#in which he played a character that was supposed to make unwanted advances on his bandmates. for years at panic shows various band members

[astridianmayfly]

this is, perhaps, my most controversial take of all time,,,,but I don’t think Brendon Urie deserves to be treated like the antichrist for saying offensive shit 6+ years ago he apologized for and allegations that were entirely made up? Wish we could have a nuanced discussion about the privilege white-passing men have in the music industry while also allowing people space to improve themselves (to be clear--SA is always unforgivable). I just find it a little fucked that the celebrity y’all had to chase off of the internet was the one who’d dedicated their entire online presence to philanthropy and human rights activism. like lmao was that really worth it

#the tags are where I come to point out the illogical nature of this entire discussion #number one: when you make this conversation about band drama that is literally 13 years old at this point you detract from what we should #actually be talking about which is white people should NEVER say the n-word under any circumstances! you cannot reclaim a slur for a group #you are not part of and this is what we need to be talking about here. #he did not SA a band member. you are taking quotes out of context about a cheoreographed sequence he did with ryro during their debut #in which he played a character that was supposed to make unwanted advances on his bandmates. for years at panic shows various band members #come up to one another and do suggestive things #all band members joke about it and do it in good fun #including ryro who also nonconsensually did the same #things to brendon #next: sorry if you do not like pop music. if that is the case just do not listen. you are entitled to your own opinion but it is fucked #to perpetuate lies simply because you do not like the direction the sound that the band has gone in. #this is already getting too long but I am willing to have a civil discussion about these things simply because I feel like it is incredibly #weird to talk about parasocial relationships and celebrity culture while not realizing that simply assuming someone is evil who you don't #even know in real life is just as bad as any other parasocial relationship. #this is also not to convince you to like him. I do believe personally that the sheer amount of death threats I have seen just in a casual #corner of the internet is disturbing and unwarranted. And I think that in a broader context #if you identify as left-wing or progressive in any sense you must be more open to the idea that people can correct their behavior #and if you do not believe this you are supporting ideas that would be impossible without many individuals simultaneously changing their #behavior. I think that is a fair argument to make and I think that this conversation is important. #p!atd #panic at the disco #panic! at the disco #patd #ryan ross #dallon weekes #idkhow #anti brendon urie #viva las vengeance #brendon urie

[brandonaguja]

Inanimate Insanity content warnings

I enjoy inanimate insanity a lot, but there are triggering/off putting things in it so I made a list. Please feel free to add on anything I may have forgotten and I’ll edit/reblog the additions in. Most of this is written down from memory. The list will be under the read more.

Unsanitary humor: poop and barf jokes sprinkled about season 1 (prominent in eps 1 and 12) and two joke in s2 episodes 1 and 2. Tissues is a s2 contestant who’s joke that he’s always sick and sneezes on other characters.

Transphobia: Paintbrush gender jokes

Fatphobia: s1 and early s2, Balloon and Baseball are the targets of the jokes. Mephone calls himself a fat slob.

Ableism: They make fun of Bomb’s speech impediments and exaggerates his stutters. Paper has an “evil” alter. Yinyang is another system in s2 and Yang is the “evil” alter, but he is developed beyond that in s3.

Character death (s1 ep 18)

Dieting: Salt and Pepper don’t participate in ep 7 because they’re on a diet, they are exercising in the party in s2 ep 1 instead of partying with everyone else, and are seen with diet dr fizz drinks in s2 ep 9. These are supposed to play into the “popular girls love to diet and watch their weight!” joke, which is bad regardless.

Drowning (s1 ep 18, s2 ep 11) 

Parental abuse (s2 episodes 13-14, shown through flashbacks in ep 13)

Unwanted romantic advances made by Salt against OJ 

Suitcase has hallucinations caused by stress that start in s2 ep 8.

Slurs: sp*z is said by lightbulb multiple times in s2, once being ep 5. The term fl*t f*ce is used against Fan in s2 ep 10 and while it was commenting on his paper nature, it is a derogatory term against Asians.

Addition to the last point: Fan appeared in season 1 as a racist caricature of a Chinese person. While this has been cut out of s1 and ignored in his s2 depiction it makes the term used against him more egregious 

#inanimate insanity #hi #ii

[fzzr]

I'm not sure what to make of The Dreaming Boy is a Realist

When it comes to anime romcoms, Yumemiru Danshi wa Genjitsushugisha (The Dreaming Boy is a Realist, henceforth "Dreaming Boy") is certainly one of them. It's also... kinda a weird one. Not weird like Midori no Hibi or actually about something else like Fruits Basket just... off beat. Let me try to explain.

Dreaming Boy begins with our title character, Wataru, harassing the female protagonist, Aika, by asking her to go out with him. This is apparently his whole thing, to the point where it's what he's principally known for at school. Today, however, is different. Today he gives up and decides that the best thing for her is for him to stop constantly badgering her with unwanted romantic advances. And now the other half of the show setup: She's actually conflicted about the fact that he's decided to stop harassing her.

So, we already have to take a moment. We have this whole informed character background for the guy that consists of him being unable to take no for an answer for ages, but we see it on screen for only minutes. He's essentially being rewarded for bad behavior that we didn't see, giving us a double whammy of too-fast character establishment and unearned forgiveness before the first commercial break. Not a great start.

Back to the episode, the plot shifts to being about a girl who recently broke up with her long-time boyfriend making the moves on Wataru. This involves some dialogue dunking on her ex and... she objects that she doesn't really want to hear people insult him. Later when Wataru recognizes that he's being used as a rebound surface before she gets back with her beau, he says straight up that he's actually hurt. Huh. That's surprisingly emotionally intelligent for a show with the first few minutes I described.

To my surprise, this turned out not to be an aberration. Several episodes are about how the two main characters act in emotionally contrived ways but also include an serious exploration of social interactions or more nuanced emotional responses. And then in the mixed column, there's the story structure. From what I can tell, it begins at the top of act two of a tsundere romance anime. He did he shitty protagonist stuff in the previous season we didn't get to see. As a result we get to skip some tedious setup, but we also need to introduce a bunch of characters which means cramming them into episodes at the same time that plot escalation is supposed to be happening. It's a show at war with itself.

Back in the positive column I want to call out episode 4 for being a surprisingly good implementation of the "taking care of sick romantic interest" stock episode. First of all, it shows clearly that Wataru has cold symptoms the day before. The usual soaking by extremely hazardous anime water does happen (with him nobly protecting Aika from a splash from a car). He goes to school anyway and then falls asleep in class. Given that his reputation is generally neutral to negative, neither his peers nor teachers see this as something to be especially worried about. They just assume he's being grumpy and acting out. They only take it seriously when he collapses with drama more typical of how the trope usually plays. It then switches back to realism when it's pointed out that he probably was already sick and the splash of water was just the last straw. They keep him home from school and when Aika comes over to check on him, he actually wears a mask to try not to spread his cold. That might be just a COVID thing, but this is still one of the few times I've ever seen it.

This combination of anime bullshit with insightful writing is a microcosm of the contradiction of Dreaming Boy. It indulges in the tired tropes of its genre, but simultaneously examines how people actually interact and effect each other in a way that feels very true to life. When he is actually punished for his past transgressions it's not by the story imposing bad things on bad people. It's showing a practical example of how the past behavior leads to the present outcomes as direct cause and effect rather than symbolic narrative fiat. If it wasn't wrapped in an otherwise awkwardly implemented show, I would call it the next thing to genius. As it is, I just don't know what to think.

A meta comment

Anime is about animation, but a show like Dreaming Boy doesn't have much animation to speak of. This is a show that is mainly held together by its dialogue and thus, its voice acting. The voice actors for our principal protagonists are very new to the industry (this is the first main character role for either of them in a full length series) and they're doing a decent but not great job here. This isn't some budget-saving exercise, the rest of the voice cast is very experienced and you can sometimes tell. I wonder if this is contributing to the negative reception I'm seeing in some subtle way (on top of all the issues already discussed above).

(Interim) Final thoughts

This is my first post about an anime that hasn't finished airing. I'll revisit it once its done, or if it loses me. It's not uncommon for a show to be good in interesting ways while being held back by other factors, but it is unusual for those factors to be so close together. For now, it embodies one more contradiction — despite not being very good in absolute terms, it's also one of the shows I look forward to most every week.

#anime #summer 2023 anime #the dreaming boy is a realist #yumemiru danshi wa genjitsushugisha #original post

[miloscat]

[Review] Toejam & Earl III: Mission to Earth (XB)

A funktastic mess.

I have an interest in niche console exclusives, and happened to find this for a good deal. It’s part of the set of games expanding on Sega franchises on the early Xbox (including all-timer Jet Set Radio Future), remnants of the close almost-relationship they had with Microsoft at the time that would have seen the big cinderblock as a true Dreamcast successor. Alas.

I was charmed by the cheesy 90s-style funk of Toejam & Earl 2, and subsequently a bit bemused by the more urban, edgy 2000s-style funk that this one brings to the table. However, (and having read an interview with director Greg Johnson) I came to appreciate the game for unapologetically bringing black American culture to the forefront in an often whitewashed games industry. There’s no mistake these characters are black and proud, and it’s refreshing.

The eponymous duo become a (rapping) trio in this game with the addition of Latisha. She falls into a few traps of female character design (being a more conventionally attractive humanoid alongside the wacky aliens, for example), and she also brings out the worst in Toejam. With voice acting the cast’s personalities get fleshed out more and while Earl (now known as Big Earl) is a laid-back chill dude who has a wholesome friendship with the heroine, Toejam has become a gross sleaze, doing nothing but hit on her at every opportunity while she is consistently clear that his advances are unwanted.

He’s instantly become utterly unlikeable, which is too bad because he’s perhaps the best in gameplay terms. Each character can be swapped between in the hubs, and TJ’s increased speed and ranged attack power make him a frequently tempting choice. The others have abilities that make them situationally useful; unfortunately I didn’t have the chance to try the co-op mode. But I should explain the actual gameplay.

In many ways this is similar to what I understand the first game to be but in 3D. You’re on a zany Earth, exploring landmasses floating in space while fending off ridiculous stereotype Earthlings, snatching up mounds of presents, and collecting stuff like keys to unlock new levels. Your present supply grants a frankly bewildering range of special powers and effects, and knowing when to use which will make things much smoother. Their finite nature can cause problems though if you happen to run out of the useful Icarus Wings, for example, or if the nerds, moles, or baby medusas confiscate them.

It’s easy to spiral in these situations, and wonder what the heck went into some design decisions. Gibbon pointed out to me that much of the game’s content is randomly generated a la the original game’s Nethack-like design and suddenly things made more sense. It’s why the levels seem composed of chunks strewn haphazardly and why things can alternately feel unbalanced or bland. Levels will have completely new layouts in each save file, which if you ask me isn’t too interesting a feature for someone who’s just playing through it once; I would have preferred curated content like in Panic on Funkotron. I suppose it adds replay value.

All the same, random generation doesn’t explain why the combat is so clumsy or why tedious inventory management is such a big part of the experience. I can’t be too down on it though; this game is tremendously unique, has a fun sense of style, and a decent enough gameplay loop of exploring and collecting. I also have to mention the odd religious bent that the concept of funk has been granted in this game, with a gospel trio serenading you in load screens and converting Earthlings being a core mechanic. Ultimately it’s a positive theme of unity and togetherness among these disparate weirdos, just with a tiny bug-eyed funkapotamous at the centre of it all. Go figure!

#toejam and earl #toejam and earl iii mission to earth #toejam and earl productions #visual concepts #review #xb

[when-worlds-end-archive]

Get Your Hands Off My Girlfriend

A/N - New fandom! New fandom alert! Time to write for one of my favorite TMR characters, the fluffy little newty boy! So very very excited, especially since I haven’t taken part in this fandom in a while! Let’s jump right in the chaos! Enjoy! :)

Day 15 of Writer’s Block Challenge

Pairing(s) : Newt x Female!Reader

Summary : The newest green bean hits on you, not realizing that you already have a boyfriend, the glade’s second in command, Newt.

Warning(s) : Male persistence/harassment, a couple swear words.

Word Count : 797

“Go on a date with me.”

Ever since the newest green bean had arrived in the glade, he’d been after you. Ever breakfast, every lunch, every dinner, even in between, it was always the same question. If he were asking anyone else, they would have been annoyed. You however, didn’t care that much, you were very good at blocking people out. It was something you’d gotten used to, being the only girl.

“I’ll pass,” you respond, the same answer you’d given him every time.

“Just one date,” he tries again, “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

You highly doubted that. Anyone that persistent normally couldn’t keep any of the promises they made, they just made them so that people would say yes. You weren't going to.

“No means no, Greenie,” Newt pipes up from across the table, pausing from his food to tell the newbie off.

“Let the lady speak for herself,” the boy fired back.

“Like I said before,” you took a bite out of your sandwich, “I’ll pass.”

As you chewed on your food, you could see the cogs in his mind turning, trying and failing to understand why your response was the one that it was. People like him just couldn't take no for an answer.

“You’re just saying that because Newt and Minho are here. I’ll be back to ask you again later,” with that, he finally leaves, allowing you to peacefully finish your meal.

“I truly don't understand how you’re able to tolerate it,” Minho wonders in amazement.

“Lots of practice, Minho. Lots and lots of practice.”

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

“I want to tell him off,” Newt stated when you were laying in the grass far away from the rest of the graders, your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you.

“We’re not supposed to be dating,” you remind him of the rule Alby had set, one to keep the peace amongst all the boys.

“Fuck that rule,” he mutters, shoving his nose into your hair, “it’s a stupid rule.”

You couldn’t deny that statement so you lean up to kiss him instead, your senses immediately sharpening as you feel every sensation; the early summer breeze blowing past you, the grass brushing your legs, the beating of his heart beneath your hand.

“Just do your best,” you say when the kiss finally ends, “neither of us want to be scolded by the man in the charge.”

“Fair enough.”

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

It as during a meeting that he asked you again, sliding in beside you, bumping Thomas out of the way. He truly had the worst timing, talking to you when you were focusing on other things, other tasks.

“Go out with me?”

“No.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“No.”

“Why are you playing so hard to get?”

“Why are you talking to me when Alby is making an important announcement?”

Surprising even to you, your patience was beginning to wear thin. Normally you could hold up a lot longer against the advances of the newest green bean but there was something about this boy that ticked you off. Maybe it was the consistency at which he asked you, maybe it was the timing of when he asked you, maybe it was the way he asked you, you truly didn’t know. You just knew that it bugged you.

Wanting to get away from him, you silently begin making your way over to Gally, knowing he’d protect you from the unwanted advances. You didn’t get far however when the boy’s hand wrapped around your wrist, keeping you rooted in place.

“Release me,” you grit out.

“Not until you say yes,” he responds, looking at you expectantly. He fucking expected you to say yes.

“Get your hands off my girlfriend,” a voice rang out. Newt.

At this point, the meeting had been put on pause, everyone’s eyes and ears on you as Newt stalked over, a murderous look in his eyes. It had been a very long time since you’d seen this look.

“What?” The boy stammered out, “girlfriend?”

“Are you deaf as well as dumb?” Newt asked, coming to stand beside you, his arm wrapping around your waist protectively.

“I, I,” the poor guy didn’t seem to know what to say.

“I’ll let you off with a warning this time, but if you ever touch her again, I will shove you into the maze myself.” Everyone in the room knew Newt wasn’t kidding, he never made threats unless he absolutely meant them.

“Yes sir,” he turned and fled to the other side of the room, much like a dog with it’s tail between it’s legs.

“With that out of the way, let’s resume out meeting,” Alby called out as you kissed Newt’s cheek in thanks, “and Newt?”

“Yes?”

“You both are in trouble.”

#newt #newt imagine #newt imagines #newt x reader #newt x y/n #newt x you #newt one shot #newt oneshot #tmr #tmr imagine #tmr imagines #tmr x reader #tmr x you #tmr oneshot #tmr one shot #maze runner imagines #maze runner x reader #maze runner imagine #maze runner newt #maze runner new imagine #maze runner newt x reader #maze runner newt one shot #scorch trials #death cure

[avengerscompound]

Small Gods: Patience - 2

Patience:  A Black Widow Fanfic

Patience Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count:  1885

Warnings: Language

Synopsis: Every day Natasha prays for more patience to deal with a litany of things from waiting for her target to make a move - to not yelling at Clint for putting empty milk containers back in the fridge.

When her prayers are answered, Natasha finds that having patience is easy, holding on to it is a little harder.

Chapter 2

Natasha sat in the dark and noisy bar waiting for you to show up.  She’d chosen a booth up the back and she’d been trying to not attract any unwanted attention.  You were late.  She should have expected that given who you were.  Still, as she sat waiting, she started to wonder what the hell she was doing.  It was bad enough that she had to sit patiently waiting for criminals to reveal themselves for her job, did she really want to intentionally cause herself this kind of irritation?

She finished her beer and looked over to the bar, debating with herself whether she should get up and get another drink.  You were leaning on a bar stool, one foot propped up on the crossbar, and leaning forward as you spoke to the bartender.  He went to fix your drink, a flirtatious smile on his face, and you turned to Natasha and winked at her.

The frustration Natasha felt was almost overwhelming.  In just about any other circumstance she’d storm off.  She was not one to be kept waiting, and she definitely wasn’t one for playing these kinds of games.  Well, at least not from the position she was in now - she’d certainly been the one flirting with the bartender while her date waited for her before.  The question of who or what you were was too great though, so she stayed put - waiting for an answer.

