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astrophileous · 1 year

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Love Bugs (Pt. 01)

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Female Reader

Synopsis: You and Derek Morgan have an arrangement. At work, your relationship is strictly business. Under the sheets, it's all about pleasure. Nothing more, nothing less. Until, of course, your feelings start to get involved. Your situation is complicated enough without the unexpexted predicament that suddenly befalls upon you. But with a maniac serial killer on the loose, will you ever get the chance to make everything right?

Warning(s): 18+ NSFW SMUT, oral (m receiving), fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, dirty talk, slight mdom/fsub dynamic, praise kink (?), dubious consent (only because both of them are kinda drunk), alcohol consumption, cursing (a lot of it)

Word Count: 3700-ish

Author's Note: sooo I used to write for law and order svu a long time ago on my old account, but I haven't really picked up fanfiction writing for a long time now, but this is definitely a first time for me writing smut so pls keep that in mind lol. that being said, I was absolutely APPALLED by the lack of derek fanfics on this platform, hence why I decided to take matters into my own hand and wrote this little piece right here :) this fic is gonna be divided into several parts and I'll try to post an update asap. the tw will be adjusted accordingly on each part of the fic. I'll also be making a masterlist for the whole series hopefully sooner rather than later. in the meantime, I hope you enjoy the story below and don't forget to drop a like/comment/reblog xoxo

Love Bugs Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

Since the first time you met him, Derek Morgan was never less than 200 pounds of danger and charm, and he wore that fact with immense pride.

"I'm Derek," he offered smoothly, palm extended to shake yours the moment Hotch introduced you to the team.

"Nice to meet you," was your reply. His hand felt sturdy against your clammy one. "You can call me (Y/N). Or Beetle. Whichever works."

"Beetle?" Someone in the room interjected. You were pretty sure her name was Emily. "How'd you get Beetle from (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?"

"It's a childhood nickname. Kinda stuck." You shrugged. "It's a long story."

That was how everything started.

Flirtatious was Derek's second nature. You convinced yourself not to be swayed by the sweet nothings he kept on dropping wherever he went, especially when you began to understand more about his dynamics with Penelope Garcia. You were just another side quest in his little game, and Derek was merely eager to be the number one top player in the leaderboard.

But your heart, unfortunately, had always been much more vulnerable than your head.

And Derek Morgan, as you came to find out, was its biggest kryptonite.

"Hey, Bug." Derek had approached you after one particularly grisly case. The nickname he had chosen to adopt for you after a couple of weeks being on the team dripped easily from his tongue. "Drinks afterwards?"

"Sure. Who else is coming?"

"Just us two tonight, sweetheart." He winked.

You should have seen it coming.

You should have known that getting drinks late at night with Derek Morgan--alone--was going to be the start of your rapid downfall.

Derek Morgan was the kryptonite to your heart.

Yet then again, you always knew you were secretly a masochist.

"Okay, okay, back up a minute," Derek choked out in between laughter. "That's how you got the nickname Beetle?"

You were quite enjoying the sight in front of you. Twinkled eyes, carefree Derek, who was finally able to let himself loose thanks to the alcohol in his system. The smile lines on his face miraculously made him appear younger, and you could almost catch a glimpse of the young, ambitous football star he once had been before he began pursuing the life of law and justice.

"Yep." You nodded sheepishly, stirring the remaining liquor in the glass in front of you. "I didn't know, okay? How was I supposed to know that beetles can reproduce and multiply that much in the span of a couple of weeks? And frankly, I blame my teachers for failing to satisfy the curiosity of an eight-year old me."

"Alright. Blame the underappreciated heroes of this country, then. How were they supppsed to know you'd actually manage to cause a beetle infestation, Bug?" He pointed an accusatory finger at you. "Please tell me you got punished."

"I did. Mandatory volunteer work." Derek stared in disbelief at your answer. "Well, they wanted to suspend me, but my mother could be very persuasive."

"Meaning, she threatened to sue the school?" Derek raised an eyebrow, remembering the one time you told him that your mom was a lawyer before she passed away.

The rest of the night unraveled similarly. With more anecdotes shared and less sobriety kept, conversation with Derek flowed effortlessly. It felt like a swimmer being back in the water after a year-long sabbatical. Before the two of you realized it, hours had passed since you and Derek first stumbled into that bar, and the finale of an exhausting day had at last morphed into the premiere of a better one.

At Derek's insistence, he accompanied you on the taxi ride back to your apartment, ignoring the constant protest that you kept voicing out loud during the entire journey.

"This is absolutely unnecessary. I told you I'm fine," you grumbled as you staggered from the taxi towards your apartment bulding.

Derek caught up with you easily despite having to linger back to pay for the taxi fare. You stopped on the steps leading towards the front door, too busy fishing for your apartment key to notice that your balance had started slipping from your state of inebriation.

You laughed drunkenly when you felt yourself fall into a pair of strong arms. "Whoopsies. Sorry."

"Careful, Bug. Don't hurt yourself," Derek muttered softly.

Your whole body shuddered at the sensation of his breath on your ear. Derek had never felt this close before. Not even when you hugged each other goodbye or when you embraced one another after a close call in one of your cases. This time, his arms around you felt intimate. That fact alone managed to sober you up even if only for a fraction.

"Okay. I'm okay."

You scrambled out of Derek's firm but gentle hold, finally producing the offensive key from your purse before inserting it into the key hole.

"Thanks for taking me home. You didn't have to."

"I know." Derek raised his fingers, pushing away the strands of hair that had fallen over your eyes as a consequence of the passing wind. "I wanted to."

You stood there under the darkness, body nailed in place by a force far greater than anything you ever knew. Derek was looking at you with an unidentifiable gaze. One that seemed to burn brightly beneath his eyes, but warm and tender once they fell upon your skin.

The intensity was new. Overwhelming. It struck your core, stripping you bare of any defense left in both your body and soul.

Perhaps, that was exactly why the next words even managed to leave your mouth.

"You're pretty."

And God, he really was.

Derek Morgan was beautiful. All six feet and two inches of him. He looked pretty in the mornings when he slid a warm cup of hazelnut latte across your desk, and he looked just as pretty in the evening under the delicate strokes of moonlight.

At the sight of his amused beam in response to your sudden remark, you began to contemplate why anyone hadn't tried to claim him as the eighth wonder of the world.

"I'm pretty?"

"Very."

"I think you're prettier."

"Hm?"

Derek took another step forward, closing the distance between the two of you until the air you exhaled became the very one he breathed in.

"Good night, (Y/N)." The rare sound of your name out of his mouth made you shiver.

Derek exterminated the remaining gap between the two of you. For a second, your entire nerve endings stood in anticipation, waiting for the moment that his plush lips would touch yours.

They never did.

Instead, his kiss had landed on your cheek, viciously close to where the line of your lips started that you could almost picture how he would taste when you closed your eyes.

Derek started to pull away, but he never got further than a mere centimeter before you decided to take matters into your own hand and pressed your own lips to his inviting ones.

He tasted of alcohol and mint. But most importantly, he tasted of Derek. A distinctive sweetness that erupted the dormant butterfiles in the pit of your stomach. They began to soar freely inside of you under the influence of Derek's touch.

Your entire being was on fire. What started as sweet and alleviating soon turned into a contest of desperation. Before you knew it, you somehow had managed to unlock the front door and moved inside, all the way to the door of your own apartment.

When he nipped your bottom lip, you couldn't help but moan into the kiss.

"Fuck," Derek murmured against your lips after hearing the needy sound you just made. "Fuck me."

"I'm trying to," you said impatiently, scrambling to get ahold of his collar and brought his lips back to where they belonged.

Your ministrations screeched to a halt with Derek's hands around your wrists. "Hey. No, Bug. Stop."

Derek took a step back then, letting your hands fall back to your side. He never strayed far from where you stood against the wooden door, but even that tiny bit of distance was enough to make you crave more of him.

You needed to feel his body pressed up against yours, to have him incredibly close that you had no idea where he ended and you began.

"Derek, please..."

You should have been ashamed by how wretched your voice sounded, but you didn't care. You wanted him past the point of caring.

His smile was gentle and forlorn at the same time. "No, sweetheart. Not tonight."

Just like that, your heart plummeted straight out of your chest. "What?"

"Go inside, (Y/N). Get some sleep."

"No!"

Had it been any other day or any other person, you would have chastised yourself for your lack of propriety. But it wasn't any other person standing in front of you. It was Derek. Beautiful, kind, and courageous Derek. Your friend. Your kryptonite.

The oblivious owner of your heart.

"Don't go," you whispered. "Come inside. Stay with me tonight."

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

Your gut churned with dread. "Y-you don't?"

"Christ. I didn't mean it like that. Hey, look at me." He tugged a finger under your chin, forcing your eyes to stare into his dark ones. "You have no idea how much I want to. But you're drunk."

"So are you."

"Exactly my point."

"Derek--"

"I'm not gonna have you forget our first time in the morning just because you were too drunk to remember it, Bug."

The urge to chortle was almost unbearable.

Derek seemed to notice the comical mischief shining in your eyes. "What?"

"It's funny that you think I would ever forget the first time we fuck."

A breathy laugh rumbled out of his chest. "You're a menace, woman."

"A menace who wants you. Please, Derek," you started to whine. "I'm sober enough to give my consent. Hell, I could even recite the entire FBI oath to prove it if you want. You wanna see? I, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), do solemnly swear that I will support and defend--"

"Bug--"

"--the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic--"

"(Y/N)--"

"--that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same--"

You never did finish reciting the remainder of that oath.

The taste of Derek's lips on yours was an interruption you'd gladly welcome at any time of day. Through some sort of miracle, you managed to drag the two of you inside the safety of your apartment without ever breaking the kiss.

When it was time to come up for air, Derek's voice was raspy in your ear, "Sweetheart, I think--"

You didn't give him a chance to protest.

The kisses you peppered started on his neck. When your teeth gritted over his pulse point, Derek let out a low moan that vibrated through your entire being.

"Oh God..."

You continued showering kisses down his body, enjoying the way Derek had been bespelled by the magic of your touch. The buttons of his shirt came undone, and when you finally fell to your knees in front of him, you sucked hard on the skin where his abs met his pelvis.

"Shit. (Y/N), you don't... we don't have to--"

"For God sake, will you shut up?" You chuckled. "Did you not hear anything I said? Or should I just demonstrate how badly I want you right now?"

You took Derek's lack of further objections as permission to go ahead.

His buckle and pants came off pretty quickly. The next to go was his boxer, and the sight that greeted you afterward had your most intimate part gushing in excitement.

You wrapped your fingers around his hardening length. Tentatively at first, but the blissed out look on Derek's face only spurred you on even further.

"Is this okay?"

Derek gulped down before answering, "Yes."

You began to move your hand up and down, feeling Derek going stiffer and stiffer in your hand.

"Holy fuck," Derek cursed when you took his tip in your mouth.

He tasted divine on your tongue. It took a little while for your muscles to fully relax around his impressive size, but when they did, you began to bob your head back and forth, moving in tandem with the hand still wrapped around the rest of him that you couldn't fit entirely in your mouth.

"Yeah, just like that, pretty bug. You're doing so good," he panted.

Derek continued giving his praises, his words--along with his fingers in your hair--doing things to your body that had your thighs clamping down tightly. You began rocking in rhythm with the pace of your head and hand, trying to put pressure against the pulsing need inside your warmth.

"Fuck. Trying to relieve yourself, sweetheart? Sucking me off gets you all hot and needy, huh?" Derek moaned at the sight of you on your knees, teary eyed and full of him, writhing from the budding heat in the pit of your stomach.

You gave him one last suck before he pulled you up to your feet.

"Come here," Derek ordered before kissing you fervently.

He maneuvered the two of you from the doorway, following the direction to the bedroom that you had vaguely gestured at him. Once inside, Derek pushed you towards the bed while he threw his shirt onto the floor.

"You're naked," you mused in between giggles.

"And you're overdressed," he retorted. Your hands began to undo the buttons of your shirt before Derek's hand stopped them. "Let me."

He discarded your shirt in no time, your bra following not far behind.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered before leaving feathery kisses across your collarbone.

He started sucking on your nipple while fiddling the other one, enjoying the way your body reacted to every stroke of his tongue and every pinch of his fingers.

"Derek, please. I want to... I want--"

"Hm?" Derek paused his ministrations, keeping his hand busy by running it up and down your side. "What do you want, pretty bug? Tell me."

"I want you to touch me."

"I am touching you."

You whined. "You know what I meant."

With a chuckle, Derek left one last kiss on your breastbone before continuing his erotic journey southward. After sucking a mark underneath your belly button, he started fumbling with the button of your slacks.

"Fucking hell, sweetheart. You're soaked," he mulled out loud once you were free of the confine of your pants.

Even with your panties still standing as a barrier between Derek and your mound, you could feel every breath that Derek blew against your most sensitive part. There was no doubt surrounding the truth behind Derek's words. You could feel your wetness dripping down your thighs. It didn't exactly help that Derek had begun littering tiny kisses around your hip and pelvic bones.

When his lips made contact with your clothed core, the strangled moan you let out almost sounded animalistic.

"You taste so good," Derek said before diving in once again. "I could spend an eternity between your legs and die a very happy man."

"That's nice, but I don't want you to die just yet."

You tugged at his neck to bring his face back to yours, pressing both of your lips together in another heated kiss that had your toes curling inward.

"No more playing, please. I need you inside me right now," you rasped desperately.

"I still need to get you ready for me, sweetheart." Derek pecked your lips once more. "Why don't you lie back and relax, hm?"

Gingerly, you followed Derek's instruction. He made a quick work of removing your panties before his deft fingers began exploring your folds.

"So wet for me."

He inserted one finger at first, two, and then three inside your pulsing channel. It was a bit of a stretch, tight but not uncomfortable. Derek slid them in and out of you until you turned into a panting mess underneath him.

"Derek--"

He shushed you gently. "I know, Bug. I know."

He worked as if he was a musician and you were his favorite piece of instrument. The heel of his palm found solace on top of your bundle of nerves, drawing circles over and over again to the rhythm of his fingers inside of you.

Before long, you could feel the coil inside of your body snapping, sending your whole entire being shaking as you fell to the edge of a newfound ecstasy.

Throughout all of it, Derek kept his fingers sliding in and out of you, helping you ride your orgasm until your body had finally stopped spasming.

When you opened your eyes, you were welcomed with Derek's awed smile and warm eyes.

"Hi, gorgeous," you murmured breathlessly, still floating along the aftermath of your earlier pinnacle.

"Hey," he whispered back, kissing your temple with the most delicate of touches. "How are you feeling?"

"Blisfully sated."

Derek laughed at your overtly honest answer.

"Are you tired?" he then asked. "Because we don't have to do anything else if you feel--"

"Derek Morgan, I swear to God. If you try to talk me out of this one more time..."

His responding grin was mischievous. "Yes, ma'am."

After one last kiss to your lips, Derek started lining himself up with your entrance. The sensation of his tip pressing against you awakened the momentarily satiated hunger inside your lower belly. And when he finally entered you--slowly but surely--you could physically feel the air being punched right out of your lungs.

"Oh my God," you breathed out once he had filled you to the brim. "You're huge."

"And you're so fucking tight."

He pulled out his length until only his tip was left inside before driving back in with enough force to shatter your entire world. In no time at all, Derek had finally found a steady rhythm. Moving in and out of you while his lips and hands paid attention to the other parts of your body.

"Derek, Derek, Derek," you moaned his name endlessly, relishing every drag of his member against the pulsating muscles of your inner wall.

You could feel every ridge of him inside of you, along with every brush of kisses that he scattered all over your skin, every lazy drag of fingers on the curvatures of your body. All of your senses had been heightened around the presence of him.

"So fucking beautiful. Fuck. Such a good bug for me, hm? So desperate for my cock that you couldn't even wait to sober up."

The heat of Derek's words fueled your fire even further. You began to writhe underneath him, scrambling to make sure that every inch of you was touching every part of him.

"Tell me how good I'm making you feel," Derek ordered between his thrusts.

"So good, Derek. Oh God, you feel so good inside of me. Please, please, please."

Your desperation was the motivation he needed. Derek shifted you both until he was on his knees and your body lying halfway across his lap. When he continued to move again, the vigor of his pace nearly had you seeing stars.

