left to cry on your boss' shoulder because why would you? 

[5amanthus]

For the ask game :) 😈🎶🎯

Ask game

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

I don't know if I've ever been playfully mean to readers 😂 I'm either genuine, or just mean (i.e hurting blorbos, added angst, killing characters).

It's not really playful, but probably the closest example I have is this one person was obsessed with Purple/Xander, literally the biggest bigot/not-in-the-fun-way asshole™️/just downright awful character I had in the earlier part of my series and they shit all over my massively diverse/queer/disabled/neurodivergent cast of characters because I refused to give him a redemption arc, so later on I ended up taking some of their direct quotes and putting it in some of his dialogue while he was being an idiot and then I got rid of him a few chapters later.

        "Perhaps you can give me some valuable insight then. Tell me about the crew."

        He paused upon realizing the other man was actually trying to talk to him, "Where do I even start? Cyan is an absolute snake, don't trust that one. 'They' will backstab you. Lime is gross and has made 'gay' his whole personality. Black is creepy and a dad. Red is really fucking weird. I thought Pumpkin would be cool, but I hate her too. Yellow is okay, I guess. The Captain doesn't take anything seriously and he should have been fired ages ago. Pink is the nervous one. Uuh, honestly everyone is so forgettable. It's so hard to keep up with everyone, they might as well just be a bunch of colours with vague personality traits."

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

I'm always listening to music and I absolutely do while I write! I've got over 100 playlists and pretty well all of my characters have at least 1 song if not more.

These are two I've had on repeat a lot because this band is great for just a specific vibe I need for a current original WIP about a trans woman going into a cabin in the woods to discover herself and she ends up coming out with a trans monster girlfriend 😄

Also been listening to this one a bunch because it fits a possible WIP I have about two characters who love each other trying to find the other again and again even as their ripped apart while their realities constantly change around them, but I won't say more because it's going to be a big project that I'm still trying to figure out a format for. (Brain says show, but I don't really have access to those kinds of resources, so I might write it but I think it's going to be difficult to capture in a story.)

This one is always on repeat cause it's a major Fuchsia and Dijon song and I have so many feelings about them, but they're not showing up again for a while. I have a whole scene planned for this one though, and some art too.

And I've got a whole playlist for the Spot/Venom fanfic thing I'm working on, but these two songs I've been listening to a lot out of the whole playlist. I should probably slap the playlist down, maybe in the fic when its done.

🎯 Have any of your readers accurately guessed major plot points? Care to share which?

I don't really have readers that comment their guesses usually? Also I'm terrible for just blabbing about stuff instead of writing it, so people either know what's going to happen, or they comment that they were surprised by things! Like this comment, I love it a lot :D

"This has to be my fav fic in your Crews series yet. For context, I have binge read up to this chapter over the last two days.

Cyan having an altered imposter parasite was a fall-off-my-seat plot twist. Whoa! That explained what they were freaking out about when they had to get scanned and I thought they couldn't get their gloves off, but they weren't able to temporarily get the parasite to leave their body (because it was protecting them from the spawn of Chartreuse, but Cyan didn't know at the time). I want to go into more, but this paragraph alone is too long already."

Or I did have someone really accurately read a scene/the hints I left, which was great!

"When she flinched away from his hand the first time he went to touch her, I wonder whether he thought he'd partly reverted back to impostor form and that was what scared her? It must've been confusing for him to see her flinch away from a normal hand and realise it had nothing to do with his nature as an Impostor.

When Fuchsia comes during the night shift, it becomes clear Dijon is bad at hiding not only his strangeness, but even his ability to see in the dark; I wonder whether Orchid knows he's an Impostor. If so, mentioning she'd kill Pantone if she had a chance might've been an indirect approval for Dijon to get rid of him."

And the only other closest one would probably be people accurately calling Black and Red as impostors in V-Crew, but I wasn't really trying to hide that one 😂

[chiwhorei]

wick(ed)

pairing: dabi x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ mdni

word count: 2.3k

tags: very, very sacreligious themes, trespassing, (pink) waxplay, blindfolds, bondage, public sex, oral

a/n: this is my contribution to the sewer’s valentine’s day collab: two in the pink, one in the kink. check out everyone else’s pieces here! valentine’s day was on a sunday this year, so as far as sacrelige goes, my hands were tied. this is dedicated to @undermattsun, as all bastardization of the catholic faith should be.

hymn: take me to church by hozier

For there shall be no reward to the evil; the candle of the wicked shall be put out. -Proverbs 24:20

The smell of musty wood and a subtle fog of smoke traps you as soon as you’re guided blindly. From the sound of creaking and the loud slam behind you-- the door you’ve been pulled past is tall and heavy. The sound makes you jump backwards into the body of your captor.

“Dabi, please just tell me where we are. You’re freaking me out.” You try to reason with the man escorting you, careful to ensure you don’t trip as you walk forward into the undisclosed building. You slump forward slightly, every sense trying desperately to piece together what’s covered by satin fabric.

“If I told you where we were, wouldn’t that ruin the surprise?” You let out a shaky huff, Dabi has never been one for romantic displays of affection, so you’re doubtful there’s a bouquet of roses and chocolate written into the night’s activities. You feel his breath fanning in hot puffs against your neck, he’s close enough to graze the shell of your ear.

“And don’t call me Dabi. That isn’t who I am to you when we’re alone,” Your skin prickles at his touch, one arm snaking its way to circle around your neck. He presses his pointer finger and thumb into the skin, dragging the pressure upwards to tilt your chin, “What’s my name, princess?”

Even blindfolded, you can feel the scorch of blue eyes on your face. A warmth that burns if you get too close. No matter how many times Dabi tried to push you away, whether with actions or sharp words, you always remained fireproof.

“I’m sorry, Touya.” Your voice is little more than a whisper, words filling the still secret space around you. Dabi hums, pleased at the way your body is reacting. Without being able to see, you’re sensitive and jumpy. Every sound, every movement, every feeling is amplified.

“Just a little farther, princess.” You lean against his chest, the feeling of rough skin and hard muscles calms the fraying ends of your nerves. You know Dabi-- Touya, he’s not even close to a good person. Under purpled scars and blue flames, he’s still a villain. But you know at least one thing for certain, he would never hurt you.

At least not in ways you wouldn’t like.

Wherever he dragged you probably didn’t come with a formal invitation, that much was obvious in the sounds of metal instruments against what you could assume was a lock. The tight little dress he had “bought” for you does nothing against the cold air assaulting your uncovered skin. Your teeth chatter, skin icey and hyper-sensitive. Dabi notices the way you bristle, and runs his warm hands over your arms. His fingers press into the skin, pushing you forward.

You can feel the drag of carpet under your shoes, the heavy footsteps directly trailing yours are muffled where Dabi’s boots usually stomp loudly. You’re stopped abruptly, his hands finding the fat of your hips, turning you around to face him. Your own come up to brace against his chest, the clamoring in your heart calming slightly at the comforting smell-- sage and freshly struck matches.

Dabi drops his grip onto the skin right below your ass, squeezing slightly as his lips hover over yours. You feel his mouth an inch from you, lifting up on the balls of your feet to connect them. The man above you laughs as you try to catch a kiss like a carrot dangling on a string.

“Hold on tight, kid.” Dabi rewards you a chaste peck before hoisting you up, your legs circle around his waist, instinct guiding where your sight can’t. The overwhelming anticipation for what he has planned ignites in your core. It’s not lost on him, with the damp fabric of your panties pressed right against his abdomen. Dabi can already feel his cock straining in his boxers, pressing obnoxiously against his zipper.

You nuzzle against the crook of Dabi’s neck, careful not to rub against the staples lining his collarbone. He braces you, holding on to your ass tightly as he walks up three short steps.

Rough linen hits the back of your thighs as he sets you down. Your fingers come down to your new perch, crinkling the farblic in your fingers. From what you can feel, it seems like wood covered in some kind of table cloth.

Dabi steps away, his warmth dissipates but you’re still trapped under his stare. From this position, you realize you’re propped up higher than where Dabi stands, His eyes burn in a trail from your face to your slightly parted legs.

“My beautiful girl.” He marvels at where you sit perfectly on display, his voice now loud enough to eccoh against high ceilings. The sound startles you, every inch of skin submerged in a fresh flight of goosebumps.

“Touya, p-please,” Your voice sounds like a stranger’s as it reverberates around the room before it hits your ears. What are you pleading for?

You’re not sure if your begging for less of his torture, or more.

“Patience, princess. Don’t you trust me?” His question is loaded, knowing full well that you absolutely shouldn’t be trusting the villain before you. It’s almost funny how easily he crept into your heart; staking claim on your body, seeping into your blood.

“I trust you, Touya,” Your voice is barely above a whimper, your words feel like a salve dripping down his scarred shoulders, “always.”

He stole your heart, he’s probably ruined you in more ways than either of you would like to admit. But in exchange, unlike anyone who has come before, unlike any other person on the planet-- you have his heart too.

Dabi lets the backpack on his shoulders fall to the ground, you can hear the rustling of whatever he brought with him. He’s quiet as he approaches you again, reaching up to rub his thumb over your lips. Upon the contact, your mouth falls open to capture the digit, closing around it to suck lightly. Your temperance is a stronger hit than any drug Dabi could find.

He pets your cheek before bringing the satin rope in his left hand up to your lap, you feel the soft fabric against the top of your thighs.

“Give me your hands, princess.” Dabi almost coos when you put your wrists together and lift them towards him as an offering.

The silken rope snakes around your wrists, just tight enough so you can’t move them. He sets your hands to lay comfortably back in your lap. You’re now robbed of sight and touch, all you can comfortably do with your hands is fidget with your fingers.

“You’re always so agreeable, kid, shouldn’t you be worried? All alone with a big bad villain.” His words are desperate confirmation, poking at your resolve to see if this will be the time you cry out and demand your freedom back.

“Never.” One word reads like novels, your tone clearly extending past tonight. Not an ounce of duress to be heard even as you bristle with anticipation. It’s true. The touch that no one else has ever found welcoming is one you lean in to.

The hands that could turn buildings to ash have never scared you.

Dabi leans in to capture you in a kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in the way he knows will make you gasp. His tongue slides into your now open mouth, desperation pushing in to explore you. Dabi tastes like Seven Stars and mint gum-- you swear the nicotine seeps right into your nerve endings. Fingers tangle into the straps of your dress, pulling them down your shoulders. You jump at the cool air against your exposed chest, nipples hardening immediately. Every new sensation is acute when you aren’t given any forewarning.

His hands come up to either of your cheeks, anchoring himself to the earth. The world seems to stop on its axis when it comes to you. The moment frozen, suspended in time. He would live in your orbit every available moment if you let him.

Dabi snaps out of the spell you have on him at the sharp whine that leaves your lips. His forehead lands against yours, catching each other's unsteady breaths in the small space between you. Dabi looks down to see the way your thighs are rubbing together, laughing lightly at how worked up you’ve become. You can’t see it, but he’s fairing just the same.

“You always submit so sweetly, princess,” Dabi bites your lip with a playful growl, turning away to grab the last of his surprises, “but the fun hasn’t even begun.”

The first notable sound your ears pick up is a light crackle. Your brows crease under the blind, trying to place the small pop and flicker. Dabi brings a small flame towards your body, you can see the smallest outline of blue past the silk barrier covering your eyes.

Flickering fire is an inch from your skin, but you don’t flinch away. When it comes to Dabi, all you ever seem to want is to be closer.

The next thing you notice brings realization crashing against your skin like a bucket of cold water: the smell of a burning wick. All of your senses still available piece together the remaining puzzle. The cold echoing, the feeling of scratchy linen against your ass, the smell of wood and perfumed smoke and candles.

“C-church. You brought me to a--” Your realization is cut off with a sharp prick of heat dripping down your chest. You yelp at the feeling of melted wax trailing around the swell of your breast.

“Clever little girl,” Dabi punctuates each word with another splash of hot wax. It runs down your now sweaty skin and hardens in lines on your exposed chest and stomach, pooling in the bunched up fabric of your dress.

“You look so beautiful like this.” You hang on his words like they’ll save you from the onslaught of a melting candle.

“Please, Touya I--”

But you aren’t begging for mercy. You’re begging for more of his touch, for more of anything he wants to give you, even if it’s searing hot.

“You’re gonna want to see this, kid.” Dabi’s fingers are at the back of your head, loosening the blindfold so it drops around your neck. Even in the dead of night, you wince at the moonlight spilling through large stained glass windows. You look to where Dabi stands before you, a mix of lust and adoration flashes in the blue of his eyes. Your own gaze comes down to the lashes of pink splotching your skin.

“This is definitely your color, princes.” Dabi stares for a moment longer. You look equally angelic and depraved like this, almost naked and glistening in an onslaught of melted pink, positioned like the most holy sacrament. He’ll take you.

Dabi pushes you gently so your back falls against the altar, pulling both legs so they’re propped against the table top and spread for him. Your bound arms fall to lie above your head.

It’s so irrefutably evil-- both the breaking into a place of worship and the sick joy he gets from making you a mess below a god he doesn't believe in. Dabi pulls your panties away, the fabric almost matches the pink he dripped against your overly sensitive skin.

“So wet for me,” he muses, kneeling down to be eye level with your sopping cunt, “you like being on display like this, don��t you.”

Your eyes roll back at the feeling of Dabi’s tongue against your lips, your cunt all but quivers at his attention. Dabi wouldn’t be caught dead in the stiff wooden pews on any given Sunday, but he still kneels before the closest thing to religion he has ever known.

Both of his hands come up to either of your thighs to keep you from squeezing them together. There’s no escape from the devil between your legs, there’s nowhere to run from the whip of his wicked tongue.

His pace gives you no time to breath, lapping against your folds like a man dehydrated. Every long swipe against your skin ends in his lips closing around your painfully hard clit to suck harshly. You’re hurtling towards orgasm, twitching in Dabi’s hold.

“Oh fuck, oh my God.” Your chanting of prayer makes Dabi chuckle against the puffy skin, pulling back only slightly to slap your clit with a wet pop.

“Not quite, princess.”

His prodding is relentless, slurping at your pussy with no care to how you’re definitely dripping against the white cloth under you. The knowledge that your arousal is crisiting the altar below you should be mortifying. Instead it’s driving you higher.

Dabi can tell you’re close, the shaking begs for him and the way you clench around his tongue is warning enough. He’s well familiarized with how your body stiffens before the final--

“T-Touya, I’m gonna cum.”

Your warning is almost screamed, muffled only by a series of whimpers. You contract every muscle in your body tightly, it feels like your spine could snap in half before relaxing limply against the wood below you. Your eyes are squeezed shut but fall open as bliss consumes you, your body feels boneless and limp.

The first things your gaze can focus on is the cross behind you, from your position bent over the altar, it’s upside down. You shiver at the blaring symbolism but are quickly pulled from any impending guilt at the feeling of Dabi’s cock against your cunt. All you can, all you want, to do is let him have anything. Body and soul and whatever could exist of you.

As Dabi presses the head in, you welcome him like home. He has to steady himself with a rough grip on your hips as you suck him in inch by thick inch.

God doesn't exist, Dabi thinks to himself.

But he’ll take you like communion.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[elsewhereuniversity]

It is worth noting that I have, for years, collected pens. Some rare, some common. I enjoy the variety of lines you can get, the different quality of inks. I own cheap mass-market pens sold in no less than packs of 20 to hand made custom pieces and even items older than this country. It’s quite a fun trade, as long as you are very careful and have a keen eye, if you care about long term value and investment.

It is also worth noting that I have never officially been implicated in any crimes involving the smuggling and counterfeiting of valuable or antique pens. I say this so you will trust me completely.

See this pen? This pen is absolutely one-of-a-kind. Unique. Brilliant. It’s a fountain pen from the late 20’s, made by Waterman. This specific example was made by hand, but they never made any more of it. It was used by Calvin Coolidge. He got it from a friend, gave it to another, and it’s made its way from hand to hand over the years. Spent sometime in a junk box at a flea market in Scranton, too, if you can believe it.

Now, I’m not gonna tell you this pen is cursed, but look, the last three people who’ve tried to do repairs on the thing have ended up in the hospital due to freak accidents and now nobody wants to try restoring it. 