When the bartender served you your drinks you brought them over with a number for the table and slid into the booth beside Natasha.  “Waiting long?”  You asked as you pushed one of the drinks over to her.  She knew what it was even before she smelt the coffee liqueur and she rolled her eyes.

“You know I have,” she said.  “And I don’t appreciate it when people order my drinks without checking with me first.”

“Oh come on,” you teased.  “It’s a Black Russian.  At least appreciate the pun.”

She shook her head and lifted the glass, taking a sip.  It was annoying that she didn’t actually hate the cocktail because it was a joke she’d had repeated on her more times than she could count.  “You’re really…”  She started and cut herself off.

“What?”  You laughed.  “Am I testing your patience?”

Natasha gave you a look that would normally level a man, but it just made you laugh harder.  The knife she kept tucked in her boot was becoming very tempting.

“I ordered some starters.  Just one of those sample plates.  I wasn’t sure if we were eating, or going somewhere else to eat.  Or just drinking.  Or you just wanted to give me the third degree,” you babbled.  “I’m hungry though.  So I needed the starters.”

“Who are you?”  Natasha snapped, cutting you off.

“I already told you,” you said, taking a sip of your cocktail.

“But what does that mean exactly?”  Natasha asked.  “How can you be patience?”

“Yeah, I suppose that’s not fair.  I’m not actually patience.  I just wield it.  Just as Thor wields a storm,” you explained.

“Then why do I want to strangle you so badly right now?”  Natasha asked.

You laughed again, this time nearly spitting your drink out on her.  “I like it better when people beg me,” you said, sitting forward in your seat a little.  “Besides - you’re still here aren’t you?”

“Barely,” Natasha snarked.

You laughed and held out your hand, palm up to her.  “Oh, you want the part where you don’t feel annoyed, huh?”

Natasha looked at your hand for a moment, debating with herself whether she should take it.  Slowly she lifted her hand and placed it in yours.  You closed your fingers and pressed down softly on the back of her hand.  “Close your eyes,” you said.  Natasha narrowed her eyes at you before closing them.  “Deep breath in, and then out again.”

Natasha did as she was instructed, first taking a deep breath in, and slowly releasing it.  It was something people always told her to do, and while it often helped to focus her mind and still her nerves, it had never quite relaxed her the way it did right now.  It was like all the anger and annoyance she had about having to wait and not knowing what was going on, just melted away.

Her fingers linked with yours reflexively and she opened her eyes.  “So you’re a god?”  She asked.

You shrugged.  “I guess that’s what you’d call me.  But I was never really worshipped like a lot of the others.  People always took me for granted.”

“How old are you?”  Natasha asked.  It was hard to believe you were a god, not looking the way you did.  Yes, she knew her very own deities who could pass for men in their thirties, and yes, she looked a lot younger than her actual years - you were different.  You fit into the world in the way Thor or Steve struggled with.  You drew just enough attention to be considered cool, but not enough to be considered out of place.

You shrugged.  “I don’t really know.”  You took a sip of your drink while you considered the question.  “Time is tricky.  The further you are from when something started the harder it is to hold on to.  Sometimes I feel like I remember a time before man, but then… that … consciousness doesn’t feel familiar.”

Natasha blinked at you in disbelief.  Thor had an age.  He claimed it was fifteen hundred years old, which didn’t make a lot of sense as the stories that featured him predated that, but at least it gave a wheelhouse for the length of time he’d existed.  Maybe three thousand and fifteen hundred just felt the same when you were that old, or perhaps an Asgardian year just lasted twice as long as an Earth one.  You on the other hand were talking about true immortality.  A being that predated human evolution.

“How… how… how?”  Natasha stammered, gesturing to you.  “How do you look like that and speak like you do when Thor speaks like he just stepped out of ye olde England.  And … how do you look like us if you were here before us?”

You downed the last of your drink.  “Asgardians live in a bubble world of their own.  Their technology is stuck in a point that is both somehow advanced to ours and behind ours all at once.  I change because I live here, where everyone’s life spans are tiny and if I don’t keep up people accuse me of witchcraft and try to burn me at the stake.  I can’t answer the other part.  I don’t remember not existing, but I don’t remember when I started existing either.  I just… am.  I know I’ve changed over time.  But I don’t know how or why.   All I know for sure is that I can patiently wait it out and that if I want, I can grant that ability to other people too.”

The waiter came over, put your appetizers on your table, and took the empty bottle and glasses away.  Natasha looked at the bar longingly.  “I think I need another drink.”

“Go on,” you said.  “I can wait.”

“Can I get you something?”  She asked.

You took a jalapeño popper and turned it around in your hand. “Yes, please.  An orgasm.”  Natasha looked at you deadpan and you bit back a laugh. “Over ice please.”

Natasha shook her head and approached the bar.  She ordered herself another beer and gave the bartender a look that dared him to make any kind of remark about the cocktail you’d asked for.  As he poured the drinks, she looked over the food menu, trying to decide what she was actually doing here.  She wished Thor was on Earth so she could run things by him.  She was interested in this whole god thing, but she was more interested in why you’d come to her.

You had been flirting.  Natasha could pick up even the most subtle of flirtations, it was what she’d been trained for, and the cocktail order had been as far from subtle as you could get.  You weren’t only flirting though, and that was where Natasha was getting stuck.  You didn’t seem to want help with anything, and if you did, you were living up to your powers by dragging it out.  What had attracted you to her?

The bartender put the drinks in front of her as a couple of people at the other end of the bar started yelling to get his attention.  “Did you want to order food?” he asked in a flustered tone.

Natasha shook her head and put some cash on the bar in front of him.  “Keep the change,” she said, and head back to you.

“Can I ask you a question?”  She said.

“That’s why I’m here,” you answered, taking your drink from her.

“If you can grant patience to people, why don’t you?”  Natasha asked.  “I mean, look around, there are people at the bar yelling to get served.  The women in the line to the bathroom look like they’re going to explode, and those men at that table are one more disagreement away from starting a bar fight.”

You let out a huff.  “Whatever it is I am, I need people to pray to me - I guess that’s right.  There have been times where I’ve thought I’d be infinitely kind and allow everyone who had required patience to have it, but then they stop sending out to the universe that they need it, and I start to fade.  It’s a bit of a weird loop though because then they need it again, and I come back.”

Natasha blinked at you as she absorbed what you said.  “That’s…”

“Weird,” you agreed.  “Yeah.  So… it suits me best to just let people be.  Let them have their feelings.  That’s why I’m here.  New York is fantastic for people wishing for the patience to get through their day.”

“And that’s why you came to me?  Because I’m always praying for patience?”  Natasha asked.

“It’s what made me notice you,” you said with a smirk.

“So… what then?”  Natasha asked.   “Why are we here?”

“Well,” you said.  “Here I am, older than I even know.  Existing in a world of temporary things that do not understand me if I reveal myself to them.  And then things start getting weird.  People show up who can’t seem to die with superhuman abilities.   The Norse gods return.  People start accepting stranger and stranger things.  And there is this one person who just runs with whatever is being thrown at her.  Never questioning - just accepting.  And she calls out to me.”

Natasha tilted her head and a smile slowly crossed her lips.  “You were lonely?”

You shrugged and curled in on yourself, and for the first time since she met you, you looked scared.  Natasha downed the last of her drink quickly and stood up.  “Do you want to get out of here?”

You smiled up at her and nodded.  “I really would.”

Natasha took your hand and led you out of the bar.  She might not understand patience, but she knew how it felt to be lonely.  Maybe you could teach each other something new after all.

// NEXT

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #small gods #patience

[darkdevasofdestruction]

The Idiot ~ Fyodor Dostoevsky

In which the reader is the last Russian princess from our contemporary times and Fyodor is there to watch, observe, analyse and write a novel while being the reader’s sort of guardian/mentor, all while reader finds herself in an impossible, almost-Anna Karenina-like situation that drives her to desperate decisions.

And yes, I’m very much basing this story Dostoevsky’s “The Idiot” novel, Tolstyi’s “Anna Karenina” and Katyusha, both the Russian song, and the “Resurrection” novel from Tolstoy that has Katyusha as an unfortunate, yet important character.

Also, a little nod to our dear Ana Lesko for her song “Anicyka Maya”, which will serve as a cute little nickname for our dear reader, although the song is Romanian, and it’s about a seductive woman. 

Other nicknames will include: Kiska ( kitten ), Zaika ( bunny ), Kroshka ( little one ), Krasotka ( gorgeous ).

I’m not Russian, I don’t know about Russia’s culture, history and language as much as I know about my own, obviously, but as ex-commie & ex-USSR, we still have a shit ton of similarities. Nevertheless, I will try not to get into too many details that will compromise authenticity.

Luxury, glamour, wealth, gold, jewellery, diamonds, class, facades, masks, masquerades, social gatherings, lies, marriages, politics, horses, deals, gambling... These represent some of the few words people from everywhere around would describe the royal family.

Why do some still exist, anyway? Shouldn’t they have just completely disappeared at the same time with the Romanov family? ...Stupid cartoon movies and their resurrection of Anastasia...

Nobody truly cares about these rich rats who worked naught for their wealth, and would never understand the struggle and poverty of the normal citizens of Russia...They just live in their abnormally huge palace, having more servants than the population of Moscow and eat at one meal more than normal people do in one week altogether.

How utterly ridiculous.

Their lives are all perfect, they marry themselves to keep that ridiculous purity and their infinite wealth in the family...How atrocious!  What about charity? Kindness? Altruism? Helping out the common folk?

All these thoughts, and you’d think a very bitter and vindictive, very poor and malicious person came up with, and yet, the reality was rather distorted. 

From the top stair of the palace, in a dark room, sitting on the windowpane, a gorgeous young woman cast her dull eyes over the snowy city and the people hurrying down the roads, hoping to go home before it got too late and cold.

Maybe they were poor and hateful, and rightfully so, she’d say, but perhaps they can also be deemed happier, if they can take into account their freedom...As much as the government provides them, at least - Yet even so, even the poorest person held more freedom than this caged bird, forever trapped and shackled by fate from the second she was born...As if she had any choice, that is.

Perhaps she deserves this treatment, this hatred, this...Manipulation from her own family, who only see her as a political and financial pawn, planning her marriage from the second she first cried into this world... Like a martyr, she will accept all torture and live on, never knowing what ‘living’ truly means, only imagining it by reading all day and all night long, or when she plays the piano one of the many songs she learnt.

As the grandfather clock rang to 7 times to announce dinner time, Y/N dressed in a simple, yet elegant dress, put on a pair of classy black stiletto shoes, and went down to the luxurious dining room, sitting in her usual seat, only for a brunet stranger dressed in white to grace the sight with his unexpected presence.

She didn’t dare speak to him, yet her eyes couldn’t leave his form, no matter how her meek demeanour made her hung her head to avoid showing anything other than her demure expression.

Thankfully, her parents arrived, along with the waiters that served the food, so it saved some of the awkwardness of the unknown.

“Y/N, darling, this man here is Fyodor Dostoevsky. He is here as a writer, wanting to learn more about us and about people in general. As a compromise, he agreed to be your personal guard...Considering the other one was a sacrilege to our dear daughter...What a lecherous man, making advances on you...But, anyway, let us toast to the success of this young man’s writing career!” the mother raised her champagne, and the four of them clinked glasses. “I thank you for the unique opportunity to learn and understand society and people better. May you live a long and prosperous life.” this new stranger held a charming smile on his face, trying to impress and buy everyone’s trust. “Do you have yet any idea about the theme of your novel? Or, perhaps an idea for a title?” the father asked, making the brunet shake his head softly. “No, not yet, unfortunately. I prefer to study hard, and only then, when I am educated enough, to allow the flow of creation to take over me.” this Fyodor nodded in acknowledgement, while the girl kept completely silent for the duration of the dinner, waiting for everything to be over so she could escape back to the little faux haven she created and called ‘safe’. “Y/N, show Mr. Fyodor to your room, he will be sleeping there for now on. The butlers already brought a spare bed there, so it’s alright.” the mother waved her hand dismissively, and the girl could only bow quickly and go back to her room, making sure to point out what each of the rooms represent, before reluctantly inviting him to her bedroom. “Please, make yourself at home, Mr. Dostoevsky. I hope it will be comfortable and to your liking. Should you need anything, please do not hesitate to tell me so we can make your stay as great as possible.” she spoke to him in a soft, meek voice, not daring to make eye contact in any way. “Call me Fyodor, no need for formalities. We are going to room together, might as well become friendly. What don’t you tell me about yourself? Your hobbies, your interests, your dreams, your aspirations.” the brunet paced around the room, observing all of her personal objects, which, turned out, except for jewellery, books, a small, pink Gloxinia, and a pickup with 1920s British vinyls, there was nothing to represent her...Which was, in its own way, an intriguing peculiarity. “I...Like reading, flowers, music...And I wish I could get a dog and learn how to play the violin too. There aren’t many interesting things about me...I’m not special or anything out of the ordinary. I am not allowed to put myself out there in any way, so this is the little I could do to express who I am.” so tried to be as vague as possible, fidgeting on her feet uncomfortably, knowing that the punishment for embarrassing the family would be grave, should it be known. “Hmmm...I see, I see...Ah, you’re a Tolstoy reader, I see. Anna Karenina...Very interesting, yet tragic, wouldn’t you say?” he asked, picking up a book that was supposed to be hidden. “N-No! Don’t take that out of there...Nobody can know I have it. I was strictly forbidden from reading it...Please don’t tell anyone I have this book.” the princess snatched the book from his hands, hiding it further back in the bookshelf. “Ohh~? Why would you not be allowed to read a Russian book? You’d think the Russian princess would be urged to read Russian literature.” he stepped in front of her, picking her chin and raising her head slightly to allow him to look deep into her fawn-like eyes. “Because of the ending...And the controversial decisions Anna made, some of them even contradictory to her own beliefs, and yet, she made her own decisions, at some point in her life. When your fate is decided from before you are born, having opinions is the worst enemy of a puppeteer...Wouldn’t you agree?” she muttered, walking away from him, taking her nightgown and walking towards her bathroom.

This made the man think more about how dysfunctional this supposed perfect royal family actually was. The illusion of a flawless individual, living together, forming a flawless family, a flawless life, in a flawless palace. 

Perhaps facades aren’t as obvious to see through, or understand, for while the parents are completely bland...This girl...So much potential locked away in a timid chest of massive oak wood, embellished with overly expensive jewellery, clearly unwanted. She could be a genius, shining in her happiness, glowing like her dazzling smile, and yet, there she is, eclipsed by chaff, when she could be burning brighter than the morning Sun.

Those parents of hers think he wants to be here and get dazzled by the infinite stream of diamonds that keep flowing around the whole place - And yet, perhaps they are the ones living in mental poverty, considering they believe financial wealth and fame is the sole reason for being alive - To uphold a certain kind of status that they worked naught for, but received hereditary, from one lazy deadbeat to yet another generation of useless people for this society.

They truly are like the plague, incredibly rare nowadays, but completely fatal once you fall grasp to their dark claws that drag you to hell to succumb to their completely fictional utopian world that they create only amongst themselves, as if whatever lives beyond these golden walls is putrid and deserves to rot to pieces.

As his mind wandered farther and farther away down the country, snowy roads he created with his own imagination of thoughts, he heard the bathroom door softly open, and the angelic creature garbed in a thin - Possibly silk, snow white nightgown - Stepped back into their now shared room, and just as before, her demeanour resembled that of a small, frightened fawn, or a bunny.

When you have to deal with such a pure being that could completely shatter, it’s difficult not to impulsively break down all walls around and snatch her away - It’s close to impossible not to attempt to test all existing boundaries and see the limits where she would break...Or, almost, at least. 

However, abstinence makes for a great suspense and greed...You want more...And more...And the more you wait, the harder it is to resist, but the satisfaction you get when the frail creature trusts you enough to eat from your own palm, and you finally claim it as yours...

It’s Heavenly.

“Sweet Dreams, Fyodor.” she spoke softly, putting on a Tchaikovsky vinyl and picking up a book, getting in bed and reading it, the only light still open being a dim lantern on her nightstand. “How would you like to show me around the city tomorrow?” the brunet asked so casually that it shocked the girl enough to drop her book on her lap. “O-Oh...U-Uhmm...I’m not exactly to go out of this place unless it’s for Christmas shopping...I’m sorry I can’t properly do as you wish...” she quickly took her book back, hiding her face to hide her embarrassment and disappointment. “Well, then, what a gorgeous coincidence, isn’t it? In barely two months, Christmas shall come, and then, you can properly show me around, correct?” the man mused, the ghost of a smirk playing on his face. “..You’re right! My, you’ll get to see the beautiful fairy light and Christmas decorations all around the city! I can’t believe it, you truly chose the perfect time to come here. Oh, and, the ballet, the opera and the national orchestra are going to perform...I believe The Nutcracker is going to play this year...And Traviata. It should be beautiful, don’t you agree?” Y/N asked with a soft smile on her face, sparks gleaming in her eyes, and for the first time since he’s met her, it felt like she was finally alive. “Yes, yes, I would have to agree. And if you are there with me, the experience will be even better.” he hummed, teasing the poor girl who had no idea what else to say to such bold affirmations. “O-Oh...W-Well...Th-Thank you...I-I think...Your presence there will also make the going out more interesting...And nice.” she offered a comeback that pleased the man well enough. “Good night to you as well, Printsessa.”

What a lovely young woman, he thought, as he closed his eyes and let his mind fly at different aspects of life and of humanity, trying to decipher each and every person he met that day and wondering if his assumptions were correct, as they always are.