"You feel like heaven, pretty bug. So tight and warm. Bet no one can fuck you as good as I do."

"No one, Derek. No one."

"Are you close, sweetheart? Hm? Tell me how close you are."

"I'm close. So close," you cried out. "I'm gonna... Derek, I'm gonna--"

As if he was reading your mind, Derek brought down his fingers and started drawing tight circles on your clit. All the while, he never relented the pace he had set inside your pussy.

"You wanna cum?" Derek groaned as he continued to nudge you further towards the edge.

You blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over, nodding your head frantically.

"Use your words, Bug."

"Yes, yes. I wanna cum. Please, Derek, make me cum."

And just like that, Derek sent a powerful thrust that had your toes curling, ears buzzing, and body shuddering.

Your second orgasm washed over you in big, tidal waves. A silent scream broken into desperate pleas and moans as you rode the high with Derek still inside of you. It didn't take long for him to follow behind. The sensation of you cumming around him became the very thread of his own undoing.

He spilled everything he had inside of you before his spent body fell into your arms. The air was heavy with the smell of sex and the panting of both of your breaths. You reveled in the aftermath of what just transpired, running your hands up and down the muscular back of the person responsible for your satisfied smile.

When Derek finally lifted his head up, he was adorning a smile identical to the one you had.

"That was--" you started, but struggled to find the right word to say.

Fortunately, Derek knew exactly what you meant. "Yes. Yes, it was."

He left a single kiss, then two, and three under your breast, before resting his chin back on the soft cushion of your abdomen.

"Derek?"

"Hm?"

You smiled at his tired hum. "You're sleepy, aren't you?"

"No," he replied, betraying the slight droop in his voice.

"That's okay. Go to sleep, baby."

You weren't even sure that Derek had heard your last statement, because not even two seconds later, he had started snoring softly against your skin.

Slowly as to not disturb the sleeping giant on top of your body, you pulled the comforter and tugged the edge across Derek's shoulders. Before long, you, too, were slipping into the deep slumber with Derek's steady intakes of breath as your lullaby.

Derek's weight on top of you was an anchor, one that you could have never dreamed of physically having outside of your hopeless fantasies. But Derek was real, and he was there with you in the comfort of your bedroom.

For a moment, everything was alright with the world. But then again, this was only the beginning of an unforeseen end. And as much as you wanted to convince yourself otherwise, you knew that inevitably, something was bound to go wrong.

You just hoped that when it did, you would have the strength to make it all right again.

#derek morgan #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan smut #derek morgan fanfiction #derek morgan fic #derek morgan fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds x reader #shemar moore #love bugs

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wikiangela · 5 months

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fuck it friday

tagged by @daffi-990 @giddyupbuck @spotsandsocks

hi!! i'm back lol - well, the craziness at work is done and I'm slowly getting back to writing bc I haven't written in like a week and it's killing me lol (this is gonna sound dramatic but I literally don't feel like myself if I don't write for too long haha) I don't have anything new to share rn, but I figured since it's already december and since some of y'all are sharing Christmas fics, and knowing I likely won't write one this year, I'm gonna shamelessly plug my holiday fake dating fic with 4 Christmases and 6 Christmas chapters actually 😂 (Christmas was a very important time for Buck and Eddie's relationship in this lol) - there's obvi more holidays in this but anyway, here's a snippet of their first Christmas together also, it's been a year since I posted the first chapter and I'm feeling nostalgic lol, this fic is my baby and I love it so much (tho there's so many things I'd change now lol)

[read on Ao3]

___

Turns out, Buck is very much serious about the whole thing, and Christopher finds it hilarious and is eager to play along. Eddie doesn’t have valid arguments not to do it, and it’s not like he doesn’t want to. After another snide comment when talking to his parents, he made his decision. And he already felt this exciting feeling of satisfaction when he told them he’d be bringing someone for Christmas this year – miraculously, Buck and Eddie don’t work on Christmas, and they took an additional day off, so their schedules allow for a three-day trip to Texas.

So now, it’s Christmas Eve and they’re on their way from the airport to Eddie’s childhood home, and he’s nervous, doubts just starting to seep in. What on earth possessed him to do this? He can’t lie to his family. He can’t pretend to be in love with Buck. What if he really does fall in love with him? What if everything goes to shit? He’s watched enough movies to know it’s a bad idea, but he couldn’t and still can’t bring himself to stop it.

“So.” Eddie says, his voice shaking slightly, as they sit in a cab. “We’re doing this.”

“Yep.” he can hear Buck grin next to him. “Unless you still wanna back out?” he adds quickly. They could still say Buck’s just a friend. No big deal. But Eddie does have this petty desire to stir something up, and this seems perfect.

“No. It’ll be fine.” he smiles at Buck, and then feels hot when Buck grabs his hand and interlaces their fingers, winking at him. Christopher laughs.

“You’d make a great couple.” he comments. He’s been unusually happy about all of this. He also asked Eddie a few days ago if Eddie loves Buck, which prompted a conversation, but he thinks Chris knows what’s going on now. Eddie doesn’t really know what to think about that.

“Thanks, buddy.” Buck responds excitedly, squeezing Eddie’s hand, and he can’t contain a smile. If not anything else, at least all three of them are going to have a lot of fun.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @diazblunt @911onabc @spagheddiediaz @housewifebuck @gayhoediaz @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @exhuastedpigeon @weewootruck @loserdiaz @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @ladydorian05 @malewifediaz @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @hoodie-buck @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @diazpatcher @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @thewolvesof1998 @lover-of-mine @hippolotamus @disasterbuckdiaz @jamespearce9-1-1

#fuck it friday #the holiday fic #wikiangela writes #for a holiday (and forevermore)#some shameless self promo #it's done and 95k and it's fake dating and it's fluffy and cute and I love it haha #also there's quite a bit of eddie and his sisters and it was my fave thing to write (abc give us some big brother eddie pls im begging lol)#and just recently this fic got my first ever 1k kudos which is just mindblowing and i get overwhelmed if i think about it too long lol #so perfect time to share it again haha #buddie fic #buddie #my writing #fic snippet #this post got long and rambling lmao sorry and if you read it all ily <3 hahaha

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waywardrose · 3 months

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THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 28

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs

fem/witch/goth!reader, sweetheart!eddie, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, chasing, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, blood, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, running away, guns, fist fighting, everyone survives, suicide ideation, fighting and making up

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird? Weird weird? He shrugged. He liked weird. In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: This is it, my dudes! The final chapter. No epilogue, because I don't think this story needs it. Thank you for all your comments, likes, and reblogs! Your support has kept me going. I'll post a masterlist directly.

Today’s volunteers had been abuzz with the news of Chief Jim Hopper’s miraculous return from the dead. The story was he’d uncovered a terrorist plot and worked with the government to thwart the radicals. Starcourt Mall had been the unfortunate backdrop of the confrontation.

It was also unfortunate a surviving radical had recognized Hopper. Since Hopper had been in danger, he’d been put in a protection program until the threat had been eliminated.

Rumor had it he’d been involved in defeating the rest of these radicals, who had something to do with Hawkins National Laboratory.

You didn’t bother to point out the specific government agency had been conveniently omitted. Same with the terrorist organization. Over sandwiches in the courtyard, Steve said Hawkins Lab had been closed for over a year when Starcourt’s fire occurred.

Nevertheless, while there had been casualties at Starcourt, they’d been few. Everyone considered Hopper a local hero.

A few volunteers discussed Eddie, too. They felt sorry for him and insisted they’d never believed those ugly rumors. Eddie was an orphan who’d been taken in by his uncle Wayne. Wasn’t that sad? Why, they’d known Wayne Munson for years! Wayne was an upright person. A veteran, too. There was no way he would’ve tolerated Devil-worship under his roof.

Those horrible classmates — bullies, really — must’ve targeted Eddie because he was different. Being different wasn’t a crime! Besides, Eddie had never hurt anyone. He performed at The Hideout with his little band all the time. One volunteer knew The Hideout’s owner, Cliff, who said Eddie was a good, if weird, kid.

You’d nodded and hummed in agreement while sorting donated home goods. There was no point in calling them hypocrites. Perhaps some of them weren’t. You wished you’d gone to that town hall meeting with your parents. Then you’d be able to pick out the liars.

On the way home in Steve’s car, Robin turned in the front seat to face you.

“You know, people want to be on the winning side. They like to think of themselves as smart enough to know who’s telling the truth.”

“But they were blinded by fear,” you said in agreement. “And looking for someone to blame.”

Steve said, “Like the pilgrims burning all the witches in Salem.”

You and Robin shared a look. He was close enough.

“Yup,” she said.

He appeared proud to have contributed to the conversation.

Robin rested her chin on her forearm.

“Eddie’s lucky you found him before anyone else.”

“Outside of the military, yeah, I guess.” You offered a bitter grin. “Who knows what they would’ve done to him if he’d survived Vecna.”

Though you don’t think he would have. Most likely, he would’ve dropped dead with the rest of the hivemind. If you hadn’t died from taking part of Vecna’s curse earlier, you might’ve shared that fate.

Steve said, “God, I’m so glad that fuckface’s dead.”

“Me too.”

“Me three,” Robin said with a grin.

Once at Steve’s, you three talked about dinner. Steve had pulled everything this morning to make a pan of baked ziti with roasted broccoli on the side. Robin made a disgusted face at the mention of a vegetable. You laughed at her scrunched nose and tongue poking out. Robin exclaimed eating broccoli was like eating green farts while Steve opened the front door.

Classical music played from the sunroom’s stereo system.

“Hey, Munson,” Steve said, projecting his voice as he tossed his keys into the bowl on the foyer table.

The music cut off, leaving a silence that felt as if you needed to pop your ears.

Robin kicked off her shoes and hung her jacket on an empty hanger in the closet. She reached for yours as Eddie jogged across the living room.

“Hey, good day?” He didn’t wait for a reply as he said to Steve, “I know this is a pain in the ass, but would you take me to my van? I want to do it before it gets dark. It’s on Coal Mill.”

“Dude, I gotta start dinner.”

Robin held up her hands when Eddie looked at her.

“No license. And the last time I tried to cook in that kitchen, I almost set everything on fire.”

Steve smirked.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Yeah? Tell that to your smoke detector that wouldn’t shut up for fifteen minutes.”

You snorted to hide the pang at being Eddie’s last choice and shrugged your jacket back onto your shoulders.

“I guess that leaves me.”

With a pat to your pockets, confirming you had your wallet and keys, you left the house. Eddie bumbled out the front door a minute later, swinging on a navy sport coat that was a size too big. It clashed with his green track pants and untied blue sneakers.

You kept your comments to yourself as you unlocked your car and got behind the wheel. Eddie sat in the passenger seat as you started the engine. The stereo came to life. The Sisters of Mercy simmered through the speakers. You hit the power button, cutting them off.

Sounding amused, Eddie said, “I haven’t heard that in a while.”

“I was in the mood for them the other day.”

“You can turn it back on, if you want.”

“No, it’s fine.” You shifted the car into Drive. “How do I get to Coal Mill?”

“Uh, take a left. We’ll go the back way.”

You nodded and pulled onto the street. He tied his sneakers. At the first intersection, he directed you to go left. The evening sun’s golden light flickered between the trees. This far from the nexus, the woods appeared unaffected by the poisonous ash. You mentioned it. Eddie asked how downtown was faring.

You lifted a shoulder.

“It’s like a war zone and a natural disaster had a horrible, mangled baby.”

He laughed. “Vivid.”

“There’re construction crews all over, and the school gets dusty overnight. We have to cover everything with sheets before we leave. People sleep with masks on.”

“What a nightmare.”

You nodded as you passed the turnoff to Sattler’s Quarry.

After that, the road narrowed and twisted. Eddie navigated you through more intersections and over train tracks. You passed farmhouses with fields of growing corn and pastures for cattle. He had you take a road into the woods where squat houses sat close together.

The road dead-ended with Coal Mill Road T-ing into it. Behind the houses, sunlight reflected off rippling water. He advised you to park in the gravel at the side of the road; his van wasn’t far. You found a wide, flat section and stopped the car. The peaceful neighborhood didn’t seem the place to stash a van.

You then recognized the house reflected in the rearview mirror as the one from the broadcast identifying Eddie as a suspect. That had been a shitty day. Even for you.

Eddie opened the passenger door. You blinked out of the memory, unlatched your seatbelt, and got out of the car. He was quiet as you came to his side. His grim face had you reaching for his hand.

He stiffened at the touch.

You recoiled and looked away. Rather than the quiet hurt you expected, though you were hurt, this white-hot feeling spread through you. Your jaw locked and vision narrowed. Each inhale became deliberate. You wanted to claw at his pretty face.

“Okay, what the hell is your problem?”

That pretty face became dismissive, and he stepped onto the road towards the woods.

Over his shoulder, he asked, “What do you mean, what’s my problem?”

“You’re…” You struggled to find a word as you followed, but the only one came. “Skittish. I don’t know.”

“I’m not skittish.”

A few yards down from your car, he separated two shrubs to reveal parallel tire ruts in the grass.

“You are!” You waved a hand at his back. “You are. You won’t sit next to me. You won’t touch me. Not that I expect you to be all over me, but you don’t reach for me.”

He stepped between the shrubs and held one back for you.

“I—”

“I take your hand, you flinch.” You tramped into the underbrush and onto a rut. “I sit next to you, you make sure there’s plenty of space between us. I make a move, and it’s always wrong.”

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” he said, letting the shrub go.

“Really?”

He went to the other rut. You stopped to glare at him.

Did he not see the irony of maintaining four feet of distance?

“Really?”

“I…” He frowned, though he continued walking. “I don’t want to crowd you.”

“Eddie, you’ve had your dick in me.” You resumed walking. “And I’ve never pushed you away.”

In fact, you had only pushed him away when he’d been under Vecna’s control. When it was just the two of you, the thought never crossed your mind.

He sighed.

“I’ve needed space.”

“Then tell me that. I don’t want you to feel pressured.” That heat inside you vanished. “You’re not obligated to… to do anything.”

“No, it’s not that.” He stopped and glanced at you. “I haven’t felt like myself since…”

“Yeah.”

“No, not like— It’s like…” He sighed again, his face twisting up. “There’s this emptiness.”

What could you say to that? You wouldn’t diminish his experience by saying plenty of people felt that. His was different. It wasn’t anything one could ignore or fill. You remembered dissolving into silence, and how it had swallowed everything.

You said softly, “Like a hunger.”

He met your gaze. In the sepia light and dusty shade, his brown eyes appeared darker and more vulnerable than you’d ever seen them.

“I don’t want it to touch you.”

You shook your head.

“It’s not a stranger.”

He looked away, into the trees, chin quivering. The tip of his nose turned pink. You wanted to kiss it, kiss him, make it better somehow. You took a hesitant half-step to take his hand, at least, but he walked farther into the woods.

With a deep breath, you followed a couple paces behind. The ruts curved around a dead pine and disappeared behind a thicket. Eddie knelt at the far side of the pine to dig into the rust-colored needles. An old camouflage net covered his boxy van from roof to tires.

You pushed up your sleeves while circling the van.

As you came around, he said, “Look, I know you’re too smart to believe the shit Vecna said.” He pulled something from the needles. “But I want… I want you to hear it from me—”

“Eddie.” You shook your head again. “That’s—”

“No, let me get this out. Every shitty thing he said — I said — was a lie.” The metallic jingle of keys punctuated his statement. “I don’t believe any of it. I never thought it.”

While you didn’t doubt Eddie, there was a part of you that wondered if Vecna was right. You were privileged. Your parents could afford to send you to any college. They’d even set up a savings account for you. You didn’t have to worry about a part-time job. You had a car. You’d been protected from the banal cruelty in the world. You’d taken so much for granted over the years. On top of that, you were a witch.

He straightened and looked at you.

“I don’t know how to prove it. All I got is my word.”

“No, no, I believe you,” you said, holding up your hands.

“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“What?”

“You saved me, sweetheart.” A corner of his mouth quirked. “Kinda feels like a blood debt.”

You grinned.

“Is that a real thing?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“I don’t know, but, Eddie…” You drew closer to him. “You owe me nothing. You’ll never owe me.”