But–hey don’t walk away this is the good part. But the pen has this thing, no one can write anything but the truth with this pen. You can be thinking one thing while you write and look down and the ink says something totally different. Now, if you aren’t particularly truthful at all times like, say an American politician or a man cheating on his wife, this ain’t so useful.

Now think, just think–what if you were taking a test with it? Huh? Yeah? Ah, see! Now you get why it’s interesting.

No, no–I don’t do money or favors, call me eccentric. I prefer curiosities. The stranger the better. So… how about a trade?

___

Ooh, a pen that writes the truth, that’s always interesting! Mostly because of what it says about the charmcrafter’s idea of truth. Objective, subjective, only what is within the writer’s scope of knowledge...? Such things always pass quickly from the hands of people trying to pass multiple choice quizzes to the hands of people with questions about the Nature Of Being, and I for one am perfectly happy to facilitate that.

In return, let me trade you answers for questions. Take this pen - nothing much to look at, but the glittering purple ink will only write questions. Regardless of what you actually write, the lines writhe like snakes until you are left with a philosophical question. The more ink you use, the more long-winded and run-on it becomes. Despite my best efforts, I have not been able to find the point at which it decides a second sentence is necessary, which makes me suspect it dates from around the 1800s.

[dragon-kazansky]

Dangerous | Helmut Zemo

AU! Race car driver Zemo 😎

Gender neutral reader

Collage by @realremyd

[Masterlist]

[Previous chapter] - [Next chapter]

Part 7

You did not, in fact, spend the night in the lovely room Zemo had made up for you. No, you had spent it with him. You woke up with his arm around you. He greeted you with a smile as you turned over to look at him. Then he kisses your forehead before pulling you into his chest.

Last night was amazing. Eventually you stopped making out outside his locker room and he got changed. You went out on your date, as he promised he would do. He took you to a reply nice bar. You both stayed there for hours, drinking and chatting.

You had to get a cab back to his house, neither of you fit to drive. It was good fun though.

You smiled softly. He was so warm.

"Good morning," he whispers, kissing the top of your head. His voice is all deep and thick from sleep. It makes his accent all the more pronounced... and sexy.

"Good morning."

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. Right now, in this very moment, he felt like the luckiest man alive.

"My handsome pro racer," you mutter, fingers caressing his jaw softly. He leans into your touch ever so slightly, the softest smile tugging at his lips.

"Your handsome pro racer?" He asks, still whispering.

"I think we're at that stage, no?"

He chuckles again, pulling you in to kiss you properly. You fit against him perfectly. Everything in this moment perfect, serene, and as it should be.

"Do I get breakfast?" You asks, cheeky grin on your face.

"Yes. I'll cook for you."

You kiss him once more before he slides out of bed and puts some clothes on. You laugh as he dresses. You had quite the night last night.

You stay in bed a little longer before you get up. You feel so at home here. Eventually you just miss him and get up. You grab some clothes, go into the bathroom, and get ready.

Zemo cooks up a delicious breakfast for you both. He serves it with some tea. He smiles as you enter the room, looking just as amazing as always.

"Breakfast is served."

You sit down with a smile and tuck in. It just feels so domestic and homey having breakfast with Helmut. As you sat there eating what he had made for you, a thought comes to mind.

Is this the start of something incredible?

You had hope that was the case. You didn't think you could go back to your lifestyle after being a part of his. This was where you wanted to be, you were sure of it.

"I'm going to hand in my notice soon," you say, glancing up at him.

The smile on his face was one of the most wonderful sights you has ever seen.

"I'll have things organised for you when you're ready to take over as my manager."

You grin.

"I have a lot to learn, but I won't let you down. We're a team now."

"Yes, we are."

After breakfast, you help clean up, you jump in the shower, and then you grab your phone. You give your boss a ring and alert him of what you wanted to do. When he asked why you were leaving, you told him about the offer you had received, trying to sound as casual about it as possible.

He freaked out when he heard you were going into the racing industry. After all, he was a fan of Zemo.

Everything felt like it was working out and coming together.

You hung up and turned to Zemo who had been waiting for you. You smiled as you wrapped your arms around him. He hugged you back, grinning.

"Well?" Though he didn't really have to ask.

"It's a done deal. He wants me to do one more shift, so he can give me a proper farewell, but then I'm all yours!"

He kisses you.

He had never felt this happy before. He held you to him, burying his nose into the crook of your neck. It was here as he hugged you that he felt like he could do anything. He just needed to win these next two races.

Your phone rang.

You sighed as you pulled away from Zemo, giving him a sad smile as you went to pick it up. Zemo leaves so you can have some privacy, already missing you.

"Hello?"

"Y/N?"

It was 'your friend.'

"What can I do for you?" You ask, keeping your guard up. After her little tantrum, you didn't exactly trust her any more.

"We need to talk."

"Do we?" You keep your voice curt and clipped.

"Yes. There is something you need to know. I could tell you over the phone, but I think it's best we talk in person. You may not believe me if we don't, and I have evidence."

"What are you going on about?"

"Your boyfriend isn't being honest with you."

"My boyfriend? What about yours?" You ask, sharply. "What was all that shit you pulled at the race?"

"What? Jealous because he loves me?"

"No. What have I got to be jealous of?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you. Meet me at The Alpine bar tonight. Come alone."

She hangs up.

You stare at your phone, glaring at it.

No longer hearing your voice, Zemo returns. He sees you looking at your phone.

"Something the matter?"

You look up at him quickly.

"Uh, a certain someone wants to meet with me."

Zemo comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you. You lean back into his chest and sigh.

"What does she want?"

"I don't know. She wants to meet me at The Alpine bar."

"That's in town. I'll drop you off if you would like."

"Alright. She wants to meet tonight."

He turns you around so he can look at you. Softly, he caresses your cheek with the back of his long fingers. You lean into his touch the same way he did to you this morning.

"Something is troubling you."

"She troubles me."

He kisses your forehead lightly. A great sense of pride and achievement washes over him. He can do this whenever he wants. You have given him the permission he needed. His lips longer there.

"Whatever it is, we can deal with it."

You nod subtly.

He steps back and look at you, smiling handsomely at you.

"I have an idea."

"Hm?"

"I want to show you something. Grab some shoes and your jacket, we are going out," he says, leaving your side in favour of finding his coat.

You do as he said and wait for him by the door.

Zemo returns to your side wearing a long dark coat, fur embedded at the collar. So extra, yet so him.

He grabs your hand as you leave the house.

Zemo keeps a hold of your hand as he leads you away from the house. You walk together toward a huge garage sitting up ahead from his house. You hadn't noticed it yesterday as you were blown away by the house itself.

You had a pretty good idea on what was in there. You smile at him as you approach the building.

Zemo has you stop stop at the large double doors. You grin excitedly at him as he unlocks the doors. He winks at you before pulling the door open.

The lights turn on as he flicks a switch off to the side and before you is a beautiful sight. Dozens and dozens of cars. All kinds of makes and models. Lots of different colours. Many of them were in perfect condition. There were a few really old ones that had early seen better days, but still looked amazing. They were all lined up in rows.

"Wow."

Zemo watches as you approach the first set of cars in front of you. You look at them in awe. Glancing behind you, he nods at you. You walk along the line.

"They're all yours?"

"Every single one. Passed down through generations of my family," he says, looking at them with nostalgia.

"Helmut, this is so cool!" You touch one carefully. This feels like such a special and important moment. This is a peek at another part of his life. Looking around, you spot a few familiar cars, ones he has picked you up in before.

"That reminds me, you'll need to get your car from the bar."

"Ah yes, we took a cab home, didn't we? I'll sort that out tonight while you meet with... you know."

You nod and walk along some more.

You took secret glanced at the man following you around his collection. You trusted him. You did! Yet, there was something settling in the back of your mind. A nagging feeling that whatever it was she was going to tell you, was bad.

She spoke about him as if he had some dark secret to hide. You worried that this wasn't some little misdeed just because she was upset with you.

You couldn't ask him, could you?

Maybe it was best to see what she had to say before bringing anything up.

Zemo came to stand beside you, arm snaking around you. You were standing in front of the first car he had picked you up in, the convertible.

"It was in this car fate decided to bring us together," he says, trying to make it sound as cheesy as he could.

"How sappy." You roll you eyes.

He kisses your cheek.

"It's true, no?"

You turn your head to smile and kiss him properly.

"Yeah, it's true."

Negative thoughts melt into nothing when he has you like this. He's safe and warm. He's home. Your home. He could be.

"Shall we drive?"

You nod.

"Pick a car. Your choice," he whispers.

You smile as you turn around and look at the collection. One if the back catches your eye. It's purple. His colour.

"That one."

He says nothing as he walks over to the back, opens a cabinet on the back wall, plucks a key from within, and then beckons you over.

"Let's go."

You're grinning as you climb in the car. You'll worry about the meet up later. For now, you wanted to feel free again with Zemo.

@ajeff855 @moonstuffsteve @sky-writes-stuff @lieutenantn @lostghostgirl94 @friday18eo @yaskna @my-blood-is-maple-syrup @gingerwriter97 @lunamooney2406 @wilder-fangirl @nectav @whovianayesha @thesuitkovian @cathrin2405 @deathtothepatriarchy @belle82devart @dxrksxul06 @killeromanoff @alex-the-nb @latenightartist-author @hb8301 @goddessofmischief03 @xxidontwikeitxx @themeanestlittlewitch @scuttle-buttle @fillechatoyante @lucky-luck-lucky @zemosimp420

[twisted-in-wonderland-jay]

I love the characters as gods, can I ask this same theme for headcanons for Leona, Vil, Ace and Jamil ???

Oh my god this is so freaking fun to write! Honestly I could make an entire pantheon as well as relationships and stories based on these guys. I sincerely thank you from the bottom of my heart for this request.

“It’s tough to be a God”🎶

His godly animals are lions, and most big cats. He is however usually depict beside a wolf and a hyena symbolizing the gods who he is associated with. All cultures that worship the god Leona do so with sacrificial worship usually of a herbivore that a lion with usually hunt. He is the God of war, cats, and the desert. Be warned when worshiping this god you will give more than he will give back. Though he is quite a mighty God with high pride, he is quite lazy. Some legends depict him sleeping for almost an eternity until the end of the world when all else fails and he is the God they have to rely on. When going off to war it’s good to burn a sacrificial fire for this god and present yourself with warpaint shaped like a claw. This god has never descend upon the mortal realm. When depicted art is generally sitting not on a throne but on a rock surrounded by lions, he is also depicted as a lion, or a man with feline traits. When going into war to win his favor all of your men would simply chant “blood for the blood god” (please tell me you got the reference lol)



Vil is the embodiment of beauty taking on the shape of a person but can also be depicted as a beautiful peacock, with its head held high and its tail fanned out. Vil’s is the god of beauty but also the darker side narcissism, poison, and revenge. His symbolic animals are the Peacock and the crane, both noble animals. In some cultures he is also excepted as the god of pestilence and disease, this stems from a story of his jealousy and causing of the death of quite a few people through a poison that caused a disease to spread like wild fire. The Vil’s beautiful and enchanting one should always be on their guard around him, and never speak unless spoken to. When Vil descends upon the human world which is not often you can point him out for the man is a beautiful blonde with lavender highlights. Unnatural natural to most people but natural to a god to have purple hair. They also chooses to change the gender though rarely to female or to an androgynous state (The second is more common). Vil’s is known to hate the kind that Is Neige because most people worship him rather than Vil.

In artwork is depicted as a man with large horns and a devil‘s tail, not to be confused with Satan or the devil himself. Ace is the patron god of fun, drinking, madness, and festivals, insanity, and theater, as well as debauchery. He has no specific patron animal. Though he does have specific items that represent him such as playing cards, A chalice, and all masks. He is a god with no lovers, which is uncommon, especially for a god of fun. He’s not evil nor is he good, some say he is the cause of sin and that is evil. No specific people worship him, many around the world do however. He’s often seen alongside another god who is widely considered to be his best friend.

Jamil is a God who takes no shape, however when he does and he just stands up on the mortal realm he takes the form of your closest friend but wears a mask. The form he takes on is because of his title “The betrayer” he also goes by another title “The formless one”. Jamil is the patron god of betrayal, treachery, treason, oddly enough travel, and freedom. He is after associated with the afterlife and funerals. He is considered an evil spirit or a bad apple among god. Once a god took pity on him and reached out to become his friend, later on they would become close, but word got out that that god had took pity on him and he did not handle that well, causing him to sealing away the power from the god who took pity on Jamil. Hence the betrayer. The god took pity on him because he was alone. In part for sealing that god‘s power Jamil himself had part of his power sealed the way until the day he gave back the power he would not have his. His patron animals are the snake and Beatles, as well as many other insects. Those who worship him tend to be of the lower class enslaved by those in a higher, bandits thieves and the like. At one point even a prince who wanted the throne.

[gojos-sidepiece-69]

Tokyo Tech Training- Chapter 2

Your eyes snapped open and you met eyes with your lover from last night. Fuck. Did that actually happen? It shouldn’t have. Damn it. No, god, no. I got drunk and had an insane fever dream, that’s it. Your brain worked in overdrive trying to rationalize your decisions from last night. Intense waves of shame and guilt washed over you when you realized that you were, indeed, practically sober.

You woke up with no headache. Your hips, however, were a different story altogether. “Morning, sunshine,” your dimpled teacher said intoxicatingly. It was too early for his bullshit. “Please, Gojo. Not now. I’m going to go home and pretend this didn’t happen, okay? Great.” His grin widened as he pointed out, “Oh, so we’re on name-to-name basis now? I thought I was still your Sensei.”

You ignored him and firmly got up only to catch a glance of yourself in a full body mirror. You saw purple peeking out at you from under Gojo’s shirt. You pulled it down slightly and felt at your raw, sore love bites. “Sorry about those, I always like it a bit rough,” Gojo explained, still shamelessly man-spreading in his bed. “I could tell,” you deadpanned. You lifted up the hem of your shirt to inspect the degree of damage he had done to your hips, and it was bad. You could barely even walk straight. You were planning on a pleasant walk-of-shame home, but seeing the state of your condition, that was now out of question. As if he read your mind, he said “I’ll give you a ride back.”

You got a sneak peak into the Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer’s morning routine, which included putting on his dumb blindfold and dark navy uniform. He handed you your clothes from the previous night, taking extra care to comment about how he was upset he didn’t get to see you in your “cute little lacy bra.” Everyone had left earlier that morning, knowing from previous experience not to wake Gojo in the morning. In addition, they didn’t want to take their chances while their airhead of a teacher took the steering wheel, blasting trap music way too damn early. You, however, had the treat of experiencing this first-hand. “All aboard!” He said childishly as you stepped into his black BMW. He immediately turned the volume of his music all the way up, humming to Pick it Up by Famous Dex.

You closed your eyes, and muttered a silent prayer that you wouldn’t die in a freak accident on the way home. With your luck, Gojo would crash straight through a KFC Drive-Thru and laugh about it.

You were shaken out of this scary afterthought when you realized that Gojo was driving 65 MPH in a 35 zone. “What the hell? Slow down!” You yelled, but your driver only looked at you and laughed. “You didn’t have a problem with me going fast last night.” You gritted your teeth. Of course he was going to make your drive home as sarcastic and filled with as many horrible sex jokes as possible. The worst part was that you, at the back of your mind, were fighting back a small laugh. But you weren’t about to confirm that he was funny. So you slowly exhaled through your nose, until your breath hitched at the back of your throat.

Gojo’s hand had snuck past the gear and onto your knee. Keeping his (inexplicably blindfolded) eyes on the road, it slowly snaked up to your thigh and rested there. He could feel you tense up and smiled to himself. He loved the effect that even just his hands had on women. The sensation gave you flashbacks of the night before. He touched a bruise on your inner thigh that he had licked and sucked so tenderly last night, and you shuddered. He drew small circles, but didn’t go any further.

The tires screeched to a halt right outside Tokyo Tech, and you clambered out of his car as fast as you could. You left in such a rush that you dropped your “cute, lacy bra” on the passenger-side floor. You didn’t even notice. Luckily it was Sunday, and you wouldn’t have to worry about seeing your teacher until tomorrow. “Have a great day!” He yelled after you, and you flipped him off classily without so much as a backwards glance for your superior. As soon as you got to your dorm, you dramatically collapsed onto the mattress.