Morning came by faster than expected as a shy ray of of Sun creeped inside the room through the window, but Fyodor was already awake, writing at the desk rather rapidly - Most likely, he had some inspiration hitting him, so he proceeded to pour out his conflicting thoughts on the paper, all while stealing a peek from time to time at the girl sleeping peacefully, almost as if she was a Disney Princess.

The way the soft light caressed her face had him take the stray streak of h/c hair and pull it back so it won’t tickle her awake, while also being allowed to watch her peacefully inhale and exhale, a small smile on her face...Perhaps she was having a beautiful dream? Was that why she told him to have sweet dreams? Were her dreams her only lovely escape from this horrible reality she was forced to live in?

There were so many mysteries yet to be unveiled, but all in due time, as Fyodor noticed the gentle flutter of her lashes, and with a grace only reserved to a Swan Princess, she raised and stretched with a sweet hum, and the brunet man watched as his eyes felt absolutely blessed seeing such a beauty...

If people complained that Disney Princesses weren’t relatable, since they have messy hair when they wake up, just like Anna, they clearly haven’t seen how perfect Y/N looks, even as she blinks her sleepiness away.

“I see you slept well, Printsessa. Good morning.” she heard him speak, and she noticed it wasn’t as en garde and...It almost seemed...Pleased to see her. “Fyodor...You woke up before me. You should have woke me up. Please wake me up next time, I wouldn’t want you to feel lonely or upset. This place is like a piranha tank...Thread carefully, otherwise, you’re like a little animal who fell in.” she quickly got up, rushing through her daily routine so she could be by his side, not only because her parents assigned her to that, but also because this Dostoevsky man is the only little thing that could rip her out of her completely dull routine and show her a little bit of insight into what could be something out of her imagination entirely. “Aww, the little songbird wishes to spend time with me, how adorable. Very well, Printsessa, what is it that you want to do today? My job here is to observe and write, after all.” he asked, crossing one leg over the other, resting his chin on his fist, watching her with intense interest. “Oh, well, I have to practice the piano today, but other than that, I have nothing in my schedule.” she explained, guiding him to the music room that very much resembled a whole orchestra surrounding a place - Not too small, yet not too big either - Meant for ballroom dancing. “I bet the national orchestra isn’t as fancy as this place is.” he mused, walking up to the cello and tracing his fingertips across the chords. “...Do you know how to play it?” she asked, walking up to him, having the curiosity of a baby fawn exploring the world. “Would you like to hear?” he asked, sitting on the chair and expertly hugging the cello, he grabbed the bow and teased the girl with a mischievous look in his gleaming purple eyes. “Oh, yes, please, if it’s not too much to ask! It would be absolutely splendid.” Y/N clasped her hands together, grinning widely as she stepped a few feet away to give him enough space so he could start playing. “It would be my pleasure, Printsessa.” and with the nod of his head, he started playing the famous Sugar plum fairy song, making the girl gasp in surprise at how gorgeous it sounded.

She crouched to reach the perfect eye view of the bow gliding along the chords, her mouth slightly agape and she gazed with absolute wonder, not even realising when the song was over, for she was much too mesmerised.

“Well, Printsessa, how did you like it?” he rested his arms on the curves of the cello, leaning forwards for a better look at her. “That was better than even our national cello player! It was absolutely stunning, woaw...Just...You left me speechless! You’re...You’re...You are...Perfectly splendid!” she clapped for him rapidly and incredibly enthusiastic, making him chuckle in amusement at her cuteness. “Why, thank you, Printsessa. How about you entertain me now, little Anicyka Maya?” he carefully put the Cello in its place, stepping in front of her and caressing her porcelain skin, quenching his thirst for discovery by seeing her rosy cheeks. “Well...I can’t say I’m anywhere as great as you are...But, sure. I hope you will like it.” she looked down, fidgeting with her fingers as she hurried timidly to the piano, and taking a deep breath, cracking her fingers, she liter her fingers skillfully dance over the keys, as her voice followed every word of the song called “Katyusha”. However, she wasn’t expecting him to applaud and whistle to her, congratulating her for being such a beautiful nightingale. “You clearly underestimate your hard work and talent. Perhaps we should play together one day. I’m sure it would put a smile on your parents’ faces.” Fyodor bowed to kiss Y/N’s hand, only to hear the door opening. “Yes, Mr. Fyodor, we would quite like to hear the two of you dueting together. Since Y/N will have to perform both dance and a song at the piano, as a Christmas tradition, it will show how much she’s improved...If at all. I have to tell you the truth, Mr. Fyodor, over the past few years, she has been exceptionally disappointing...Well, perhaps you coming here will prove to give her a jolt in the right direction.” Y/N’s mother came out of nowhere in the music room, almost as if she was stalking the pair, and Fyodor could see how the Princess’ behaviour changed 180 degrees, and from the excitable and lively young girl, she went back to hide in her guarded shell, trying to protect herself from the numerous blows everyone throws her way.

And just as he expected, once they started playing, despite throwing in one or two intentional mistakes, while she had none of her own, the mother reprimanded her daughter, while praising him. He thought, at first, this was going to be some kind of tough love encouragement and determination she was trying to give the girl, but truly, it was nothing more than unrealistic dreams of an already flawless performance.

This family was nowhere close to being the perfect, or the most loving one, that was without a doubt. But being so horrible to your own daughter, humiliating her in front of a complete stranger, making her tremble softly while trying her best to keep herself from bursting into sobbing fits, was a whole different kind of cruel and unnecessary malice.

For some reason, Fyodor felt a certain kind of warmth in his chest...But not the same kind of warmth he feels when he is around Y/N, but something...Similar to fury. To rage. He was sure he never felt such a personal sort of offense, despite not being him that was belittled.

A terrifying sort of justice bubbled inside him, and he smirked, thinking about just one sole thing.

Crime and Punishment.

Fyodor hoped dearly that it would be only the maternal figure that was the problem, yet it seemed to be much worse, and the toxicity levels that kept vibing all over the place seemed to be equivalent to that of Chernobyl at the time of the explosion.

All throughout the week, he noticed the dirty looks all the staff was giving the Princess, possibly because she was being a shy and quiet pushover...But it went completely beyond his understanding how these servants would even dare be so rude to her, considering she is always so sweet to them, always forgives their mistakes and shares her whole allowance with them in equal parts...

But they complain it’s not enough. They complain others get more, or less, but clearly, they don’t care about that, they just want more and more money...They are greedy jackals who don’t care about the life or soul of a poor little lady who just wants to be happy...

But perhaps happiness isn’t meant for royalty.

A week until Christmas, and Fyodor was ready with the quick draft, and he left it on the desk for Y/N to read, and he couldn’t help but admire and drink in each and every emotion she would express on her lovely face with every word she read, every action, every chapter that stirred more and more conflicting feelings and thoughts battling together - Conflicts that she was trying so hard to hide, no doubt feeling his burning, hawk-like stare on her, analysing her as if she was a new specimen under a microscope.

She was great at hiding what she truly felt, yet her eyes betrayed her inner self, the sparkling of nostalgia and sadness crawling out, shrieking at the top of her lungs to be discovered and taken out of this well of darkness she was drowning in - She wanted to be saved, she was at her breaking point, and clearly, she was afraid. 

Afraid of life. Afraid of people. Afraid of her family. Afraid of this society. Afraid her own self. Afraid of her actions.

And most of all.

She was afraid of spiritual, mental and emotional imprisonment.

As Christmas approached with rapid footsteps, Fyodor could notice how Y/N stiffer, more silent, flinching more, keeping herself in check, alone, barely speaking to anyone...Clearly, she was being stressed out and afraid of the consequences of screwing up anything.

Perhaps, the problem here was the fatalist and completely out of her control destiny she was thrown in, and she knew from the very beginning that, no matter how flawless her performance was, she would still be reprimanded and punished, so she resigned herself to this kind of treatment...The same as every year.

“It’s so beautiful outside...And it’s snowing...! So soft and cold...It’s almost numbing you entirely, but the beauty of Christmas still melts down even the most frozen of hearts.” she spoke with such sadness dripping from her tongue, that Fyodor felt the need to take his fur hat and put it on her head before taking a hold of both of her hands, rubbing them together and kissing her knuckles. “It’s not the day or the decorations that are supposed to move a person, but the kindness and altruism of people. From what I’ve seen in the past weeks, the only consistency in this place is the beauty of your heart and the cruelty of everyone else that keep eclipsing you. You deserve better than this, kroshka.” the man spoke simply, waiting to see the way she’d react. “...I didn’t choose this life, nor did it choose me, yet here I am, trying to keep my head above the water in a whirlpool. I have all my life planned and written ahead of me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. From the very beginning, since before I was even born, they knew they will sell me out to some old, rich man, just so they could benefit, but they cared naught about my well-being, as long as I could keep him entertained in any way possible. The least I can do is try to enjoy the little things...Even if they are nothing more than just that...Little things.” she admits to him, taking away her hands and holding them to her chest, too afraid to trust her own heart. “You let the servants make a mockery out of your kindness. You let your family humiliate you in front of everyone. You let common folk bash you, even if you tip them greatly...Tell me, krasotka, have you read the draft to my book yet?” they continued to stroll down the cobbled streets, looking up at the snowflakes gently dancing in the light of the lamposts, as Fyodor carried most of her shopping bags that held Christmas gifts for everyone but herself. “Yes...I did...But I did not finish it. I was much too afraid to read the ending of it.” she nodded to him, biting her lip nervously. “Afraid? Why ever would you be afraid of reading some words made of ink on a piece of paper?” the man frowned in confusion and interest, hearing such a peculiarity of an answer. “Because...Because I know that Prince Myshkin actually represents me...And how life treats me...So I’m afraid the ending will hint to Anna Karenina’s ending...And I don’t want that. I don’t...That’s why I’m afraid...I’m scared that...I’m scared that I won’t be able to endure this madness anymore, and sooner, rather than later, I will shatter into an unrecognisable version of myself that not even I will decipher...And I will do scary things that I would otherwise be afraid of even thinking about. You know I read the book, I wouldn’t put it past you to tease me like that.” she smiled ironically, shaking her head to stop herself from shuddering at such a dreadful thought. “Congratulations, Printsessa, you are surely insightful. However, I must advise you to read it, and keep in mind that you are not entirely wrong in your thinking. While the ending isn’t identical to Tolstoy’s novel, it isn’t on the complete opposite spectrum either. What you read is one of the possible outcomes of your life, should you choose to remain a passive onlooker and let everyone control you, like a little, pretty doll. Should you, however, choose to take fate into your own hands and finally make your first choice of your life...I can promise you, you are going to be much happier.” Fyodor kissed her forehead before leading her back to the palace so she could take the day off...For tomorrow, she must perform.

But the author wasn’t lying, Y/N realised as she spent the last hours past curfew to finish the book, and she realised that while Myshkin didn’t kill himself, he was still dead inside, and just like the catatonic state he was stuck into, she has been living a life of complete comatose herself.  Fyodor was right all along - A life without choices is not a life, nor is it one without freedom and happiness - And maybe, for the first time in her life, she would make the most difficult decision the universe threw at her, and that was to choose between Duty and Happiness, something every royal member, especially women all over the world, who were seen as nothing more than political and decorative objects meant to create heirs and nothing more, had to pick, and dutifully chose to sacrifice themselves to keep the family and the nobility going.

But not anymore....

“You look beautiful today, my little zaika. This velvet colour of your dress, the way it highlights you stunning silhouette...And this jewellery...And your hair and make up...You are above and beyond the most beautiful person to ever grace this life. How are you going to enchant us today?” Fyodor pat down his white suit so he would look completely impeccable...Or, perfectly splendid, as Y/N would say. “Does it truly matter, in the end? Nobody but you will pay attention, and at the end of the day, I will only hear critiques. It’s the same every year, so there is no point in bothering to stand out, have any particularity or give a name. It just...Is. So...Let me get this over with so I can go to my room and pretend this day never happened...Again.” she muttered, hooking her arm to his, entering the big ballroom together.

A ton of people were there, not only family, but enough family ‘friends’, all of them incredibly rich, with a combined fortune great enough to buy the whole Russia somehow...And all eyes were on her. She didn’t mind. She was used to the nervousness and the either critical or lustful stares she received - But only during these kinds of events, and because she was a Princess, otherwise nobody would have cared about her existence or her feelings...

Nobody...Except for Fyodor.

Until the time of his arrival, nobody cared about her, nor did they bother trying to understand or talk to her, and yet, here he was, always by her side, and frankly, she fell in love with him. She, for the first time in her life, cared naught about everything surrounding her, and she thought solely about him and their time spent together. That is all that mattered to her.

So, with that in mind, and a warm heart, she performed the Waltz of Flowers flawlessly at the piano, along with a few other songs, adding some festive ones. Fyodor was absolutely captivated by the spells she put on people whenever she radiated with such pure gentleness, just like Christmas’ true angel.

Her fingers glided so gracefully over the keys, as she hummed along the music, not even bothering to look at the sheet, for she new everything by heart - But somehow, it all sounded even more magical than before, and nobody could tell why.

But Fyodor knew, and he smiled, figuring out her trick. And he was going to call her out for that when this whole charade was over.  But for now, he allowed himself to enjoy bathing in her radiating warmth, for she was shining brighter than the Sun itself.

By the time she finished her little repertoire, she did a pretty courtesy and walked to the man in the white suit, taking a glass of red wine and sipping from it, that gentle smile never leaving her face.

They exchanged no words, but there was no need for that, as the look in their eyes spoke more than anything else, and they danced the night away, together, in graceful and intimate waltzes, or swaying together, keeping their hearts glued together, beating in sync and feeling each other’s heat.

She might not have wanted to end up like Karenina, but she wasn’t too far away from her situation, and she knew very well, should she leave with this man, she was going to break down every rule, and find an identity for herself, after all these years.

But happiness is emphemeral in the life of a Princess, and just before the Christmas Ball ended, her parents dragged her to the table of this old man, so they would share gifts. This old man, who so happened to be the man chosen to be her future husband, and had fewer hairs on his head and teeth in his mouth than her age.

Most of the gifts were pretty basic - Jewellery for women, cigars, fedoras, watches for men...But for her...She received some of he oddest gifts so far - And yet, she thought life couldn’t surprise her anymore.

Several little outfits, fit for babies, were neatly folded in all boxes, sans one - The sole box being a small, velvet box, which revealed a sapphire ring that expressed the definite bond of marriage that must be officiated very soon, through papers and a church ceremony.

Frozen was the clock, frozen was the time, and frozen was life itself, for the shock was great - Being put on the spot is scarier than the anticipation and fear of venturing into the unknown - Yet here she was, with her supposed fossil of a husband, with several babies promised to be born, and a very angry author, watching the disgusting exchange of pleasantries between the elder people.

He noticed Y/N doing a little courtesy, excusing herself with a nervous smile, and rushing out of the ballroom, the clicks of her elegant heels giving away her location at all time. Following her, he saw her on the edge of the rood, barefoot, her back to the empty space, as she hummed, looking up at the clouds pouring snow, and swaying to her tippy toes occasionally.

“You sure like the feeling of being alive, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be staying there after being faced with such a disgusting situation.” he pointed out, clasping his hands behind his back and carefully stepped towards her. “Life is full of surprises. But it is not called life, unless you have a say in the paths that you go down by. Today, I realised what I have to do in order to achieve true bliss and happiness...Something ethereal, although utopian in its quintessence. I have to make a choice. And right now, I’m making it.” she smiled, extending her arms to the side, resembling a Goddess, as a few stray tears streamed down her face - But they were tears of relief, not of fear, anxiety of depression. She was happy. “You said you didn’t want to choose the path of Karenina, nor of Myshkin, and yet, there you are, on the brink of death, as the way to show that you are no longer a caged bird. Is it truly worth it, in the end?” Fyodor asked, frowning at the delusional words she was spewing. “Death is but the beginning of a new adventure, and with me falling, I will find out what freedom is, unlike all the other Princesses before me. It is not death I’m choosing, nor will I regret it as soon as I step into this free fall hazard, like Karenina, and, as you can see, I chose to wake up from my catatonic state, unlike Myshkin. I know what awaits me as soon as I reach the ground...But do you?” Y/N hummed in amusement, watching the conflict painted all over his face - And it was for the first time that Fyodor showed such confusion and inner turmoil, that much was obvious to her. “Stop this, Y/N, I don’t understand your reasoning, but don’t kill yourse- “ but he couldn’t finish his sentence, for the girl uttered just a few words - Words that changed even the rotation of the Earth around the Sun - And as she pushed herself on the tips of her toes, she embraced the cold wind of Winter being her guide down to the ground, as she watched the snowflakes following her down.

And she smiled.

Because love won, and life won, and she knew she chose correct - These weren’t the times to choose everyone else over herself anymore, and nor is she a saint, a martyr, an angel, or some perfect Christian role model.  She was just a woman thirsting for happiness and for the tangible sensation of life and of flying, and with this jump, she got completely wasted.

The secure embrace of a white angel made sure she lived for another day, but not quite, for her guardian angel jumped to save her, yet had no idea himself that he wasn’t the only special one, after all, and just as they were going to reach the ground, time seemed to stop, and they reached the ground gracefully and softly, like two linked feathers.

She lay down on the crystal blanket of snow, laughing mirthfully, almost with a childlike charm, as her long hair was sprawled all over her, and Fyodor’s arms were fiercely holding her, and he looked down at her, his eyes wide in understanding.