The keys rattled in his hand. His gaze darted away.

You continued, “I know what I did spooked you, but I did it because I love you. And it’s okay if you don’t…”

You couldn’t finish the sentence. It was hard to breathe or think or control the swelling sob in your chest. A tear rolled down your cheek, and you swiped it away.

Eddie’s head tilted in sympathy, lips thinning. He stepped near and offered his empty hand. It was the first time he’d done that in days.

Your vision prismed with fresh tears as you grasped his hand. The callused pads of his fingers scuffed against your skin. Your sob transformed into a long exhale.

“Vecna took you from me,” you said, and sniffed back the wet clog in your nose and wiped at your eyes. “I did it because you’re mine. Because he hurt us — hurt me.” You barked a laugh. “Now that I say it out loud, I hear how fucking selfish I am.”

You met his red-rimmed eyes. He shook his head like he couldn’t accept you were selfish. Regardless of his belief, you were, but you’d try not to be with him.

You whispered, “Even if we don’t stay together, you’ll never owe me. You’ll always be special to me.”

He tugged you near and put your palm on his sternum with his hand covering yours. His chest rose and fell because he’d pushed Vecna out, because you’d brought him back. That was something you’d never regret.

His voice was a hoarse whisper as he said, “I love you too, and you didn’t spook me. Don’t… don’t hide from me.”

As gently as you could, you said, “I’m not the one who’s been hiding.”

He stared at your stacked hands.

“Jesus Christ, I’ve been fucking up so goddamn bad.” He shook his head, his hair obscuring part of his face. “I hadn’t protected you. God, I actually hurt you. I can’t give you what you deserve. I can’t even fucking graduate.”

If his last statement was an obstacle, you would’ve tripped over it.

He couldn’t graduate? That made no sense. Nothing was official yet, of course, but Dr. Owens hadn’t balked at the party’s insistence of all the seniors graduating. Had no one told him? Hadn’t it been mentioned in conversation?

“Wait,” you said, trying to remember if anyone had brought it up.

He watched you from under his bangs, eyes so fawn-like, a little furrow between his brows.

You said, “I thought Steve told you about the party’s demands.”

He angled his head.

“No…?”

“One was all the seniors graduating, regardless of standing.” You took hold of his coat’s lapel. “What did you have in O’Donnell’s?”

“A low D.”

“D’s passing.” You grinned. “You’re graduating, anyway, but you passed her class. That’s all you needed, right?”

His eyes went wide and lips parted as he nodded. You glanced at his full bottom lip while scraping your own between your teeth. You hadn’t kissed him in ages.

You stepped closer and slid your hand from his lapel.

“Congratulations,” you said before rising and pressing your lips to his.

He gasped. His lips dragged against yours. Then he jolted, pulling away.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Why would you hurt me?”

His gaze slithered from your lips to your neck to the neckline of your shirt in an invisible touch.

“What if I lose control?”

You studied his worried face in the dimming light.

“Is it the emptiness?” you asked.

He nodded, casting his gaze to the side.

You remembered how predatory Eddie had looked with the MP’s blood on his chin. That hadn’t been Eddie. Not entirely. That had been the hivemind of bloodthirsty carnivores.

“Is it…” You didn’t know how to be tactful with this. “Do you want my blood?”

His tongue worked in his mouth, licking his canine, before he said, “I don’t know.”

You cradled his jaw over the scar and eased his head forward. His focus remained to the side.

“Please, look at me.”

His irises swung to meet yours. A flicker of sunlight illuminated them cinnamon sweet. His dark lashes fluttered as he blinked.

“I know you don’t want to hurt me,” you said. “But if you want to try—”

His posture went rigid as he shook his head. His hand pressed yours tighter to his chest.

“No.”

You pressed on.

“If you want to try my blood, I’ll let you.” You grazed the corner of his mouth with your thumb. “I’m not scared.”

He closed his eyes, mouth pinching and brows furrowing.

“Honey, don’t be scared.” You stroked his cheek to his clenched jaw. “It’s just me and you here.”

“Yeah, it’s just me and you.”

You sighed.

“What, you think you can kill me? You think I’d let you? You think I don’t know my limits?”

He opened his eyes, which blazed with anger and frustration and panic.

“What if I don’t know mine anymore, huh?”

Gritting your teeth, you said, “Then we’ll discover them together.”

With your hand on his chest, you pushed him towards the van. He bumbled backwards, dropping the keys. His back collided with a dull clunk. You slid your hand from his chest to the van, boxing him in, and pressed your front along his.

“Fucking trust me.”

“I do.”

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

He nodded, throat bobbing with a swallow.

“Are you sure?”

Again, he nodded.

You closed the distance with a hand on his nape. He angled his head, lips moving counter to yours. The kiss stole your breath and thought. You ravaged, biting his bottom lip. His hands cupped your ass and drew you against him. He plundered, groaning as your tongues slid over each other.

Teeth scraped your lip, yet it didn’t frighten you. Let them break skin. You didn’t care.

Trembling hands snuck under your shirt. He pulled at your waist, making your back arch. You mewled into the kiss and plunged your fingers into his messy hair. His tentative palms skimmed up your back.

You shivered as your nipples pebbled.

You broke the kiss to whisper, “Touch me. It’s okay. I trust you.”

His eyes gleamed as he drew his swollen bottom lip between his teeth. He spread his feet and maneuvered you between his knees. The firm mound of his erection pressed into your belly. He trailed his hands down to your ass. His fingers met at the central seam of your jeans.

“You’re so hot here.”

“Because of you.”

He caught your lips in another kiss. You gripped his hair as the woods went fuzzy. His hands, more confident, skated up your ass, under your shirt, and up your sides. Cool air swept over your skin. You inhaled as he found the band of your unsexy bra. The earlier work at the school hardly warranted anything fancy.

Eddie didn’t seem to mind. A hungry noise came from his chest as he fondled the underside of your breasts through the bra. He sucked on your bottom lip, and the sensation flowed through you like water. Your nipples tightened further. Your cunt clenched.

“God, you’re so soft.”

You caressed the warm skin at his nape, saying, “I’ve missed you.”

Without waiting for a response, you kissed him. His fingers dragged across your breasts until he pinched your nipples between his thumbs and sides of his palms.

You gasped at the wicked frisson, angled your face up to catch your breath, and writhed. You pressed your hips to his, the thick seam of your jeans rasped between your legs. He rocked his erection against you. New heat zinged down to your toes.

Voice husky, he said, “Fuck, I missed you, too.”

He kissed the side of your neck. Each kiss became more open-mouthed. His tongue moved as if he tasted more than your skin. He pulled his sharp teeth across the big tendon in your neck, like he was teasing you both. The threat of a bite had your heart beating double-time and eyes rolling back.

He pinched your nipples harder, making your lower body squirm from the ache. You kept your chest and neck still as you waited to feel what he’d do. He groaned and mouthed his way to the artery under your jaw. He sucked hard at the skin there, mouth scalding. You gasped at the delicious pain.

“Jesus,” he said between pants against the sore spot.

As his saliva cooled on your skin, you swooped down to kiss him once more. His tongue slid over yours as his hands left your breasts. You held his head in place by the hair, losing yourself to the decadent back and forth.

He folded his arms around you when you held his smooth cheek. There was no panic here. There were no monsters. It was only you and him, sharing breath and touch.

“How do you feel?” you asked.

“Good.”

You stroked his cheekbone.

“That’s all that matters.”

“I didn’t… freak you out there?”

“By giving me a hickey?” You smiled with a chuckle. “No.” You brushed your lips against his. “I like wearing your mark.”

His cheeks pinked further. He made a happy sound and buried his face in your neck once more.

“Gonna give me another one, baby?”

Muffled against your skin, he said, “I might.”

Tightening your hold in his hair, you pulled his head back. He looked at you with hazy eyes. His red lips parted, breaths shallow.

“Gorgeous,” you said.

His gaze drifted to the side. He wanted to shy away, but you wouldn’t have it.

“You act like I haven’t seen you, but I have.” You traced the scar on his jaw. “And nothing’s changed for me.”

He met your eyes, his own bright with conviction.

“Me neither, I swear, milady.”

You smiled at the endearment you hadn’t heard in too long.

“Then no more hot-and-cold, good sir.”

He nodded as much as he could.

“I’m with you.”

“No half-assed crap, either. I mean it, Eddie,” you said, relinquishing your grip on his hair and lacing your fingers behind his neck.

His spine straightened as if coming to attention.

“Whole-ass-ing it from here on out.”

“Good, I like your ass.”

“I like yours, too.”

His eyes lit with mischief, reminding you of the Eddie you’d first met. The one who quoted the Scorpions during roll call, who always answered the phone, who howled during concerts.

A hand gripped the underside of your ass-cheek and gave it a squeeze. It put to mind him holding you against the cold wall behind The Hideout and fucking you with hungry desperation. You wanted that with him.

“Wanna go home and prove it?” you asked with a quirk of an eyebrow.

He gave you a toothy grin.

“Absolutely.”

He didn’t release you, nor you him, despite the blue of the sky having faded to ginger and blushing violet. Rose-gold sunlight graced the tree tops. Once gentle shadows were now hard-edged and inky.

You liked the heat radiating from under his thin t-shirt and all the evidence he was alive. He’d survived. You had as well. He must’ve had a similar idea, because he surveyed you with loving eyes.

You swayed.

“Let’s go, Muffin Man.”

He groaned and let his head flop back.

“I swear to God, that’s adorable when we were high, but you cannot say that in front of our friends.”

“Not even—”

His head shot up.

“No.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” you said with an exaggerated pout.

“Oh, well, please continue, sweet lady.”

“I was going to say, not even—” You imitated his dramatics as you said, “The Muffin of Demonic Charm!?”

He laughed. “I only like the ‘muff’ part of that.”

You backed away with a giggle, sticking out your tongue. His hands went to the sides of his head, pointer fingers out, and stuck his tongue out at you.

You said, “You won’t get any part of that out here.”

He fluttered the tip of his tongue.

“Tempting, but no.”

He spread the sport coat and posed like a centerfold to entice, hip canting to the side and his chest arched.

“Oh, if only I had a camera, baby.” You found the forgotten keys amongst the pine needles and dead leaves. “You’d make Goodwill a lot of money in their annual calendar,” you said and tossed the keys at him.

He straightened to catch them, juggling them to his chest.

“I’ll have you know—” He swept his empty hand down his body. “—all of this is House of Harrington.”

“How chic.”

“Very exclusive.” He pointed to the corner of the van for you to help gather the netting. “Not just anyone can say they’ve worn Steve Harrington’s tighty whities.”

You laughed and lifted the corner of the netting.

Together, you uncovered the van. Eddie gathered the netting and kicked it under the thicket before going to the passenger door to open it for you.

“I’ll drop you off at your car.”

You thanked him and climbed into the stuffy van. The scent of old smoke, warmed plastic, and upholstery seasoned with boy invaded your nose. You rolled the window down halfway after he closed the door.

With a glance at the vacant back, you thought of Corroded Coffin’s equipment there. You’d seen little of Jeff, Gareth, or Dougie at school. You hadn’t asked Eddie if they still played at The Hideout. You hadn’t asked him about a lot of things. There was so much you’d missed since New Year’s.

Eddie opened the driver-side door and hopped in. He made a face, then rolled down his window.

He turned all the air-system controls off, saying, “Cross your fingers she’ll cooperate.”

He shoved the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine sputtered and whined and chugged until something aligned, and it roared to life. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, throwing you a laugh.

You smiled back and fastened your seatbelt.

He shifted into Reverse and maneuvered away from the thicket. The tires spun in the layer of pine needles and budding grass before finding traction. The van lurched forward. You hung onto the seatbelt and prayed the van wouldn’t get stuck. It was too old for off-roading. He steered onto the ruts, tires kicking up dirt as they bit into the earth.

Your prayers were unnecessary or maybe something out there listened to you, because a minute later the van was on the pavement and next to your car.

“Your noble steed, milady.”

With a smirk, you said, “I thought that was you, stud.”

He leaned in, eyes sparking.

“I’m at your beck and call.”

You bent close enough to feel his breath on your lips.

“Get me home, sir, and I’ll show my appreciation for your fealty.”

His eyes darted to your lips.

“I can do that.”

Tilting your head as if to kiss him, you said, “I know you can,” and moved away to unfasten your seatbelt.

His head drooped.

He looked at you when you opened the door, expression amused.

You said, “Don’t go too fast, honey, wouldn’t want to get pulled over.”

“Depends on who’s doing the pulling over, sweetheart.”

You smiled, shaking your head at the cheesy line, and left the van. His attention stayed on you as you crossed to your car, like fingers trailing down your spine.

Once in the car, you made a U-turn and followed him to Steve’s. Eddie was something of a lead-foot, but you could keep up easily. He parked in front of the garage at Steve’s. You stopped next to him and locked up.

He met you at your trunk and offered his elbow.

“Not too fast for you?”

You snaked your arm around his bicep.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

He hummed in agreement as he walked with you to the front door.

“Um, I know this is out of left field,” you said, “but I thought about the rest of the band. I hadn’t seen them at school, except in the hallways sometimes. Like, I don’t share any classes with Jeff or Dougie.”

“Last time I saw them was during the last Hellfire meeting.”

“Maybe you should call them? Now that your name’s cleared, it’s safe for all of you.”

“I don’t know…”

“They’re probably worried about you.” You squeezed his arm. “And unlike me, they can’t use magic to track down your ass.”

He bobbed his head once.

“I’ll call them tomorrow.”

“Good.”

You stopped him before he could make his way to the front door. He turned to you, gaze searching.

The blue hour painted him in shades of purple. Warm light from the porch sconces and nearby kitchen window caught in the waves of his hair. He was a fallen angel, halo stripped yet seraphic nature undeniable.

That felt like a line from someone more imaginative. You were no poet, though you wished you were.

Softly, he asked, “What is it?”

You shook off the thought and grinned.

“Nothing, I just… I just like you like this.”

He glanced at himself before giving you a wry look.

“In borrowed clothes with dirty hands?”

“No, butthead.” You jostled him by the arm. “I like you here — with me.”

That wry look disappeared. His eyes rounded, earnest and affectionate. He drew you in with a gentle hand on your nape and kissed you. His lips were tender on yours in silent relief, as though you’d surprised him. While he’d withdrawn after Vecna’s defeat, and you’d been uncertain about a future with him, you still loved him. That had never changed.

You threw yourself into the kiss, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Blood rushed through your veins. Your cheeks burned as the kiss deepened. His other hand clutched your hip to guide you against him.

It was easy to lose yourself with him. It was easy to love him, and he made it easy to let yourself be loved.

He cradled the back of your head like you were priceless. He held you like he couldn’t get close enough. The mark on your neck was a brand of sweet possession.

At an inevitable pause, you said, “Let’s go inside.”

“I can’t sit through dinner.” With a small shake of his head, he said, “I can’t wait.”

“Then we won’t. We’ll go straight to your room.”

“What about…?” He gave you a meaningful look. “Condoms?”

“I got it covered.”

“Sounds like I’ll be saying that later.”

You laughed, playfully shoving at his shoulder. He looked pleased with himself and trotted to the front door. Hand on the doorknob, he glanced back to make sure you were behind him.

You whispered, “Wait,” and drew energy up your body. It had been so long since you’d obfuscated your presence to sneak around, you’d nearly forgotten it as an option. You laced your fingers with Eddie’s, including him in the silent bubble you created.

“Keep close and avoid making too much noise.”

He nodded before easing the door open.

A top-40s station played on the radio in the sunroom. Robin and Steve’s voices floated from the kitchen. They remained out of sight even after you gently shut the door.

You directed Eddie to the stairs and remained a tread behind him as you both climbed. Once on the second floor, you ushered him to his room. He left the door ajar and lights off. You padded to your room, pocketed the couple of condom packets you’d stolen days ago from Steve’s nightstand, and slunk to Eddie’s room.

He sat at the head of the bed, blanket hiding his lower half with his t-shirt covering the upper. You closed the door and locked it. By the meager light coming through the window, you found the nearest lamp and clicked it on.

“You okay?” you asked.

“Yeah, sure, fine, why?”