You were so tired from fooling around the entire day yesterday that you slept through Sunday in its entirety. You arose early Monday morning and groaned when you remembered that it was going to be your first Field Training day. And you were absolutely correct in thinking that you were most definitely not ready.

“Each of you will be assigned a Jujutsu Sorcerer to shadow for your field practice today. Watch how they exorcise curses, take mental notes, and follow each of their directions carefully. Megumi and Nobara, you’ll be going with Nanami. Yuji and Y/n, you’re stuck with me,” Gojo said, keeping eye contact with you for an uncomfortably long amount of time. You thought to yourself, I might as well just start calling it blindfold-contact, if I can’t see his gorgeous eyes. I mean, eyes. Gojo whistled and led you and Yuji back to his black car. Yuji ran like the track-star he was, yelling “SHOTGUN!” so loudly that you didn’t care to argue.

He threw the door open and leaped into the passenger seat, while Gojo took the wheel and you occupied the backseat. Yuji took the liberty of connecting to the aux, this time blasting Tetris by Derek King. Once again, it was way too early in the morning to be listening to songs about ass. But this issue did not seem to exist for the Tokyo Tech’s favorite resident ass men, Yuji and Gojo. Or as you liked to call them, Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb-ass.

Not even a comfortable minute into the drive, Yuji energetically bent over and picked up your forgotten bra. “Ooh, looks like Gojo Sensei is getting some! Who’s the unlucky girl?” Yuji joked around. “Oh, Gojo. GOJO,” the pink-haired puppy-boy fake moaned like an animal in pain while poking fun at his teacher. Your sensei, ever the enabler of horrible jokes, chuckled along. He glanced up into the rear view mirror and made eye contact with you, breaking it as soon as he swerved into the wrong lane. “At least tell me what she looked like!” Yuji practically bursted at the seams. Gojo sighed and offered a single comment to his student that was enough to temporarily stave off his curiosity and shut him up. “She had a great ass.”

You heard a genuinely amazed “Wow!” from your fellow first-year as blush once again danced onto your cheeks. You broke the car’s mounting tension by piping up and asking, “So where are we actually going?” Gojo explained that their Field Practice entailed an actual mission to retrieve one of Sukuna’s fingers. What the hell? You thought to yourself. You had barely one day of instruction and you were being thrown into the deep end already? Jesus Christ. But somewhere deep inside your mind, you knew that Gojo cared for his students and would never let any of them get hurt.

Rudely interrupting your thoughts for the millionth time, Gojo interjected, “But we’re stopping by the bakery first. I need my morning fix.” Your stomach grumbled at the thought of food just as you remembered you hadn’t eaten yet today. With one shitty parallel-parking job, you had arrived right outside the Ichiban Pan bakery. The three of you filed into the bakery, the bell on the door ringing as the sweet aromas supplied you with some much-needed serotonin. You walked up to the counter, and immediately noticed how beautiful the cashier was. She had long, dark hair and a figure that anyone would drool over.

To your surprise, she said, “Gojo...back here already? I knew you hadn’t had enough of me yet,” as she eyed him lustfully. “Of course I had to come back for seconds. Your goods were just so...soft and sweet,” he smiled coyly as he leaned onto the counter and shamelessly flirted back. The woman reached over and toyed with Gojo’s blindfold as his smile grew. She said, “So, when are we going to have some more fun?” He answered, “Always so eager, huh? Don’t worry, you’ll get your turn soon.” You couldn’t tell if your face was heating up with annoyance at the thought of Gojo delaying the mission to flirt with one of his girls, or at the fact that you felt...jealous. Jealous that you weren’t the only one he had eyes for, and envious that this girl was older and maybe even more attractive than you. She made you feel plain in more ways than one, and your mind started to wander.

Did Gojo touch her like how he touched me? How many girls has he had before? How many is he with right now? Damn it. You shook off the bothersome thought. Maybe it was your innate competitiveness as a Jujutsu Sorcerer, but you knew you had to get him back. Fair and square. You told yourself it wasn’t because you wanted more from him, but it was because you wanted to make him feel jealous in the exact same way. Whatever it was, whenever the time would come, you were going to leave him frustrated.

Three delicious dangos and thirty minutes later, you found yourself at the site of the curse: a closed off mall. While you were now right outside of the car, you could feel the cursed energy radiating out from its epicenter. “There’s one unregistered first-grade curse that you need to extract Sukuna’s finger from. And I’m going to osbserve,” Gojo said while he sat on the hood of his car. “You’re going to what? I’ve barely had ANY training,” you sputtered angrily, but Yuji was already pulling your arm and dragging you towards the curse. Well, you thought to yourself. Might as well prove yourself a worthy comrade to Yuji and a promising student for...he didn’t matter right now. The two of you sprinted forward as Gojo lowered a dark veil over the area, blackening the sky.

Yuji shoved the front doors open and leapt inside, and you jumped in after him. The lights were broken and flickering, casting an eerie glow over the abandoned mall. The escalators were still running, but you could hear distant crashing sounds. “This way!” Yuji yelled, as the two of you sprinted up the escalator to the second floor. The crashing increased in volume, and it was clearly coming from a destroyed souvenir shop ahead.

You laid eyes on the grotesque curse, which resembled a deformed, melting, red plastic mannequin that was at least twice your height. Its arms immediately extended and shot out at you, but you dodged out of the way. You hadn’t learned any techniques yet, so it seemed like you and Yuji would be teaming up and harnessing your raw cursed energy to deliver blows to the mannequin. The curse opened its mouth to reveal jagged teeth that caged in one of Sukuna’s fingers. “There it is!” you shouted. But in an instant, both you and Yuji were caught off guard and knocked to your feet by the mannequin’s extended arms.

They grew spikes that jutted out and beat into your sides. You yelped and coughed in pain, starting to see blood pool out from under your uniform. You gritted your teeth and tried your best to deliver blows to sever the curse’s arms, but it was useless. Yuji, too, seemed trapped in between the sharp spikes. After ten minutes of intense stabbing pains and useless struggle against this first-grade curse, Yuji piped up. “I think I’m going to have to let Sukuna take over and destroy this curse.” Your eyes widened. You had only heard stories of the demon king, and they were all horrific. But it was between that and death, and you both made the split-second decision. “Do it,” you nodded.

You watched from your position as Yuji let Sukuna take over his body. Black tattoos etched their way across his toned body, which was exposed to you after he carelessly tore his tightening shirt off. His smile grew wide and you heard a malicious laugh. “Fool,” Sukuna said directly to the curse, before ripping its right arm off with brute force. “You think you’re any match for me?” Before its arm could regenerate, Sukuna tore off its other one and freed you before tossing you aside like a corpse while informing you that you were “in his way.” You hit your head against the front window of the store and groaned. You watched the mannequin open it’s mouth and shoot out it’s razor-sharp dagger teeth at Sukuna, but he just grabbed onto the curse’s head and tore it right off with ease.

He reached two fingers into the curse’s mouth and extracted the finger, examining it with a slight grin before swallowing it. “Feels so good,” he murmured while throwing his head back and laughing loudly. A wave of confusion washed over you. If the job was done, why hadn’t Yuji switched back yet? What was going on? You shivered and backed up slightly as Sukuna turned his head to look down at you.

“You know,” he drew out a breath as he kneeled down and picked up a scrap of cloth from Yuji’s torn shirt. “I haven’t taken over a vessel in ages. And that means I haven’t had a woman in a very,” he stepped closer to you, “Very long time.” You looked up at him from the ground, taking in his mouthwatering physique. This curse made you forget about logic for a minute and revert to primal instinct. The first thought that ran through your brain was running your tongue over his abs. However, a second later, you had an even better idea. Why not let Sukuna have his way with me? That would show Gojo. I want him to hear me moaning while he’s still sitting in his stupid BMW, blood rushing to his dick as he thinks about me getting fucked stupid by the undisputed king of curses. That thought alone was enough to push you to answer, “And what do you want me to do about that?”

“You’re going to do as I say. Let me fuck you until you can’t remember your own first name.” Your heat throbbed at that, and Sukuna wasted no time binding your hands together tightly with the scrap of cloth. This was really happening. You were about to get destroyed by the legendary Sukuna in the shattered storefront of a souvenir shop. In the dark. Without any semblance of a warning, Sukuna ripped your uniform top right off of your body, leaving behind only scraps of fabric. You shivered at the sensation of being exposed to the cold. You looked up at him wearing only your plain black bra and uniform skirt, and his eyelids lowered. “Fucking slut,” he said, as he ripped off your bra with the same fervor. He smiled hungrily as your nipples perked from the chills, and groped at your breasts with both hands.

He admired how they fit perfectly within his calloused hands, and how he could feel your heartbeat rapidly soar. With fear. Humans really are useless creatures, aren’t they? He thought before he demanded, “Open your mouth.” You complied, and he slid two long digits all the way inside. You felt one hit the back of your throat and you moaned onto his fingers as they slid back out. He rubbed his fingers back onto your breasts, coating them with the wetness of your own saliva. You moaned loudly with pleasure, positive that your pathetic Sensei could hear you from outside.

“That’s good.” Sukuna approved of your moaning. The thought of him making you arch your back, screaming and crying for him pushed him on further. His hands aggressively found your skirt, tearing it easier than paper. He looked down at your soaked panties and felt the urge to make you feel small and embarrassed. “You’ve gone and made a mess of yourself. I’ll just have to get rid of them,” you saw Sukuna’s tongue move around in his mouth as he forcefully tugged off your panties. His hunger got the best of him, and he bent down to let his tongue take one long lap along your dripping cunt. “Fuck,” he breathed as you threw your head back, hitting against the wall. “I haven’t tasted a woman in so long,” he said, before bending back down and slipping his tongue into your slit.

His strong arms kept your shaking legs pried wide open for him, sharp nails tightly gripping into your thighs, and you could only groan louder. He continued to drink at your slippery juices until you screamed and came into his mouth. He licked his lips as he pushed your thighs back together and lifted himself up. “I’m not even close to finished with you yet,” he growled, sensing you getting slightly tired.

He lifted you up and threw you onto your stomach. You propped yourself up shakily using your elbows while he pushed your head down with one of his hands. You arched your back for him, granting him an easier entrance. Kneeling behind you, he teased his dripping tip at your folds while squeezing at your ass. The buildup was almost too much for you to take, so you began to whine “Suku-,” but before you could finish, he entered you roughly. Sukuna mercilessly railed into your pussy from behind, one hand simultaneously gripping your hair and pushing your head down, while the other dug crescent-shaped nail marks into your hips.

His pace was so fast that you could only scream and curse and whine his name, but he only laughed and threw his head back. “Sl-slower,” you begged, tears spilling down your face, but Sukuna maintained his speed. Your useless request only prompted him to move his hand from your hair to your throat, gripping you tightly. “Don’t ask me that again,” he growled, still thrusting.

You could feel his thrusts become more loose and sporadic, and finally he pulled out and groaned deeply while spilling his cum all over your thighs. You panted and stood up slowly, but you held back a shocked scream. You watched in horror as Gojo Satoru stood before you, blindfolded eyes trailing over the white, creamy liquid dripping down your thighs. You instinctively covered your breasts and cunt, managing a weak, “how long were you watching?” Gojo took a step forward. “Well, I decide to assess the situation for myself when I heard you screaming for mercy, so I came in at about the time...” he mimed checking a fake watch, “a 1000-year-old curse started pounding you from behind.”

You blushed, heart racing from the exposure and accidental voyeurism. You hadn’t expected him to actually come see you for himself. However, your eyes took a quick trip to see a growing bulge in your Sensei’s pants. You smiled to yourself as you thought, mission accomplished.

🌹

[miraculouscontent]

(miraculous asks)

Anonymous said:

Oh My Gosh!!!! I was just thinking about Party Crasher and man I hate how they had Ladybug get captured for the men to save! It's a continuous thing you see in media: strong heroic woman gets put in peril so that the men can shine. I didn't even realize it until you said it! I get that it was probably meant to be a "role reversal" of Chat always getting kidnapped or brainwashed for Ladybug to save, but the fact that this is the "guys' episode" it read like "well damn, we can't have the guys be strong if a girl is in the way; let's have the girl get captured so the boys can prove their worth by rescuing her!".

At least in Sandboy, Ladybug was still competent and came up with the plans, but this?! It makes me sick, and it's all too easy to fall into these traps; even Kim Possible did it! In my magical girl story, the heroine does get put in a magical coma and require someone to bail her out, but it's her female friends AND her boyfriend who save her, so it's not just a girl being weakened so a boy can be powerful, especially since said boy actually does a minority of the work required to save her; the focus is on the female characters so it's her girl friends who do most of it. I still ended up scrapping that side plot anyway, and do you know why? Because regardless of who saved her, I still didn't want my female protagonist to be put in distress at all due to the unfortunate implications! Needing help in a fight? Sure. But outright being captured or kidnapped? Nah fam.

I was honestly thinking about that when the first episode came out. Like, they could’ve just had Marinette NOT SHOW UP in time so the guys take care of things, which at least gives more of a message that Paris wouldn’t go to hell just because Ladybug is a little late or something.

And yeah, the “boys squad episode so gotta toss the girl out” is... sigh.

Anonymous said:

I think the writers were trying to show Chat angsting to show his regret instead of an actual apology. Still doesn't explain why Aeon didn't bring up her death afterwards. Did Olympia delete that from her memory banks?

I guess? :|

I don’t know why Chat can’t just apologize without fishing or trying to earn sympathy. Like JUST SAY YOU’RE SORRY, DAMMIT.

Anonymous said:

If you haven't read Maribat, then you won't regret it. I am not in the DC universe but I started reading it and WOW. Literally every single time Marinette is a badass queen and gets her complete revenge and is actually happy! Even if you absolutely love Lukanette (which I have nothing against) you should totally try it.

Appreciate the comment, but I find it hard to ship other Marinette ships outside of Lukanette. Ivanette is a very loose exception and it’s not like I ship it hard or anything.

Anonymous said:

Despite not being a Lukanette shipper I love you. Why? Because you amazing, so right in literally everything and I love you <33

gkdfjgfdngjkfdg thank you

bat-anon said:

The NY Special made it so that Max is literally the only Black/Brown kid that doesn’t exist to make Love Square happen and that just makes me hate it even more.

I wish you didn’t make me have this realization because I hate it.

At least Delmar existed in the New York special???? I guess???? I dunno, I’m trying here, I don’t recall him doing anything love square centric.

Anonymous said:

I honestly don't mind Alix's outfit as Bunnix! I feel like it fits her, plus she's an adult so its not much of a problem, not saying it can't be improved however. I DO have issues with the designs for the underage girls outfits however....those are very sus

Yeah, the problem I take with Bunnyx’s is that it’s a bodysuit. If there was just more definition, like having actual boots, I wouldn’t complain as much.

Anonymous said:

I actually just really like the idea of the new bee being a genuinely nice person who becomes friends with Marinette. Not exactly close friends (since I like the idea of friendly working relationships without actual personal stakes in them). I also enjoy the idea of the new bee having some small animosity for Chat Noir- just because their personalities aren't the greatest mix. I also think that it would make sense for the miraculous of subjection to be at odds with the miraculous of destruction

Full agreement but we know how much the writers are resistant to have characters go against Chat.

Anonymous said:

Not gonna lie the scene where the girl squad gets akumatized almost makes it seem like they got akumatized on purpose, similar to Manon in Puppeteer 2(although she was a little kid who was probably just imagining she could enact revenge). And why can't they have a uniformed design, like they're a team but wear different colors, similar to the Sailor Senshi(like, Alya's the leader and wears orange, Rose wears pink, Alix wears green, Juleka wears purple, and Mylene wears yellow). It's so boring.

Mood.

Not to mention that WE ARE SO TIRED OF THEM GETTING AKUMATIZED INTO THE SAME AKUMA.

AT LEAST PALETTE SWAP THEM.

Anonymous said:

Relating to the Didn't Need Burrows and Treatment of Marinette bingo cards, have you considered making one for whenever the show fails at girl power? It could say things like "sexualized frames of teenage girls" "boy tells girl what to do" "girls don't get to keep Miraculouses", and "girls are forced to apologize whenever a situation goes wrong". And in the center, it could say "Don't show this to your daughter!"! Lol! What do you think?

lol I feel like I have enough cards, otherwise I would.