“I didn’t choose death. I chose life. I chose love...I chose you, and I chose me. I knew you had an ability too, and that you were confident in it, so I was sure that, should you choose to, you could jump from the roof of the palace to save me - Which you did. I never really have the opportunity to use my ability, but it’s rather useful in some situations, if I can say so myself. So, by the way you’d respond to my feelings and actions, I’d know whether I chose right or not...I think we both know the answer now, don’t we?” she grinned mischievously, extending a hand to his face to caress it gently. “That’s the most idiotic, most reckless thing anyone has ever one...And yet, you strategised everything, as if we were pieces in a game of chess. How did you get the courage to reach such a conclusion?” his voice was low, like a murmur, trying to understand her impossible, labyrinthine mind. “Life offered me a Christmas gift today, and that was serendipity, so, I used it. Everything else was a perfect strategy of a game of chess I played myself - The White King versus the Black King - And, was far as my luck and the universe brought about, I believe I won. But you must still answer back, otherwise, the magic will vanish.” Fyodor noticed a smirk growing on her face - One that somehow resembled his, and he almost felt conflicted seeing her mimicking him in his demeanour, in a way...But he also felt incredibly proud. “I cannot take you with me, Y/N. The part I walk is dangerous, it could even be fatal, and I would rather you not walk down a boulevard of broken dreams. You just now achieved happiness, don’t throw it out of the window. It a world full of crimes, I choose to be both the justiciar and the executioner of the unworthy. In a world of crime, I shall inflict punishment upon the evil-doers and paint this world red with the blood of the guilty.” he wanted her, he truly didn’t want to leave without her, nor did he want to leave her alone, here, with these hyenas, but could he really have it in his heart to endanger her so? “Fyodor, my darling, it matters naught for me whether I live or die, as long as the journey is by your side, and I’m not shackled anymore. I want to see, I want to hear, I want to touch, I want to taste, I want to smell, I want to learn. Everything. Without exception. There is a whole world out there, open, waiting to be explored and unveiled, and I shall be its explorer. As long as I have you by my side, I will surely be fearless. Being a hero, being a villain, or anything in between is of no concern for me...However, I cannot deny that I would be rather...Interested in seeing you deliver the sentence down to...Some specific people.” she giggled, winking at him, as she obviously hinted towards her kin and the unlimited amount of gossips she has heard about so many people, over the years.

With a wide smirk on his face, Fyodor Dostoevsky helped Princess Y/N on her feet and gave her a passionate, fire-like kiss, before picking her up bridal style and making their way to her room, so she would start packing and leave at the earliest convenience.

There may still be a bit of official work to do at the palace, and as his ability is called, there is no crime without punishment, he was going to make sure of that. Until then, there was one thing certain, and one alone, that was going to guide the both of them to a path of exciting uncertainty and thrill.

“I love you, my dear Y/N.”

#bsd fyodor #bsd anime #bsd #bsd x reader #bsd imagine #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs imagine #bungou stray dogs #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #fyodor dostoevsky imagine #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #bungou stray dogs fyodor #bungou stray dogs fyodor x reader

[joheun-saram]

To Make a Power Couple (knj) | 04

Chapter 4: Cigarette Confetti

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Summary- Y/N and Namjoon get closer as their relationship develops. Also, Y/N suddenly gets too many instagram followers

word count- 8.6k

pairing- idol!namjoon x ceo!reader

rating- R

genre- series, slow burn, fluff, smut, strangers2lovers

warnings- unwanted sexual advances, discussion of mindset post unwanted advances, alcohol consumption, oral sex (m. receiving), hickeys

a.n- okay so this chapter is finally done! Thank you for your patience!! It took me a long time to write the scene with Mr Li because I had to pull from my own experience and that was uncomfy - but I hope you like it. Also, there’s a time skip so keep an eye out for that. Also also, can I just say I love writing this character of Namjoon lol this character is my ideal boyfriend material LMFAO.

Hey Alexa, can you fall in love with your own fictional character? Asking for a friend. Thanks.

Feedback much appreciated! 💕

taglist - @beach-bitch-bitch-beach​, @sassyuniversitytacopeanut​, @rjsmochii​, @jinjccns, @joyful-jimin

-

Good morning, Y/N. Today you have four appointments on your calendar. Your first three appointments are as follows. At 7:30am, you have “Morning stand up with Harry (Cancelled)”, at 12:00pm, you have “Jiyoung Gala Update Lunch”, at 2:00pm, you have “Quarterly Sales Meeting”. The weather in Seoul today is 24 degrees and cloudy. Playing BTS on Spotify.

Namjoon wakes up with a start, Jimin’s airy vocals flowing through the room. He’s confused as to why someone in the dorm was playing their old album. About to scream at whoever (probably Taehyung) was playing the music, he opens his eyes to find your face next to his. It takes him a few seconds to realize where he is, and his face breaks into a goofy grin as he recalls the events of the night before. His arm was numb where you lay on it, your arms around his waist, legs tangled together and he traced his fingers on your side in an effort to wake you up.

He could see you stir as you groggily opened your eyes, looking up at him with a smile that made his heart race. He reached to stroke your face, as you hummed an apology and politely asked your alarm to be quiet. Seems that you were nice even to your robots.

“Sorry about that. Work day, you know?” you shrugged as you snuggled closer. Namjoon couldn’t help chuckle as you yawned into his bare chest that erupted in goosebumps at the sensation. He gently pulled your chin towards him to kiss you good morning. Your face was puffy with sleep, your cheeks squished where they lay on the pillows, and watching you was so adorable that he wanted to wake up next to you everyday. 

“You play my music in the morning?” He was elated. Just like the night you met when you accidentally sang him his song, he felt his heart soar. The fact that you woke up everyday to the words he wrote made him not only happy but oddly motivated. It was like he wanted to just run out of bed and write another album so you could have more music to wake up to. 

He watched your face turn red at his comment and he couldn’t help but capture your lips in another lazy kiss, his hand soothingly circling your back under your t-shirt, well, his t-shirt. He wanted you to know that there was nothing to be embarrassed by. If only you knew how his heart raced at the discovery.

“That… that’s for research… you know to get to know you?” you were stumbling over your words and he couldn’t help but pull you closer. You were so cute when you were bashful.

“Mhmm... sure...” He hummed, amused. Hey, just because he didn’t want you to feel awkward doesn’t mean that he couldn’t still tease you. 

“Okay fine. I like your music okay? You’ve converted me to your cult.” You huffed, pouting your lips, and Namjoon burst out laughing.

“What’s your favourite song?”

“Is this a test?” You looked incredulous, as you looked up at him from the crook of his shoulder. Your hands were resting on his chest, and everywhere your fingers traced their aimless patterns left behind warmth under his skin.

“Hmm.. yes. You better get it right.” It wasn’t really a test, but Namjoon would be lying if he said he wasn’t incredibly curious as to which song caught your eye.

“Can I google it?”

“Wait… you’re gonna google… what your favourite song is?” He had not expected this answer. He felt himself deflate a little, his smiling falling. He supposed you were a new fan, maybe you didn’t remember the title and wanted to look up the lyrics, but you could just ask him, he’d know better than google, surely.

“Yes. I’m gonna google which song you didn’t write and say that one cause your ego is getting too big for this bed.” You booped his nose as you burst out laughing, and he couldn’t stop himself from joining along, his earlier worries disappearing. You always surprised him, and it makes him crave what you’ll say next.

“You’re so evil!” he teased as he tickled your sides, making you laugh and roll around your bed. After a few minutes of your protests, he stopped, now positioned over you. Your eyes were beautiful as they look up at his, tears of mirth lining the corners and breathless from your laughter, and he couldn’t help but kiss you again, molding his lips to your soft ones. He loved that your arms automatically went around his waist as you pulled him closer and deepen the kiss, tracing your tongue with his. He kissed you like that for a few minutes, just relishing being in your presence. Your hands were resting on his chest now, thumbs grazing his nipples, making him shudder. It’s like everytime he kissed you, you put him under a spell and he wanted nothing more than to consume you. How was it that you smell like vanilla and flowers even in the morning? Did you just naturally smell like a fresh garden?

“Good morning” He whispered between his kisses, gazing at you softly.

“Good morning” you responded before closing the distance again and kissing him with passion. He could get used to this.

His hand moved under your shirt to cup your chest, rolling your nipple playfully as he continued to kiss you. Your moan went straight from your lips to his dick as he couldn’t help but roll his hips against yours, craving the friction. Your hands went from his chest to palming him over his boxers and the touch made him groan. He was so incredibly turned on and you had barely even touched him. You were going to be the death of him. 

He let you carry on your ministrations as he kissed your neck, enjoying your mewls as he reached what he has realized is your sensitive spot, right where your neck meets your shoulder. He could see the marks he left last night and couldn’t help the pride swelling in his chest. He shouldn’t be so turned on by the bruises he left, but he can’t help his kinks. It proved to him that he didn’t imagine last night.

He was slightly taken aback as you slipped your hand in his underwear and started stroking him. He moaned against your neck as pleasure shot through him. 

“Want to make you feel good.” you murmured next to his ear, your kisses on his neck making him flush. “Lay back…” He wanted to let you but he wanted to make you feel good first, hear you screaming his name as he made you come undone. He one upped you by placing his own hand in your panties, groaning at how wet you were for him.

“You first.” He said, more sternly than he intended but he didn’t notice as you rut your hips against his hand. Your hand didn’t stopped stroking him and if he was honest it was making him lose his concentration. He removed his hand from your underwear, ignoring your whines, as he stilled your hand, pinning it over your head.

“No… I wanna taste you… Please?” You looked at him with your eyes wide and he was powerless to your pleading. He held his ground though, not letting you take control. Not until you mewled another please and pushed against his chest. He laid back against the pillows as you straddled him, kissing him deeply before making your way down his body. You kissed his chest leaving a light mark near his heart that made him sigh. He was sure that mark was deeper than it looks as his heart beat faster the closer you get to his dick. You kissed his belly before kissing down his clothed length making him groan deeply.

“Baby, stop teasing before I make you stop.” He was testing the waters, grinning when he saw you sit up immediately, biting your lip before pulling his boxers down to his thighs, following his orders. He hissed as you kissed his throbbing head, before immediately taking him in your mouth. It felt unbelievably good, your soft tongue lapping at his length as your cheeks hollow. He couldn’t take his eyes off you and almost lost it when you looked straight in his eyes, taking him as deep as you can. You moaned around him and the sensation made heat travel through his body. His hand found purchase in your hair as you bobbed on him, making him grunt loudly, losing his senses as he guided your head at a pace of his liking.

“Stop Y/N… stop… I’m gonna cum…” He moaned as he pulled your hair, a little too aggressively, making you whine around him. You released him with a loud pop.

“Cum in my mouth, baby” you were smirking at him as if you knew the effect you were having on him. Of course you knew, it was obvious by how loud he was breathing. His cock twitched in your hand at your comment, and he decided to let you have your fun, mentally noting to make you beg for him next time. 

“Oh fuck… You’re so good to me baby” he panted as you once again started sucking him off. You were more enthusiastic this time, the sounds of your mouth ricocheting off the walls as you sucked him while your hand played with his balls, cupping them, making him see stars. He couldn’t take it anymore and with a loud grunt, he announced his end and felt his balls draining into your mouth. He watched from under his arm that rested on top of his face as you swallowed him, licking the remains off him as if he was the best popsicle you’ve tasted. It made him lose his mind, the sight making him moan softly.

You made your way back to him and as you laid on the pillows with a satisfied grin, he kissed you slowly, making sure you could feel his gratitude for what may have been the best blowjob he’s experienced.

“Sorry if I pulled your hair too hard.” He apologized as he stroked your head gently, one hand cupping your face.

“Don’t worry about it. I like it rough.” Although he had literally just cum, he felt the blood rush downwards again at your words.

“Fuck… You’re gonna kill me, you know?” He said as he kissed you again, fiercely, his hands ripping your panties off, relishing your gasp. He was determined to make you cum.

And he did, twice, once in bed and once in the shower. 

As you were getting dressed in front of the mirror in your closet, he heard you gasp.

“Oh my god Joon! What the fuck?” Worriedly, he entered the closet, his jeans half undone and looked at you dressed in your pants and bra staring at yourself.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asked, as he moved closer to you.

“You animal! There’s like no concealer in the world to cover these!” You frowned, your mouth turning into a cute pout as you poke the hickeys that litter your neck and chest. He couldn’t help but smile at his handiwork as he hugged your waist from behind placing his head on your shoulder and kissing the mark on your neck.

“I’m sorry baby” His face however has no trace of apology as he grinned against your skin, feeling the blush that started at your neck.

“Fuck… I hate turtlenecks” you turned around in his arms, your hands going around his neck as you pouted at him exaggeratedly, and he wanted to go for another round. The power you had over him was overwhelming. 

“I bet you look really good in a turtleneck.” He captured your lips in a soft kiss, smiling against your lips. He knew both of you had to get back to the real world soon but he just wanted to hole up in your room all day, all week, all year, just ravishing you.

You were interrupted by your phone ringing as you answered it on a speaker that rings through somewhere in your closet. He really has to ask you how many speakers you have in this place sometime.

“Hi, this is Y/N.” You spoke, your voice cold and formal and he was kind of taken aback by the change of your tone as you pushed his lips off your shoulder gently, still encircled in each other’s arms.

“Y/N! Are you okay? It’s 7:25… You’re never late!” He heard a familiar voice through the speaker although he couldn’t quite place it.

“Sorry Siwon! I’m feeling a bit unwell. I’m going to work from home this morning. I’ll come by around lunch for the meeting with Jiyoung though!” He brightened up at that comment, his grip around your waist tightening at the prospect of more time with you. 

“Sick? Sure, sure… Tell Namjoon I said hi!” He watched your jaw drop as you awkwardly started coughing involuntarily. He kneould he shouldn’t but he can’t help tease you as a “Hey, man” escaped his lips, making you swat at him, signalling him to shut up.

“Oh shit. Am I on speaker?” Siwon audibly gasped into the phone and Namjoon burst out laughing, enjoying your reaction as you quickly bid goodbye.

“Okay, no coffee for you!” You huffed as you put on a t-shirt and make your way to the kitchen.

“Aww… babe!” Namjoon whined as he followed you, tugging his own shirt on to find you pouring steaming coffee into your mug. “Wait how did you make that so quick?”

He watched you smirk as you sipped on your coffee, making a show of how delicious it was, before you relented and pour him one.

“Magic.” You said smugly and he made a mental note to get you to teach him your tricks for his own house.

After breakfast, you spent the morning snuggling on the couch and reading the news, the easy domesticity of the moment not lost on Namjoon. Usually he wouldn’t even stay the night, but it seems like you made him break all the rules without even trying. He wondered why that was, why he was so drawn to you in such a short time. No one he had been with in the past made him feel this way, at least not only a week into knowing them.

“What are you thinking about?” you broke him out of his reverie. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring across the room. He didn’t know how much time had passed.

“This…” He gestured between the two of you, watching your eyes follow his hand from where your head rested against his chest.

“What? You’ve never read the news before?” You pointed at the iPad that the two you were meant to be reading from.

“You know what I mean…” He trailed off rubbing his neck, unsure why he even began the conversation. He should’ve just lied and said something funny.

“Sorry… I tend to use humour when I’m uncomfortable...” You got up from where you were leaning against him to sit upright on the couch, gaze averted. 

“You’re uncomfortable?” His eyes widened as he tried to figure out why. Sure this all seemed to move way too fast, but you seemed to have found a rhythm with him this morning. He was slightly panicked that he had misread that. The thought that being around him made you uncomfortable made his heart drop to his knees.

“No… and that makes me uncomfortable” He watched you as you fiddled with the rips in your jeans. Your answer made him relax, pushing aside some of his worries. Knowing that he wasn’t the only one feeling lost with this new found comfort was oddly calming.

“I know what you mean. This seems… too easy, right?” He reached over to stop your fidgeting hands.

“Yeah… but I’m no expert. My last relationship was like three years ago” You shrugged. 

“What happened? I mean… if you want to tell me” 

“Yeah… it just didn’t work out. I was too busy for him sometimes and he couldn’t understand. He blamed me for not prioritizing our relationship. I was just starting out though… it was… hard” Your smiled at him sheepishly, a little melancholy behind your eyes, that made him want to hug it away.

“I get that. I had a lot of relationships that ended up the same way.” He thought about all his past partners, all the fights that led to nowhere because he couldn’t find time in his schedule to even resolve them. All the times he would receive an angry text and not be able to respond till hours later which only exacerbated the problems. All his exes that told him he was too self-centered, too narcissistic for focusing on his career, and for a long time he believed them, the guilt kept him up nights on end.

“Koren dating is also harder than Canadian dating,” you joked. He could sense you were trying to lighten the mood again, and he intertwined your fingers where they rested on your knee, before playing along.

“Wow… did you just stereotype my entire country?” 

“Oops?” You chuckled lightly, your eyes brightening as you shrugged. “What about your last relationship?”

“It was about a year ago. We worked together, but we didn’t work together. There wasn’t really a reason. It just kind of… fizzled out. Although I think I was to blame.” He didn’t know how you’d react to this and he rubbed his neck nervously.

“Why do you say that?” You leaned closer, and he could surprisingly feel his nerves melting away at your proximity.

“I just would forget to keep her updated on my life. I know it sounds terrible.”

“Nah. It just sounds human. You weren’t in love.” His eyes widened at your response. He knew now that what he felt then wasn’t love but in the moment he had thought she was the one. Well, until she wasn’t.