The sport coat and track pants draped across the armchair. The sneakers and socks lay jumbled by the bathroom door.

“Just asking.”

You crossed the room and set the condom packets on the nightstand at Eddie’s side. He remained motionless, hands hidden in the rumpled sheets. You perched at the edge of the bed while he stared at the condoms.

Something was off. He should be flirting or reaching for you. What had happened between kissing you, saying he couldn’t wait to be with you, and now? Most guys would be naked and panting like a dog for sex.

With a minute shrug, you said, “If you don’t want to…”

“No! No, I do. Trust me, I do.”

“But…?”

He exhaled.

“I don’t… You should know, I don’t look the same.”

“I’ve seen you in only a towel. I’m aware of what you look like.”

“That’s not up close and personal.”

“You think I’m going to run screaming from some scars?”

He said, “Look, baby, I’m a horror show under this,” and plucked at the t-shirt.

You let out an exasperated sound. “Are you trying to push me away? Again?”

“No—”

“Do you not want me?”

“Oh my god, I want you.” He scooted to you and cupped your face. “I’ve wanted you for weeks. Months!”

“Well, me too!” You held one of his wrists. “Anything you got under there is gonna work for me, okay?”

He scanned your face, gaze roaming from your eyes to your lips and back.

The protective blessing you’d placed in his handkerchief had failed you — and him. Your magic had been nothing compared to Vecna’s power. Eddie had pushed out the hivemind on his own. He was so much stronger than he gave himself credit for.

Through a constricted throat, you said, “Your blood soaked through your clothes.” Your eyes pricked with tears. “You di-died in front of me.”

Eddie leaned in, crushing your lips together. You forgot about tears and the feel of his blood thick between your fingers. He tilted your head. His lips, puffy and slick, glided across yours.

“I’m here,” he said, and kissed you again. “I’m right here.”

You kissed him in reply, letting your greed and relief guide you.

You shimmied your jacket off your shoulders. His hands went to your arms to help tug it off. You grinned into the kiss when the fabric caught on your forearms. He huffed, amused, before yanking at the sleeves. You shook your arms free and flung the jacket.

Planting a knee on the bed, you crowded him back onto the pillows. He put his hands at your waist and pulled you onto him. You straddled his hips, the linens bunching between you.

He hauled you up his body to tuck his face against your throat. He mouthed and bit at your neck, all hesitation thrown to the side. You encouraged him with a whimper and fingers gripping his hair. His soft lips left a fiery line as his hands grabbed your ass.

You arched your back. Your ribs pumped with every rapid breath.

“Wanna eat you alive,” he said. “Fuck, you taste so good.”

“Want you, too.”

Teeth scraped under your jaw, catching on the sore hickey there. You gasped, yet refused to shy away. Let him bite and draw blood. Let it hurt. You could heal yourself.

With a groan, he dug his teeth midway down your neck. The sting made your spine melt. His palms slid up your back, taking your shirt with them. Then he sucked, and you felt it between your legs.

You ground against him — as much as you could through the layers of fabric. You needed to feel his heat, taste his skin and scars. Because he was alive, and you were in his bed.

When he released your skin, sensation beyond pain, beyond heat, bloomed through your neck. It rang in your ears, fisted a groan from your lungs, stole your strength. He folded his rangy arms around you and grazed his lips over the spit-wet spot.

You closed your eyes with a hum.

He kissed you from jaw to cheek. He even kissed your chin. You curled to catch his lips in a languid kiss. It went aggressive in a handful of seconds. You couldn’t tell who set it in motion, but you’d follow it through with sucking on the tip of his tongue and biting his lip. He shivered and squirmed and held onto your waist.

You broke the kiss to leave him reeling.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?”

He nodded, eyes half-closed.

“Then let me take care of what’s mine.”

Again, he nodded.

You directed Eddie’s hands to the pillow, letting your fingertips linger on the silky insides of his forearms. His t-shirt sleeves slipped up to expose scarring on his upper arms. You pressed your lips to the delicate scar tissue.

He inhaled sharply.

You whispered, “It’s okay.”

He closed his eyes with a brief nod.

You kissed the scar on his jaw and the faint one at the side of his neck. He angled his chin to expose himself. In reward, you kissed his lips. His muscles unspooled. You brushed your thumbs over his cheekbones.

“I got you.”

“I know.”

You wiggled down his torso and sat up. Oh-so slowly, you skimmed your hands under his t-shirt to his sides. The jagged edge of a bigger patch on his torso peeked from under the t-shirt’s hem. The uneven texture of the scars didn’t feel ugly or rough. They were interesting, and you wanted to see them.

He clapped his hands over yours.

You met his uneasy gaze and waited, keeping your expression open. While you could offer platitudes or compliments, they’d ring hollow. He knew how you felt and how you viewed him. It was only a matter of time for him to gain confidence — or at least trust you.

His hold relaxed, then gradually drifted away.

You followed the taper of his torso until you held his undulating ribs. With the t-shirt bunched at his pecs, you could assess the havoc the bats had wrought. Beyond the patch on his lower torso was a line of bites and healed sutures on his left. A wedge of pink scar tissue defaced the right side of his ribs. Between the larger patches were claw and teeth marks.

You traced them with a light touch before looking at his face. His teeth dug into his lip as his gaze jumped from between your bodies to the side to your face and back again.

“So, this is the horror show you promised?” you asked with a playful look.

He frowned, mouth opening.

Before he spoke, you asked, “Can you feel my touch?”

He wet his lips and nodded.

“Yeah?”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

“You don’t—”

“No, I don’t whatever. I’m not grossed out.”

To prove your point, you bent to kiss the bite mark on his sternum. The satiny, pitted skin wasn’t disgusting. It was just skin — that smelled like him. You nudged the t-shirt higher to get at his left nipple. You teased it with your tongue, and he stilled. You pinched it between your teeth, and he arched against your lips. You soothed the tiny hurt with a kiss, and he gasped.

You inched the t-shirt higher until you propelled his arms up. He took over and snatched the t-shirt over his head. He dropped it beside the bed as you caressed his chest.

Only fragments of his demon-head and black-widow tattoos were visible around a darker scar. You followed the scar’s border with your fingers and pouted at the loss of the tattoos. Not because they were the most beautiful you’d ever seen, but because they’d been Eddie’s.

“You can have these redone.”

“Nah, I’d rather get a cover-up.”

You smiled before bending to pepper kisses on the scar.

“That’s going to be a big cover-up, honey.” You kissed your way from the scar to the dip of his throat. “Maybe I can hold your hand through it.”

He tilted his head back with a soft groan. You angled his chin to the side and sucked at the hot skin of his neck, giving him a faint hickey. You kissed your way up to his ear and sucked on the lobe.

With a near growl, he said, “God, I can’t—” and pulled you into a burning kiss.

You opened for him as he teased your tongue with his own. He kissed your hot cheeks and your forehead. His hands surged down your sides, then under your shirt. You straightened onto your knees and stripped off your shirt and bra. Your nipples puckered in the cooler air.

His hips jerked as his hands gripped your hips. He stared at your chest and licked his lips.

Instead of asking if he wanted to touch, because that seemed obvious, you bent and guided his hands to your breasts. You encouraged him to support them, squeeze them, while you watched his flushed face.

He circled your nipples with his thumbs, his touch graceful yet electrifying. A feeling like goosebumps trickled through your gut and had your thighs tensing. You curved into his caress in encouragement. Your underwear’s saturated cotton grazed your pussy, and you wished it was his cock.

Eddie held your ribs and rose to bury his face between your breasts. He mouthed at the valley between them and kissed the beginning swells. You held the back of his head. He sucked at one nipple, then the other. That goosebump feeling intensified until you were a quivering mess.

He undid your jeans, and your eyes popped open. He looked at you through his pretty lashes. There was a voracity in his dark gaze that said only you could slake his need — and you wanted to be the only one to do it, too.

“This okay?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Y-yeah.”

With no hesitation, his hand slithered between your stomach and underwear. It burned a line down the curve of your belly through your pubic hair. His middle and ring fingers glided between your wet folds. You gripped his shoulders, hard muscle moved under his skin.

The first long stroke to your clit had your nails digging into his skin and sucking air between your teeth. You couldn’t stop the tiny sound you made. He nibbled at your collarbone, teeth scraped your skin. You leaned your weight against him as your watery legs trembled. His free arm held you upright by the waist.

Rather than circle your clit, he kept stroking. The first wash of pleasure fueled you to move your hips counter to his fingers. His calluses pulled at the hood of your clit, then drove it down. He pressed harder, sparking a sensation deeper than your clit.

Your focus narrowed to your rising orgasm and the thought of his cock pumping deep inside your juicy cunt. You wanted to feel his strong hands restraining you, his sweat-slick skin on yours, and his lush mouth between your legs.

An animalistic keen left your throat at the jumble of images. Your heart hammered in your ears. You rode that knife-edge of climax. It was right there.

“C’mon, baby, fuck those fingers.”

You moaned, doing as he ordered, until ecstasy forced its way through you — so hard, so deep. The internal throb of it stole your strength as it went on and on. You crumbled, putting more of your weight on him. He held you without protest.

“Can feel it,” he said, petting your oversensitive clit.

You writhed in his arms and begged for something you couldn’t put words to. He kissed your throat as he lay still pressure on your clit. Your cunt pulsed strong enough that your hips moved of their own volition.

After a moment, he pulled his hand from your underwear and brought his fingers to his mouth. You sat on his thighs to watch him suck at his wet fingers. He hummed in satisfaction. Your cunt pulsed one last time, as though it hadn’t had enough.

Maybe it hadn’t.

He met your gaze and offered his flushed lips for a kiss. You cradled the back of his head and kissed him with unexpected fervor. You tasted the tang of your own come on his tongue. He held your face, sticky fingers on your cheek, and pushed into the kiss. You sucked your flavor off his bottom lip, pulling a moan from his chest.

“Take the rest off,” he said, falling onto his back.

“You too.”

He smirked.

“Not much more to go.”

You let your eyes track from his chest to the wrinkled lump of blanket covering his groin. Despite knowing, intimately, what was underneath, getting him naked continued to be a thrill.

“Good.”

He blushed, and his smirk softened.

You climbed off him to sit at the edge of the bed. You untied your Docs and wrenched them off. Your socks followed. Eddie kicked the blanket away. While he wiggled out of his briefs, you hooked your thumbs in your underwear and jeans, rising enough from the bed to slide them down your hips and off your legs.

You pivoted on a hip to find him reaching for a condom. His eyes went wide with a question. Or like you’d caught him doing something he shouldn’t. You bent a leg on the bed and plucked a condom from the pile before he could.

“You know,” you said, holding the condom like a cigarette between your fingers. “I think I need to get on the pill.” You got on all fours. “Or get an IUD, or something.”

Sounding on tenterhooks, he asked, “Why’s that?”

You crawled between his legs. He spread his thighs to make room for you.

“So I can have you raw.”

He let out a breath, cheeks reddening further, and wrapped a hand around the base of his cock. A thick bead of precome pearled at its slit.

“Would you like that, honey?”

“Shit, you know I would.”

You gave him a playful wink before hunching to lick the tip of his cock. He groaned through a smile, squeezing his cock. You savored the salty taste of him.

You tapped at the back of his hand.

“Let go.”

“I swear, I’m gonna blow in, like, ten seconds flat.”

You sat on your calves with a self-satisfied shrug. He needed to feel as good as he’d made you feel. If that happened quickly, that was fine with you because—

“We got all night,” you said, and tore open the condom packet.

He still hadn’t released his hold.

“Eddie, honey, let go.”

“Just—” He swallowed. “Get it halfway down first.”

You pulled out the lubed condom and discarded the wrapper. He bit his lip, looking as though you were about to perform surgery on him. Keeping your touch light and at the minimum, you pinched the tip of the condom and rolled it over his shaft until it met his fingers.

He shuddered with eyes closed and a crease between his brows.

You said, “Let go.”

He exhaled and thumped his fists to the bed. You wasted no time in rolling the condom the rest of the way down. He panted and keened. His cock twitched in your hand, but you wiped your palms on the sheets before he could embarrass himself.

With a gentle shush, you caressed his hips and ran your thumbs in the shallow groove of muscle on either side. You kept at it until his breathing slowed and tense thighs relaxed.

You maneuvered your knees on either side of him and balanced yourself with a hand on his chest.

“Ready?”

When he nodded, you reached between your bodies to brace his erection. You were so ready, so wet, for this. Even the feeling of the condom didn’t turn you off. You found your hole and eased onto his thick cock, inch by slick inch.

Once you settled, you had to give yourself a moment. You sat with hands on your thighs while you adjusted to the fullness. He felt perfect and delicious. You looked at Eddie to see him watching you, bottom lip between his teeth and fingers digging into the mattress. Emotion filled his bright eyes.

You wanted to soothe him, but if you moved, it would set off a chain reaction he’d been trying to suppress.

“Don’t think.”

Through gritted teeth, he said, “Trying not to.”

If you didn’t take the initiative, he would torture himself for the rest of the evening. You rotated your pelvis. The simple movement made you gasp. It had been so long, and you were so eager for this with him. Under you, he choked on a desperate sound.

“I can’t wait to feel you without any barriers,” you said, rotating your pelvis again. “Feel you come deep inside me.”

He grabbed your hips to propel your movements.

“I’ll fill you up,” he said.

You planted your hands on his chest with a groan and rode him like he wanted you to. You rose only to sink down a second later, never letting him slip out. His hands glided up your sides. With a hum, you encouraged him to touch you — touch you anywhere, everywhere. You couldn’t get enough of his cock, of his nimble hands, of his body tight against yours.

Your need ramped to a boiling fever, some thrilling sickness. You bent to kiss him, sucking on his lip and tongue, as you rolled your hips in a frantic rhythm. Your skin slapped against his, but it wasn’t enough. You hid your face in his shoulder and whimpered when you found no relief.

His arms looped across your back, as if you’d try to escape. Like you could get away from this desire.

You stilled in time for him to roll to the side and on top of you. He pushed his cock deep. You mewled, your thighs stretched around his hips.

His gaze roved over your features.

“I’m gonna fill your sweet pussy.”

You nodded.

He said, “I’ll make you come.”

You closed your eyes as you imagined it. Hands all over you, gripping you, going between your legs, holding you steady as he worked your body. Your cunt clenched at the image.

“Because you’re mine, too.”

You nodded once more.

He adjusted his stance, knees dipping into the mattress. He grasped one of your shoulders as you held onto his arms with shaking hands.

“Look at me and tell me you love me.”

You stared into his eyes. It was all written out there for you to see: no denial, no hiding, and no more doubt.

“I love you.”

He caught your lips and kissed you so thoroughly you forgot anything beyond him. His hold tightened. His hips minutely rocked. His heavy cock kindled that heat hidden inside.

You moaned against his lips and pulled at him. He needed to move. You’d been wanting him for what felt like years. You’d both gone through hell, seen oblivion, and returned to each other’s side. You needed him to move — now.

He buried his face in your neck, lips against the marks he’d left. The rocking of his hips descended into grinding, then full-out thrusting. He fucked you hard. His cock dragged at the underside of your aching clit. The bed springs whined every time he bottomed out.

You couldn’t catch your breath as his thrusts became desperate. He yanked at your hair to bare your throat. His long hair — that smelled of your shampoo — veiled your humid face.

He kissed his marks and murmured something you couldn’t make out. You agreed anyway. He groaned in reply, driving you down while he thrust up. The sheets stuck to the sweat on your back. His hips snapped forward over and over, his cock ramming deep. You tried your best to move with him, but he was too fast.

Then you couldn’t move at all. Your belly quivered and your thighs tensed. His cock was too much. You strained against him, with him, until that fever broke. You shook in his arms. Your jaw clenched. Orgasm burned through you like a geyser. It sizzled up your spine. You couldn’t catch your breath. Hot tears trickled over your temples in rapturous agony.

Eddie fucked you through it, holding you tight. Your cunt throbbed and clamped around his pistoning length. He cursed in needy growls until he seized, breathless. His voice cracked. His thrusts slowed, yet remained fierce, as his cock pulsed with each thrust.

He stuttered a jumble of cut-off thoughts, all of them flattering and loving. You grinned and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hugging his sides with your thighs. He mouthed at your neck lazily.