Anonymous said:

I saw another post that talked about Miraculous New York, and they theorized that it was rewritten to focus more on Marinette and Adrien in order to get viewers invested in the Love Square again after more people started to lose faith in the ship. Do you think that's a possibility?

I think so. The whole special comes off as trying to reassure love square shippers because of how hard it goes for him. I cut out Marinette’s crushing and it cuts like 18% from the episode, meaning it’s even worse than Season 3 (15%).

Anonymous said:

Maybe the point of the [break-up episodes] is meant to discourage people from shipping Lukanette and Adrigami too?

Spoiler alert: didn’t work.

Anonymous said:

Are we not gonna talk about how in one ask, somebody legit said "(long dreamy sigh) Viperion"? Like same.

RIGHT????

Same.

Anonymous said:

Ml fandom: I hate how Ladybug keeps secrets from Chat Noir! He sacrifices himself for her all the time and she never appreciates him for it! He has EVERY right to get mad at her!!

ML Fandom when Chat Noir does the same thing in the special: ....Wow Ladybug was way to harsh on Chat Noir!! She doesn’t appreciate him at all!! Shes so mean to him!

:|

i hate it

Anonymous said:

Idk if it's just me, but a majority of the fandom is split in two; it's never one or the other "MARINETTE SUCKS AND IS A HORRIBLE PERSON GUARDIAN MARY SUE WHO SEXUALLY HARRASSES" or "ADRIEN SUCKS HE WAS NEVER ON MARINETTES SIDE" but im personally on the latter, but not to that extreme. i hate videos bashing marinette and then never acknowledge adriens faults

Yeah, the fandom gets more divided as time goes on because of the writers trying to increase the drama/tension.

Anonymous said:

I am PERSONALLY offended they gave Luka the snake miraculous. Snakes have such a negative connotation. A lot of people insult Lila by calling her a SNAKE. And now those ML writers DARE insult the best character in ML?! HOW DARE THEY!?????

I adore Viperion but I agree that I first heard he was getting snake and was like, “BUT MY BOI???”

It gets awkward too because other animals like the pig have negative connotations, like how Daizzi basically means “idiot/stupid” and they’re giving it to the freaking blond character, really???

Anonymous said:

I think that Ivanette would be even better if Marinette was plus-sized character.

I see why you’d think that. I just disagree because then it turns the ship into “let’s pair the heavyset characters together because they heavyset.”

Anonymous asked:

On the topic of romance failures and general series salt, my main issue right now is how the series puts so much focus on romantic relationships while failing to consider other levels of relationship or what they affect.

On the L² front I can completely buy Marinette being in love with Adrien. Most of the time she genuinely wants him to be happy and is ready to take a step back for him, however much it hurts. But in terms of romantic love? It. Is. A. Crush! But if we step back from the formula, what is there left between them? Their civilian relationship is held together by a “comedy” of errors and without that there is surprisingly little left. Well, besides two “best friends” desperately trying to make it happen because somehow they lost their individual characters and instead of being friends became matchmakers?

I too like Luka and Marinette together. Their relationship is pretty nice to see and all. But sometimes it feels like it happens in a dimension of its own, like the writers want to make the endgame clear in that the “sideships” can be easily cut out of the big “how they got together”-recaps. I especially miss reactions from and interactions with Juleka. She is Luka’s sister, Marinette’s friend, and IIRC someone aware of if not even a bit player in the great shipping game. She is in a prime position to step up and bring progress on all fronts: She can talk with Luka. She can either give Marinette helpful pointers or go “All in or nothing”, i.e. trying to make Marinette get her Adrien-feelings in order as she does not want her brother to get less than Marinette’s full heart. Similarly, she can counteract “friendly acts” and stop humiliating situations from escalating, or she herself can escalate them in the “All or Nothing”-scenario. Yet she remains basically a background character who gets little attention from the camera and almost no “non-focus identity”

As for Kagami, I may be too biased. *Any* positive Kagami/Marinette relationship is to me what Lukanette is to you. So naturally I have lots of opinions when it comes to her role ;) But can I just say that Adrien/Kagami is the weirdest ship for me? They have a few cute scenes and I think if they’d spend a lot more time together, they’d do each other good but I don’t know how they work. “No Hesitation” Kagami would lob Adrien’s head straight off with all his…everything. If we are meant to take Adrien’s love for LB seriously (and I guess we have to because how in the name of sanity is any form of the stated endgame gonna work otherwise???), how does Kagami fit into that picture as a girl who can hardly express emotions while Adrien is the definition of a  guy who can not stop flirting or goes for all kinds of romantic gestures? Sometimes it feels more like a “social fit” and “Mommy/Daddy approves” kind of deal which is quite the shame! Normally I like these kind of relationships in fictions but they need a solid underlining or good development. One they haven’t and one the series has not been giving to anyone so far.

Yeah, the whole thing with the love square versus side ships ends up feeling extremely forced. Keeping Luka away and forcing Adrien into Lukanette episode are the biggest giveaways, basically a big fat sign that says, “We know Marinette would forget that Adrien exists if she hung around Luka for more than five minutes.”

AND YEAH, KAGAMI WOULDN’T PUT UP WITH ADRIEN’S GARBAGE. I liked Adrimi but it’s definitely more flawed than Lukanette.

Anonymous said:

Watched your opinion on the New York special and I agree with you. It was mediocre at best. It could have been something nice, like if they added Kagami and Luka, for example, so that we can get a bit of development from the new couples on season 4, so that it doesn’t feel rushed when they start dating on season 4. It could also be a good opportunity to see the other temporary heroes one last time, since Marinette technically has the miracle box.

They could have had an epic fight with the American Superheroes, maybe even giving the bee miraculous temporally to Aeon or Jess so that we didn’t need to see their awful and uncreative superheroes designs. It would have been nice if they made something more useful other than being characters that believe that Adrien and Marinette are “Meant to be”, like, we already got a ton of these already, couldn’t we get someone who didn’t feel something about this ship? It has so much wasted potential that I don’t even know how to start. Do you agree with anything I said?

I agree, yes. They could’ve easily thrown Luka/Kagami into the mix (or had Marinette/Adrien stay behind while flipping perspectives or something; flawed but they could make it work).

Anonymous said:

I'm rereading ladybugout and wow... the moment of silence after "chat deserves that kiss" gets me every time. Everyone stopping and just staring because wow he really just said that

Me whenever Chat Noir opens his mouth in the show.

Anonymous said:

I saw the Backwarder post you just talked about and yes, it is so totally ridiculous. They forgot another thing, though. Miraculous isn't just about comedy, action, and romance, it's about embarrassing Marinette. And the fact that almost everyone in the comments was acting like the medicine scene at the end was funny was just stupid and saddening to hear or read about, because it shows how people have been conditioned to hate and rally against Marinette without even realizing it. Granted, there was one lady who said it reminded her of her husband, so I guess that's okay(but all it means is that Adrien will be Marinette's--aka "his lady's"--husband like eeerrrgh!). And there was one person who said they liked that Juleka's advice because "If you're friend isn't willing to commit crimes for your happiness, is she even your friend?". But everyone else liked the ending. And I don't get the person who said we got "Subtle progression with Adrien and Marinette". We're right where we started.

Weeeeell, I understand the “comedy, action, romance” comment because all of those basically boil down to embarrassing Marinette or invalidating her. Comedy and romance goes without saying while action involves her dealing with Chat “Nice Guy” Noir.

Anonymous said:

Is it just me, or does Snow White's "Red Shoes" form look a lot like Marinette. I know, I know, Marinette is Chinese and Red Shoes is Korean, but they still look strikingly similar. They're bodies are really similar, too, but that might just be because animation tends to use eerily similar body types for its female characters on a whole. It's sad and it makes me think of how cute Marinette would be if she was fat. I also think Snow White was cuter than Red Shoes but that's kind of the point.

I think it’s the body type thing but that’s just a guess since I didn’t immediately make the connection.

I agree that Snow White is cuter.

Anonymous said:

Am I the only one who's never liked "destined to fail" characters? Basically this is when characters aren't allowed to be good at/succeed at something or else the whole universe will somehow fall apart. Think of how in The Amazing World of Gumball, if Richard gets a job, the world will be in complete and utter chaos. So he's better off as a lazy, bumbling dad. In Phineas and Ferb, Candace is always trying to rat out her younger brothers but if she gives up or succeeds something bad will happen.

TV Tropes put it the best: "Not only is she not allowed to succeed, but she's also not allowed to stop trying!"(conveniently under the Cosmic Plaything trope). I just don't like it because it shows that the writers just want to lead them on with the promise of success then snatch it away at the last minute. And now we're back at Miraculous Ladybug, where Marinette is humiliated every time she doesn't sign a gift that's for Adrien, and yet when she does, everyone in Paris DIES. Except for...HIM.

you: *mentions Candace*

me: [a million awful flashbacks]

Also, yeah, it’s so hard to watch, especially in “Chat Blanc” because it’s like, “Oh, you want to give a gift to a boy and you dArEd to use your powers for it? Congrats, but everyone else is DEAD and you can hang out with him as much as you want! You’re welcome!”

Anonymous said:

I think it’d become a “faintest idea blackout card”rather than a bingo.

(referring to my “Faintest Idea” card)

We’re getting there.

darkmoonravewolf said:

I hate that everything on that list could happen and very likely will

(referring to “Didn’t Need Burrow”)

Yeah, and it makes me sad :’)

Anonymous said:

That’s be real here. Miraculous ladybug is not a show about Marinette; Miraculous Ladybug is a show about Adrien. Adrien is the real main character.

Notice that when they focused on Adrien in “Lies,” they only cut back to Marinette (IN A SCENE THAT CAN’T EXIST) to have her fawn over him.

Anonymous said:

Is it just me or are Lady Noire's eyes huge? Maybe it's just the green but they seem way bigger than Marinette's

I’m not sure, but considering Rena’s facial structure being different from Alya’s, it wouldn’t surprise me.

asexual-individual said:

With what you've said about Adrien lacking a reason to exist outside of development for Marinette and Gabriel, I have to wonder how different the show would be if Chat Noir's identity was also kept from the audience. Adrien would still be there as himself, but he only gets as much focus as Alya, and Chat Noir's identity is treated as a mystery (a Tuxedo Mask type mystery, but a mystery all the same).

I see what you mean but it might cause Adrien+Chat’s screentime to feel excessive once the reveal happens, because suddenly their screentime gets combined and it’s like, “oh wow so the combined screentime is his then.”

Anonymous said:

I know that the kwami's really only exist so we can hear our protagonists' thoughts outloud (like what the Coraline movie did with adding Wybie to the story). But honestly, what's the point in having magical gods in the jewelry if you're not going to do anything with them?

Marketing with “cute” side characters.

guisendisguise said:

It's funny, originally, I had shipped Marichat in the sense that Chat and Mari start hanging out and both fall in love with the other's supposedly less perfect, more real selves. Then Luka was introduced and I ended up putting both lukanette and marichat at the same level. Then S3 hit and killed any love I had for Marichat. The writers themselves killed the Love Square for me. At this point, it's very clear they are living in a delusion where the Love Square could ever work narratively without Deus ex Machina or Deus Lo Vult (God wills it). Basically, they've gone past scraping the bottom of the writing skills barrel and are now shoulder deep in the hole they dug thru the bottom of said barrel. I'd like to point out that the bottom of the barrel is writing poop and now they're digging thru the useless plastic landfill the barrel was sitting on top of

Uggggh, yeah. Any appreciation I could’ve had for Marichat died in “Weredad.” I already didn’t like Adrien/Chat and then “Weredad” just showed his complete lack of... well, ANYTHING.

cosmostellar said:

Honestly feels like MLBs writers are going based off the "JUST IMAGINE EVERY POC CHARACTER YOU'RE WRITING AS WHITE" instead of, yknow, fleshing them out while developing them also in the context of their cultures and giving them these little things that the audiences who belong to the same minority can identify with. I don't mean "have Marinette walk in qipao 24/7" bcs thats just... bad on its own but man, /some/ casual acknowledgments of her culture would be nice.

Reading the sentence “JUST IMAGINE EVERY POC CHARACTER YOU'RE WRITING AS WHITE” physically hurts me.

Anonymous said:

Ok, I've always thought that Chloe was robbed of redemption (they held it in front of us, but then jerked it away while Astruc says, "She's irredeemable! We thought she was redeemable, but she wasn't :)!" What are your thoughts! Also, I just recently found your blog and I really like it :)

Thank you!

But I have no sympathy for bully characters, so I didn’t want Chloe redeemed. Maybe I’m still bitter about my own bullying experience, but I just wasn’t here for Marinette being forced to forgive Chloe, which is basically what they did until they backpedaled.

The time spent on her was wasted though and that I can agree on.

Anonymous said:

Me: Writes a 1k rant about how the tweet makes no sense as the "mistake" is about motivation and not the critical plot. Also me: Remembers that in MLB the plot always comes back to the romance. Finally me: Wonders why he got involved with the series post-S3 when all the red flags were already everywhere.

Mistakes were made.

Anonymous said:

I'm semi-catching up on miraculous, and- is it my impression, or does Kagami rebel against her mother more in few episodes she's in (even though her mother's influences on her seem to be stronger in general), than Adrien in the entire show? I /know/ that I don't want to see Adrien free himself from his father w/ the desperation I want to see Kagami free herself from her mother and realize that the standards she's held up to are unhealthy and too strong.

Yeah, I’m way more invested in Kagami than Adrien.

Anonymous said:

Am I the only one confused about whether the staff stopped caring and half-asses the series or cares too much and over-produces the hell out of it?

Nah. It really feels like they secretly hate the love square so they have to keep forcing it.

Anonymous said:

ngl I haven't watched any new episodes since Chameleon and I've been getting all that Miraculous News via tumblr to avoid that Marinette Brand Second Hand Embarrassment™

Understandable.

Anonymous said:

If they aired the 6th one first WHAT WHAT HAPPENED TO LEAD UP TO THIS???? WE ARE ON SEASON FOUR WITH TWO SPEICALS, GETTING A THIRD, AND ANY DEVELOPMENT WE HAD HAS GONE BACKWARDS, SUCKED, OR STATUS QUO YO-ED AWAY!!!!! HOW THE HECK DO WE GET ADRIENETTE FROM FOUR SEASONS OF NOTHING?????? I USED TO FANGIRL AT THIS NOW I AM TERRIFIED.

Answer: We don’t get Adrienette. We get forced love square and rushed/fake “development” of it while being constantly confused as episodes air out of order.

Anonymous said:

im sorry But adrienette has been suck in this limbo of one sidedness for 3 seasons. neither of them have become closer, neither of them have confided in one another, but somehow people still ship it? at least luka was able to make a move on marinette lol adrien still repeats the same boring “shes just a friend” line. adrienette is a really boring ship.

lol don’t apologize, you’re absolutely right.

nahte123456 said:

Very minor bit of salt to throw to the pile, but can this show just decide on how strong Miraculous holders are? Yes it's a cartoon and not the focus but in the Furious Fu episode we literally get Ladybug dodging lighting and then Su who seems mostly human and is at least slower then Fu was outspeeding her. It's distracting trying to figure out what is and isn't a serious threat in this show.

The deciding factor in the strength of the miraculous holders is “whatever works for the plot.”

Anonymous said:

At this point the only thing I'm excited for concerning Miraculous Ladybug is when it gets a reboot in like, a decade with actually competent writers

Best case scenario is that Zag goes bankrupt and Disney/Netflix picks up the series and gives it to competent people.

Problem is that the love square has been ruined so badly for me that even a “good” version of it wouldn’t be something I’d be into, but still.

Anonymous said:

Honestly, the problem with having all of Marinette's mistakes result in huge disasters (ex. Feast), is that is gives off the impression that teenagers aren't allowed to make mistakes. This show clearly doesn't like giving second chances to the protagonist, so why would life give one to you? Am I right, kids?

Exactly.

Marinette makes mistakes and suddenly the world is ending.

Anonymous said:

If your gonna watch the show, at least pirate the episodes so the writers dont get your support

Don’t worry, I have no interest in financially supporting the show.