“I thought I was” He admitted with a shrug.

“I don’t think you’d forget her if you were.” You were looking at him now, smiling slightly, your eyes shining as your thumb rubbed soothing circles on his. Somehow again, you had managed to sound poetic without meaning to - he didn’t know how you managed to do that so easily.

“I guess you’re right. Fuck… this is weird.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not usually this honest.” 

“Wow. Must be the veritaserum I slipped in your drink.” You laughed as you reached to gently put your hand on his shoulder. He enjoyed the touch, it somehow made him feel safe. Safe to share his secrets.

“Is that a Harry Potter reference, you dork?” He could feel the mood lightening again and he realized that your ability to seamlessly switch from uncomfortable topics to humour was at least a part of the reason he felt so comfortable in your presence.

“I’m glad you trust me enough to be honest.” Your hand moved from his shoulder to rest against his cheek, and he couldn’t help but lean into it.

“Honestly, I think it’s because of you.” He watched your face turn to confusion, so he continued. ”You being so upfront makes me wanna do the same. Why are you so honest with me?”

“Because there’s no reason for us to continue this if we can’t be honest.” You smiled softly as you shrugged lightly, still stroking his cheek, and he felt his heart fill with warmth. “I’ve spent too much of my life pretending to be someone else for people to like me. So I’m testing my theory. If I’m honest with you and you like me, maybe this thing is worth it.”

“I do like you.” He really did. He hadn’t felt this strong a connection in a while. Someone who understood him without pretending to, or trying to appease him. Someone he could talk about the good and bad without judgement.

“You haven’t seen all the warts yet.” You averted your gaze, and he couldn’t help but cup your face and make you look at him.

“I’ve seen you naked, you don’t have any warts.” He tried your approach at humour as he kissed you on the nose.

“You are so cheesy!” You swat at him gently before kissing him lightly on the lips. He felt his heart skip a beat at the small gesture. “But seriously, thank you for being so open with me.” You looked at him adoringly, and he mirrored you.

He kissed you at that. Both of you enjoying the chaste kiss without deepening it. The conversation helped you both feel less uncomfortable with the comfortable.

His phone rang, interrupting the sweet moment, his manager asking where to send the car so he wouldn’t be late for the meeting that morning. Before leaving, you made plans to meet up again that weekend, and Namjoon felt that three days was too long without seeing you. He didn’t know why, but he hadn’t even left your apartment yet and he already missed you.

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

When you reached the restaurant for lunch with Jiyoung that afternoon, you still had a smile on your face. It seemed to have been permanently etched on your face since Namjoon left. You thought about your date and how it seemed to have been a thousand dates rolled into one. It felt like you’ve known him forever, and barring from Jiyoung, you hadn’t felt that way about a person before. Someone you connected with instantly, someone whose presence made you immediately calmer. He seemed to have crashed all the walls around you in a very short time and although that thought should scare you, it instead made you excited.

Spotting Jiyoung at a table you made your way across the restaurant to her, greeting her and the server, an old woman in her 60s, most likely the owner, that seemed to have appeared out of thin air. After ordering your entrees, your best friend and PR manager jumped right into business.

“So you’re famous. Congrats!” She did a little dance as she announced the news.

“What?” You were confused. Last you checked you had 2000 followers on your social media, which was run by Jiyoung and Siwon, on account of you being a “boomer” - their words, not yours.

“After the gala, a couple of magazines, courtesy of me, decided to do a piece on you. So congrats on your 200k followers!” She seemed giddy, excitedly jumping up and down as she clapped along. That was quite a follower growth and it led to her going into a twenty minute strategy talk on how to leverage your personal brand for the company. You were glad that she was excited, but if you were being honest you hated the limelight. The idea that someone’s “fame” could be decided by the number of likes of a photo posing at a restaurant made your skin crawl.

“Okay so we’re going to schedule a photoshoot sometime in the next two weeks and take a few photos for the next few months of uploads. Of course, make sure to take photos every time you go somewhere fun too, like I don’t know, one of your concerts you’re obsessed with or art galleries.” Jiyoung continued regardless of your groans.

“Do I have to?” You truly did not have time for this, your schedule is already overflowing. The whole idea of curating a feed made you feel stressed.

“Yes. It’s the game, Y/N. You have to play it” She replied sagely, as she slurped her noodles.

“You know all the photos will be of me holed up at the office. I’m not that interesting...” You played with your food as you pouted. Your comment wasn’t born out of low self-esteem, it’s just what you believed. Regardless of the media perceptions of the glamorous life of a CEO, you knew that at the end of the day most you did was sleep, attend meetings, and drink copious amounts of coffee. Occasionally you dabbled in your hobbies, but with the company and non-profit growing at the speed they were, there was barely any time for that. You doubted you’d be able to enjoy any of the fun till after quite a few more years when the title will become less heavy and you’d have more help.

“Don’t be stupid! You, my friend, are a young, fun, single woman! The world deserves to be envious of it!” Jiyoung dismissed you easily, shaking her hand at your protests. “Speaking of fun, let’s go clubbing Saturday, it’s been too long since you got laid.”

As soon as she finished her sentence you felt heat rise up your face, unconsciously bringing your hand up to your turtleneck covered neck. To make matters worse, your throat also decided now to work at that moment, making you choke on your rice.

“Oh my god! You minx! You got laid didn’t you?” Jiyoung loudly exclaimed, much to your dismay and of the other patrons who seemed peeved at hearing your bedroom adventures while they ate lunch.

“Please stop…” You looked around awkwardly apologizing to the old man next to you who looked at you with disgust. Great!

“Who was it? Where did you meet? Tinder? Did you go to a club without me? Was it a client?” The questions were endless.

“If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone, not a soul.” You were going to regret this, you knew it, but you’d be lying if it didn’t excite you to share the news with Jiyoung. She was your favourite female friend and even though on the outside, your friendship may seem mismatched to some, she truly understood you better than most people. She had been there when your last relationship ended, coaxing you back to your feet after weeks of self-destruction. You trusted her.

“Did you sleep with a married man?” She whispered, thankfully finally aware that you two were in the middle of a popular restaurant during peak lunch hours.

“Umm… no. Do you remember Namjoon from the party?” Namjoon from the party? Good job, real subtle Y/N.

“Namjoon?” You watched as realization dawned on her face, her face going from being scrunched in confusion, to wide eyed surprise, to what it is now; a smug smile. “I was wondering why your Spotify showed you suddenly listening to BTS…”

“Okay you can’t make fun of that too!” you whined, your morning faux pas still too fresh in your mind, as you buried your face in your hands. 

“He made fun of you?” Jiyoung was cackling, before she started digging for details. “Man after my own soul! So was he good? When are you seeing him again? Are you dating him? Oh my god this is so exciting!” She is fully squealing and slapping your arm, making you wince.

“He was… amazing” you tell her your face flaring at the memories of last night. “And we’re going on another date.”

“Ooo date number two!”

“Well… technically four if you count the party?”

“Okay. What the fuck? You’ve been holding out on me! Spill!”

And so you do, sharing your interactions with Namjoon over the past week. It felt nice to reminisce about them, even though it was not that long ago. You were so into him, it was worrying. You were beyond excited to see him again, but your last conversation still weighed in your head. He was right. It just felt too easy, how you had met, and seemingly couldn’t get enough of each other. You were suspicious.

“Stop overthinking this, Y/N. It’s good that things are easy! You deserve easy!” Jiyoung cut through your rant. You had almost forgotten that you were speaking out loud.

“It’s not just me, he feels the same way.” You pouted, trying to defend your stance.

“Then you both belong together with your stupid ass overthinking.”

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

Y/N: Thanks for dinner tonight. I had a really good time.

Namjoon: Me too!

Namjoon: Speaking of, when can I see you again?

Y/N: Wow. We’ve barely digested our food, Joon

Namjoon: You’re mean! I just like hanging out with you

Y/N: I’m kidding! Tuesday?

Namjoon: Suddenly I love Tuesdays

Y/N: Shut up you dork!

Namjoon: Says the girl obsessed with Batman

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

Y/N: What the hell! How do you do photoshoots all the time. This is CRINGE.

Namjoon: Is that today? Yes! SEND ME THE PICTURES!!!!

Y/N: Fuck no. These are so awkward!

Namjoon: Come on! Send! I bet you look hot ;)

Y/N: Nope. Never. Never. NEVER.

Namjoon: I’ll just text Jiyoung for them

Y/N: You don’t even have her number

Y/N: Do you?

Y/N: KIM NAMJOON ANSWER ME

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

Namjoon: Did I leave my phone at your place last night?

Y/N: I don't think so

Namjoon: I can’t believe I lost my phone again!!!

Y/N: Wait how are you texting me right now?

Namjoon: … nvm

Y/N: Omg. You're an idiot.

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

Y/N: Okay that hike was harder than you said it’d be!

Y/N: I’m dying :(

Namjoon: Aw baby. I’m sorry!

Y/N: You owe me. You’re paying for my masseuse

Namjoon: Why pay for one when I’m better than any you’ll ever get?

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

Y/N: I miss you :(

Namjoon: I miss you too

Y/N: Come over?

Namjoon: I have to wake up at 6 for a shoot :(

Y/N: I wake up at 6 every day

Namjoon: On my way

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

Namjoon: How’s work going?

Y/N: Terrible :) I hate my life :)

Namjoon: You’re scary when you send emojis like that

Y/N: Wow. Thank you. You’re so nice to me.

Namjoon: Sorry!

Namjoon: What’s stressing you?

Y/N: Just deadlines… SO MANY DEADLINES

Namjoon: Aw baby. Have you eaten? I can come by with food

Y/N: Aren’t you busy? You have your comeback in a few months

Namjoon: Nah. I got the rest of the day off

Y/N: That’s… suspicious... Why?

Namjoon: I’m at the hospital

Y/N: WTF. I’m calling. Pick up.

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

You checked yourself out in the reflective elevator doors, as you helped Harry adjust his tie, while Siwon rattled on about the restaurant you were headed to. Harry and you had been dodging your “celebratory” drinks with Mr Li for over a month and a half since the meeting where he signed the contract. He finally trapped you both during a networking event last week and had you set the date. To say you were both very much not looking forward to this evening would be an understatement. It took every ounce of willpower in you to stay as you made your way to your private table at the high end Japanese restaurant.

Mr Li, as per usual, was late to the dinner he had forced upon you. Sitting next to Harry, you both tried to devise a plan to escape as soon as possible. As soon as dinner ended, Harry was going to pretend that Jen was ill and since he was your ride back, you both had no choice but to “begrudgingly” end the night. The idea was foolproof, or so the both of you thought.

Here is a list of reasons why it was not foolproof. 

One, upon arrival, Mr Li ordered shots for the table and after Harry used the excuse that he was driving you both home (you wanted to set it up so it wouldn’t be a surprise as you left), Mr Li got excited that you would be his new drinking buddy. He poured shot after shot, even after you mentioned that you were going to get a drink - hoping to rely on your ice tea in a whiskey glass trick - he refused to let you not drink anything other than shots of sake. Usually, you wouldn’t let someone dictate your drinking but you didn’t want to seem rude, and so you played along till you felt much too tipsy.

Two, Mr Li requested your server to stagger the dinner courses since it was a “night of partying” and as the third course of sashimi was served, he took the liberty of sitting next to you because apparently your fish looked fresher. He then proceeded to steal from your plate while making uncomfortable eye contact with you and putting his gross hands on your thigh. When you removed his hand from your thigh he had the audacity to suggest that you were playing hard to get. The urge to vomit had never been stronger.

Three, and this is where everything falls apart. When at the end of dinner, the lovely Jen calls to bail you and Harry out, Mr Li insists that Harry drives back alone and that he drives you home. Somehow, you both had not thought of this very basic flaw in your plan. With you running out of excuses, it was soon evident that you had no choice but to stay. You knew Harry, and you knew that he would call no less than ten minutes later with an emergency on your own or get Siwon out of bed to run to you. He would rescue you, you had faith. In the meantime you had to endure a drunk Mr Li trying to hit on you.

Time seemed to move slow as he drunkenly asked you if you had a boyfriend. Knowing his misogynistic self, you should’ve lied and said yes, the only thing he would probably understand would be that another man had a claim on you, but your tipsy self thought honesty was the best policy. As soon as you said no, it seemed that he took it as an invite, pulling you into an awkward hug, grabbing at your ass, trying to lift you to his seat. His movements were so swift that it left you momentarily paralyzed. You felt ice in your veins as the intense feeling of your personal space being so blatantly violated took over you. It felt as if a million ants were crawling under your skin, your stomach turning. You tried to get out of his grip but it was too strong, as he continued to massage your behind. You felt trapped, your mouth running dry, as anger took over. You were done being polite.

With a strong shove, you stood up from your seat and grabbed your jacket as you looked at him straight in the eye, hoping your glare was enough to get the message across. It was not.

“Come on Y/N. I signed such a big contract for you the least you could do is suck me off.” He stared at you sleazily, the liver spot above his eyebrow moving up and down as he wagged them.

“I’m sorry Mr Li, but this is very inappropriate. I’m going to leave.” You were nicer than your instincts were telling you to be. If he wasn’t your client, you would have already kicked him in the balls or better yet broken his nose, although knowing this creep, he’d probably have a kink for it.

“You’re a fucking bitch you know that?” He spat, his words filled with venom.

“Excuse me?” Each moment that you stayed in this room, made you angrier, the rage pumping itself through you, ringing in your ears.

“You think you’re successful because you’re smart? Don’t kid yourself, Y/N. Everyone knows that your clients only sign because they think you’ll fuck them.” He scoffed.

You knew if you stayed there longer, you would surely ruin this contract for your company, if not get sued for punching his ugly little face in so you grabbed your phone and bag and made your way out of the restaurant, tossing a curt goodbye his way.

Your vision was dark as you made your way through the streets. You were so enraged you were shaking. You knew what would fix this. Cigarettes. Without a second thought you made your way into the nearest convenience store, grabbing a bottle of soju and a pack, before walking to your favourite place - the rooftop of your office building.

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

You sat at the roof, contemplating the earlier events, the cigarette pack in hand. You hated how you felt in this moment. Powerless. There was no other word for it. You hated feeling small and insignificant. You had built your life up in a way that ensured you wouldn’t have to deal with these feelings but here you were at almost midnight, searching the faint stars in the sky for serenity. 

Anger coursed through your veins as you tried to steel yourself, fists clenching hard enough for red semicircles to be engraved on your palms. Sometimes you hated being a woman. What gave anyone the right to dismiss your hard work and accomplishments because they valued your tits more. You were coursing with negativity, your mouth tasting of poison, as you chugged the soju. You still felt his slimy hands on your ass and his words echoed through your mind. If only your deal was not at stake you would’ve kicked him so hard in the balls, he’d never be able to reproduce. The world is much too beautiful to have his offsprings tainting it. 

You usually don’t let these things affect you as much. It’d be a lie to say these moments were few and far in between. In fact, they took place more often than you’d like to remember. The amount of men who had dismissed you or called you being a CEO a great “marketing move in today’s PC world” was astronomical. You would usually brush them off and pretend they never happened, never letting it affect you, but something about the way he sneered made you so vulnerable that for a minute you let your guard down and believed him. 

“You think you’re successful because you’re smart? Don’t kid yourself, Y/N. Everyone knows that your clients only sign because they think you’ll fuck them.” You snapped a cigarette in half, watching the contents sprinkle out of the white casing as you rolled it in your fingers and coaxed a bigger mess. You tossed it across the floor, watching the wind pick up the light scraps and scatter them around like confetti. What a great celebration, you thought as you rolled your eyes.

“Y/N…?” you heard Namjoon call from behind you. 

You regretted messaging him after your dinner. You didn’t even know why you had told him. He was not your boyfriend, technically he wasn’t even your friend. You had only gone on a few dates, and although you felt closer to him than you had anybody you had dated in a long while, you were not ready for him to see you this way. It had barely been over a month and a half. You didn’t feel confident enough to face him. The Y/N he knew was the successful, flirty, witty version you had worked hard to portray. You don’t know how he would react to this self-hating mess of you. Maybe he’d run away. You deserved that much. Hell, maybe he didn’t even buy the version you showed him, only here for the tits. You were bitter.

“I’m sorry you came all this way. I’m fine, you can go home.” You couldn’t face him - not in this state. You stared at your hands, deepening the crescents on your palm as if willing the skin to break. You saw his shoes in front of you, unlaced blue Nikes, attached to blue striped pajama pants with cartoon koalas. Had you forced him to get out of bed? You felt a bubble of guilt rise within your chest. You were such a shitty person to bring him into this. He deserved better than to be on a cold rooftop on a Friday night in the middle of his comeback preparations.

You were ready to ask him leave again as you heard him settle next to you. You looked up at his face, his eyes softened with concern behind his wide rimmed glasses as he sat crossed leg, his hands in his lap. You opened the pack to grab another cigarette, snapping it in half again and tossing it half heartedly across the floor. You felt defeated, the emotional exhaustion of the night weighing on your shoulders.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly, his voice almost a whisper.

“I don’t know,” you said, matching his volume. There was no one here and it’s not like anyone could hear you off of this fifty storey building, but somehow you only had the strength to whisper. 

“Take your time” he answered. He looked like he meant it. He sat there looking at you, giving you space. His phone buzzed a few times and he ignored it. Instead, he just patiently looked at you, his face neutral for what felt like hours.