After a tranquil moment, he kissed you, gentle yet demanding. You felt him — every bit of him. His lips tasted of salt. His hands sheltered and cradled. His gaze warmed you. You could only respond in kind. He melted as you smoothed his hair away from his flushed, glowing face.

He kissed you one more time before steadying the condom and slipping out of you.

You relaxed, allowing your tired limbs to sink to the bed. He rolled to the side and dropped the condom on the heap of his dirty clothes. You wrinkled your nose, but didn’t comment. He flopped beside you and pillowed his head on a bent arm. The heating system kicked on. Your sweat cooled as you contemplated getting out of bed. Instead, you tucked your feet between the folds of the blanket.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie said.

You hummed in acknowledgement and glanced at him.

“I was thinking, and you might not be into this, but you want to go to LA? With me?”

You stared at the ceiling.

Los Angeles: broken glass glittering in gutters, live music every night, fluttering neon, cars with their tops down, a bland apartment with a mattress on the floor, your feet warmed by sunshine as you read the newspaper’s entertainment section, Eddie writing songs at the kitchen table.

A smile spread across your face.

“Hell yeah.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #em tagd #waywardrose writes

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kirain · 2 months

Text

I've been on this site for over ten years and I've never had to do this, but sadly the time has come where I feel forced to make a call out post, if only for the safety of my blog.

Please do not harass this person. PLEASE DO NOT HARASS THEM! That is not my goal here. That said, I do suggest you avoid them at all costs, for your own safety and sanity.

A few days ago, I made a post responding to some anonymous hate I received regarding Gale Dekarios, a character from BG3. An account named Turtwg, who has now changed her name to Shdowheart, took issue with the content and tone of my post. Instead of simply blocking me, she attacked me and several other people in the notes, and accused me of sending the anon to myself.

I responded, arguing against her accusations and a few other remarks she made. Just typical fandom discourse. Or so I thought.

I regret it now (only because I've lost some evidence), but I deleted many of her and my messages. They were clogging up my post and veering extremely off topic, but eventually she admitted I didn't send the anon to myself. When I asked her how she knew that, she said she traced the anon to a Gale-centric account. You see, she believed the anon wasn't sent by an Astarion fan, but by a Gale fan trying to create discourse. In a normal situation, I'd say that's a fair assumption for anyone to make, but something seemed off.

First of all, despite several people telling her it's not possible to track down blogs through their anonymous messages, she insisted she found the user responsible—which honestly made me wonder if she sent the anon herself, hoping to create drama. If she did, then mission accomplished, I guess. We messaged back and forth in the notes for a while, with me commenting on both the impossibility and morality of tracking down an anonymous user. During that time, her responses to me were lightning fast. Constant. Remember that for later.

Second, she soon told me she had the anon's IP address, which she said she'd "happily send me". I told her an IP address doesn't prove anything because it can be photoshopped and a lot of people use VPNs. I also pointed out how utterly insane it is to dox/cyberstalk someone over a post about a video game. It's really not that serious. But out of sheer curiosity, I told her to give me the blog name. Not because I believed her, but because I was curious to see if she'd accuse a popular blog or someone who could defend themselves. The moment I asked, she went silent for nearly an hour. 🤔

When she came back, she gave me the name of an account called Dekariosbf. She told me to message the account, so I did, though I made no accusations against them yet. As I waited for a reply, I accused Turtwg of making the account herself, as it was barren with no activity whatsoever. No likes, no posts, nothing. She easily could've created the account during that hour of peace. Moreover, after she gave me the account name and I accused her of creating it, her responses were once again lightning fast. 🤔

As we argued, I sent my brother-in-law and a friend of mine a link to my blog and had them read through the discourse. They don't have Tumblr accounts, but they're both computer nerds and my brother-in-law literally works with computers/programs for a living. I asked them if anything Turtwg said was valid, and they (along with someone else in the notes who claimed to work in UI/UX) confirmed that no, absolutely nothing she said was valid. Tumblr pays for a service that protects their users, and the only way to trace anons is by using extremely unsavory and illegal methods ... and even then it's extremely unlikely to work.

Speaking of, my brother-in-law eventually messaged me and told me he found the actual account that sent the anon. I stupidly believed him and jumped the gun on that, because it turns out he was just being a shit disturber. That said, I used this information to call Turtwg out on her lies. In response, Dekariosbf miraculously (and in a rather timely fashion) responded to me. Unfortunately I don't have any screenshots of this interaction, but I'll explain why in a moment.

Dekariosbf was chatty and cordial at first. I asked them for their main account name, but they refused to give it, saying they only use it for poetry; which, as you can see from the screenshot, directly contradicts their bio, but I digress. I was suspicious, but also kept in mind the possibility that this might've been an innocent person Turtwg accused. For a while we shot the shit, talking back and forth about BG3, reading, teaching—but I did this for a reason. I wanted to get a feel for their writing style. Sure enough, they wrote exactly like Turtwg. Same spelling mistakes, same pattern of punctuation, same use of lower case letters instead of capital letters, same abbreviations, etc.

Finally, when I was sure it was her, I dropped the bomb. I very gently told "Dekariosbf" that someone named Turtwg accused them of sending me a hateful Gale anon, but that I didn't believe it. Low and behold, they did a complete 180.

"Yes, it was me. It was totally me. I just LOVE your blog and RESPECT you so much. I LOVE Gale and I wanted to know what you'd say if I sent that anon. It wasn't meant to be hateful. Please don't write a call out post about me. Please don't tell your followers. I mean, I understand if you do, but please don't. Turtwg messaged me and threatened to dox me and sent me a photo of my IP address. She's so smart, I don't think you should mess with her. Oh and my mom can't speak English. If we get doxxed, I think it would kill her."

Right...

I said I didn't believe them and accused them of being Turtwg on a sock account. They kept insisting they weren't, begged me to believe they sent the anon (and I mean they were desperate for me to believe it), and very strangly didn't express any anger or confusion over the situation. When I brought up the accusation, they completely changed their tone from friendly to "oh yeah, that was me". I kept saying I didn't believe them, particularly because of what my brother-in-law said, but promised not to call any attention to them. I was happy to simply let the matter rest. Suddenly, mid conversation, they deleted their entire blog. Poof. It's gone now, along with all our messages.

I thought that would be the end of it, but not even five minutes after Dekariosbf flung themselves into the void, Turtwg herself DMed me out of nowhere and accused me of trying to hack her account, presumably because I told "Dekariosbf" that my brother-in-law is computer savvy. Keep in mind that before this moment, our entire conversation took place in the notes of my post. I never DMed her, nor did I have any intention of doing so. I also had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, I just knew she was lying to me. Now it looks as though she's ramping up to lie to the Tumblr admins in order to get my account deleted.

And all because my post about a video game made her angry.

I really hate drawing attention to this. You can see in my other posts that I always censor people's usernames, but as I said at the beginning ... I don't feel like I have a choice this time. I want this up so the Tumblr admins or whoever can see it.

Turtwg has attacked other people for posting their opinions as well. For example, she attacked this person just because they expressed their opinon on wyllsterion. She went so far as to call them racist when Wyll is literally one of their favourite characters. She just got mad because they don't think Wyll and Astarion make sense together; a perfectly valid opinion. And I only know about this because I received messages warning me about interacting with Turtwg/Shdowheart from someone who recognised them in the notes of my post.

I guess I should've blocked her from the start, but I've said many times in the past that I enjoy a good debate. Plus I was genuinely curious to see how far she was willing to take her lie. Unfortunately, I underestimated just how unhinged she truly is. On her own blog, she's even admitted that she's had to make a new account seven times, likely due to other drama she started.

I was very hesitant to put this in the BG3 tags, but since that seems to be the fandom she interacts with the most, I figured it would be a fair warning to anyone else she might harass. She's particularly active in the Astarion/Wyll/Wyllsterion tags. Stay safe, everyone. I think I'll sign off for a while. I'm tired, and this has somehow become the most toxic fandom I've ever dared to be a part of.

Please do not harass this person. PLEASE DO NOT HARASS THEM! That is not my goal here. That said, I do suggest you avoid them at all costs, for your own safety and sanity.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #wyll ravengard #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep

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blueberry-bubbles130 · 8 months

Text

The disappointment of the characterisation of the Bourgeois family in Miraculous Ladybug.

This essay/post will be talking about my feelings regarding the characterisation of Bourgeois family, as I'm doing a rewrite fanfiction of Miraculous and the Bourgeois family plays an extremely important part in my rewrite.

Trigger Warnings include:

TW: Child abuse

Child neglect

Verbal abuse

Emotional abuse

Domestic Violence

If I have forgotten to add any trigger warnings in the post please comment and I'll add them as soon as I can.

Getting this out of the way with now because I don't want to focus on her in this post, and because she won't be in my rewrite at all, I don't like Zoe. In the canon of the show all she serves as is a replacement for Chloe and a wielder of the Bee Miraculous. Unfortunately in the canon show, she is tied to the miraculous and Chloe in such a way that she cannot be talked about with bringing Chloe salt/bashing into the discussion, and has no true character of her own out of just being nice. There are others in the show who already could've filled the role much better. Zoe is far better written in fanon and fanfiction. But I don't want to be beating a long dead horse so there are other posts you can read to see Zoe's poor implementation in the show, and absolutely great fanfictions you can read that gives her a developed character if you like her. With that being said lets get onto the main essay.

Who are the Bourgeois family?

In the show the Bourgeois family are an upper class family that are said to hold a lot of influence. The family consists of Andre Bourgeois; the patriarch of the family who owns a hotel, and is also the mayor of Paris. Audrey Bourgeois; the matriarch of the family and a famous fashion critic. And Chloe Bourgeois; the child of the family and the temporary bee miraculous holder. The Bourgeois family can be considered a large secondary example of Miraculous's wasted potential, and it's inability to truly give a satisfying conclusion to any concept they've tried to execute during it's run. And some will say this is just the end of an arc and season 6 will continue and deliver. But it won't, especially considering Miraculous' record with delivering on expected plotlines it isn't promising in the slightest and I do not hold hope for season 6. Despite this, I'm rather interested in the Bourgeois family, and they are my favourite part of Miraculous making it even more disappointing to see the outcome of the plotline involving them.

Audrey Bourgeois-

I'm doing Audrey Bourgeois first because despite having a lot to say about all the family members, I have the least to say about Audrey.

Audrey is characterised as a harsh fashion critic who has nothing kind to say about anyone around her. Her kind words are only reserved for someone who can truly impress her, examples being Marinette and Gabriel. Marinette being shown to the audience and Gabriel being told to the audience. She is responsible for launching Gabriel into fame as a fashion designer. Audrey isn't even remotely nice to her own family. She abandons them mostly and seems to return only when work arises in Paris. And even then she belittles both her husband and Chloe constantly.

Something I find interesting in fanfiction for Miraculous Ladybug is that before we got any glimpse of who Audrey is. Everyone assumed she'd died and they either called her Simone or Julia, Julie or Juliette. And this gave depth to both Chloe, and Andre. This will be discussed again later.

Audrey's character has at least stayed consistent throughout Miraculous' ever-increasing run, which is a miracle considering Miraculous issues with characterisation, among other issues. However at the same time it's quite odd considering unlike Andre who got more developed regarding his past and what he wants, Audrey remains quite flat character-wise with only glimpses of there possibly something else to her. I think that Audrey despite staying consistent and explaining a lot about Chloe and Andre, she's still wasted potential. In one of the episodes characters such as Gabriel, Natalie and and I think maybe Tomoe are shown watching important story information on a tv. This would seemingly hint that Audrey had something to do with Gabriel. Which is believable considering Audrey's personality and previous appearances with Gabriel. However as of season 5 this has not been expanded upon in anyway whatsoever and like I keep saying I doubt it will be in season 6 or future seasons if they get anymore. This makes me believe that Audrey should've been expanded upon as a villain, she could've stolen a miraculous and possibly became a main villain. She's close to Gabriel, she's got the perfect personality for it; the only thing she needed to be a good villain was a decent motivation and I easily could've believed her becoming a villain if she'd been given decent motivation. She's already controlling and demanding, so Zoe could've never been introduced and you could've had it so she wants ultimate control over Andre and Chloe while placing herself as some sort of evil Queen. And that's all I really have to say about Audrey. Hell! I've already seen a few posts where people state that Audrey should've taken over as mayor after Andre, which makes a hell of a lot more sense then Chloe doing it. It's not exactly the same because she's the stepmother, but something I think Audrey should've been a bit like but far more toned down for the child audience is like Julia Cotton from Hellraiser. She's just so perfect as a example of someone willing to go to extremes in order to achieve their desires. Hell it's already there in her akuma, Style Queen! Just make her an evil queen, it wouldn't have been that hard and then we wouldn't have to deal with that mess we got with them attempting to make Gabriel sympathetic but then being shown him horribly abusing his son with glee at every opportunity he gets. You could keep Gabriel and Natalie sympathetic and make Audrey even more despicable than she is.

Also Audrey is clearly abusive, and in 2023 we should not need to have debates over whether she is because some people say she's just cruel. No she's abusive, it's clearly abuse.

Chloe Bourgeois-

Chloe is definitely my favourite character out of the Bourgeois family and Miraculous as a whole, and while her characterisation post season 3 does sadden and disappoint me, it doesn't anger me like what the writers did with Andre.

Chloe starts the series as nothing more than an obnoxious bully who torments her classmates. When we get to season 2 we get to see Chloe receive more depth as a character and see how her parents helped her in becoming the person she is today. Then season 3 happened and we see Miracle Queen. Now I don't think Miracle Queen is completely horrid, It makes sense that Chloe may begin to regress or backslide into her unhealthy habits. And I've even seen people still redeem her with miracle queen being in their stories. What pisses me off about Miracle Queen, especially when people online talk about it, is that they just seem to forget about Gabriel akumatising Audrey and Andre to use as blackmail against Chloe. Like yes at the end of the day, Chloe still makes the decision to become Miracle Queen and do what she did. But you cannot deny that a fully grown man who should know better, put the two people she presumably cared about the most at this point in danger in order to blackmail her. He cornered her on the balcony and essentially railroaded her into making that decision. Like what was she going to do if she said no, she can't fight Hawkmoth without a miraculous and even if she'd tried he might've legitimately hurt her or her parents to win. Here again we see fanfics just knock the show out of the water, with many people deciding to make Chloe trick Hawkmoth into giving her the miraculous and then she just runs away to get help. Also Marinette shouldn't have gotten involved in Chloe's family drama, like why did she think it was a good idea to do what she did in Queen wasp. Just why?

Something else regarding Chloe's character arc that just genuinely confuses me is that during season 2 it's obvious in episodes like Zombizou, Style Queen, Queen Wasp and Malediktator is that they're written by other writers who have differing opinions on Chloe to Thomas Astruc. And now I think Thomas was busy on a different project while this was was being written, which is fine. But what confuses me is that surely Thomas could've looked over the episode script and maybe said to change it. Instead of just letting a character he clearly does not like get development he also didn't like and then arguing with Chloe fans and Miraculous fans who may not like Chloe but understand her character arc was butchered as well as others, on twitter over it.

As well as this is season 5, I think it's revealed season 1-5 of Miraculous takes place over 1 school year. In France the average school year is about 10 months long lasting from September to late June early July. This means each season could technically take place over about 2 months. This gives Chloe 2-4 months at most to redeem herself. Which is just too much to expect of her to try and completely redeem herself and undo a lifetime of unhealthy behaviours in that short of a timespan. No wonder Miracle Queen happened, she hasn't had the proper support to try and unlearn those behaviours or redeem herself. And it makes Andre giving her over to her mother even more saddening/rage enducing, because Zoe has been around for the same time Chloe was given to try and unlearn her healthy behaviours. So Andre has abandoned his daughter who's he risen for her entire 13-14 year life for some child he's known for about 3 months at best.

Then season 4 and 5 begin the endless parade of Chloe Salt/Bashing in order to prop up Zoe. As well as the butchering of other characters, to continue hammering in that point, such as Andre, but we'll get to him later. Now I'm not saying I'm completely against the idea of evil Chloe, there are some brilliant fanfics out there with Chloe just either hamming it up as an evil villain or treated as a tragic villain, who's fall from grace is a pure tradegy. And I love it both because it treats Chloe with the seriousness she deserves, the majority of fanfics treat the abuse she's suffered with seriousness and not as some joke like the serious does. You want a absolutely brilliant Chloe Bourgeois fanfic read "Float like a Butterfly, Sting like a Bee" on ao3 it's just so good and I can't recommend it enough.