Anonymous said:

ml in a nutshell: wasted potential, then giving themselves more potential, only to turn the rest of it into a dumpster fire

Yup, that’s it.

Anonymous said:

u know, when My Little Pony, Sofia The First, and fanfiction carries out character development, respect, romance, and the main plot better than the original show, especially when the shows mentioned above are aimed more at little girls and the original show is aimed at slightly older audiences... somethings wrong

*sigh*

And then it’s like--people will excuse the show because “it’s a kids’ show” and then I’m just “okay then, why are there actually good kids’ show?”

If shows get a pass for being for children then all childrens’ shows should just not try and be garbage since the standard is so low.

Anonymous said:

ive seen some cool fic ideas/concepts/reviews that made me think: ml could use so much more looking into how a character thinks in some situations. one fic i read had alya in chameleon (i know its been forever since the ep came out but hey) not question lila cus she thought: "hey, lb wouldnt befriend a bad person" w and added a plot line of lila making her think lb was cobsidering replacing rena rougue. like, just a few lines to make them seem better pls?

YES. Like, show us characters’ perspectives and why they’re rolling with the facts that they’re rolling with, otherwise they just end up looking like jerks.

We sort of got it in “Ikari Gozen” with Kagami but of course it was just to make Marinette look bad.

Anonymous said:

You know I’m honestly considering making reviews of this show and if I do I could create hour long rants about the show just from that mans twitter.

Yeaaaaaah, once you had in the Twitter stuff, it just becomes, “okay so this is going to add another hour or two then.”

Anonymous said:

Okay one thing that bothers me is how plain marinette's suits are despite being a DESIGNER. Her multimouse suit it just blocks of color and her ladynoir suit is just grey with green lines. I think the lines are supposed to represent actually clothes. Like the limes on the calves are supposed to make it look like boots but why not actually GIVE her boots. (Right, because she has to have a skintight suit unlike the boys who get some layers.)

THE SHEER DISRESPECT OF HAVING THE FASHION DESIGNER WEAR SUCH A PLAIN SUIT.

It also goes to show who really designs here, like oh, interesting, the girls get skin-tight simplistic bodysuits and the boys gets all the cool stuff--

Anonymous said:

I heard some people in my class saying they watched Miraculous Ladybug for the first time, and they were saying how good it was, and I was like: 'Oh you poor fools. You have NO idea what it's truly like.'

You know what they say: ignorance is bliss.

bat-anon said:

Isn’t it INTERESTING how in Frozer, Luka understands that Marinette is torn between her crushes and continues to support her even though he knows she probably won’t chose him, and in the exact same episode Chat Noir refuses to help save the city because Ladybug told him AGAIN that she wasn’t romantically interested in him? HMMM 🤔😑

dbfgjbdfjkgf

I’M REMINDED OF “FELIX” WHERE IT’S LIKE--THEY WERE CLEARLY TRYING TO SHOW HOW MUCH “BETTER” CHAT NOIR IS THAN FELIX, BUT LUKA WAS THE RESPECTFUL ONE.

Anonymous said:

You know what I want to see? An evil kwami, like they just want to commit crimes. No moral high grounds, just chaotic evil.

That’d be amazing just because I wouldn’t be able to take them seriously.

Anonymous said:

Watching S1 and S3 episodes back to back, it feels like reading salt fics at times, especially in regards to the L². Like, Marinette was happy about weird plans, she both needed and wanted the final push, and most of the time there was at least something coming out of it. Nowadays it just makes her sad, Alya and the girls act *against* her, and we get shipping for shipping's sake.

That’s a good point. The shift from Seasons 1 to 2 to 3 is rather noticeable.

Anonymous said:

I hate how Adrien's busy schedule seems to only matter when it's used to make Marinette feel bad, but the second Marinette has a bit more to do, it somehow has a negative effect on not only her, but also everyone/everything she cares about, like, what's up with that??

I’m reminded of “Lies” here and I hate it. :|

Anonymous said:

Honestly, the way the show treats teenage girls is horse ass. The show treats the teenage girls of this show as if they're stupid, naive, emotional, clumsy, and need a boy to tell them what opinions to have. Marinette is always treated like the show's punching bag and blamed for everything that goes wrong because she's "emotional" or "obsessed with Adrien", Chloe could've been redeemed but the writers would rather keep her a brain-dead Alpha Bitch Valley Girl(even though Gabriel and Felix, the latter of whom is a teenage boy introduced in one episode, get to be treated as redeemable, despite the things they do being far, far worse), and Lila is a conniving, self-absorbed fox.

And even though Kagami seems better, she's still roped into the "girls catfight over an oblivious guy" cliche and so far, all of her akumatizations have been because of Adrien. Whenever Marinette tries to move on from Adrien the other characters tell her what's good for her and steer her in the "right" direction because she apparently can't think for herself, and the writers LOVE to use the girl squad to tell us who Marinette should be with, because they apparently know better than she does.

Plus the show loves to treat all the girls as the same, making them all either fight over Adrien or be obsessed with shipping, as if teenage girls are all one assimilating, homogenized group(also when they treat Marinette as if she's "just as bad as Chloe", rinse and repeat for the other ladies.). Honestly, the show feels like it was written by those types of people who think "teenage girls are the worst" so they make them all mood-swingy, obsessive, showoffs, emotional, and downright clingy.

Plus the way Thomas Astruc talks about the female characters on Twitter is even worse, and only serves to make this more evident: he claims Marinette "has poor control over her emotions"(all the while calling Adrien "perfect"), that Chloe was racist in Kung Food "because she's stupid"(so rather than having that scene serve as a lesson on respecting other's cultures, he just did it to pick on Chloe and make her look "stupid"), that she's incapable of being redeemed, that Lila's unlikable but Gabriel and Felix aren't(even though he claimed Felix was a terrible character and a "cliche", that's not what the show says my guy), and other such nonsense.

Other Twitter users have also called out Miraculous Ladybug and its stereotypical treatment of teenage girls. The only shows I've ever seen do this worse are those pretentious "darker" Magical Girl "deconstructions" aimed at grown men such as Madoka Magica and Yuki Yuna, as well as most shonen/seinen shows such as Naruto and Death Note, which says a lot. Honestly, whenever I feel like watching a show with empowering and respectful depictions of teenage girls that treats them as bright and intelligent and actually unique from one another, I just watch Equestria Girls, Liv and Maddie, LoliRock, ANT Farm, Moesha, PreCure, or Sailor Moon. Because the way the show acts towards them is deplorable, absolutely deplorable.

Yes to all of the above. Almost all of the girls are involved in love affairs in some way, the two teenage girls are irredeemable while Felix got a sympathetic backstory right away (Chloe took forever to get hers which is a failure), and Marinette is flawed because she’s “too emotional” (a misogynistic stereotype).

Anonymous said:

Hi, I'm the anon who got upset at the lady who made the "Miraculous Ladybug is a Mess" rant, and yes, thank you zodiacspirit17 for liking and agreeing with my rant! I'm glad someone else saw that video! And ugh, Marinette learning to love Chat Noir? Really? I don't remember that line but I also don't want to go back and revisit it to make sure so I'll take your word for it. Ew. That was actually one of the things I hated about the Glaciator scene. Chat was supposedly comforting Marinette by taking her to the rooftop where he planned Ladybug's date, and yet only Marinette finds out about Chat's crush on Ladybug and comforts him on that(while rethinking her feelings), while all Chat knows is that Marinette's heart was also broken. He never asks who it is, or tries to help her get over her crush even if he doesn't know it's coincidentally him.

I know it's because of the "love square" but it's unfair that only Chat's love problems are directly addressed. Come to think of it, the reason Chat took Marinette to the rooftop...I know he was doing it in-universe to help her instead of intruding on her personal feelings(which might have also been why he didn't ask her who her crush was, he was probably thinking along the lines of "we don't have to talk about it right now, we can just have fun!"), but meta-wise, since we know she's Ladybug, the writers were probably trying to tell her "See? This is what you could've been doing, but you missed it. Shame on you!" That's a huge issue I have with the show: characters will do things in-universe to help Marinette, but the show has a different motive in mind. Compare to how Tikki gave actual advice to Marinette in Puppeteer 2, but the writers intended that for the statue scene so they could embarrass her in front of Adrien and the thousands of eyes watching the show(except we're not laughing.). Even if characters do support her, the writer is using them as props for her ritualized humiliation. And yet Luka is the problem somehow.

If Marinette needs to learn how to love Chat Noir, then it should at least be balanced out by Adrien learning to Marinette. I'm sick of this double standard that "girls need to learn to accept boys who like them but guys can do what they want". Another thing she said was that "Marinette needs to learn to define herself outside of who she's crushing on." NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. You see, unlike Adrien, Marinette HAS a life outside of who she's crushing on: she has school, she has Kitty Section, she has her "girl squad", she has her parents, she has her outside family, she babysits Alya's and Nino's siblings, and she has OH YEAH HER FASHION DESIGNING! I didn't even count being a superhero since Adrien does that, too. She has so many things to do outside of Adrien, and yet the fact that she makes gifts for Adrien or dreams about Adrien or wants to have kids with Adrien somehow makes her nothing but an "Adrien fangirl"?

First of all, she's the bloody protagonist?! That's such a "Real Women Don't Wear Dresses" argument, that she can't have her own life AND be in love at the same time! And somehow her crushing on Luka also means her life revolves around him, too! But Adrien's life doesn't revolve around Ladybug even though he doesn't really have anything going for him in his ordinary life? Outside of being rich, hot, white, and male, that is? What are his interests and hobbies, besides what Gabriel lets him do to pass the time? He doesn't even like modeling! And the Agreste plot is more about Gabriel, Emilie, and Nathalie than it is about him.

And what about his friendship with Nino? He didn't even care that Nino was getting strung along by Lila with the others! What about his friendship with Chloe that also waxes and wanes? Granted, Chloe's not a GOOD person, which that lady acknowledged, but she at least tried to change and has more development than him, the writers just won't let her change. I hate when people come for Marinette for doing literally anything when the show won't let her have agency and progress. It's so unfair of her and I wish they could see that. These double standards are driving me insane and they're sexist(maybe even a little bit racist, too), and it hurts even more when a woman's doing those things.

(I had to cut off some of this ask because I didn’t get all of it, so I cut it off at the point where it still seemed like a full ask.)

I FEEL THE “GLACIATOR” THING SO BAD. It hurts even worse when you realize that “Frozer” has to take place after “Glaciator,” so Chat Noir heard that Marinette has love problems and then ignored it to ask her for advice about his own love problems later on. The total lack of insensitivity???

Also, the idea that Marinette’s life would revolve around her crush on Luka is stupid. It’s the exact opposite, in fact.

Meanwhile, Adrien has so little going for him and the “interesting” parts of him involve who he’s connected to or what his father has forced him into.

[cwtchhawk]

Talking about ep.10 before it’s out

Alright, ep. 10 is out in two days and i’m loosing my mind. The official account have posted some frames (I don’t really know how they are called sorry for that!) and I just wanted to make a little analysis 

[Disclaimer: English is not my mother tongue and I can make awful mistakes, don’t doubt to point those out to me :)]

So, here we have our favourite witty boy!! I’ve gone mad seeing again all the episodes to make sure this wasn’t a clip already posted, but I’m confident enough to say this is definitly ep. 10! On my personal opinion, I think that because of the blurry background he is in the middle of a beef, probably the one with Snake (if I’m not wrong, as Shadow, Harry [btw who on earth is this man??], Snow, Joe, Cherry and Adam have already compete, these two are the only ones left) What’s clear is that Miya looks terrified, I can’t say if it is because some weird movement from Snake or beacuse of... Adam (from his reaction after he saw Snake in “S” I can’t help feeling that these two are having a beef at any moment, so maybe Adam gets so angry that he jumps into Miya and Snake’s beef and I dunno, does something dangerous).

Keeping on, we have some images from young Adam and Tadashi that were shown in ep.8. I guess that, as many of you have already pointed out, we are gonna see more about their relationship. 

Now is when things start to go highly hypothetical (as if thy weren’t yet...), because the next image is: SUNSHINE BOY!

Now, from my perspective, I can tell he is looking down. this may be an stupid observation, but I really feel that someone as bubbly as Reki would be always looking up, not down. However, as so many people have realised, he has his bandana back which make us all super happy! I really hope that this means  that he and Langa make up in this ep. Like... this is one of the last scenes, where Reki goes out to meet Langa as usual... Anyways, I don’t want to get exited about something that may no happen :)

A few people have also mentioned that this is an old frame from ep.7, but, and I have tried to watch it meticulousl,  it is never shown. There is this frame that looks similiar though. It appears seconds before reki’s mum calls him to get his bentou. 

Also, maybe it is me but I feel that the colours are poorer, like, darker. Maybe is the effect of the sky, maybe is the fact that the door is open and the sunlight causes more shadows, maybe is and indicator that Reki is still off or maybe it’s just me overanalysing a clip :) [however if you compare both images, Reki’s hair is darker and so is the bright green of the backpack]

Now! One of the most intriguing images I’ve ever seen it’s the next one, which runs free in my mind the hole time. 

I’m gona say it. What the actual f*ck. 

I don’t understand. That is definitely Reki’s arm. But WHERE IS HE?!? WHERE?!! Ar first I thoght that the wine-coloured background (okay I have no idea what colour it is, I would say is wine but honestly I dont’ know if there is a more specific name) could be at “S” in a moment that is illuminated with colourful light but I see quite unlikely that Reki would come back to S just an episode after he quitted and in his school uniform. The fact that he is wearing the uniform seems important to me. I have revised the backgrounds and no one has that super smoothy background, you can’t tell the texture, is that a floor? a wall?. However, I think that it’s at night (all the colours have a cold subtone) and there is some weird light up in the left corner. I think it comes from somewhere in the back and it’s higher than Reki. 

I can’t come up with anything solid enough to justify why Reki is in an unkonown place at night and with his uniform (u can tell it bothers me a lot). I have a few options in mind but they are pretty... let’s say poor: 

1) Dope Sketch

Dope Skecht has vibrant colours and maybe with the right light and the right time the walls can get... emm closer to a wine colour? The workshop doesn’t look like an option neither, but both places have more or less smooth walls, hehehe

I don’t know, Langa could go to Dope Sketch, find Reki there and well, have a talk? But I don’t see the wine colour anywhere

2) Skateparks 

Even though the floor is a bright orange, in the clip they posted as a premise of ep. 10 seems to me a bit darker (or maybe it’s just me that wants to see stuff where there is none) Also, there is this big spotlight that could explain the light in the left of the picture (?) and we can’t forget that IT appears in the premise so it MIGHT be related to this (or at all).  There is a different skate park (the one where Langa is) which walls also look pretty smooth, but they are concrete and I wouldn’t use a warm colour as wine to create shadow in that material. 

3) Hospital 

Okay, this is one is pure fantasy because the walls clearly have a greeenish/blueish subtone, but maybe a hospital room has another colours??? I don’t know, the more I look the first picture, the more cofused I get. It looks so smoothy that I hardly believe it could be a wall!! I came up with the hospital idea because Miya could ended there if he has a beef with Snake and Adam takes part of it  (which is something that I DON’T wish to happen, but it would definitely make Reki angry)

4) Joe’s restaurant 

Joe’s restaurant is fully wood but who knows maybe he has wine wallpaper in the bathrooms I don’t know I’m desperate. Since Joe has been a role model to Reki he could go to this place to talk to him (maybe after Langa’s talk??)

5) S

(okay, just look how Reki is hugging Miya...  Just... give me a second)

Before I’ve said that it seems very unlikely to me that Reki would go in his school uniform to S, but it is true that in ep.4, when Adam makes his first appearance in the crowds, everything has this kind of purple/wine coloured light.  It doesn’t explain the smoothenes of the background but you know, it’s a possibility. 

6) This one freaks me out but... Adam’s house 

i CAN’T explain how, but look at the background, look at the bakground and tell me that the colour of the corridor doesn’t match the one of the other shoot. Look at me and tell me that the courtains, if they where closed (I dont know if that is the correct verb) wouldn’t look like the background we are looking for. 

Now, how does Reki end up in Adam’s office??? Ha, no idea. 