Somehow his patience gave you courage to open up, and you told him the events of the night. He never interrupted, or even moved. The only way you’d know he was not suddenly a statue was by the way his jaw slowly tensed as you got to the reason you were so upset, all your doubts and insecurities filling the air in a tumble of fast spoken words.

“I don’t even know why this is making me so angry. It is not like this is the first time this has happened to me.” You chuckled dryly as you looked up at him. He looked angry and you felt nervous. Perhaps you shared too much. You wouldn’t blame him for getting angry at how stupid your reason was for getting him out of bed.

“What’s his name?” he asked, his eyes narrowed. You were surprised at his question. This was the first time he spoke since you started talking about twenty minutes ago.

“Why?”

“I’m going to kill him.” He said flatly, eye ablaze and jaw set.

“Joon…” you trailed, unsure what to say. He wasn’t unjustified in his threat. On your way to the roof, you yourself had devised about a thousand ways to get away with murder.

“No. He’s an asshole and I’m going to kill him for making you feel this way.” He looked less angry now, and more upset, sighing as he looked at you. You chuckled humorlessly. His comment made you feel better, made you feel less alone and stupid for wanting to take your anger out at the perpetuator. At least you’d have someone to carry the body with if you decided to act on your homicidal fantasies.

“Can I give you a hug?” He asked tentatively, his hand reached towards you as he turned looking at you closely. as if worried you might snap at him.

“Joon, you don’t have to ask,” you murmured as you scooted closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He reacted immediately, pulling you into him tightly, his chin over your head. Your face was pressed against his chest and you inhaled his woodsy scent, feeling instantly more calm.

“I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. A man touched you without your permission and I didn’t know how you felt about being close to another today.” He whispered against your hair, kissing the top of your head. Your heart instantly warmed, tears pricking your eyes. No one had ever been this considerate to you before, so respectful. The fact that he thought you might feel uncomfortable around him just because of that asshole made your heart break. You pushed out of the hug and cupped his face.

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to that asshole.” You were angry that not only did that sorry excuse for a man made you feel small, he made Namjoon feel like you wouldn’t want him.

“And don’t you dare feel like you’re not worthy because of that asshole.” He kissed your forehead gently before bringing you into another bone-crushing hug, momentarily knocking the air out of your lungs. His words made you feel warm, and brought a lump to your throat. It felt oddly cathartic to have the man you had come to admire tell you you were enough. You felt the tears you had been holding in all night escape slowly. You held him tighter as his t-shirt became your makeshift tissue, silently crying for what felt like hours while he stroked your hair gently.

When you could talk again without your voice breaking, you broke the embrace. His shirt was stained with your tears and mascara, and suddenly you felt very awkward for your blatant display of emotions. 

“I’m sorry I called you here so late,” you apologized sheepishly, realizing how late it was and how silly you felt for making him jump out of bed.

“Please don’t apologize. I’m glad you called me.” He wiped your face of the tears that had failed to be absorbed by the t-shirt, smiling slightly as he leaned in to give you another peck on your forehead. 

“You’re in your pajamas,” you pointed out, laughing slightly, wanting to remove some of the awkwardness you felt at having bawled in front of him for so long.

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting for too long.” He shrugged, giving you a smile that melted your heart. You had realized this before but it dawned on you again that to you Namjoon was comfort. He was like a warm blanket to cozy under in a cool room, keeping the monsters at bay.

You reached out and kissed him, slowly pulling him in by his shirt, avoiding his glasses as you tilted your head. The kiss was gentle - it was sweet and warm. Unlike the passionate ones you had shared before, ones that would light you on fire, this was comfortable, like a bonfire rather than a forest fire. His lips were chapped against yours and his tongue tasted like toothpaste as he smiled against your lips.

“You didn’t smoke!” He exclaimed when you separated, pulling you into another hug, his arms around your head. The pride in his voice made you laugh.

“I told you, I don’t smoke anymore,” you commented as you grinned against his chest.

“Then what’s the pack for?” He seemed puzzled.

“Oh… I was going to but I didn’t want to break my two year streak.” You shrugged. He beamed at you as he pulled you in for another kiss, taking his time to taste you. It felt like he was savouring you, his fingers tangled in your hair on the nape of your neck and his other hand placed gently on your waist.

When you came up for air he giggled, his forehead against yours. “I’m proud of you for not breaking your streak,” he said, making your cheeks flare at his sincerity. “Let’s get you home.”

“Do you want to walk instead of grabbing a cab?”

“Always.” He held your hand as you both stand up and make your way downstairs. 

You noticed him shivering slightly as you exited the building and it finally dawned on you that he was dressed in just a t-shirt. It was not the middle of winter but it was certainly too chilly for not wearing a sweater. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt in your chest as you were currently dressed in not one but two sweaters. Stopping him, you took off your oversized sweater and handed it to him.

“What are you doing?” He looked at you, confused as you pushed the sweater in his hands.

“You seem cold.”

“That’s supposed to be my move.” He laughed.

“Hey I’m wearing like two sweaters! Plus, I feel bad about dragging you out here and forcing you to walk.” You looked at your shoes, suddenly feeling shy.

“Don’t feel bad, baby.” He lifted your chin up to place a quick peck on your lips after looking around to make sure no one's walking by on the deserted street. “Also, I don’t think this will fit me.” He chuckled, pushing his frames further up his nose.

“It’s oversized! Just try it, you’re shivering!”

“I’m an oversized human!” He exclaimed but started to put his arms through the sleeves. The sweater looked hilariously small on his frame, even with only one sleeve on. As he zipped it up, it resembled a rashguard more than a sweater, his t-shirt flaring out from the bottom, the material straining against his arms and back. The stress of the night washed away as you doubled over in laughter, your face streaking with new joyous tears at the sight. 

“See I told you it was too small!” He grinned sheepishly.

“This is amazing, you look great Joonie” you managed to wheeze out in between your laughter.

At that he took your hand and walked the ten blocks to your apartment. The night was filled with a comfortable silence broken only by little musings as you both took in the quiet surroundings of the financial district after hours. As you neared your street, Namjoon broke the silence once again.

“Why did you message me tonight?” His voice was contemplative, as his thumb grazed yours.

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have” You earlier guilt was surfacing again, as you thought about why you told him what happened when usually the first person you’d tell in this situation would be Jiyoung or Harry.

“I told you - I’m glad you did. I was just curious why.”

“I… I don’t know. You’re the first person I wanted to see.” You sighed, getting uncomfortable with the line of questioning. You didn’t want him to ask why he was the first person you thought of because you weren’t ready to be even more vulnerable tonight, not ready to admit the space he had made in your heart over the last month. He was quiet for a few moments, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration as if he were solving a complex math problem, before he spoke.

“Do you remember when I sprained my wrist and had to go to the hospital a few weeks ago?” You didn’t expect this subject change, but gladly welcomed it.

“Yeah…”

“Well… you’re the first person I wanted to see then too. I mean before I knew it was just a sprain and I was panicking.” He squeezed your hand in his as you both exited the elevator on to your hallway, and looked at you, his gaze soft. “What do you think that means?”

“That we’re even?” You smiled, hoping to break this unknown tension that had come between you all of a sudden as you stopped at your door. You fumbled with your keycode, having to enter the password twice before making your way inside, Namjoon following behind you, as you both slipped out of your shoes and into slippers. Before you could leave the entryway, he gently held on your elbow to stop you, fixing you with another one of his soft gazes and a smile that made your heart flutter.

“I was thinking it means that you’re my girlfriend.” You could hear your heart rev up as you looked at him for any signs of teasing. There were none. Usually you would respond back with something along the lines of him never asking, but with the night you had just had all you could think about was how happy you were to finally call him yours. Without further hesitation you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him into a kiss, which after a little surprise, he returned. It was reminiscent of the first time you had kissed, but this time instead of awkward butterflies, your heart was filled with a comfortable glow. His lips were familiar against yours and his scent wrapped your senses in a warm cocoon. 

“Mmm… Boyfriend.” you said against his lips, grinning, as he kissed you again, his hands under your thighs as he lifted you and carried you to bed, surprisingly avoiding bumping into the doorframe this time. 

That night as you slept under the projected milky way on your ceiling with his breath tickling your ear as he snored lightly, you felt yourself give Namjoon a part of your heart you had hidden away for a very long time.

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#bts fanfic #rm x reader #rm smut #rm fluff #namjoon x reader #namjoon fluff #bts namjoon #namjoon x you #namjoon smut #bts fic #bts x reader #bts rm scenario #bts namjoon scenario #bts x y/n #bts smut #bangtan sonyeondan

[birbleafs]

[fic] A Tragicomedy In Five Acts

Series: Saiki Kusuo no Ψ-nan || The Disastrous Life of Saiki K. Rating: T Genre: Friendship, Humour, Breaking the Fourth Wall Character(s): Akechi Touma, Saiki Kusuo, Saiki Kurumi, Saiki Kuniharu, Saiki Kuusuke Warnings: None, save for the canon-typical shenanigans Summary: Akechi has made a habit of showing up unannounced, uninvited at the Saiki residence. The inevitable "bonding" occurs and Kusuo despairs; the world continues to turn. A/N: A piece I wrote for the Disastrous Life Zine, a charity zine. I wanted to share the uncut version here since I like how it reads more (it's not too different from zine version, though). Leftover sales are currently still live, so here's your last chance to grab some limited items if you had missed the pre-orders earlier! Thanks to the mods & other contributors over at @disastrouslifezine, for all their hard work on this project. Many thanks also to my bro Digi for the awesome beta work and for always being an all-round great pal ❤ Fic can also be read AO3. _______ i. It’s a problem Saiki Kusuo should have—could have—nipped earlier in the bud, when he’d been forced to spend a whole Sunday with Akechi Touma betting on horse-racing. But between Akechi being (begrudgingly) accepted as one of the PK Psychickers to Kusuo having to stop a meteor from slamming into the planet—well, a lot had happened. Akechi had since taken to visiting the Saiki residence at random, with little notice in advance. On his second visit, Mom had invited him in before Kusuo could intervene. If it weren’t for the cupcakes Akechi had brought along—not to mention the terrifying heat of Mom’s demonic glare at the first sign of a protest—Kusuo would have teleported him miles away without hesitation. That’s how Kusuo finds himself now—glowering at Akechi who’s sitting politely in his room and firing a running commentary about nothing and too many things all at once. Resigned, he leans back into his study chair and asks, point-blank: What do you want, Akechi?

“Your mother is lovely as always,” Akechi replies instead, dancing around the question. “I’m grateful she’s gone from remembering me as ‘Pee Boy’ to ‘Kusuo’s Friend Who Only Ever Wets His Pants Occasionally’. Surely that’s a sign we have gotten closer.” It sounds just as terrible as the first—only a simpleton would be okay with that as a defining trait, Kusuo retorts. In any case, we’re hardly more than classmates. So, why are you here again? “I thought you would have realized it by now with your telepathy. But I suppose I can explain it for the sake of the readers!” Akechi beams, holding up a small case in his hand. Don’t just casually break the fourth wall, Kusuo frowns, even as he leans forward for a closer look. Akechi pops the case open and turns towards the game console. “I was recently gifted this game by my cousin, who assured me that, while underrated, it’s still a cult hit among fans. I thought it would be fun to play it together.” Kusuo stares flatly at the title OVERWORKED displayed on the disc as it slides into the console drive, already unimpressed. That is such a blatant rip-off. “Oh, no, it's a completely different game from the one you’re thinking of!” Akechi says. “Here you play as the overworked waiter of a cafe who serves multiple orders at once and takes over the cooking whenever the head chef throws a tantrum and storms right off.” How is that different from OVERC***ED? It is totally OVERC***ED! “Regardless, shall we have a play-off?” Akechi offers the controller to him. “Winner gets this box of cupcakes. I got them from the best pâtisserie in town, which is no easy feat. Why just this morning I left home at the crack of dawn to secure a spot in the queue, and even then, there were already about 30-odd people ahead of me! Who knew it was so popular—A-ah!” Kusuo yanks the controller easily from Akechi’s hand towards him with telekinesis, a glint of determination in his eyes now. Best two out of three levels. Loser also has to leave immediately. Akechi grins knowingly and cracks his knuckles, reaching for the second controller. “You’re quick to assume victory, Kusuo-kun. Very well, then!” Thirty-seven minutes later and Kusuo’s left staring at the final scores, appalled. He would have won if his character hadn’t kept freezing in place and glitching at crucial moments, messing up in the kitchens and sending out wrong orders. How is he always losing to Akechi like this? Clearly the universe is still conspiring against him. “You were so close to beefing my lask score dhoo,” Akechi says shamelessly through a mouthful of strawberry frosting. “And my, deez fupfakes are s’per dhasty!” Are you taunting me now? Kusuo scowls enviously at the cupcake in Akechi’s hand before he huffs, slinking back into his chair. Well, I’ll be staring dejectedly out my window for a bit, so feel free to eat your cupcakes and then leave. But Akechi only laughs then and, to Kusuo’s surprise, moves to place a chocolate cupcake before him. “You’re so melodramatic, Kusuo-kun. I never said the winner can’t share.” ... I guess you didn’t. They spend the rest of the afternoon eating cupcakes. _______ ii. This again? It’s been a month, but Kusuo already feels a sense of gloom settling over him when Akechi steps into the genkan. He would have been fine with leaving Akechi outside blathering away through closed doors for the entire day while he pretended not to be home, but obviously Mom is having none of that. “I’m so glad you’ve been coming over to play with Ku-chan!” she greets cheerfully. “I couldn’t believe it when I first heard, but you and Kusuo are getting along well, huh, Akechi-kun!” Dad says with a sagely nod, looking every bit the part of the morally upright, reliable father. Bold of you to believe such delusional notions of camaraderie, or that you even look the part of an admirable adult, Kusuo comments drily, before turning to leave. “We don’t just get along,” Akechi chimes in reply. “You could even say our friendship is super-califragilisticexpialidocious!” GET OUT. If looks could kill, Kusuo’s current expression is pure genocide. But his parents are already fawning and AH-HYUU-!!-ing at Akechi’s words, tears of joy gushing down their cheeks like an endless waterfall. Kusuo watches in quiet despair as Akechi is readily accepted into their fold with welcomed embraces, a key development in this romantic soap opera. Oi, what’s with the misleading narrative?! We’re not in that kind of fanfic right now! Dad and Akechi hit it off well enough, one thing leads to another, and Kusuo suddenly finds himself roped into playing MECH-O ARENA VR on the WAB station in Dad’s study. Seriously, stop it with the terrible rip-offs of actual games already, Kusuo frowns as he watches Dad’s and Akechi’s characters flitting about on the screen to fight off an incoming attack. “I suppose it’s not very original, is it?” Akechi says, punching the controller buttons in a flurry of movements. “But it’s different enough that we can probably avoid any unwanted copyright lawsuits.” That’s completely beside the point. Dad’s wholly immersed with the game now, so it’s impossible for Kusuo to get rid of Akechi without Dad throwing a childish fuss about losing his new gaming buddy. Not to mention Mom’s uncanny ability to appear with coffee and snacks each time Kusuo had tried to inconspicuously retreat back into his room, all while exuding an ominous aura that effectively dissuaded his need to leave immediately. Good grief—everyone’s being such a pain today, Kusuo sighs, before he finally relents to Mom’s cajoling to team up with her against Dad and Akechi in the final round. He figures it can’t get worse than this anyway. That is, until Kuusuke gets involved. _______ iii. When Kusuo returns home from a quick grocery trip for Mom, he walks into a surprisingly empty living room. He can hear Dad and Kuusuke’s voices from upstairs but for some reason he’s not quite able to perceive the atmosphere within—it’s as if his senses are partially blocked by a cognitive fog with the study engulfed in a dead zone. Must be that prototype “router” Kuusuke had installed in Dad’s study yesterday. Kusuo has zero interest in his brother’s tiresome antics, but is compelled nonetheless to check on them, if only to ensure Kuusuke isn’t playing Mad Scientist and coaxing Dad into yet another deranged human project. He opens the door, nearly lashes out in shock with telekinesis when he sees Akechi staring through the doorway with a creepy, owlish expression. “Oh, were you actually surprised, Kusuo-kun?” Akechi says. “My apologies for frightening you like that.” Kusuo studies the room cautiously, only to realize he’s unable to hear anyone’s thoughts with telepathy. He glares at his brother in suspicion. “Welcome back, little brother!” Kuusuke greets him with a Cheshire grin. “I see you’ve got yourself a new playmate. Hmm? Ah, you must think it strange that I've taken to Akechi-kun so readily.” Strange and highly dubious, Kusuo counters. What are you scheming? “Well, Akechi-kun shows the most potential and capacity for mental growth amongst the lesser primates close to you—” What a disparaging worldview. And stop deflecting! I know you can still understand me. “—So, he may yet make a good test subj—Ah, I mean, a good friend! Interesting specimens tend to gravitate towards you, after all. Though his propensity for peeing sure is troubling, isn’t it? Haha!” You can excuse questionable human experimentations, but you draw the line at incontinence? Kuusuke attempts a nonchalant shrug. “Priorities, amirite?” “But this is amazing, Kuusuke-san,” Akechi says, glancing up in awe at the blinking device on the ceiling. “The telepathy canceller really does block our thoughts efficiently!” “It’s child's play compared to Kusuo’s abilities,” Kuusuke says, seemingly modest, but Kusuo doesn’t miss the devious glint in his eyes when he reaches into his coat pocket to pull out what looks suspiciously like a detonator with a giant red button. “Still, with this, Operation SM☆SH can now finally commence—” Wait, Operation what?? Kuusuke, don’t you dare...! But Kuusuke is already pressing the button, and the study is plunged into darkness as the lights flicker off and the blinds draw shut. Alarmed, Kusuo wrenches the detonator away from Kuusuke’s grip with his telekinesis. What did you just do?! There’s an electronic whirr, a blinding flash, and Kusuo finds himself suddenly staring at a large LCD screen as it emerges from the ceiling. Music blares from overhead speakers as a cinematic opening sequence begins to play. “There you are, Kusuo!” Dad looks up from behind the coffee table where he’d been fiddling with the game console. He adjusts the VR headset over his eyes. “It’s time to finally beat you at SUPER SM☆SH BUDS as payback for last time! HII-YAAAH!!” ... Oh. So it’s just another game. “That’s right!” Kuusuke claps his hands together, blissfully ignoring the heat of Kusuo’s baleful glare. “I heard about your horse-racing bet from Akechi-kun and found this as the best way to even the odds for other types of games.” “The idea came to me while peeing in the shower; to find ways you could play and not get bored easily, Kusuo-kun,” Akechi adds in unnecessary detail. “But I didn’t think Kuusuke-san could actually pull it off.” “Here, Kusuo,” Dad says, waving his controller. “Come choose your character—” But Kusuo’s already teleporting away, fleeing the wretched upheaval within his own home to hide at Cafe Mami for the rest of the day. _______ iv. Akechi corners him after school three weeks later. Kusuo is surprised and unsurprised all at once; he had worn the germanium ring to class, after all, in a bid to avoid spoilers for the direct-to-streaming release movie adaptation of a book he’d been fond of. It’s easy to ignore everyone’s spoilery chatter when it isn’t droning directly into his mind—he’d kept his fingers stuck into  his ears each time class ended, oblivious to the strange looks thrown his way, and had even hidden away in the restroom cubicle during breaks, successfully avoiding any interaction with the usual human nuisances. Until now, that is. “Let’s walk home together, Kusuo-kun!” Akechi calls, jogging after him. I’m suddenly deaf and sound has eluded me, Kusuo deadpans as he breaks into a sprint, determined to leave before Akechi starts blabbing spoilers. “I noticed you weren’t quite yourself today,” Akechi continues, catching up with him.  “And I thought it might have something to do with the ring on your left index finger that you’ve fondled precisely seventeen times throughout the day.” What an awful way to describe it. I didn’t fondle anything. “Perhaps the material of that ring works in the same manner as the telepathy canceller—which would explain why you seemed uncharacteristically skittish today since you’re pretty bad at discerning people’s intentions without your telepathy.” What are you? A psychic? But Akechi only persists. “I realized later that you’d always leave whenever anyone started talking about that new movie on Netfl*x—” Can’t hear now, Kusuo slaps his hands over his ears. Gone horribly deaf. “And I figured it must be that you haven’t watched it yet for some reason, like maybe your home internet is down because your father forgot to pay the bills for three whole months and so it got cut—” How did you even..? Kusuo grimaces. N-nope, not listening! 100% deaf! “I know you don’t have a mobile phone to watch it on either,” Akechi continues. “So, that’s why I wanted to invite you to my house today, to watch it together. Oh, don’t worry, I know absolutely nothing about the movie. In fact, I’d only heard Kaidou-kun screaming out the title just ten minutes ago.” Kusuo pauses then, glancing back at Akechi in hesitance. Akechi only meets his wary gaze with a knowing smirk, and says, “We also have strawberry shortcake in the fridge.” _______ v. I don’t suppose there’s a good reason this time either, Kusuo sighs wearily, closing his book. Still, there’s a glimmer in his eyes; he knows Akechi had come bearing gifts—a selection of coffee jellies topped with cherries and chocolate drizzle. “I’ve made a habit of crashing your place unannounced, haven’t I?” Akechi offers a contrite grin, watching as Kusuo helps himself to a spoonful of jelly. “I do apologize, but whenever I get restless, I find myself wandering here by instinct. Admittedly, I was worried about being a bother, but your mother is always so welcoming at the door despite that dreary, constipated look in your eyes—” You are being a bother. Like a persistent mosquito that thinks it's summer all year round, Kusuo grouses with his Most Annoyed Expression, knowing how ineffectual his Feigning Ignorance Face had become over time. Also, have you graduated from pee references to shitty jokes now? Disgusting. But Akechi takes it all in stride, undeterred by Kusuo’s ugly grimace and acerbic jibes. “—Plus, it’d be considered extremely rude if I didn’t come in after that, and I certainly do not want you to think of me as rude. You’re a friend I hold in high regard, after all. I always have, ever since I found out it was you who saved me from the bullies back then.” The earnestness in Akechi’s words stumps him, if only a little. And though Kusuo is careful to keep his surprise from showing, there’s a part deep down in his not-so-granite heart that feels a touch of warmth at the sentiment. Akechi’s already placing the Scrabble board on the floor, so he misses the ghost of a smile that crosses Kusuo’s lips. Did Akechi honestly think he could beat a psychic at Scrabble too? How naive. “You’re probably thinking how naive I must be, believing I could beat you at a board game with your powers and all,” Akechi notes cheerfully, almost as if he’s a mind-reader himself. Kusuo frowns, slightly disgruntled by the fourth-wall breaking once more and wishes they would give it a rest for once. Overusing a trope gets really tiring, you know? Still, he smiles again as he takes a seat across from Akechi—who is now shuffling the Scrabble chips while nattering away about the history of board games and how the loser would have to give up his share of coffee jelly (as if Kusuo would allow it to come to that again). Two Sunday visits per month only, Kusuo says, lifting several chips into the air with a wave of his hand. If you beat me... I’ll allow it. Akechi’s eyes widen, before he breaks into a playful grin. “Very well, then. May the best man win.” Kusuo only lets out a soft laugh. Perhaps it’s not too late to pick up where they had left off in grade school. —End—