Also on the topic of redemptions Sabrina, Felix, Natalie and especially Gabriel shouldn't gotten redemptions. Gabriel, Sabrina and Felix don't show any remorse for their actions, in fact they all show glee in their actions apart from Natalie. But even then none of them truly face any punishments for their actions and sure Gabriel doesn't get to enjoy Emilie being back alive, but he still gets away with his numerous crimes.

As a final note on Chloe's development, it's been said by some people before it's quite harmful that Chloe doesn't get treated with the seriousness that she deserves and is one of the only villains not given a redemption as well as not being what is considered a "perfect" or "idealised" victim of abuse like Adrien is. And as someone who has lashed out at others due to issues with authoritive figures in the past (not to the extent Chloe has thought, especially with the bullying and wealth, I'm also not French) I do relate to Chloe in a small way. And this makes it harder for me personally, and it really is just harmful because it might give kids who have lashed out like her due to similar or the same issues the same idea that they don't deserve love or a guardian who can actually care for them in the way they need, as children.

I'm not saying give Chloe a redemption, she just should've been treat with the seriousness she needed.

Gettting back on track lets talk about the final member of the Bourgeois family.

Andre Bourgeois-

Oh Andre, where do I begin with him, in canon.

For seasons 1 to 3 he's mainly Chloe's nervous father and enabler. Then we get a bit of depth in season 4 and 5 about him wanting to be a director but not getting to due to Audrey and politics. Then in season 5 he lets Audrey take Chloe.

A deleted part of the script was revealed in which originally he gave Chloe to Audrey which in itself is horrific because he knows how Audrey is. Not only has she subjected Chloe to verbal abuse but him as well. This would be changed in the series to him just letting Audrey take Chloe, which is just as worse. These are just as bad because either way he's trying to absolve himself of any responsibility of what happened with Chloe which he is equally responsible for as he is Chloe's main enabler. And you know I actually had some hope for him in canon that he'd realise it was time to as someone else brilliantly put it "ditch the bitch" and forge a better relationship with Chloe, but that never happened. I guess that's what I get for having hope for Miraculous's canon.

It legitimately pisses me off so fucking much than in canon he gets to wash his hands clean of the whole problem with Chloe.

Now fanon Andre is so much better than his Canon counterpart and thinking about it now, Fanon Andre has always been better than his canon counterpart.

Bringing back up the whole thing about fanfics that pre-date Audrey is that it gives not only Chloe but Andre more depth. These fanfics typically paint the picture that Andre is a man that closed off not only by politics but the death of his wife and because he's not in tune with his own emotions, he can't help Chloe so instead of ignoring her grief like her father, Chloe is lashing out instead.

Even fanon versions of Andre that are more far more closed off, corrupt, and evil are much more enjoyable to read about than canon Andre, and have more depth. Something about Canon Andre just makes him even more loathsome and detestable then his many often better fanon versions. And when he does get redeemed in fanon it's just so good, because the people writing him, understand what makes his character have actual depth to him and make him realise his faults in a satisfying way that gives him a good redemption.

Maybe it was just me projecting the fanon versions of Andre onto the Canon version that made my disappointment and anger so much worse. But either way his overall canon characterisation is disappointing.

Again if you want to a fanfic that has Andre be a good antagonist, read "Chloe and the Bee" by @anxresi it isn't complete but what is there is just brilliant. And If you'd prefer to read a fanfiction where Andre is trying his best to be a good parent to Chloe read "Float like a Butterfly....Sting like a Bee" by Bookmonkey on ao3. They're both such amazing fanfics.

Conclusion-

Overall the characterisation of the Bourgeois family within the canon of the actual show is just a neatly packaged example of Miraculous' many issues such as bad writing, poor pacing, inconsistent characterisation and either attempting to poorly redeem abusers who should know better or just letting them get away without any consequences whatsoever.

I'd like to say thank you for listening to my long feral rambles about the Bourgeois family.

#miraculous ladybug #chloe bourgeois #audrey bourgeois #andre bourgeois #zoe lee #ml salt #miraculous salt #ml critical #ml analysis #mlb chloe #andré bourgeois #marinette salt #ml fandom salt #this just has a little fandom salt though not a lot

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uptoolateart · 10 months

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I want to comment on this word 'conformation'.

In part, the title hints at Marinette unifying the miraculous. However, for me the main point is this idea of conforming, and rings, which are symbolically binding.

By buying into the Alliance rings, nearly everyone in Paris conforms to a view planted in their minds by media propaganda. Most conform quickly. A few break free of it...but not many.

The Perfect Alliance antidote is a ready-made cure for a problem fabricated by the same people. It's a classic form of manipulation and control seen in the annals of global history - as is the tactic of grooming someone into dependency and then taking away the thing they're dependent upon. Everyone should be raising an eyebrow at how quickly the solution is able to be rolled out, and yet almost no one does. Instead, they become mindless clones, tools saying and doing exactly what the enemy wants them to.

One person who sees through it all is Adrien. He fights it so hard, but the poor boy is bound left and right by rings. We've seen Gabriel control him with the wedding ring. Now he controls him with the Alliance ring. But Adrien's miraculous is also a ring - he's bound by duty to both Ladybug and the entire population of Paris. There's no space in there for HIM.

Just as we've seen him battle against akumatisation, and against his father's mind control, we see him fight against the nightmares - his worst fear being losing control and hurting everyone. He rejects the Perfect Alliance antidote over and over...but eventually gives in.

I think if he weren't Cat Noir, he wouldn't have relented. He would have endured the pain for himself. His concern was the pain of OTHERS. So, he conforms - but in full knowledge of what he's doing. He isn't brainwashed here. He's making a choice.

When he finally exchanges his miraculous for the Alliance - one ring for another - he's acknowledging his duties and, for the sake of others, allowing himself to be bound to his father. He's acknowledging that he can't be both The Adrien Agreste and Cat Noir. One has to go. Again, there's no space in there for HIM.

It's also worth noting that the Adrigami avatars are all in white. Adrien is in a white room. Gabriel is all in white. When he loses control, Cat is all in white. I wrote loads about the symbolism of white in an older post, but let's add to it.

In that room, Adrien is under an intensive identity erasure attack. He's being stripped of everything he is. When he gives up his miraculous, that's the last piece. He is completely broken down as a person and now primed to be rewritten by Gabriel...which is exactly what seems to happen with the Wish.

And whatever that Wish was...Gabriel got away with another. Marinette said Adrien wouldn't want to know what his father was really like...so she complies with Gabriel's plea not to tell him. In other words...she conforms. She says and does exactly what the enemy wants her to.

What really gets me is ADRIEN ALREADY KNEW WHAT HIS FATHER WAS REALLY LIKE. And I hope to god that knowledge has not been wiped clean away by the Wish - that his trauma has not been wiped away - because that would complete the identity erasure. All his growth is gone. Who is he, right now?? Who remembers the boy locked in that room, the one who essentially sacrificed his entire SELF?

When Marinette puts that wedding ring on his finger at the end, I know it's intended as, 'Look, you control yourself now,' and he says when he's with her he feels so free...but she's now the one binding him. She's keeping secrets. She's controlling what he knows. She's deciding what he can handle and what he can't, like he's a small child. That's not freedom. He needs all the facts in order to make his own life choices.

For all her faults, I have always loved Marinette. I won't pretend Adrien isn't my favourite, though. I want to hope the writers are screwing with us on purpose and this was all a twist to set up bigger drama. My worry is that they really thought it was a happy ending and didn't see all these fundamental problems we are pointing out. I guess time will tell.

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assorted-candy · 6 months

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20 Q's for Fic Writers

I got tagged by @dp-marvel94! Thank you!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

I've just posted my 22nd work a few days ago!

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

37,763

3. What fandoms do you write for?

So far, all my published fics are for Danny Phantom. It's a fandom that's near and dear to my heart and my favorite to write for. I've written fanfiction for myself in a lot of different fandoms over the years. Miraculous Ladybug, Mega Man (Star Force, Battle Network) and Fire Emblem are a few. (Will these ever see the light of day? Probs not, lol)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? 5. Frayed Ends - 37 kudos - Jazz and Maddie are fighting more often. Jack wants to reach out and help his family. 4. The Same Blood - 45 kudos - Maddie and Jack try to help a sick girl that collapsed in front of their house. They don't know what to make of her condition. Danny wants to help.

3. Returned Home - 49 kudos - Maddie finds Danny at home after he disappeared ten months ago.

2. The Broken Pieces Left Behind - 66 kudos (tie) - Maddie knew what the portal did to Danny. If she could create something that essentially turned him into a ghost, she could figure out a way to fix all of it. Even if she hasn't made any progress in the past two months, she'll keep trying. She didn't account for what Danny wanted. 1 . What's Out of Out Control - 66 kudos (tie) - Danny thought he had it under control. He thought he could finally hang out like they used to always do. Tucker could feel the rift between them widening. It wasn't getting smaller anytime soon.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to! There were a few comments from my two earlier fics that I never responded to and it's already been so long and I feel like I ended up putting it off too long to say anything now 😓But I'm so so thankful for all the comments I receive! I never thought anyone would read my work, let alone comment on it. I'm always between two modes of 'author commentary' and 'screaming thank you and running away'.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Lol, I love my angsty stuff and there are so many different flavors of angst, so it's hard to pick just one. I'd say the piece I aimed to write for Angst Fest, The Broken Pieces Left Behind, might be it. It ends on a rather hopeless note for the Fenton family that even I don't know how to make everything better for them

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably Home for a Cat. It was for a Ectoberhaunt prompt that I was absolutely stumped on. So I decided someone was going to adopt a cat by the end of the fic.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Ahh, so I actually posted a fic on FFN wayyy back when I was in high school. I remember it being received pretty well but I got a really rude comment on a simple spelling mistake. Back then, I was just told I had dyslexia a few years prior and I had some really bad self-esteem issues tied in with that. So, yeah, that comment basically made me terrified to ever show my work to anyone ever.

It's been over ten years since then and I wanted to actually get over that fear. I impulsively decided to do Angst Fest with the mindset that no one would even look at what I posted. Not only did people look, everyone has been so kind!!!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

lkdajldkf, nope. I get flustered trying to write basic romance and having two characters hold hands, lmao. Major props to those that can, it's definitely a skill that takes time to master just like any other genre.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I haven't.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Also haven't had this either.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope, but it seems like a lot of fun.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Back when the show was airing, Amethyst Ocean (Danny/Sam) was my go to. I'm a sucker for friends to lovers tropes and it's really nostalgic for me. But, I don't really read a lot of shippy things for Danny Phantom, so ships don't make or break a fic for me.

If I'm looking to read romance, the whole Love Square (MariChat my beloved) with Miraculous Ladybug will always be great. Even if I jumped ship on the show around season 2 or 3 and I have no clue what they're doing now, lol.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I honestly have so many WIPs that are unfinished on my computer from over the years. Maybe a super old one that I titled 'Phantoms in the Daylight'. Angst once more with Character Death as the main pain point. I like the beginning but oh boy, does it get sloppy and confusing real quick. I'd need serious outlining energy put into it if I'd ever want to salvage it and I just don't have it in me.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue! Give me two blorbos and I'll make them talk forever.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Scenery and description. I love the dialogue portion so much that I end up running into the floating heads in an empty room problem in the first drafts of my fics. My first round of edits are dedicated to making sure I have a scene and grounding characters into it. And then I have to go back later to make it not feel so robotic sounding.

(Also a weakness but more as in fic than writing. Summaries and Titles. I stare at my drafts on AO3's editor for at least half an hour trying to pull something together, lol)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I can probably talk about this for hours, lol. I absolutely love foreign languages, especially when it comes to linguistics. So, I'll try to be brief, lmao. Short answer: depends on the fic but normally no. I already spend so much time fussing over the word choice/slang/formality/dialect characters use in my native language. I don't have a good enough grasp on another language for it to sound natural to the reader. ("They would not fucking say that" is my internal monologue during dialogue edits, lol)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

It's a toss up between Pokemon and Danny Phantom. I first learned about fanfiction from a friend who showed me FFN for the Pokemon fics. I looked around the site and found all of the Danny Phantom fics soon after and got hooked on those. I started writing around then and it would have been for one of those two.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Hard to chose one! Writing technicality wise, I'm proud of how What Remains on the Table turned out. I consider description my weak point, so the original draft was 0 dialogue with very stiff descriptions. I was able to edit it to really practice my environmental storytelling. (Although, please mind the tags if you click the link as it does deal with the dissection topic)

I'm not sure who's been tagged and I'm not sure who writes fanfic, so @lavendarlily, @fangirlwriting-stories, @grub-xd, @nanaarchy and anyone else that wants to join!

#tag game #danny phantom #fanfic authors #candy-posts

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justenjoythegossip · 3 months

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PR ANTICS PART 1: Team Real/Team PR's tactics, the use of haters in a PR strategy and the purpose it serves

Team Real and Team PR: 2 sides of the same coin pursuing the same objective

I have already defined who “team PR” and “team Real” blogs were in my pinned post. You can check it out if you want.

Their disrespectful, condescending and downright insulting tone is usually a good enough hint to recognize those plants whose purpose is to push certain narratives. But they actually are two sides of the very same coin, as they pursue the same objective even if they sometimes use opposing strategies. Each side is meant to “gain the upper hand” at some point, before the other gains ground again. And so forth. By using the oldest trick in the book that is the good old divide and conquer tactics, their goal is to distract from the truth, drive more traffic and keep people’s engagement to a maximum. Although, I do suspect people’s patience might very well be wearing thin at this point.

Why do people (still) give them the benefit of the doubt…

I have already explained how each Team has lost any credibility at this point. However, both have gotten away with it and sometimes even continues to do so thanks to two things:

They sometimes have legitimate information that could only come from Chris’ or Abba’s team (a Team Real blog had the exclusive for Chris and Abba’s wedding with Renner and Hemsworth’ presence for ex)

They sometimes point out obvious lies coming from the other team

Those two things still provide them with an audience that listens to their wild speculation or blatant lies, as people keep hoping they will catch a glimpse of the truth or get the ultimate evidence that they are looking for, as it will prove them right.

Similar and opposing strategies used by either Team

Each Team uses a nice mix of actual facts, real observations, speculation, lies, hateful comments and trolling. And both of them show no sign of actual integrity and keep attacking other people who have an opinion that differs from them.

I was recently attacked by one of those Team Real blogs in my private DM who wrote to me and I quote: “Chris and Alba are married! I know someone who works with his sisters and their marriage is real.” But as I said, I know for a fact that Chris and Abba are exclusively PR because my mailman’s third cousin removed is best friends with someone who knows the assistant of Chris’ mother’s dermatologist. I am obviously joking. I am not privy to any private information but you get the point…

The inclusion of haters in PR tactics…

It’s important to note that trolls and haters are part of the strategy used by a PR team. Those hate accounts basically work as a controlled opposition. They can serve various purposes. First of all, they can work as bait to get a pulse of what some people might really think of someone, of their RS, of their actions etc. They can also help shape a narrative or help discredit one.

For example, when certain mods called Chris a groomer or a pedophile for dating Abba, they were achieving two things. First they were selling that those two are a real couple. But also by voicing such a false and extremist opinion, they help discredit any kind of concern the public might have looking at them. Indeed, the age difference between them is pretty vast but the optics are even worse given that she looks like a teenager. Some of those mods miraculously became shippers afterwards, which is another sign of them being plants placed here to sell a narrative, whatever that may be and using whatever strategy they see fit.

Also, if my memory serves me correctly, a hate twitter account got the exclusive for the infamous Walt Disney pics and then claimed they got those pictures via Chris’ sister’s private account. If you actually believe that… It is much more realistic to believe that this account was fed those pics or is actually working for their team. But I am speculating of course.