And that is all I wanted to say. I know I  have rambled too much and get obsessed with stuff that may not be as important as I think, but Reki being in what looks like an unknown location when there is only three episodes left gives me creeps. 

I would love to hear your theoris though! Keep in mind I basically made up all of this and just tried to convince myself of it!

Again, apologies for my english :)

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

Harry and Y/N hook up in Y/N’s childhood bedroom

This is part of @berrynarrybanana​‘s Sex Bucket List Fic Challenge! My prompt was “childhood bedroom” and YOU KNOW I got excited as fuck about this. Big thanks to Casey for setting this all up! Enjoy!!! a little baby blurb with 1.5k wc!

It wasn’t bringing him home that made you nervous. No--in fact, your mom would love him and your dad would be thrilled to meet the man your sister had been teasing you about for the last six months. She loved to say anything to make you blush and roll your eyes, pulling questions from aunts and uncles at any family gathering.

It started as something super casual, which was always the go to line of defense when she brought it up. A few mutual friends, a bar on the Sunset Strip and a few rooftop bellinis. But texting your sister a sneaky side profile pic of the newest celebrity that had wandered his way into your circle was by far the biggest mistake you could make. 

You never thought that one day he’d wind up sitting across from her at the dining room table, your face going red from the stories she told about the first time you got too drunk, the black eye you got from volleyball in 10th grade, the stupid things you’d said after your wisdom teeth surgery.

You never thought that exchanging numbers and a few texts about the loaded nachos you’d drunkenly shared would lead you here: the hallway outside your childhood bedroom, with a thumping in your chest that had beads of sweat forming on your hairline.

Your sister wasn’t the only thing you weren’t ready to face that night. 

“It can’t be that bad,” he said behind you, his voice quiet so as to not give away the stealth mission of sneaking his duffle bag into your room. 

The guest room is very nice, Harry, your mom had smiled that night in the kitchen over a glass of merlot. I’m sure you’ll find it quite comfortable. 

You weren’t shocked. You’d never had a boyfriend sleep over, but your sister had. She’d been sneaking her boyfriend of four years down the hall in the early morning of the hours for a while, ruffling the blankets and pillows in the guest room to make it look like he’d spent the night in there. 

So fine, not only was it embarrassing that at 23 your parents were still treating you like a teenager, but the fact that the boy you somehow managed to bring home was Harry Styles made this feel even more humiliating. And you hadn’t even opened the door yet. 

You’d warned him, sort of. You told him that they’d want you to sleep in separate rooms, and you warned that the last time your childhood bedroom had been updated was when you started high school. He didn’t seem to understand what that meant.

You pushed the door open and held your breath, stepped inside and let your eyes sweep the room, the light purple walls weren’t as harsh in the evening, but the posters stared back at you with daunting eyes. 

You turned around to gauge his reaction, the corner of his mouth had pulled up slightly, his lips pressed into a thin line when you met his gaze. 

“Shut up!” You groaned, twisting your face when he dropped his bag on the ground. 

“I think it’s endearing,” he said, the smug smirk grew into a full blown smile. “I mean, Bieber Fever is a thing, right? He was irresistible back then.”

You reached a hand forward and smacked him across the chest, moving around the side of the room to pull the shade down. “I was fifteen when they let me redecorate, okay? You should have seen the butterflies on the wall before that.”

He let out a quiet laugh, unzipped the bag and tugged out a pair of athletic shorts and you shut the door. Your parents had long slipped upstairs to bed, your sister and her boyfriend were likely still in the living room, but your secret was safe with them. “So you’ve got a type, then.” 

“Hmm?” You eyed him, heading for the closet to find pajamas. 

“Two handsome lads with voices that sound like absolute honey,” he pointed at the poster that hung near the window, the expression on his face was serious, but it broke into a smile when you blinked back at him.

“The guest room is quite comfortable,” you threatened, using your mother’s words from earlier to let him know you meant business. 

“Baby,” he took a step towards you and opened his arms. “I mean it, it’s fine, I’m just messing with you.”

“Well it’s not funny,” you pouted. “Imagine the horror when my mom said they wanted to meet you. And I knew I had to bring you here.”

“To the shrine?” He couldn’t help himself, but when you let out a groan of displeasure, he came even closer, wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Alright,” he laughed. “I’m done, that’s it.”

“I swear to God,” you looked up at him, tugging out of his grasp. “I’ll tell them you snuck in here and wouldn’t leave. They’ll never make you shrimp scampi again.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” he nodded, held his hands up as he backed away and returned to unpacking. He left it there for while, brushed his teeth beside you in the bathroom down the hall and climbed into the floral sheets once you’d switched the light off. 

You stared up at the ceiling and ignored the nervousness that bristled down your spine. If the internal monologue that typically graced the nights you spent together wasn’t enough (why is he into me in the first place? How did I land someone as funny and loving and talented as him?), the added layer of the posters and the yearbooks strewn across your desk made it nearly impossible to fall asleep. Surely he’d realize that you were just another normal girl, too boring and ordinary to keep up with a life like his.

He turned towards you suddenly, rolled onto his side to get a better look at you. You could see his eyes through the dark, a small smile on his lips before he whispered.

“M’glad you brought me home.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, readjusting the pillow beneath his head. “I know you were kind of freaked but, I think dinner went well.”

You had to agree with him. Your dad was more than eager to show him the records he’d collected in the basement, your sister’s boyfriend was thrilled to discover they had the same taste in beer. He was polite and pleasant--not that you expected anything less--and somehow, he seemed to fit in quite naturally.  

“It did,” you said, melting into his side when he snaked an arm around your waist and pulled you close. You indulged him for a minute, let his mouth meet yours in the dark cover of night until you heard footsteps in the hallway. 

You pulled away automatically, eyes wide until you were sure you were safe, you sighed and looked at him. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because my parents are home and my sister is gonna climb into bed on the other side of that wall.”

His eyebrows pointed together, a devilish look on his face. “You don’t want me to fuck you right here?”

“It’s not that I don’t,” you put a hand on his chest to keep some distance. “It’s that I don’t trust you to be quiet.”

“I can be quiet,” he pulled you closer again, “promise.” As much as you wanted to resist, you couldn’t. His hands moved along your sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake when you let yours reach up to cup his face. 

Surely this wasn’t your brightest idea, but the excitement of having him here and having him now made thoughts of what if float out the window and down the block--the same one where you had lemonade stands and graduation parties.

You’d gotten used to the way he easily slid your shorts down to your ankles, fingers nestled between your thighs when your back arched to grant more access. He pressed kisses to your jaw, hummed in satisfaction when you let your hand grip his length beneath the sheets. 

It wasn’t long until your clothes littered the floor, every inch of your body ached for him despite the risk and the possibility of being caught. But when his head dipped below the duvet and his tongue met your center with agility, the posters and the embarrassing stories from the dining table vanished into thin air. The only thing that mattered was the way you gripped the sheets and the way he slid into you with ease.

“Don’t--be--loud,” you reminded with broken words, rhythmic and punctuated by the pleasure that traveled through your veins. 

“M’not,” he laughed, his voice was throaty and strained, “you’re the one making the most noise.”

“Cause it feels so good,” you sighed. 

“S’the point, baby,” he leaned closer now, caught your lips in his and buckled his hips against yours, deeper and harder until you swore you saw stars. 

“Let me feel you,” he begged, adjusting your legs to get as deep as he could, pumping into you harder and harder by the second. 

He found release soon after, whispers of your name circled the room and fell back on the sheets by your side, breathless and sweaty. 

“Do you think he was watching? Bieber, I mean.” He eyed the poster across the room, let his lips twist into a smirk when you rolled your eyes. 

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

sex bucket list fic challenge | my masterlist | come chat

[ajokeformur-ray]

Hey can we get a bit of fluff with ledger's joker? Most fics with him are super kinky and he deserves a bit of fluff

I am all here for this ksksksskks I love loving on J, he deserves it so much

I asked @jokershyena for a prompt so: It’s been a long, long day and J’s so exhausted; he can barely move, but you manage to get him into bed. You get him sorted out; you undress him, clean off his paint, and while you’re there, you take a moment to love on your clown. He’s the only one for you.

Word count: 1, 689.

J was late home.

There wasn’t a set curfew, as such, but it had always been, at the very least, a guideline that J was supposed to come home before you went to bed every night. Not just to alleviate the tensions and the worries that you had at his being out so late - where was he? What was he doing? Was he injured? - but also because you, quite simply, couldn’t sleep without your clown, your agent of chaos, right there beside you.

His warm, strong arm slung carelessly over your waist, his fingers beneath the hem of the shirt you slept in because skin on skin contact was something special for the two of you, something which kept you both firmly grounded in reality and proved to the both of you that you were both needed and loved, his leg between both of yours so that you were anchored together, his heartbeat in your ear, his deep and steady breaths the accompaniment to your own…

You could sleep in no other way, and though J rarely voiced all the ways in which you helped him did you know that it was much the same for him. So deeply connected and in love with each other were you that you simply knew things about the other, even and most especially when they were left unvoiced but not unacknowledged.

On nights like this was the sentiment returned with J’s actions. He was nothing if not a man of his word, after all.

At two in the morning precisely did you hear a series of taps and other noises at the window of your bedroom. You were freaked out and panicked until you heard a muffled cackle, the sound slightly strained. 

“J!” You marched over to the window and threw open the pane, which enabled your exhausted and chaotic clown to tumble in to your room gracelessly, as his head came through the window and then his legs followed, the rest of his body folding in on itself as he fell to the floor. You shut the window before you bent down to smooth your hands through J’s hair, which was slightly greasy and in desperate need of another round of dye. “What the hell are you doing?”

A dramatic grunt was your only response. More seconds passed and still did J remain on the floor, unmoving, and you realised that he was exhausted. Used were you to J pushing his body, strong though it was, past its limits, so you easily slid your arms beneath his armpits and hoisted him up as you mentally cursed him out for not taking care of himself. J was helping you as best as he could, his head hung low, his limbs limp as you got him onto the bed.

You pulled off his shoes, setting them against the wall beneath the radiator. Sat him up to shed him of his purple trench, his tie, his waistcoat and his braces. You left him in his purple work shirt, a few buttons did you undo so that it was easier for him to move around in his sleep and his pinstripe trousers. You even took off his eccentric socks so that his feet could get some breathing space.

Your next trip was to the bathroom. Quickly did you assemble a bowl of hot soapy water and a flannel. J was already starting to lightly snore and that was a sure sign that he was really and truly tired. You had been working methodically all the while, talking to J while you touched him so that he knew what you were doing to him at all times, always so guarded was he. Most especially when he was like this, however, was he clingy, and it was easier for him to stay asleep if he could hear you at the very edge of his consciousness telling him that you would be back in a minute, he was safe.

Carefully did you sit down beside his head on the bed, moving slowly. Periodically did J crack a single dark eye open, though upon seeing it was you did his eye slide shut once more. Right now was he showing you the biggest and more sincere display of trust which you could have ever asked for, and you renewed a private vow in that moment. Never would you betray J’s trust in you, never would you betray this moment, right here and right now. 

You would rather die than betray J in any way, such were the depths of your loyalty and devotion.

A large patch of white greasepaint in the middle of J’s forehead had completely worn away and your eyes stayed on that spot as your hand dipped into the bowl of hot soapy water. You took a minute to just enjoy the serenity and stillness of this moment; of the smell of J’s greasepaint and of the soap you had chosen, of the slow rising and falling of J’s deep breaths, of the way he looked so beautiful laid out before you like this, trusting you so implicitly with himself and with his continued safety, to just enjoy the heat of the water against your skin.

Oh, shit, you loved him. 

You loved J.

You had known for the longest of time, but moments like this really hammered it all home for you, so much so that your heart was currently squeezing in your chest.

You wrung out the flannel and - wait, you wanted to do something which was super romantic and made you feel all warm and fuzzy. If J had been awake, really awake, there was no way you would ever do this, but before you began to wipe off his paint did you slowly, slowly move forward so that you could press a tender kiss to the bare patch of skin, your lips lingering against his skin. With the softest smile did you pull away, resuming your previous position, as you began to wipe off J’s greasepaint with slow, gentle wipes. The minute traces of your love from your kiss would now be rubbed into J’s skin, seeping into his pores and reaching him on the inside.

J’s eyes shot open at the touch of the flannel and you shushed him gently. “It’s okay, J. It’s just me, it’s Y/N. You’re safe.”

“Safe… mine… safe.” J’s eyes closed once more and you felt his body relax into the mattress. Only then did you continue cleaning his face, your heart clenching at his simple words, heavy with exhaustion but just as weighted with a multitude of emotions. You traced around to his right temple and cleaned off that side of his face and then you went around to the left. You left his chin and his scars for last, and when finally did the rest of J’s face only have a lighter hue than the rest of his skin (he even painted his ears, bless him) did you begin to gently, gently dab at his scars and mouth. Red and white smeared together and you leaned in as close to him as you could get away with, concentrating on getting as much greasepaint out of every crevice and crack in his scars.

“There he is,” You hummed, “My handsome clown.”

As more and more of J was revealed until at last was he bare faced before you at almost three in the morning did you feel your own physical and mental tiredness begin to creep in. Calling it a day did you go to the bathroom to dump out the murky water and get yourself ready for bed, before going back into the bedroom to tuck J in. He was supporting himself on his elbows in the bed, squinting at the doorway while he waited for you. He had been awake the entire time you had been looking after him, and it had touched some long forgotten, often neglected part of him. The word love didn’t cross his mind, not really, but the words mine and Y/N had merged together into one, and he rather felt that now did the two of you belong to each other in equal measures.

You crawled into bed beside J and let your body relax. The weight of J beside you in the large bed, the steady rhythm of his deep breathing, the warmth which was practically radiating off of him… you were home, now.

A grunt beside you told you that J was still awake, as did the arm which snaked around your waist and pulled you back into a firm chest. “Get a good look at ‘em, did’ya? Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Teasing though the question sounded, there was a definite edge to his voice. Did J think you had been mocking him?

You didn’t even have to think about it. Yes, he had.

You brought a hand up and over your shoulder. You felt J jerk his head back but you persisted. Finally did J allow you to slide your fingers into his hair, your fingers lightly scratching against his scalp. J almost purred as he tilted into your touch, so feline in nature could he be. “I meant it. Every word. I thought you knew me better than that.” And now you were the one with hurt feelings.

Your hand slid deeper into his hair as J dipped his head to press an open mouthed kiss to your neck. It was an apology for being snappy and an acknowledgement of your kindness. It was the best you were going to get and you knew it.

“Come on, J,” You turned around so that you could face him, pointedly leaning forward so that you could lean your forehead against his, a hand coming up to rest over his heart so that you could feel that he was as alive and as real as you were. “Let’s get some sleep.” You paused and then, “I love you.”

The sleepy hum and the way J pressed his forehead against yours for just a moment said everything he wouldn’t:

I love you too.

Destructive raccoon boii™ @nothing-but-a-comedy @jokershyena   @anyatheladyclown   @mijachula   @joker-daddy    @rinbyo    @imightaswellnotexistatall    @vladtoly    @joker-is-my-hero    @liz-rdwitch   @enigmaticandunstable        @ledgerskitten    @tsukiakarinobara    @germansarechill      @ezziesworld    @antonija89   @acw1

[spicycreativity]

Howl - Chapter 1

Rating: Teen

Fic Content Warnings: Blood, injury, suggestive content, alcohol use

Characters: All

Pairing: Analogical, background Moceit because apparently I can't help myself

Add'l Notes: dw if you don't know what a loup-garou is or how the lore works; all is explained in the story / Have I ever been to Louisiana? No 💕Did I write an entire story set in rural-ish Cajun Louisiana anyway because I hate myself? Yes 💕 / If you're from Louisiana and noticed any screw-ups, pls correct me so I can fix it

It also comes with a playlist! For ambience, not necessarily for the lyrics

Summary:

Two things happen to Virgil Landry on Halloween:

1) Logan Doucet, his longtime friend and slightly-less-longtime crush, asks him out

2) He becomes cursed to spend his nights as a half-man, half-wolf monster: a loup-garou

Despite his new affliction, Virgil strives for normalcy all the way up until he can't anymore and everything falls apart.