#saiki kusuo no psi nan #the disastrous life of saiki k. #saiki kusuo #akechi touma #disastrous life zine #fanfic #please check out and support the other contributors' pieces too !

[xhanisai]

SALTING AROUND AT THE SPEED OF SOUND

AO3 / FFN

Summary: Introducing!!!!

The! Ultimate! Salt! Fic! Ever! IN ZA WARUDO!

Featuring Dumb Noir getting taught a lesson about boundaries, Perfectnette getting friends and love interest(s), and LILA GETTING HER ASS HANDED BACK! HOW COULD YOU RESIST SUCH A WONDERFUL FIC?

(All in all, a crack fic on salt fics to bring our spirits up~)

Disclaimer - I've actually only read like one sentence of a salt fic and fucked off afterwards so everything I'm basing off in this fic is purely from exaggerated rumours and gossip about the salt corner THEREFORE if anything here looks familiar or if it seems like I'm taking the piss out of a specific story, it's all just one big coincidence. >:D ~(x)~ . . . Of all locations to settle on for the beginning of this amazing, wonderful, fucking fantastic story, it's established on the Eiffel Tower. Cliched but wonderfully ironic for the phenomenal heroes of Paris. On the beams, higher than the naked eye could see, Ladybug and Chat Noir were... Arguing. The feline hero had his partner's wrist clasped in an iron hold, digging those deadly claws ever so slightly into the soft flesh, piercing the supposed indestructible suit with a creepy grin- "Wait- hold up a second. I would never, NEVER hurt My Lady! Not even unintentionally! And what's with that face I'm making!?" Oh SHUT UP Shit Noir! Let me carry on writing my fucking story jeez! Stop breaking out of character and keep following the script! Anyways~ The skinny, pasty assed hero- "This script sucks..."- -TUGGED Ladybug closer to him, grin widening like he won the lottery as his demonic looking eyes perversely drank in the sight of the clearly uncomfortable looking heroine in his grasps. His face leaned into hers, only coming closer as she tried her best to lean back with a grimace. "Just one kiss Bugaboo~ one kiss won't hurt..." His grip tightened on the appendage, making the girl wince painfully. "Come on Chat Noir...let go! I have already told you, I'm in love with someone else. You seriously need to back off!" Ladybug whimpered, tossing away all her badassery and ability to suckerpunch a fuckboy in the face because hell yeah it ain't relevant to this sexy fic- "You're right Chaton, this script does suck lmao"- IGNORING WHAT THE CANON LB JUST SAID. Ehem. Like a defenseless little shoujou manga protagonist, Ladybug felt tears sparkle in her eyes and pure sadness washed over her frail body before Fuck Noir dipped her into a romantic pose and smashed his lips against hers with soooooo much passion and tongue and teeth and- . What. On. Earth. Oi you stupid cat! Watch where you're putting your hands on the girl! Yikes! What do they teach these Europeans!? Break it up already you hormone riddled boobs! "Oh Minou~ You're so daring~" "Just for you, My Lady~" STAY ON SCRIPT YOU BRATS! Hmph! Carrying on. Suddenly, herculean strength riddled through Ladybug's blood, falcon punching Bitch Noir off her and off the tower, thus HenchBug™ was born. Panting and wiping her lip with her thumb in a really really badass way (YOU KNOW THAT EPIC WAY THAT ANIME CHARACTERS DO TO WIPE THE BLOOD OFF THEIR LIP, RIGHT? RIGHT? ex deeeee), MachoBug swept towards Pussy Noir's broken twiggy body at the bottom of the tower. "You disobeyed me for the umpteenth time, Noir." BadassBug uttered cooly, keeping a blind eye to the growing crowd around her and the mangled up flesh on sticks at her feet. The black and yellow mess didn't respond. "Lo-oooool cos I'm dead!" WE'LL PRETEND WE DIDN'T HEAR THAT EITHER. Anger coursed through Ladybug's veins as all those traumatising memories and moments she had with her horrific partner flashed through her brain like an old window's movie maker AMV with Evanescence's 'Bring Me Back To Life' song blasting at full volume. The conveniently arrived Alya at the front of the crowd live streamed everything on the WadyBwog, babbling about ice cream scoops. "Every time we met up, you'd always make unwanted advances to me. You'd always force a kiss on me. You even slapped my thicc™ ass a few times- once to the beat of fucking Nyan cat!" The hive minded crowd surrounding them 'oooed' and 'aaahed', some snapped a selfie with what's left of the black cat. "Therefore," The sun auspiciously shone behind MariBug, giving her an ethereal, angelic look as she carried on her lecture. "I now deem you unworthy of the miraculous." BugBug fluttered her eyelashes with so much pain as if reciting those words killed her whole generation and their dogs and their hamsters. "Hand it over to me or else I'll force it off you." All of a sudden BuffBug™ was back, bitch slapping CryBabyBug away and menacingly placed one foot on the carcass.   "Wow I think she forgot that you're dead Chat Noir," THE HIGH TENSIONED MOMENT REMAINED UNBROKEN AS FAKEBUG- oof- Ladybug rolled her eyes with annoyance at the disgusting boy's silence and immediately knelt down to yank the miraculous off his bony fingers- "Never!" The catboy sprung back to life before anyone could breathe, clutching his hand to guard his ring ferally, froth seeping out of his teeth and fangs gnashing against one another- "Looks like I'm a vampire with rabies now, Bug." "Since when did you have fangs?" "Since two seconds ago-" OH MY GOD YOU TWO! SHUT UP AND LET ME WRITE! Zombie Noir leapt back with a hiss, faux ears and tail twitching with indignation and summoned the ancient destruction power whilst BossBug spun her yoyo around in battle formation, ready to call for her lucky charm anytime soon. Cat and Bug kept up the intense eye contact as that cowboy music from the good, the bad and the fugly played in the background (cheers Lahiffe mah d00d!). "You don't want to become my enemy, do you, Chat N00b?" The heroine spat, bones clicking in place as she stretched her fingers when she and the lad in black circled each other slowly. The crowd and Alya were casually chilling in the background, the latter still narrating about an epic ice cream scoop. "Heh, I won't need to be the enemy if you don't touch MY ring... Milady~"- "MON DIEU! C'EST 'MY LADY'! C'EST N'AI PAS 'MILADY'!" THAT'S THE POINT YOU STUPID CAT! Break out of character one more time and I'll castrate you and feed your teeny tiny *censored* to the dogs! "...My Lady? Is my *censored* small? :(" "If your *censored* was small, you'd never have been able to make me scream at night, Minou~ ;3" ":D" 

Regardless! The pussycat feinted to the left before dodging the razor sharp wire of his Lady's (not) yoyo, whipping out his baton (not the tiny one either) and swiftly used it to vault himself away like the coward he CLEARLY is. "You'll never get me alive, THOT!" Was the last thing that small dick energy minded cuck yowled and fled with his tail between his legs. BigBug let out a yell of rage™ and slammed her fist on the ground, branding the sloppy concrete job with a crater as the shockwaves caused the audience to let out a little 'DAYUMMMMMMMM'. "Lol I thought the geezer was dead hahaah! Yo Ladybuggy, mah homie, you and kitty cat did the shame shame already or nah?" Alya, the lil hoe, leant into the heroine's personal space with a crazed grin. She only received a middle finger from the annoyed Asian. (MMmm Mmmm yEAH YEAh trANSiTION so SEXYYYY) Now, it is conveniently time for Marinette's afternoon classes. The exhausted girl dragged her feet up those weird ass spirally steps that could break ankles JUST by looking at them and made it to her classroom, only to pause at the shouting she was hearing behind the door. "Oh boy, time to unleash the kraken..." Silence Adrien! You're not supposed to have appeared yet! Dumb ass blondes these days smh... "HEY! >:0" With a deep breath, the raven haired girl pushed the door open only to be met with what could be best described as a clusterfuck. Tears welled up in her eyes as the remains of her sketchbook (which looked like it had a trip in a paper shredder) was dumped all over the floor. She snapped her head back up only for her heart to literally shatter when she was met with a furious Alya Motherfuckin' Césaire. "Marinetti DupainGhetti. This. Is. Your. Punishment." Alya's glasses flashed sinisterly as her lips curled up into  d i s g u s t . The rest of the class mirrored a similar look, acting as if poor little Cheng vored everything they loved and cherished. All except two people. That witch BITCH Lie-la smirked secretly as she cowered behind Alya and the wimp, spineless little shitty Dumbdrien whimpered on his desk, pretending that nothing was happening. "P-P-Punishment for wh-what?" Babynette sobbed, clutching her shoulders as if to hug herself and make her look smaller than she is. She darted her eyes towards the model, begging him internally to say something, anything! Alas, Bitchdrien only looked away guiltily, his thin chapped lips sealed shut. Marinette couldn't believe her bad luck. First there was an akuma attack, then she was assaulted by her shitty partner for the millionth time and now this? "Punishment for bullying our lord and saviour, Lila of course! How dare you make such a sweet girl like her suffer!?" Alya roared, using the power of the seven chaos emeralds and twenty dragonballs to go super satan and pinned Sweetienette against the wall with an elbow. Her hair fizzed with animosity and her eyes gleamed in a demonic red colour- "Dieu...you just had to drag my best friend into this too, huh?" "You'd think this writer is sane enough to know that I'd cataclysm anyone that dared to harm Ma Princesse, non?" "The writer? Sane? Good joke."- IGNORING STUPIDNETTE AND BLOODYDRIEN- Alya snarled, bruising our sweet little angel's poor skin with her brute strength whilst the rest of the class watched without a question. The sausage haired wench munched on some greasy ass popcorn as she watched the show whilst Shamedrien became one with the floor, a perfect doormat for us queens to stomp on. "You tripped her all the time when no one was watching, aggravating her shattered kneecaps. You plagerised her designs, ruining what's left of her sensitive self esteem and dammit don't even get me started on all those rumours you attempted to spread about her, smearing her celebrity status! I've never hated anyone more than you, BITCHINETTE!" Alya harrumphed and then shoved Brokenette against the wall again, possibly snapping her spine and stormed back to her new bestie. "Mon Dieu your best friend just murdered you..." "Mon Dieu my best friend just murdered me..." Tosses a knife at the duo to make them shut the fuck up. Everyone else applauded the psycho journalist for putting Poornette in her place, even Stinkdrien cos he can't handle peer pressure- BAM! . . . "HOW DARE YOU HURT MARINETTE DUPAIN CHENG!" A tall, stern looking boy slammed the door open, scooping Deadinette in his arms and blew out steam through his nostrils like a bull. Everyone le gasped as the girl suddenly turned into Alivenette and embraced the stranger like he's her long lost lover (Aiyeeeeeeeeeeee mUH O-T-FUCKING-P! K Y A A  A! EVEN THOUGH WE KNOW JACKSHIT ABOUT HIM). "BELIX BRAGRESTE! You saved me~ Don't hurt my homiesexuals please- they're all brainwashed by the sausage haired girl..." The blackberry haired angel begged, tugging on Belix's sleeves. "I didn't do anything-" Uglydrien was quick to defend himself only to melt back down into a doormat by Belix's dark glare, ripping out what spinal tissue the model had left. "Damn straight you didn't do SHIT." Bragreste swiftly delivered a power-kick against Assgreste, yeeting him to the moon and then turned towards the rest of the f00king class, rolling his sleeves up. "As for you nerds...I'm gonna chop you all up into mincemeat and EAT you all with my spaghetti!-" "I'm here Marinette!!!" Another lad swooped in through the door, hips swaying to the beat as 'Luka Luka Night Fever' plays in the background and then posed! Why it's none other than the obviously best written, best character, best BOY in the world: RUKA COFFEE- sorry, I mean Luka Couffaine! He strummed his guitar a few times, nodding and humming as if he was conversing with the beautiful instrument whilst bokeh dots and pink sparkly glitter floated around him. "Ah~ my guitar said that everyone's being a bitch ass motherfucker to our beautiful designer! Come with my Mari~ Take my hand and I'll take you away from this school!" The lycee student didn't wait for her answer and grabbed the star struck girl oh SO romantically~ "No! She should move schools with me!" Belix Bananagreste snatched Nettie back possessively, just like a cat. It was then that the girl decided that when she managed to snatch the black cat miraculous back from the loser that currently wielded it, she was going to give it to Belix- "Ugh don't fuck with me..." "Shhh. You're supposed to have been yeeted to the moon, Chaton," "Marinette please just throttle the writer already-" AND THEN! SUDDENLY! Erm... Errr... AHA! Suddenly all these people from some furry superhero universe came flooding in through the door, yelling insults and real truths about LIE-LA and protecting my best girl Maribear like a boss! Heroes like Gamien and Dason Bob and that guy and err, the other guy and yeah AND THEN they all began to BEAT UP that BITCH LILA and then- "Oh no she's losing it, Adrien I don't think this will last any longer..." "No kidding!" THEN JAGGED STONE CAME FLYING THROUGH THE WINDOW, JAMMING OUT HIS LATEST SONG ABOUT HOW LILA IS SUCH A LIAR AND EXPOSED EVERY SINGLE THING SHE DID TO BEST GIRL MACHONETTE! THEN ALL THESE OTHER KIDS FROM THE SCRAPPED PV UNIVERSE CAME IN VIA A CONGO LINE AND MARINETTA DECIDED TO GIVE THEM THE OTHER MIRACULOUS COS WHY NOT!? AND THEN CHLOE BECAME MARINETTE'S NEW BFF COS HELL YEAH I LOVE VIBING WITH PEOPLE WHO BULLIED ME AND MY PEERS FOR FOUR YEARS STRAIGHT AHAHAAHAH QUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENS- "Adrien, I'm going to kill her. She needs to stop." "Go on then~" AND THEN! AND FUCKING THEN! SCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW!!!!!! . . . [Error 404: The following writer has unfortunately met her demise through unknown means. We apologise for any inconveniences. Please keep scrolling as we clear up the mess. Have a good day.] . . . "Huh...that was anticlimactic...now what?" "You go off snogging my rejected predecessor and the guitar boy? >:(" "As if I'd go for anyone other than my silly kitty!" ":D" . . . ~(x)~ A/N:  I am never EVER writing anything this cursed AGAIN! How can you bash anyone but the villains in this series!? Damn! I can't even say I'm sleep deprived! This is the most fucked up shit I've written and I'm super alert oof!