The alleged hate relationship between the two and how it helps Chris’ image…

There were hints and breadcrumbs that were designed to help sell the narrative that Chris and Abba actually hate one another. The pictures of them on the stairs after their first papwalk were comically bad and Buzzfeed threw actual shade with their “romance” headline. His mother liked a tweet calling her a racist. Her best friend and soulmate liked a tweet calling Chris “a cheap version of Leo but without the talent”. Of course, Chris and Abba might dislike one another. Or… this could also have been manufactured as well. We will never know for sure.

But what we do know is that this narrative helped achieve a couple of things. First it kept the discourse between Team Real and Team PR very much alive. Because how real can they be if they hate one another?

But it also helped save Chris’ image with the people who are aware of her problematic stuff. If his fans actually believed that he really fell in love with a Nazi sympathizing yacht girl, he wouldn’t have many fans left. So this narrative served not only as damage control, but also helped him gain sympathy from the people who pay close attention. How sad is it that he is forced to be in a PR RS with a girl he hates? Poor Chris!

I personally think they don’t like one another. He has done the absolute minimum to sell this and his whole demeanor point to it. But again who knows?

I will share more of my thoughts on those PR tactics in my next posts.

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almadesarrollo · 7 months

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THE DESIGNS ARE JUSTIFIED IF YOU UNDERSTAND HOW THE SERIES WORKS (REVERSED MIRCULOUS special)

As you know, the Miraculous special, the adventures of shadybug and clawnoir, will be released shortly, and I am obliged to comment on a controversy that has arisen with Adrien, as you know, my first post is trying to explain how the show works and what It is what people do not understand and why it is so criticized, well here I come again to explain a little about the controversy of the special and why Thomas' decision seems appropriate to me.

The controversy: about 2 or 3 days ago, the official designs of Adrien and Marinette as well as their alteregos came to light, the response from the fandom with Marinette/Shadybug was quite good, but Adrien/clawnoir, no, he Clawnoir's design seems to have been passable FOR some, but it was with Adrien's design that everything got messed up, and it received a lot of negative criticism, for example not being attractive, not pretty, etc. Defense of the show Thomas spoke out on Twitter and said: "It is not important that it is pretty, but that it serves to tell the story", which made the fandom criticize even more the attitude of Thomas and those who designed said designs. like "how little creativity and imagination"....

Well, once I know this, I'm going to try to explain why Adrien looks like this, Adrien looks like this, because that's what the puzzle requires and for you to be able to form it, a certain aesthetic is necessary, otherwise, nothing would fit....it's not necessary. of imagination or creativity, it is not laziness, nor a little love for the series. On the contrary, they are demonstrating the great work behind it by trying to make everything fit (it is not easy, this is like setting up a comecocos) come on, the appearance is The right one.

Through certain characters we can see what their future will be like or more or less where they will go, in this case through Jagged Stone we can see a little where Adrien will go in attitude, what do we know about Jagged? Well, to begin with, he's a crazy rocker, but the most important fact is that he and Anarka were together and then they divorced, basically because Jagged chose his music before his family and that's why he abandoned Luka and Juleka, so he's someone. quite irresponsible and childish as well as someone very spontaneous, extravagant and charismatic...all this is what Adrien/Chatnoir is and is becoming...so knowing this they present us with the design of the reverse where the good is bad, it looks like half punk and rocker with an aesthetic very similar to jagged, but also with the same makeup, oh well, what a coincidence, what does this say? He is giving us the clue and confirming that this is the way Adrien takes, yes, our Adrien is going to shoot, it doesn't mean that he will look like this in the future, but he doesn't give a small clue that he is going to be selfish, very childish and irresponsible and will think of himself above others (we can already see this a little in chatnoir).

Is it horrible? I'm not going to lie, yes it is horrible, but that won't matter, it serves to give the clue and continue putting together the puzzle and continue making theories, THAT'S WHAT MATTERS, THIS IS THE REST OF THE SERIES, and of course Thomas He has been very clear about that in his tweet, he is already telling you, he is telling you how the series works, if you are going to watch Miraculous expecting the other thing, then this may not be your series, because this is how it works otherwise, nothing fits then that's when there REALLY WILL BE SCRIPT HOLES.

Conclusion, Adrien/Clawnoir's design is correct and everything fits perfectly.

Later, I will write a post talking about the topic "design recycling" and why this really happens, since it is a similar case.

#adrien agreste #adrienette #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #chat noir #miraculous adrien #jagged stone #claw noir #toxinelle #mlb season 6 #miraculous world #shadybug

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majaloveschris · 10 months

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Maybe it's me being cynical in all this..but I think something bad is coming, why buy all those followers on IG, you follow a theatre company just yesterday and then use someone else's post to say you quitting SM for the "SUMMER"...sorry but this is the period when he has her birthday, the supposed wedding in PT...and he miraculously decides to quit SM. I'm 100% PR since day 1 but this is just plain odd, he's hardly on SM yet announces his departure for a few weeks and then deactivates...why not just not posy, why announce it, that is attention seeking if you ask me

Okay, I doubt that if something bad was coming, he wouldn't have known about it earlier.

My theory is that he either didn't want to post about Alba or that the PR shitshow has ended and that social media has become a bit too much for him.

They probably tried to find a loophole, and how could you post something when he has no Twitter or Instagram, the two most important social media accounts he's had? And if this is the case, which I think it is, saying he won't be active isn't enough. Until his account is up, he is able to post, even if he says he won't. But with him saying he is off for the summer and deactivating his account, he won't be able to post anything.

Or maybe it's over. I wish. And right now he is the "heartbroken, lonely" man who needs some time off because his "happier than ever" relationship didn't work out.

And I'm pretty sure that he's also had enough of social media, for which I don't blame him. I agree that we should call him out for being associated with a racist, but the way some people have been talking about him is discouraging. Call him out for being associated with her, but the body shaming and bullying that have been going on in the past months are crazy and disgusting. Nobody is or should feel entitled to leave those types of comments about his appearance.

I think it was nice of him to let his followers and fans know he was going to disappear. He obviously wanted to deactivate his accounts, and he knew that meant people wouldn't be able to find them. Attention-seeking would've been that. Not telling people that he is leaving or why he does that; he just disappears, leaving people guessing what's happened and why he's left. If this had happened, people would've been calling him a selfish prick who doesn't care about his own fans. But for some people, he can't do anything right, can he?

#majaloveschris #chris and alba pr #chris deactivation #cevans-love

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theerurishipper · 5 months

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I remember people said the scene in Transmission, where Ladynoir renounce their Miraculous and "seemingly" not thinking about each other are mean to be a plot hole, not character inconsistency.

Bt for me, if the character NOT even make a slight uncomfort gesture/expression when they see Scarabella and Black Minette out there instead of their team mate, then it's not a plot hole, it's character inconsistency.

"Plot hole" excuse only work if Adrinette make any comment/looks surprised/make any reaction upon seeing the new duo but the aired time won't let the show do more than that. But the show doesn't let them react negatively which resulting people interpret it as "Yeah I don't care about my team mate, I already got my gf/bf anyway" which is not plot hole at all.

It's 100% character inconsistency. Plot holes are when the plot is wonky, and some logic doesn't logic. When a character acts OOC, it is character inconsistency. Adrien and Marinette have both become wildly OOC since the second Adrienette became canon on this show. They don't care about superheroing anymore, they don't care about each other as Ladybug and Chat Noir anymore. Outside of like, one line about "I hope Ladybug/Chat Noir are okay" (which is quickly overshadowed by some Adrienette, cause we sure do need more of that when we're talking about the late Ladynoir), they just don't give a fuck.

Actually, this isn't even character inconsistency anymore, this is a whole character overhaul a la whatever happened to Felix Fathom. Cause Adrienette only works if you change significant aspects of their characters. What about Chat Noir meaning freedom and a means of escape for Adrien, what about Ladybug being the narrative opposite of his abusive father who gives him unconditional love and acceptance? Fuck that, what he really needs is to start centering his identity around his classmate (with whom he isn't even that close because she thinks he's perfect) and defining himself based on her needs. And what of Chat Noir being the only one who can understand Marinette's struggles? Chat Noir being her special partner whom she can always lean on? Nah, fuck that shit lmao, here's Marinette trying to tell Adrien something he already knows and Marinette trying to hold Adrien's hand even though she's done that before without a problem!

Anyway, like I was saying, they had to change their characters up so that Adrienette could make sense, because it sure wouldn't make sense if it became canon in the show that devoted the bulk of its development to Ladynoir, now would it? So that's why we get episodes like Determination, where Adrien is suddenly head over heels for Marinette out of fucking nowhere, right after the Jubilation dream sequence where they had those cabbage patch kids, and Ladybug initiated a kiss even though they realized this was a dream, and they were clearly having some complicated feelings about the whole thing at the end of the episode. Cause fuck Ladynoir, amirite? Like, why would we waste time on the relationship we spent 5 seasons developing when we could focus on some cookie cutter high school romance with retcons galore and multiple, I tell you, multiple scenes featuring Marinette suddenly having the inability to do things she's done before with no problem, and apparently, it's all Chloe's fault, like what a fucking shocker, who could have seen that coming.

And lets not get into the actual plot holes in Transmission too, cause those also exist? How does Adrien Agreste know and proudly state Scarabella's name when no civilian knows she exists? How does this not make Marinette question why he knows? Why does Marinette expect that someone else becoming Ladybug means she's free when she's still the Guardian? Make it make sense, please.

Anyway, that's all I got. I'm sorry for using your ask as a venting post, anon. I just rewatched Gamer today, and god, Adrienette are so cute and adorable in Season 1. Like, they actually have chemistry and fun interactions and it's the lucky charm debut episode! I will never forgive this show for taking that Adrienette away from me and replacing it with... whatever Season 5 coughed up.

Thank you for your ask!

#ML Salt #ML Writing Salt #ML Writers Salt #Marinette Salt #Ladybug Salt #Not really but tagging to be safe #Adrienette salt #Asks #Meta #My meta

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jattendschaton · 6 months

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you so much @ladyofthenoodle for tagging me! I love being part of things 🥺 <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

On my main account there are 37 publicly posted

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

Main account has 207,377, but if I included the other account and my unpublished stuff it's 280,000+

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly Miraculous Ladybug, but I have dabbled in others!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

honestly it was embarrassing to list these out :'):'):')

Out of the Closet Dropping All Pretenses On Open Secret electrify me, i'm dying to burn knowing you

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Most of the time I do! I dont tend to respond to rude comments anymore and sometimes I dont know what to say, but I try to respond to most comments!! I feel so lucky to receive any of them, I just want the commenter to know how much I appreciate them <3<3 There has been at least one time when I was so overwhelmed with a lovely comment that I never responded because I just liked looking at it so much 🙈 but that person was also a friend of mine so I did express to them privately how much their comment meant to me

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

For published fic, definitely whistle stop. I have written a lot of other angsty stuff though that will never see the light of day </3

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I feel like after a certain point, they're all kind of equally happy in their endings, but I guess live chat? I dont know though, I really dont tend to reread my fics

8. Do you get hate on fics?

ajskdljkl yes I have gotten hate on fics before

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope!

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I dont think I've written anything that would classify as a crossover

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I don't think the translation is up anymore but it was like my second or third fic and I was over the moon that someone liked it enough to put in the time to translate it!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not seriously. I've been part of a few projects where we were going to cowrite a fic together that never ended up getting finished and I've set up a document to cowrite a fic with a friend that we never did anything with :/ I'd love to co-write a fic though, I think it's so cool when people collaborate like that!

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Lovesquare and original ot4 of Alyadrininette <3

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

As far as published works from my main account there are a lot :') but the one that hurts the most is probably Where the Devils Are rip

16. What are your writing strengths?

I don't really have an answer for this!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

asjdjkl if I dwell on this too long I will never write another sentence so I'm also going to skip this one!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I think it's really cool when other people who are multilingual do it! I've dropped a word or two in when it felt right, but otherwise I personally stay away from writing it because I lack the knowledge to do it justice. I do sometimes make up languages for magic purposes, though!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

First fandom I published fanfic for was Miraculous Ladybug!

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

asjdklf ahhhh I have no response to this because I dont reread my writing. I think probably the closest thing I have to a favorite at any point in time is whichever one I wrote the most recently

tagging: @rosekasa @marimbles @picayunearts @emsylcatac @anna-scribbles @talkstoself (no pressure to anyone tagged if you dont want to do it of course, I'd just always love to see more stuff about your writing!) and anyone else who'd like to participate! I know it can be kind of sad if no one tags you in one of these things and you wanted to do it so just let me know and I will add you <3

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aidanchaser · 6 months

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Full Exposure [REMIX]

remixed from Full Exposure by @ladyofthenoodle for the @mlsquaredance event! A huge thank you for organizing it. It has been such a blast and such a boost to my creativity this past month.

beta'd by @ccboomer and @sunshinemarauder

Marinette snaps her laptop closed and groans into Alya’s pillow. She is so tired of looking at empty bank accounts and red spreadsheets. “How am I supposed to afford anything at this rate?” she whines.

“Out of noodle-dollars already?” Alya asks without looking up from her tablet.

Marinette rolls over to stare at the ceiling. “It’s impossible to be a student full-time, have a full-time unpaid internship, and work enough hours to buy food and pay rent and every other little thing that comes along, while also being a full-time superhero!” Marinette ticks each list item off on her hand as she talks. “I can’t keep taking out loans or putting it on a credit card.”

“The system’s broken,” Alya agrees nonchalantly. “You could always sell nudes.”

Marinette squeals in a combination of horror and disgust and throws a pillow at Alya.

Alya takes the soft blow with the smallest of grunts. “There’s nothing wrong with it! A lot of people make a lot of money that way.”

“I’m not interested in gross comments, people photoshopping my body, or having my image fed into A.I. generators.”

Alya shrugs. “Fair.”

Marinette scrunches up her nose. “How much money?”

“A few thousand, easily.” Alya adds a note into her journalism reading, then sets her tablet and stylus aside. “You could probably make a good deal.”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “No one is going to pay a thousand dollars for my nudes.”

“They might for Ladybug’s though.”

Marinette reaches for Alya’s second pillow and throws it. This time, Alya catches it.

“Ladybug is a national icon! She can’t just post nudes!”

“Ladybug is a full-grown adult woman who doesn’t get paid by the city. She can do whatever she likes with her image.”

Marinette shakes her head as she sits up. She leans back against Alya’s wall and stares out the window. Ladybug is a hero of Paris. She has a reputation. Besides, what would Chat Noir think? He’d see them, surely. How many pussy jokes could she bear?

Marinette taps her fingers against her closed laptop. “What if they were… tasteful nudes?”

“Boudoir photography is very in,” Alya says. “You’d just have to make sure people know they’re paying for almost-nudes.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start. I’d need you to be my photographer.”

“Girl, I’m happy to help you, but you already know someone who actually does model photography.”

Marinette squeals again and reaches for a pillow, only to find herself out of ammunition. “I can’t ask Adrien to take Ladybug’s nudes!”

“He’s your boyfriend.”

“He’s Marinette’s boyfriend!”

Alya shrugs, as if this is irrelevant, when in fact it is the most relevant that any fact could possibly be to this conversation. Yes, Adrien has turned to directing photoshoots rather than modeling in photoshoots now that they’re in university, but Marinette is not going to ask her boyfriend to take nudes of another girl! And Ladybug is, as far as Adrien knows, another girl.

“You know he’s going to look at them either way,” Alya says. “You might as well make him part of it so he doesn’t have to feel guilty about it.”

“Adrien would not look at Ladybug’s nudes. Not when he’s my boyfriend!”

Alya raises her eyebrows. “He’s loyal, not dead. You remember how he talked about Ladybug when were in school together. He won’t be able to resist.”

Marinette does not remember the way Adrien talked about Ladybug when they were younger. She was too busy daydreaming about him or trying to talk without tripping over her words.

“Adrien used to like Ladybug?” she asks weakly.

“The way a fish likes water.” Alya tips her chair back and, with a mischievous grin that’s rather fitting for the holder of the miraculous of illusion and trickery, says, “Just ask. See what he says.”

✦✧✦✧

Adrien is still not entirely sure that this is a good idea.

He’s flattered, honestly, that Alya, as the admin for the Ladyblog, recommended him to Ladybug as a photographer. He’s surprised and grateful that Marinette assured him that it would be fine for him to do such a risqué photoshoot with such a well-known celebrity. And he’s nervous, more nervous than he has ever been about anything in his life.