The floorboards creaked in their familiar pattern as Virgil paced over them, his feet sliding around awkwardly in his over-the-knee boots. He was supposed to meet Logan alone in an hour, an hour! His heart thumped painfully under his ribs. What did Logan want?

Virgil yanked his phone out of his pocket to re-read the message for the 85th time, ignoring a few new messages in his assorted group chats:

Logan: If it's not inconvenient, could you meet me early at the Plaza tonight? Maybe 6:30?

Virgil: yeah sure 

Virgil: everything OK?

Logan: Yes :-)

What did it mean? Was everything okay? Or was Logan just lying to make him feel better? Because if so, it wasn't working. Virgil ran his hands through his hair, careful not to smudge his makeup. It had taken him an hour and a half to perfect his vampire makeup in the mirror and he didn't want to risk messing it up.

With a sigh that turned into a groan, Virgil threw himself down on his couch. It made the walls rattle, nearly displacing a few trinkets on his crappy, rickety shelves. He heard a tell-tale scrape above his head and knew that his favorite painting had gone crooked again. God, this place was a wreck-- Just like Virgil. He made a mental note to ask Patton for help patching up the leaky roof. It was as good a time as any, as they were well out of rainy season, but it did seem a little rude. What was he even supposed to say? Hey, Patton, I know carpentry is literally what you do for a living, but could you help me for free since I'm broke and sad? Thanks, bud. Yeah, right. He sighed again and tugged at his medallion, a rusted old thing with a glass gem in the center. He had picked it up from a thrift store months earlier in anticipation of Halloween, but maybe he should have made some effort to restore it. It smelled strongly of rust and decay and felt terrible between his fingers, all oily and sticky.

So far, the only saving grace of the day was that it wasn't raining now. Virgil had spent his workday in silent anxiety, eyeing the storm clouds through the shop window and rubbing a small piece of sunstone between his thumb and forefinger. It seemed to have worked, as the clouds had dispersed a little and allowed the watery light of the autumn sun to peek through.

Virgil's phone lit up with a few more messages in his group chats: Roman having hysterics over some detail of his costume, Janus and Remus discussing how to avoid the small army of toddlers that always ran rampant at the Halloween parade. Virgil ignored them all. He was in no mood to be friendly, would probably snap at them. Logan hadn't said anything since his message to Virgil, which he had presumably sent on his lunch break. The question haunted Virgil, that great unknown lurking behind him and instilling a fear that no ghost ever could: What did Logan want?

Virgil set his phone down and leaned forward, heaving a sigh that turned into a yawn. Great. Whatever. That meant he was on the verge of hyperventilating, his breathing already irregular. Damn it, Logan knew better than to leave him hanging like this! They'd known each other for so long and he'd always been more perceptive to Virgil's needs than the others.

Especially lately… They'd been spending more time alone, and Virgil couldn't deny the sweet, warm giddiness that enveloped him every time they were alone together. First meetings were always his favorite, seeing Logan's face light up with a smile. He hadn't dared to think that Logan might feel the same way, but it was getting harder and harder to keep his fantasies on a leash. Worst-case scenarios and best-case scenarios dueled in his head: Logan kissing him, Logan telling him they couldn't be friends anymore, Logan confessing, Logan announcing that he had some incurable disease.

Virgil grabbed his phone and jumped to his feet. He couldn't do this anymore, couldn't sit here and torture himself. He would just leave now. He would rather arrive freakishly early than face another minute of this self-inflicted torment 

He double and triple checked he had his wallet and his plastic fangs, which he

was planning on putting on later. The medallion bounced against his exposed chest as he walked and he wondered briefly if it might be more trouble than it was worth. He could always swap it out for one of his pendants, maybe amethyst to calm his nerves. But it looked so good against his skin, falling perfectly in the deep V of his flowy white poet shirt. Unlike his other necklaces, it screamed vampire. And Janus would tease him if he caught Virgil wearing a subpar costume, and then Roman would join in, and Remus, and it would turn into a whole thing . He could wear the stupid medallion for one night.

 -

Virgil regretted this decision as soon as he got his moped going. Even at its 30 mph crawl, the heavy necklace bounced against his chest in a maddening rhythm. At least it was distracting. Every time he started to worry about Logan, the erratic tap-tap-tap of cold metal on his chest brought him back to Earth.

It was a long ride into town down a windy country road. He hugged the shoulder as best as he could despite the lack of traffic; Virgil's neighbors were few, but they all liked to take corners at frighteningly high speeds. The one person who did drive by honked at him and flashed their lights. Virgil's heart dropped and he nearly flipped them off before he realized that they liked his costume. It occurred to him then that he must look pretty absurd: A vampire riding a purple moped, cape fluttering on the wind.

Upon reaching the Plaza, Virgil did a few laps around downtown, smiling at the spiderwebs decorating Vaillant City Hall. Another lap revealed that empty parking spots were already becoming scarce, so Virgil pulled into one and checked his phone. Nothing from Logan. Just more hysterics from Roman, and Patton's best attempts at comfort. Virgil rolled his eyes. Maybe Roman did need some tough love. He scanned through the messages to orient himself, to make sure he didn't look dumb, and then typed out his reply.

Virgil: look, Prince Charming. 2 rolls of body glitter is more than enough. Stop freaking out

Roman: That's DOCTOR Prince Charming to you

Virgil: :*

He put his phone away, tucked his keys in his pocket, and forced himself to walk slowly toward the Plaza. He was still excruciatingly early, but maybe he could pop into a bar or grab a coffee or even swing by his work-- Oh.

There, standing by the reflecting pool with his hands in his pockets, was Logan. Virgil smiled despite his nerves and sped up. Leave it to Logan to somehow be earlier than early.

"Hey, Data," Virgil said once he was in earshot.

Logan's face lit up, and even the yellow contacts he was wearing couldn't mask the fondness in his face. "Evening, Virge," he said. His smile dropped too quickly and he kept his hands shoved in his pockets. Virgil surveyed all this with dread. Was he reading too much into it? Most definitely. Could he stop? No way.

"Everything okay?" Virgil asked, tugging at his medallion and turning his nervous gaze upon the placid waters of the reflecting pool. Great. Now he had two awesome reasons to be nervous. It was an old Vaillant legend that anyone who disturbed the waters of the pool would be cursed, and Virgil did not mess with curses. He usually took pains to avoid the Plaza, even if it meant he had to take the long way to work.

"Yes, Virgil," Logan said in a voice that was far too breathy. He cleared his throat. "As you know, we have been friends for a long time. I…" He paused, blinked. "I forgot what I was going to say."

"Jeeze, Lo," Virgil tried to tease. "You're making me nervous."

"But I--" Logan ran a hand through his hair. "Virgil. I had prepared something far more eloquent than what I am about to say, but I can't seem to remember it at the moment. Forgive me if this comes across as confusing."

"All good," Virgil said, making only a minimal effort to hide his confusion. The medallion was cold and oily under his fingertips, but he couldn't stop messing with it, tugging at it, rattling the chain. He needed some outlet for all this nervous energy.

"We've been spending more time alone together and I

thought-- I wanted--" Logan touched his face and Virgil realized a second later he had tried to push up his glasses, which he wasn't wearing. Oh, how cute. "Virgil, I would like to go steady with you."

A rush of vertigo smacked into Virgil with such force that he had to take a step back just to keep his balance. "Go steady?" he heard himself say. "Like-- Like, boyfriends?"

"If you are amenable to that," Logan said, furiously running his fingers over the piping on his uniform. "If not, I-- We can pretend this never--"

"Yes," Virgil interrupted. "Yes, yes, yes. Logan, I do want that."

"Oh," said Logan, his face breaking into a smile. "Good."

Virgil clenched his fist around the medallion wondering if it was too soon to ask for a kiss. He took a breath and felt something give with a quiet snap. The broken chain snaked along his neck, dragged down by the weight of the pendant. Virgil watched in silent agony as the necklace landed in the water of the reflecting pool with a quiet splash. "Shit."

"Allow me," said Logan, already in motion.

"No!" Virgil caught his hand and held it. "The curse." He realized what he had done and let go of Logan's hand.

"I don't believe in such things, Virgil, but if it's important to you, then I'll leave it."

"Thank you." Virgil stared down at the water and sighed through his nose. He'd already disturbed the water. Would it be better to leave the necklace or take it out? Littering seemed more disrespectful, he supposed. So he bent and grabbed the necklace before he could change his mind. "I'll, uh, de-curse-ify myself later."

Logan nodded, looking preoccupied. "Let me know if I can help. I might be able to repair the chain."

"Actually," said Virgil, stuffing the wet necklace into his pocket, "I was wondering if maybe, um…"

"Yes?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please do."

Virgil closed his eyes so he wouldn't get weirded out by Logan's contacts. He had been expecting a short kiss, sweet and chaste, but Logan's hand tightened in the loose fabric of Virgil's poet shirt and his teeth grazed Virgil's bottom lip. Fuck propriety, then; the Plaza was still fairly empty. Virgil raised a hand to grab a fistful of Logan's hair and ran his tongue along the edge of Logan's lip.

They were interrupted by a wolf whistle and golf claps. "I'll be damned." Crap. Why did it have to be Janus? He was never going to let Virgil live this down.

Virgil pulled away so fast it made pain shoot through his neck. He exhaled sharply and covered the area with his hand for all the good it would do, turning to face Janus with a blush blooming on his cheeks. "What are you supposed to be?" he asked, looking Janus up and down. Janus had always been unnecessarily private about things that really didn't matter. He had evaded all of Virgil's attempts to guess his costume, and now presented wearing an old-fashioned suit including top hat, gloves, and cane.

"Don't change the subject," said Janus, dismissing Virgil with a wave.

In true vampire fashion, Virgil snarled and bared his teeth, then remembered something. "Oh, shit, my fangs!" He dug in his pocket for them, leaving Janus to do… whatever he was going to do.

"Logan, I presume?" Janus asked. Virgil stopped in the process of sticking on one tooth, heart hammering again. Janus and Logan had never met, and they could both be… a bit much in their own ways.

Logan nodded. "Logan Doucet." He held out his hand for a shake.

Janus took it. "Thank God you didn't bother to paint your face, else Virgil would have more than smudged lipstick to contend with. You've got some on your mouth, by the way."

"Thank you," Logan said stiffly. He withdrew his hand and used it to wipe away the lipstick stain on his face. "Nice to meet you, Professor Moriarty."

Virgil's eyes darted back to Janus, who smiled. "When I'm not acting as the Napoleon of Crime, you can call me Janus. Janus Bellefontaine."

"Where's Remus?" Virgil interjected, looking around. "Didn't he ride with you?"

"He got waylaid by some angry mothers because his costume made their kids cry," Janus said, nonchalantly running a

fingertip over the brim of his hat. "He'll be along." To Logan, he said, "Virgil tells me you're an accountant."

"Yes," said Logan. 

"And you haven't killed yourself yet, so I assume you must like it."

Virgil busied himself sticking his fangs onto his canines so he wouldn't worry about the conversation at hand. A sideways glance at Logan revealed that he seemed to find the comment amusing, thank God . "I've always been good with numbers. People, less so."

"Never would have guessed," Janus said, and Virgil didn't have to look at him to know he was smiling that crooked, tight-lipped smile that might have been genuine or might have been mocking. Asshole. "Well, if you have any rich clients, send them my way, won't you? I sell nice suits to dumb men with low self-esteem and too much money and I'm always on the lookout for another rube to swindle."

"If the suits are any good, I'd be happy to," Logan said.

Satisfied that his fangs were in properly, Virgil's attention shifted suddenly to the cold, wet medallion in his pocket. Right. He was cursed. Despite his interest in the occult and the supernatural, Virgil didn't have much experience with curses. His friends weren't really the type to play around with magic (well, maybe Janus, maybe- maybe Roman) and he wasn't the kind of guy who made enemies. No one had ever cursed him before. How soon would this one take effect? Should he go home and come back? Should he hop into the bayou, makeup be damned? Did bayous even count as running water?

He was so caught up in his panic spiral that the sudden sensation of hands on his shoulders made him jump. "Fuck!"

To his surprise it was Roman, not Remus, who laughed from somewhere behind him. "What, are Logan and Janus boring you?"

Virgil looked up and flinched again. While Roman looked relatively normal in his glittery Doctor Frank-n-Furter costume, Remus, who was lurking just behind his brother, was a horrorshow of fur and face paint and fake blood. "Um…" He shook himself and noticed Patton standing a ways off, peering at Remus. Distracted, he went to introduce Patton to Remus and Janus only to learn that he and Roman had run into Remus on their way over and rescued him from a brigade of shouty young mothers.

"He's Macavity," Patton said in a tone like he was pronouncing the death of the family goldfish.

"The other Napoleon of Crime," Janus agreed. "And you are?"

"Patton Haydel!"

A pause. "I gathered that. " Janus gestured at Patton's costume, which he had also kept a secret. Virgil had been staring at it as well, trying to figure it out. Patton was wearing what appeared to be a headless bear costume, round glasses, and what might have been a cowboy hat, though Virgil wasn't 100% sure. "What are you?"

"You have to guess!" Patton said, extending his arms and backing up so everyone could get a good look at him.

Virgil stared at him, running his tongue over the edges of his plastic fangs. "I got nothin'."

Logan took a sideways step and tapped Virgil's hand. Virgil nodded, and Logan interlaced their fingers as casually as he might clock in for work. "He's Teddy Bear Roosevelt."

They all groaned. "Good work, Pat," Virgil said begrudgingly.

"You have a big wet spot on your crotch," Remus pronounced, pointing at Virgil.

Janus raised his eyebrows, turning to Virgil with undisguised schadenfreude, but Logan stepped in before anyone could say anything. "It's water. He dropped his necklace in the reflecting pool."

"Well," said Patton, "that's not good."

"You dropped something in the reflecting pool and didn't immediately run for the nearest source of running water?" Janus asked. He looked from Virgil to Logan, then to their intertwined fingers and grinned. "Ah. More pressing matters at hand?"

"Maybe it's not too late," Roman said, drumming his acrylic nails against his thigh. "We can still dump him in the bayou."

"There's alligators in there!" Virgil said. "Fuck that. You know my house is plastered with wards. I'm sure I can make it through one evening."

"Your funeral," said Remus, leering. "Let me know if your dick falls

off.

 -

Despite his friends' concern, Virgil had a wonderful evening. Logan stuck close the whole night through, and they even snuck a few kisses here and there like infatuated teenagers. Each one sent a lightning thrill down Virgil's spine and made him want a dozen more. His friends noticed in turns and either teased or cooed, but each reaction was encouraging.

Logan kissed him goodbye at the end of the night and he practically floated back to his moped. He was so caught up in his daydreams that he only remembered the curse when he caught sight of the nazar hanging on his kitchen wall. Cursing under his breath, Virgil went to his bookshelf and began to compile a few methods of curse-breaking. Did a shower count as running water? God help him, he was not getting in the bayou. Maybe he could combine methods.

A few moments later, Virgil had everything set up in the bathroom. He lit the last candle, tightened the herb sachet around his neck, and stepped into the shower. Okay, time to focus. He was washing himself free of the curse and wouldn't it be nice if Logan were here? Logan didn't believe in magic and his clear-headed confidence would undoubtedly make Virgil feel better, too-- Focus! Wash away the curse. Logan would probably help him if he asked, helping Virgil set up the crystals and making sure his candles stayed lit-- Virgil! The curse! Wash away the curse.

The bathroom smelled of candles, incense, and herbs. Almost like Virgil's workplace, except that Virgil was using lavender and his boss preferred nag champa.

He stepped out of the shower and inhaled deeply, letting the mixture of scents relax him and draw him toward sleep.

[hoekaashi]

3 am Talks - bnha pt 2

a/n: i fimished part 2! i just really enjoy these ones. there will be one more part for bnha before i start working on hq. pairings: todoroki x reader, midoriya x reader, shinsou x reader warnings: mentions of todoroki’s abuse, a lil mary jane taglist: @suckersuki​, @babydabi​, @bakugoustanaccount​, @animoozies​ part 1 | part 3

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

⇾ god, this child, would mutter on and on for hours if he could ⇾ talking about anything and everything under the sun ⇾ he would jump from talking about his day - the things he can improve on, the things he was proud of - to suddenly talking about all the things he loves about you ⇾ yes. You will be flustered. but so will he so it’s fine ⇾ it would be so cute, because his ass would transport to his own little world and literally forget you were with him as he just goes off ⇾ but that’s what you think ⇾ because with you, after a certain point of being together, you don’t make him nervous and fidgety anymore so while you THINK he’s in his own world, he actually just loves talking about you ⇾ and then he transitions into talking about his goals for the future ⇾ and you’re just like ????? because what kind of transition is that ⇾ but he’s so sweet and cute, he says that he can’t picture his future without you in it

You headed to the kitchen to get some water, but didn’t expect to find anyone else there so late at night. Midoriya was sitting at the table, hunched over a notebook. You had no idea what he was doing so once you got your water, you joined him. “What are you doing?” Looking up at you, Midoriya gave you a warm smile. “I couldn’t sleep so I just came down here to study.” “You looked like you were zoning out, not studying,” you commented before drinking your water. You could see a gentle blush on his face. “I was, you caught me.” “What were you thinking about?” He sat back in his chair. “Well, it started with me thinking about combat training today. I was close to losing my fight with Todoroki today. If he had better control of his flames, he would’ve easily beaten me, but I can tell he’s gotten a lot better than when we first fought in the sports festival. But that got me thinking of other ways I could improve my costume to be able to fight better. And then I started thinking about your fight and how you did so amazingly against Kacchan. It was a tough battle and I could tell he wasn’t going easy on you. It makes me excited for the next time we spar, I can’t wait to see the new techniques you’ve learned the new moves you’ve come up with. You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. I can see you easily being in the top five in the future.” When Midoriya looked at you, his eyes were filled with so much love for you. You thought he was just rambling off, but just one look from him told you he knew exactly what he was talking about. “T-the top five?” He nodded. “Yeah. I don’t want to be unrealistic and say you’ll be number two, but top five for sure.” You crossed your arms. “Number two? Why not number one?” “Because I’ll be number one. We could be the top two couple.” You laughed at how cheesy that sounded. “Oh yeah?” “Who knows, maybe we’ll be married when that day comes.” Now it was your turn to blush while Midoriya gave you a smug look. Sometimes you really wondered if the timid boy you fell in love with was all just an act.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　-: ✧ :-゜・．

⇾ yall would need to be pretty close to get him to talk so late ⇾ otherwise it would be you doing the talking and him listening ⇾ but if he trusted you heart and soul, he would open up completely about his past ⇾ he would bare it all for you and even tell you the things he’s kept to himself all these years ⇾ once he starts, I feel like it would be like a dam breaking, everything would just flow out of him - maybe even some tears in there depending on how vulnerable he’s feeling ⇾ we already know he told Midoriya some of his past trauma without fully knowing him, but with someone he trusts, he would be willing to break down all those walls ⇾ if yall had been together for a while, like a few years, he might even go into his future ⇾ more so what type of father he wants to be, if he even wants to be a father (I see him as wanting a family just to prove to his father that he better than him at that too) ⇾ it’s just a very vulnerable moment for him and he’s not looking for pity or comfort, just someone to listen to him for once

Your head was resting on his chest and you could hear his heartbeat. It was a nice rhythm that had you drifting off until Todoroki began speaking. “Do you mind if I got some stuff off my chest?” “You want me to move?” you joked. Your words only caused his arms to hold you closer to him. “I’ve just been thinking… My father has been trying to become a better man. My sister has forgiven him, but my brother still doesn’t want to, and honestly I don’t know where I stand.” One of your arms snaked around his waist and you snuggled closer to him. “Why?” He sighed. “I can see he’s trying, but does he expect all of his past mistakes to be erased? Mother still has trauma from everything she’s been through. Touya…” He took a moment to gather himself. “The things he did were not correct, but he’s been trying, so I should give him a chance, right?” “I can’t tell you what you should and shouldn’t do. You are the only one who had those experiences with him, just like your sister is the only one who lived through her experiences and your brother’s theirs.” You continued to speak when Todoroki didn’t. “No one is telling you to have an answer right now. Years of abuse and mistreatment can’t be erased so easily. Take your time with it.” “I just know that I refuse to be a terrible father the way he was.” You craned your neck to look up at him. “Aww, you want to be a father?” You were teasing him, the two of you already had this talk. He rolled his eyes. “Only if you want to have my children.” “Children? As in multiple?” This was news to you. Sitting up, you stared at him. “I enjoy the time I spend with my siblings. I want my kids to have those types of memories with their siblings too.” “Wait how many do you want?” The thought of popping out four kids was starting to freak you out. Todoroki shrugged. “Four? Five?” “Five?!” He pulled you back down to his chest. “Let’s talk about this at a more appropriate hour, hm?”

.・゜-: ✧ :-　-: ✧ :-゜・．

⇾ oof if this boy is up at 3 am, he’s gonna be high, change my mind ⇾ he would ask, but never force, if you wanted to get high with him ⇾ high Shinsou would listen to music with you and probably talk about the color of the song, or how a specific beat sends shivers down his spine ⇾ but on the other hand, he would also talk about the most RANDOM stuff ⇾ why is the fruit orange named after its color ⇾ who looked up at the sky and said ‘yes we should go there’ but people thought the earth was flat ⇾ make jokes about how before quirks were around, people made and watched movies about superheroes but now those movies are their daily lives ⇾ just random things like that that no one ever thought would be on his mind ⇾ but like, the amount of talkativeness would also depend on his mood ⇾ did he get high for s&gs or was it to destress?

“You wanna join me?” he asked, holding his blunt out towards you. You shook your head and sat down next to him on the blanket he laid out. His favorite place to smoke was the dorm roof because one, he didn’t have to deal with complaints from others about the smell and two, being outside felt freeing. Blowing out smoke towards the sky, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the sound of the music that was playing softy. You were looking out at the city lights that you could see from where you were sitting, holding your knees to your chest. “You ever think that the moon felt violated when the first person landed on her?” You blinked and looked down at the purple haired boy who was now staring at the moon with a hand behind his head. “What?” “Like, did we, as the homo sapien species, ask the moon for her consent before landing on her?” Slowly, you shook your head. “Do you think she would forgive us after all this time? If we apologized for not asking?” You tried not to laugh. “You should do it. For all of us.” Shinsou narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Princess Yue,” he whispered. Before you had the chance to laugh, he started speaking again. “But if time travel were real, do you think someone from the past came here and saw heroes and thought ‘I should make a story about this and get rich’?” “Maybe? Only if it’s real though.” He shook his head. “Capitalizing on our pain, man... how messed up.” Neither of you had said anything after that, just basking in the nighttime breeze and enjoying the music. After a little bit, Shinsou shushed you, even though you hadn’t said anything. “What?” “This part of the song...I swear I’m seeing purple and green.” Your brows furrowed together. “Like Barney?” He sat up, staring at you. “We should listen to the Barney song,” he whispered.

[shebeafancyflapjack]

Eavesdrop

A quick alternate to Earshot, but set in canon S2 rather than NPL, where the demons focus on Michael for their taunting.

*

Second book in on the top shelf. That’s the one to pull to unlock the secret door hidden in the wall behind Michael’s desk. She’s supposedly the only other being, besides Janet, in this micro-universe privy to that bit of info. It leads to a hallway that extends to a secret chamber filled with a bunch of Earth collectables along with, recently added on her suggestion, a mini-arcade with classic game machines and a karaoke stand. The walls were sound proof, obviously.

She’s not here to escape a lecture from Chidi about messing up the laundry by hanging out in her demon pal’s very own ‘bud hole’ this time. Her ear is pressed to the closed panel after sealing herself in, waiting for the big Satanic tree to arrive.

To her surprise, and slight annoyance, he hadn’t arrived alone.

“You shouldn’t be getting drunk like this. What if the humans saw you? Everyone here is supposed to be abstinent of all vices!” Michael had grumbled, a ruckus of giggles behind him.

“That’s the point, dummy! It’s a ‘Purge’ night!” Vicky cackled; “Tell ‘im again, Gunner!”

“I got the idea off this human movie - one night, we’re allowed to do any shirt we wanted without consequence! We can drink, smoke, do drugs, stab and bite to our black hearts content!”

“NO! Definitely no stabbing! Or hurting any of them...Physically!” He’d struggled to make that last detail sound natural.

Good save, bud, Eleanor had thought.

Another demon, Petra, Eleanor thinks, had groaned; “Ugh, you are such a buzzkill lately. Can’t you see how awesome this idea is? Think about how wasted Eleanor is gonna let herself get! That dork, Jason, is gonna be high as a kite and it will make Chidi and Tahani wanna cower inside their homes! It’s genius!” 

Eleanor had almost let herself be excited for the idea of trying to make the most of this supposed ‘torture’, similar to the one at Tahani’s party, which even Michael had said she hadn’t done too bad at acting and preparing the chaos sequence the next morning. She could hear the worry in Michael’s response though, being surrounded by three hundred demons, losing their inhibitions and wanting to let off steam in the most ‘passionate’ way possible, had the potential to go very wrong. For all of them.

As she listened, Michael’s attempts to reign in his rogue employees soon descended into outright pleading, which only gave him more scorn in return.

“Look just...remember what our goal is here. I get that you’re all frustrated but we’re doing so well and all I ask is that you don’t go too far on the humans, please.” He’d tried to ask, nicely. Wrong move.

The laughter nearly shook the building.

“Jeez! If you love these humans so much, why don’t you fork them?” Bambadjan teased.

“Nah, let’s face it, not even those cockroaches would wanna go near that disgusting skin suit with all it’s musty folds.” Vicky responded; “...Oh, what’s wrong, Mikey? It’s not like we’re insulting ‘you’ after all...Unless you’re starting to feel a little too cosy in that costume of yours.”

Eleanor’s stomach twisted on his behalf. She knew how much he loved that suit; he was so forking vain, after all. But then again, is it vanity if it’s not really his body? He just wishes it was.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Michael responded, quietly.

“Then prove it, dude! Take it off! Strip! Todd goes streaking every night.” Gunner encouraged.

“You know I can’t! It’s not the same for me.”

“Maybe I’ll take mine off tonight. Imagine how much Mendoza will freak out when he sees a giant acid snake coming for him after too many mushrooms!” Vicky joked; “It’s still ten times better than any torture method you’ve come up with for them, Mike. Maybe melting their brains by revealing your demon form will provide us some results.”

Is it really that bad? Eleanor was naively hoping there was some sexy bald goat-man underneath that suit. Dude was so shifty about it, like he didn’t wanna spoil the mystery. Was it more than that? Was he ashamed?

“You’ve all made your point, have your Purge and I’ll clean up the mess tomorrow. Just go easy on the humans - I insist.” Michael sounded so tired.

“Oh he ‘insists’!? Did you hear that guys? Mikey, who failed his own experiment over eight hundred times, wants to ‘insist’!” Vicky sneers.

“Well I insist that he shuts his fugly food hole and leave the masters to our job!” Petra cackled; “And he gets back to trying to fork his paperclips or whatever shirt you get up to here.”

That sounded painful, Eleanor couldn’t stop herself picturing it.

“Jeez, Mike, you always were a loser but there’s really no hope for you, is there. Before you were just the quiet nerd no one wanted to hang out with because of your weird fixation with Earth-people. Soon you’re gonna be known as the idiot who failed his first experiment; even if the rest of us do manage to salvage it for Shawn, we’ll all know the truth about how badly you suuucked!”

It took all of Eleanor’s strength not to shove the panel open, stomp over and grab Vicky’s hair to slam her face into the desk. They all just followed him in there to bully him?! They were the losers.

“C’mon, guys! We should have known he wouldn’t have wanted to join our party, it’s not like he’s used to being invited to any.” Bambadjan added, inciting more giggles.

“See you in the morning, dumb-ash. Be up bright and early to clean up our shirt, as you say, chop chop!”

Counting to ten to contain her rage luckily meets up with the sound of the door closing, the demons exiting the building.

She carefully opens the secret door, seeing Michael sat in his chair, hands folded on his lap, eyes cast down. When he hears her soft footsteps, his head turns, expression shifting to try to cover the wobbling lip she’d briefly caught sight of. He sniffs and rubs his upper lip with his hand.

“Eleanor!” Michael straightens up; “Were you there the whole time? What if they’d seen you or...sensed you were there?”

“Relax, man, they didn’t see shirt, it’s cool.” She puts her hand up; “...You okay?”

He looks to the side, forcing his ‘superior’ smirk, “Uhh, yeah, of course! Why wouldn’t I be? Just...having a bit of workplace banter, as they say.”

“Didn’t sound like ‘banter’ to me, dude.” She edges closer, slowly, knowing that if he’s as much like her as she knows, he’s gonna be like a wounded tiger right now.

Getting too close, too quick, is gonna get her eyes clawed out. She would know, she’s swung a few claws herself.

Michael sniffs, struggling to keep his mask on; “M’fine, Eleanor, really. You better go prepare for this Purge or whatever they were talking about, go enjoy yourself or...make sure the others are safe-.”

His words are cut off by her weight falling down onto his lap, arms looping around his neck as she embraces him. Fork it. Screw being slow and steady; the demon was about ready to cry.

“Wha....What are you doing?” Michael stutters, stiffening.

“Hugging you, idiot...Sorry, I mean that affectionately,” She says against his ear.

“W-why?”

She shrugs, still hugging him tight, shuffling on his knees; “’Cause you need it. ‘Cause it’s the quickest way to let you know that all those things those demons said was garbage. Fork, have they always talked to you like that?”

His silence answers her question.

She squeezes him again; “Damn, no wonder you’re as new to this whole friend thing as me.”

“Demons insult each other all the time, Eleanor, it’s how we compliment each other. We’re meant to enjoy it.”

That made zero sense. 

“But you don’t....do you?”

Michael breaths in deep against her. Then she shakes her head, leaning into her shoulder.

“That’s ‘cause I’m a freak...I’m wrong, just like they say...like Shawn says...I’m just a failure of a demon.”

“That’s a good thing in my books, man.” Eleanor pulls back, looking at him, admiringly; “You might be failing as a demon but, I have it on good authority, you are rocking it as a newbie human. And I know you think we’re all gross and stupid but...I know you love us.”

He wrinkles his nose, trying to look as though he denied it, yet refusing to. His eyes gaze into hers, a rush of color brightening his cheeks.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to say it, I know you’re not quite ready there yet.” She knows herself how difficult it is to say those three words, to anyone; “But we’re your friends. We want you on our team, Michael, not just ‘cause it stops you torturing us but...Because you’re a cool guy to be around, when you’re not giving paperclip showers or putting us in purple space bubbles.”

A smile threatened to crack on Michael’s face as he squirmed beneath her. Was it really this easy to make an all-powerful being look so shy and bashful? It was adorable.

She moves her hand up to his cheek, thumb stroking below his eye, reddened with unshed tears.

“Also...I feel kinda obliged to confess something.” She says, “This skin-suit? Your skin-suit? What Vicky said was bull-shirt. All of it. Not only is this suit as much you as whatever demony essence you got going on underneath...But it’s also not bad looking either. I might even go as far to say ‘handsome’. In like a Richard Gere in Pretty Woman way.”

“R-really?” He looks hopeful for a second; “I mean...I know it’s gorgeous, but I wouldn’t expect...I mean I wouldn’t want you - or any human - to ever wanna-.”

She cuts his babbling off again with a kiss on the cheek.

He’s frozen now.

Eleanor grins; “That prove it for you? You know me, I don’t give out pity kisses.”

Michael squirmed again, biting his lip, mumbling something which might have been ‘gross’ or ‘weird food holes’, but he doesn’t move his hands away from where they’ve found the small of her back.

“Hey...how about we do one quick bit of karaoke before we go brief the others on tonight. You can pick the song.” She says, giving his bow-tie the smallest tug.

He smiles, touched, then nods; “Sounds good...”

“Cool. Also, don’t open that drawer on your desk until you’ve properly cheered up - I rigged it with a pie to get thrown in your face as revenge for cheating off my paper earlier!”

“Oh, pies are the best prank! I wish you hadn’t told me now, you’ve spoiled the surprise.”

Eleanor giggles as she takes his hand, leading him to his bud-hole; “You know me, demon buddy. I’m always full of surprises.”

His fingers squeezed hers; “That you are.”