Chloé has agreed to give him access to one of Le Grand Paris’s suites for the day, though he hasn’t told her why he needs it—not that he thinks he can fully keep it secret from her. She’ll figure it out once the photos are released.

Zoé helped him haul up his lighting equipment. He didn’t tell her why he needed the room, either, but he imagines she’ll be one of the first people to download the photos once they’re online.

Adrien finishes tightening the C-stand beside the bed. He’ll adjust the lighting once Ladybug arrives, but he wants the grunt work done before she gets there. The last thing he needs is Ladybug standing around in her underwear while he tries to work with heavy equipment.

Adrien rubs his eyes and tries not to picture Ladybug in lacy underwear, though it’s as absurd as it is futile. She’ll be here any minute and he’ll have to photograph her while she’s actually, physically in front of him and is actually, physically wearing lacy underwear.

A knock on the balcony doors breaks through Adrien’s internal battlefield. His heart, which is already nesting in his throat, decides it’s time to run a marathon just at the sound of her arrival. He’s worried it might fully burst before he even lays eyes on Ladybug.

He swallows and reminds himself that he has a girlfriend. That he is going to see Marinette tonight, once this is over. He’ll have to laugh and tell her how absolutely innocent it was when it’s all said and done. Because it has to be innocent. It has to be.

Adrien slides open the balcony door and is relieved to see that Ladybug is still fully clothed in her usual suit. The only thing that makes her appearance on the balcony any different from an evening on patrol is the duffel bag in her hand, like she’s come for a sleepover.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” he replies, and hopes she doesn’t notice how breathless he is.

Adrien isn’t sure if the pause between them feels long because adrenaline has his brain running double-time, or if the silence between them really does stretch out interminably.

“I’m just about ready,” he finally says, “whenever you are.”

“Right! I just need to um… change.”

“Right.”

This time, he’s certain that the pause is too long, but Ladybug finally slips past him and into the bathroom.

When she’s gone, Adrien scrubs his face with his hands. His palms come away sticky with sweat. He is supposed to be the professional. If any of his photographers behaved like this while he was a model, he would never have worked with them again. He can’t let Ladybug think he’s some sort of creep.

The bathroom door opens and Adrien’s heart, again, races, but she doesn’t come out in her underwear, not yet.

Instead, Ladybug is wearing a thin, silky black robe. They discussed a color palette—one of the hardest conversations Adrien has ever had to keep a straight face for—and settled on blacks and reds, which not only keep with Ladybug’s theme, but are sensual enough on their own.

Her hair is pulled up in a bun and her mask covers her eyes—or rather, a replica of her mask. Even the earrings in her ears have to be a copy, at least for the moment. Adrien, knowing how his ring camouflages itself, asked her if her earrings bore her iconic spots when she was not transformed. If she was surprised he knew to ask, she didn’t show it. She simply confirmed that he was right, and she would have to wear a copy if they wanted to maintain the traditional icons of Ladybug.

He can tell that she’s taken his advice about makeup, too. The low dip in her bathrobe reveals perfectly smooth, pale skin. She’s covered up any blemishes and freckles, something he suggested not only because of his own experience in modeling, but because anyone who knows her, like a partner, might recognize such marks.

She blushed and said that her boyfriend didn’t know that she was Ladybug, so that was probably smart.

“I can also clean it up in post,” Adrien told her. Then, he dared to ask, “Does he know you’re doing this? Not that he has to—it’s your choice—I just… if you’re nervous about him finding out, that sounds… bad?”

Ladybug wrinkled her nose and stared down at their notes. “He sort of knows?”

But Ladybug’s relationship isn’t really Adrien’s business.

“Where to first?” She fidgets with the tie around her waist.

“I’ve set up over here.”

Adrien leads Ladybug to the bed, where he’d already pulled back the hotel bedspread and laid out a black silk sheet to cover the stark white hotel bedding.

Ladybug’s fingers slips into the knot around her waist. Adrien picks up his camera and busies himself with the settings, intentionally missing the moment she slides out of her bathrobe and onto the bed.

“I’m just going to check the lighting,” he says, and lifts his camera.

It’s easier to stare at her through the lens.

She’s not only taken her bathrobe off, but she’s pulled her hair down. Her dark hair falls along the curve of her neck and brushes over her shoulders. Adrien follows those curves down to the black cups edged in red lace that cover her pale breasts, though he catches the tiniest sliver of pink peeking out from behind the lace. Black straps fasten her bra to the high-waisted underwear that, while it covers her stomach, curves high over her hips, leaving her legs long and exposed. Her bare feet are decorated in bright red nail polish. Something about that nail polish nags at his brain—didn’t Marinette paint her toes last night?

But the shutter on his camera clicks and he forgets to finish his thought. It takes all his mental fortitude to look at the photo professionally and academically. The shadows on her skin are too harsh; her hair blends in with the black silk; one of the straps of her bra is twisted.

Adrien adjusts the bounce of the light around the room, softens it with a flag, switches the bedding from black to red, and asks Ladybug to fix her bra strap.

“And then the robe back on,” he says, “but open.” It takes all his effort to keep his voice steady and even.

He checks his settings again, adjusts his camera, and finally, they can begin to shoot in earnest.

Once he gets going, it’s fairly easy to maintain his professionalism. There isn’t a whole lot of sensuality when it comes to adjusting angles, clicking the shutter, checking the shot, adjusting the pose—it really does feel like work. But Adrien would appreciate it if his heart would stop jerking in sudden bursts whenever Ladybug turns her brilliant blue eyes to the camera, or when he has to set the camera down to direct Ladybug into a new pose.

She, at least, behaves like a professional.

“New pose?” Adrien asks, and Ladybug readily shifts so that one arm drapes lazily above her head. Her face tilts up so that her neck slopes in a soft arch into her shoulder, and one knee cocks, suggesting a subtle invitation.

Adrien very gently touches her elbow, and she moves her arm at his direction. “Have you done this before?”

“No!” she says quickly, then swallows. Her bright red lips open and close as she looks for the right words. “I mean—I just did a lot of research beforehand.”

Adrien did, too. He’d never done any shoots like this during his time as a model. He quit before he was old enough to even have conversations about these sorts of shoots. So he’s spent a lot of time looking at boudoir photos in the last few weeks. Marinette helped him, and it had certainly been nice to discuss ideas with her.

He still doesn’t know why Marinette was so calm about it all—at least, for Marinette’s standards. She fell into her high-pitched, nervous voice when they discussed the shoot; she laughed awkwardly and blushed terribly. But Adrien knew that Marinette had absurdly jealous tendencies. He still didn’t understand why she didn’t exhibit any of that during their conversations about Ladybug.

Adrien had certainly felt a pang of jealousy when Ladybug told Chat Noir.

“I just… wanted to warn you,” Ladybug said. “And—you don’t have to, er—feel bad if you look at them. I mean, not that I want you to look at them! And I think—just don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

Chat Noir leaned against his staff and tried for a smile, but it was hard with the anxiety curling in his stomach. He no longer loves Ladybug, but she’s still his partner. He doesn’t want to share her with the rest of Paris this way. He also wanted to promise her that he wouldn’t look, especially if it made her uncomfortable, but he couldn’t very well promise abstinence if he was going to be the one taking and editing each and every photograph.

“My lady,” he finally said, “I would never let this change anything between us. Maybe I’ll even do my own.”

But Adrien doesn’t think that he’ll ever be able to do something like this as Chat Noir. Not only does he have absolutely no desire to get back in front of a camera and let someone else take control of his image again, there are too many photos of Adrien Agreste out there. Someone will inevitably hold up Chat Noir and Adrien’s bodies against each other and put it all together, and then it will be over. He’s grown since his modeling days, certainly, but it isn’t a risk he wants to take.

As Adrien pauses to check over the photographs, Ladybug relaxes into the bed. He risks a glance away from his camera to look at her properly, to shut out the stands and equipment and take a moment to see Ladybug as she is.

Her fingers twist in the ends of her hair, like an anxious fidget. Her eyes are locked with the ceiling and there’s a pinch to her cheek, like she’s gnawing her way through a difficult thought. Her black hair fans out on the red silk just as the black robe does, and as she shifts, it falls from her neck and shoulders, revealing the sharp angles of her collarbone. Her lipstick is the same shade of red as the lace that curls around her breast and her waist. Adrien can’t help but stare.

“Is everything all right?” she asks.

“Yes—” Adrien wishes he could sound less defensive. He glances back down at his camera. “Did you want to see them?”

He sits down on the bed next to her and she leans over his shoulder. A shiver runs down his spine as her bare skin presses against his arm. He has never touched Ladybug’s bare skin before; not in all their years of pulling each other out of danger has he ever been this close with her.

“Is that really me?” she asks.

He laughs, but it sounds as forced as it feels. “Yeah. You—You look great.”

She feels warm against him, too warm. He wishes she would pull away.

“You’re really good at this,” she says.

“Thank you. I think knowing what it’s like on the other side of the camera helps.”

Her brow furrows beneath her mask. It doesn’t shift fluidly with her expression the way the magical one grafted onto her might have, but it tilts and twists with her confusion.

“Have you done shoots like this before?”

“No, no, nothing like this. This is… new for me.” Adrien swallows and stands. His arm feels cold where she had been touching him. “But if they turn out well, maybe I can convince my girlfriend to do one.”

Ladybug crosses her legs and leans over onto her knee. “Oh—do you think she’d like that?”

“She did help me plan this shoot, so maybe?”

Ladybug posed so neatly before, but now she looks small and drawn into herself, hunched over her own legs. Adrien wonders if she’s thinking about her own boyfriend, and how he’ll feel to see her like this. Does her partner know her well enough—love her well enough—to recognize her like this?

“Lean back?” Adrien says.

Ladybug places her hands behind her, fingers pressing deep into the mattress and slipping along the silk.

“Chin up, chest out?”

She does, but the worry in her blue eyes doesn’t fade. The pose should be haughty, a look Ladybug has been giving him easily for the last hour. He wonders why she’s so lost now.

He snaps the pictures anyway, then suggests she lean back on her elbows and look away. If she can’t be haughty, he can redirect and lean into pensive.

But after a few more clicks of the shutter, he has to ask, “Are you all right?”

She turns back to him and stares like she’s wandered in from another planet. “What is it?”

“You just look worried.”

“Oh. No. I—I was just thinking. Your girlfriend—I mean, my boyfriend—I mean—I don’t know if he’d want pictures of me like this.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“I just mean I’m not like this, you know, without the mask.”

“You are very pretty. I’m sure your boyfriend agrees.”

It’s hard to tell in the dim lighting, but he thinks she blushes. “I’m a lot more awkward without the magic,” she says.

“You’re not wearing any magic now.”

He doesn’t realize how much attention he’s giving to her breathing until he notices her chest go still, her breath caught in her lungs.

He snaps a photo.

“Oh, I wasn’t ready!”

Adrien glances down at the preview. Her blue eyes are wide and her red lips drawn into a small pout. It’s different from the looks they’ve been leaning towards—powerful, dominant, desirable. Instead, she looks surprised and vulnerable. It’s his favorite picture of the day so far, but it’s clearly not what she wants, not the way she wants others to see her. He deletes it.

“Maybe we should try some of the tease shots?” he suggests.

She shifts onto her knees and reaches behind her to the hooks of her bra. Adrien captures the moment of her unclasping her bra several times before she lays back down on the bed, cups still in place, but backstraps splayed out on the bed.

Then they take a few with the bra cast aside, first with her hands covering her nipples and then with a red ribbon reminiscent of Ladybug’s hair ribbons.

Adrien looks away each time she changes her minimal modesty coverings out, but he can’t help but think about how many nights he spent as a teenager dreaming about Ladybug beneath her mask and beneath her suit. It wasn’t always fantasies like this, but he’d be a liar if he said he had never dreamed of Ladybug like this.

She bites down on her lip and he snaps another series of photos.

Then she puts the robe back on and Adrien’s heart stutters as he remembers what they agreed to shoot next.

Ladybug said she wasn’t interested in full nudes, that she didn’t want all of Paris to see all of her. But they agreed that they would shoot the robe without lingerie.

She shimmies out of her underwear and climbs back onto the bed.

Adrien swallows down a host of anxiety and desire that wells up in his chest as she adjusts herself on the bed. Ladybug leans back against the headboard, one leg bent up and the other out, but her black silk falls neatly between her legs. Adrien’s heart races as she tugs the silk up at her waist so that the V covering her chest pools into something loose and inviting. Adrien can see the lines where her breasts press against her stomach.

“Can you move the knot?” Adrien gestures to her waist, where the knot of her silk tie is hiding behind her thigh. It doesn’t need to be exposed, but it would give the shot more intrigue, though he supposes Ladybug has enough of that all on her own.

She shifts the tie as he directs and shifts all the silk with it.

“May I?” Adrien asks and, with heart racing, fixes the tie for her.

He does everything he can not to brush her skin as he adjusts the way the silk falls against her chest and around her thighs. He checks each wrinkle at her waist to make sure it looks intentionally casual and comfortable. He double-checks the fall of the silk against her chest to make sure the best parts of her are hidden. Finally, he smooths the silk over her thigh and tugs on the ends so that there is only just enough fabric to cover between her legs, but leaves most of her legs visible to the camera.

He catches sight of the tiny, heart-shaped freckle on the inside of her thigh and goes very still. She goes still, too.

“What is it?”

Adrien swallows. “You and my girlfriend have the same freckle.”

“Oh—I’m sorry—I can get my concealer—”

She’s already trying to get out from under him, ruining every bit of staging he has just finished setting. He means to get out of her way and to tell her that he can hide any freckles in post but his brain is too busy trying to figure out why Ladybug just apologized to him for having the same freckle as Marinette.

She crashes into him and he tries to catch himself on the bed, but the silk is smooth and they both go tumbling to the floor.

“I’m so sorry!” she says. “I told you, I’m clumsy without the magic.”

She’s on top of him, and the red silk sheet falls onto her waist, draping over them both. Adrien stares up at her from the plush carpet. She tries to get up, but he grabs her hip and holds her steady. She freezes.

His other hand, as slow and automatic as if it belonged to a machine separate from him, drifts up to her mask. Her breath hitches as he thumbs the end of it, just where it covers her cheekbone.

“Ladybug,” he breathes. They’re so close to each other that he can see the bob of her throat as she swallows.

He knows the next logical thought, but he can’t bring it to his lips. It makes sense, though. Ladybug choosing him, Marinette’s lack of jealousy, the toe nails, the one, single mark on her skin that he’s seen a dozen nights before in Marinette’s bed…

“I’m sor—”

But he cuts off her apology with a kiss. He knew, before he kissed her, but he truly knows it now. He knows Marinette’s shy, hesitant kisses, and the taste of her tongue and the curve of her lips. He feels dizzy as years of flimsy excuses and missed flirting in all directions flood his memories, but it also feels good. It feels right to know that this is how it has always been, that Marinette has always been the girl that he loves.

He drops his head back to the floor and stares up at her with a satisfied grin.

She looks back with panic in her eyes. “Adrien, I’m so sorry,” she says.

But he only smiles. “I don’t know why you’re apologizing. I feel like the cat that just caught the canary.”

✦✧✦✧

Alya yawns and leans against Nino. He pulls the blanket tighter around them and turns the movie up.

Then Alya’s phone buzzes.

“It’s Marinette,” she says, and Nino groans, but he pauses the movie.

“If something happened between Adrien and Ladybug today, I probably should call Adrien.”

“It might be nothing,” Alya says, though neither of them believe it. She leans away from Nino as she answers.

Nino can’t hear Marinette’s words on the other end of the call, but he can pick out the frantic tone. He starts thumbing through his own phone to text Adrien.

Alya frowns and gets to her feet. “Girl, slow down, I have no idea what you’re saying.” Then a grin spreads across her face. “Ah, well, that was always a possibility… No, I’m not saying I planned this on purpose. I’m just saying it’s been years and maybe you should have told him by now… What did you just say about Chat Noir?”

#miraculous ladybug #ml #ml fic #ml fanfic #miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous square dance 2023 #ladrien #ladrien fic

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