#my writing #my fanfiction #ml fanfiction #ml crack #miraculous Ladybug #miraculous Ladybug and chat noir #ml shitpost #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #chloe bourgeois #lila rossi #jagged stone #luka couffaine #adrinette #adrienette #this is the most amazing thing i've ever done for this fandom #i'm just mixing in cocaine in the salt #this isn't salt #THIS IS MY MASTERPIECE #AND YOU ALL SHALL TREAT IT AS SUCH

[fictionfromafar]

Cold Sun by Anita Sivakumaran

Cold Sun

By Anita Sivakumaran

Dialogue Books

Publication Date 12 August 2021.

Cold Sun marks the start of a new crime series featuring DI Vijay Patel by Anita Sivakumaran. Based in the London Metropolitan Police, Patel has previously solved the case of The Dales Ripper during a posting in Yorkshire some three years before the start of this story. Yet there is a feeling that he is treading water in London when his superintendent calls him to his office. Patel is told that he will be sent to Bangalore in India to help the Indian police to solve the murder of the ex-wife of the British foreign minister. While he is told that out of 24 homicide detectives, he is the right man for the job, he is left with the suspicion that he is actually the one with the right skin colour. In fact Patel was born in Leicester to parents who came from Uganda while his grandparents came from Gujarat which located on India’s Arabian Sea western coast. The only time he had previously been to India was to play in a cricket tournament 10 years earlier.

Landing in Bangalore (referred to the novel as Bengaluru), he encounters initial confusion about his identity from the city police chief Rajkumar before resentment that this British detective has been sent. “The Bengaluru police force with its hundred and seventy detectives isn’t enough. It isn’t equipped with such prowess, such brains as you Mr Patel”.

While Rajkumar is hard to please, Patel does manage to develop what appears to be a more satisfactory working relationship with Assistant Commissionaire Chandra Subramanium buy referring to his role as that of a consultant. As Chandra has studied Criminology at Cardiff University she has a better understanding of his Britishness, although reprimands him for not speaking more clearly to her fellow Indians. She is also far too keen to use her ‘lathi’ baton when questioning suspects for his liking, claiming his superior morals make him ‘a white man in dark skin’.

Author Sivakumaran has previously published 3 titles including The Queen which was made into a high profile television series. Born in Madras, now known as Chennai, her descriptions of modern day India really give Cold Sun a strong sense of setting. The below describes Patel’s introduction to the police station:

"They passed police lockups populated by lowlifes and prostitutes. Habitués, he supposed. They huddled or lounged chatting or silent. Many stared at him as he passed. Chemical and metal smells: the ammonia in urine saturating the bricks, the metallic sourness of human sweat on iron bars. The stink of desperation, the musk of apathy. Bare bulbs glinted. Pan juice, the colour of old blood stained the walls.”

It's not a particularly pleasant beginning to the trip for Patel who is also reflecting on his unsatisfactory relationship with his girlfriend back in London. Unlike southern Indians he also struggles with the spicy food. It soon becomes evident that the police are looking for a serial killer who is targeting women of a high social standing in Bengaluru. There is a memorable scene where Patel is rating the women on their attractiveness to consider if this could be a link.

Patel’s presence brings unwanted personal attention to him from the press with news reports that even hark back to his professional cricket playing days. He is not aided by Rajkumar’s insistence on regular press conferences which seem to be geared towards his own self-preservation. When the deaths become more frequent and one has a tenuous link to Patel, could it be that the police chief will use him as a scapegoat for their failure to progress in capturing the killer?

In addition to the investigation, Sivakumaran strongly reveals life in a city on the border between Karnataka and Tamil Nadu where the locals speak either the Kannada or Tamil languages. It’s a place where the population as a whole appear more trusting of the British than politicians in New Delhi. A city where first world technology does not always function with a third world infrastructure. Yet one where answering a mobile phone call or message apparently is the most normal or crucial of activities irrespective of what the person is doing at the time. In some aspects it is more progressive, in Chandra's team the male police officers are subordinate to her with no sign of resentment, in contrast to the UK.

At its best Cold Sun immerses the reader into the unfamiliar sights and sounds of Bangalore where Patel has to deal with people from a range of social classes with often unexpected or unpredictable results. The situation almost becomes too much for our main protagonist yet when he starts to believe Chandra is in danger, the novels speeds up to an exciting finale where the identity of the killer.

Cold Sun is an enjoyable novel which I feel realistically and effectively portrays a stranger in a strange land. I did feel that perhaps there were a few unnecessary steps, such as Patel’s trip to Goa which while valid as it did reveal some very outdated British views towards India, did appear slotted in and somewhat interrupted the flow of the story. I’d perhaps have enjoyed a bit more urgency within the storyline at times but that might be due to personal preference. The key attraction to the novel was following a British born detective's participation in solving a crime in India and I would certainly recommend Cold Sun on that basis. I am interested to see where Sivakumaran intends to take Patel’s character in subsequent novels as the challenge will be to maintain such a level of intrigue.

Many thanks to Random Things Tours and Dialogue Books for an advance copy of Cold Sun. Please look out for the other reviews of this book on the blog tour as shown below.

#crime fiction #Indian crime fiction

[mybunnyparadenme]

Knight

Summary: Princess Kenny has been captured by Professor Chaos! Can a brave knight rescue her in time? A/N: Hi Bunny fandom! This is a chapter from my story Snapshots, which can be found over here! Hope you guys find this a fun read~!

Being a princess wasn't exactly easy work. Princess Kenny needed to balance the needs of her subjects with political alliances, lead an entire country with as few casualties as possible. She was in a position of power, and known as the fairest in the land, so of course she was bound to attract unwanted attention every once in a while. Still, she found herself wondering how the hell she'd managed to end up as a prisoner to the dastardly villain standing in front of her.

"Mwahahahaha!" Professor Chaos cackled, an evil grin spread wide on his face as he took a step towards her. There was a gleam in his eyes as he looked down at her, tied up and bound to a chair in the corner of the room. "Look at the proud princess, cowering before the mighty Professor Chaos! Who could've thought that you would be so easy to capture?"

"You won't get away with this, Professor." She said, lifting her chin up and staring into his eyes defiantly. "My people will not take this lying down."

"Your people?" Professor Chaos echoed, his grin curving wickedly. His eyes were full of amusement as he leaned down to pat her head, like she was a child in need of comfort. "Oh, foolish little princess. Your people are all under my rule now. It's only a matter of time before my minions take down the last of your armies, and then..." He stood up to his full height, looking down his nose at her cruelly. "Then, you'll be completely at my mercy."

She laughed. "And what would you do then, Professor? What would me being at your mercy accomplish?"

Professor Chaos paused, his expression unreadable as he looked at her. His answer came out almost hesitantly. "I... I would win, princess."

Princess Kenny glared up at him, refusing to let him intimidate her. "I would rather die than let you win."

"Oh?" He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps after my victory I could grant you that wish."

She was ready to tell him off for that, when she noticed movement from behind him. The top of a very familiar head poked in from the doorway, left slightly ajar from when Professor Chaos had come in to taunt her. She hardly dared believe it was her bravest knight, but her heart swelled at the thought that someone had come for her. She quickly looked away from the door, back into Professor Chaos's smug face. He didn't seem to have noticed her wandering gaze, and she had to keep it that way.

"So... y-you really wish to kill me then?" Princess Kenny began, tilting her head so that her face was hidden behind a curtain of her hair. She felt him draw closer, intrigued by the change in her demeanor.

"That is certainly one option for you." Professor Chaos said, leaning down so that they were eye to eye. His blue eyes were surprisingly clear and earnest looking, giving his face and almost innocent quality. The curve of his mouth, on the other hand, was downright devilish. "Though I might be swayed otherwise."

"H-How so?" Princess Kenny asked. She dared peek over his shoulder for a moment and, yes that was her knight! Sir Karen was carefully inching the door open, careful not to alert Professor Chaos to her presence. She was carrying a gilded sword in her white knuckled grip.

Professor Chaos laughed, reminding Princess Kenny that she needed to keep distracting him. "I might let you live Princess... if you would agree to ruling by my side. With your influence and my power, chaos would rein supreme over this land for years to come!"

Sir Karen was now in the room, but she needed at least another moment to get in prime attacking position. Princess Kenny tilted her chin up and gave Professor Chaos a wide eyed look. "Professor are you... suggesting we marry?"

"What?!" Professor Chaos squeaked, his face flushing bright red as he quickly took a step away from her. He coughed into his fist and stood ramrod straight, avoiding her gaze as he quickly stammered out, "N-No, that wasn't wh-what I meant! I... I was just thinking you could be a figurehead and-and I could be, you know, the power behind you."

Princess Kenny hadn't expected him to get so flustered and had to bite back a giggle. Sir Karen was now in optimal position, and raised her finger to her lips in a shushing motion. Princess Kenny smiled at her before turning her attention back to her blushing captor. "Unfortunately, I must respectfully decline your offer, Professor Chaos."

Professor Chaos gave her a disappointed stare, but Sir Karen's shrill scream of "FOR THE PRINCESS!!" quickly changed his expression into a look of total shock. He whirled around and only just managed to avoid the tip of Sir Karen's sword slicing through the air where his head used to be. He dodged her next blow, hissing between gritted teeth, "I thought I took care of all the knights?!"

Sir Karen's grin was wide as she stood protectively in front of the princess. "You forget I am no ordinary knight, Professor Chaos! The blood of royalty flows through my veins. Your chaotic powers have no effect on me or my sister!"

"H-How could I have forgotten?!" Professor Chaos lamented, backing away from Sir Karen slowly advancing toward him. There was a look of desperation in his eyes that almost made Princess Kenny feel sorry for him.

Almost.

"Prepare to meet your maker, Professor. Hyaaa!" Karen cried, lurching forward and running him through with her blade.

"Ugh..." Professor Chaos moaned as he sank down to his knees, clutching his wound in a desperate attempt to stem the flow of blood. He looked up, and caught Princess Kenny's eyes across the room. He coughed and whispered, "I just... wanted to sow chaos in a world th-that made me become... this. Aaah..."

The two sisters watched in silence as the life faded from Professor Chaos, his eyes finally drifting shut. When she was completely sure that he wasn't going to get up again, Sir Karen sheathed her sword and ran over to where her older sister was still tied.

"Are you okay, Kenny?" She asked, undoing the ropes as fast as her hands could work.

"I'm fine, thanks to you Karen." Kenny said, wrapping her arms around her sister in a tight hug. "You saved me."

"Let's get you back to Kupa Keep, sis!" Karen said cheerfully, as if she hadn't just murdered a man in cold blood. They made their way to the door, but before they could make their quick escape, it swung wide open to reveal a tall figure on the other side.

Kevin looked around at the scene before him, his eyebrows rising to his hairline. "Everything... okay in here?"

"We're fine, Kev." Kenny said, dropping the falsetto he'd been using while in character.

Kevin stared down at Butters sprawled out on the floor before looking between the three of them dubiously. "You sure?"

Butters peeked open his right eye and gave Kevin a quick thumbs up.

"He's playing dead, Kevin." Karen said cheerfully, running up to her brother and giving him a hug. Kevin ruffled her hair and she giggled. "I know I'm not supposed to hurt people, but it was the only way to save the princess!"

Kevin looked over at Kenny in his dress and gave him an amused look. "What, you too pretty to rescue yourself, princess?"

"Hell yeah, I'm a proper fucking lady." Kenny said, but he was smiling as he went over to punch Kevin's shoulder playfully. "Why are you here, Kev? You wanna join us as an evil troll or something?"

"Haha." Kevin said in a monotone voice. Though he was rolling his eyes, he didn't look the least bit annoyed with his younger brother. He ruffled Kenny's hair fondly before he said, "I'm just here to pass a message. Some lady claiming to be Butters' mom called. Said he needed to hurry home for dinner or he'd get grounded."

"Oh hamburgers is is five already?!" Butters asked, shooting up to his feet in an instant. His eyes were wide as he looked towards the window, noticing for the first time that the sun was beginning to set. "Darn it, I have to be getting home!"

Karen looked disappointed as Butters began to gather his things. "Aw, we haven't even gotten to the part where you get resurrected from the life potion hidden in your pocket."

"Oh, thanks for reminding me!" Butters said, pulling out the tube of travel sized toothpaste from his pocket. They'd found it when they were rummaging through the bathroom cabinet, and Kenny decided that it was as good a prop as they were going to get in the McCormick household. He handed the tube over to Kevin, who took it with a bemused smile.

"You'll come back again tomorrow, won't you?" Karen asked, helping Butters put his costume back into his backpack.

Butters smiled. "Of course, Karen. Um, assuming I make it home in time."

Kevin leaned against the doorway, looking on as the younger kids busied themselves around the room. "It's too bad dad fucked off with the car like an hour ago. I would've given you a ride."

Kenny shot his older brother a look. "Dude, you don't even have a license."

Kevin's lip curved upwards. "And yet I never get pulled over."

"It's okay, walking helps build character." Butters slipped his arms through the straps of his backpack and gave Kenny and Karen an apologetic look. "Sorry I have to leave so abruptly you guys. I promise I'll let you know if I can come over tomorrow, okay?"

Karen stepped forward and gave him a quick hug. "Okay, goodbye Butters! Sorry for killing you." She added cheerfully.

"You were just performing your knightly duties, Kare-bare." Kenny said. He slipped off his princess dress and kicked it underneath his bed. He didn't bother to remove the wig as he followed Butters to the door. "Let mom know I'll be back after I walk Butters home, okay?"

"Okay!"

Butters gave him a curious look as the two of them walked out into the cool mountain air outside. "You don't need to walk me home, Ken. It's not too far."

Kenny shook his head. "Dude, my neighborhood is awful when it gets dark. Even the mighty Professor Chaos shouldn't be walking out here alone."

Butters laughed. "But you're gonna be coming back all alone aren't you, princess?"

Kenny grinned and gave an exaggerated wink. "Don't forget she has a superhero alter ego. And that guy doesn't need any protecting."

"Well, everybody needs protectin' I think." Butters said, tilting his head up to the slowly darkening sky. He glanced at Kenny from the corner of his eye and smiled softly. "Heroes and villains alike."

Kenny turned his head to look at him, and almost stumbled on the uneven sidewalk when their eyes met. The setting sun was orange-gold behind Butters, framing him like an aura or a halo. They'd been talking about how Kenny was a hero, but in this moment Butters had never looked like more of a good guy than he did right now. It made Kenny's heart do somersaults in his chest and he started walking faster then, his steps matching the rhythm of his heartbeat.

"Y-Yeah, I guess your right." He muttered, glad that he was still wearing the wig. The long hair perfectly covered his blazing cheeks. "Thanks, by the way."

"For what?" Butters asked, picking up the pace so that they were walking side by side again.

"For coming over. Karen had a great time today."

Butters smiled. "I had a great time too! Karen's a cool kid, the three of us should hang out together more often."

"I'd really like that." Kenny said, a smile of his own forming behind the wig.

They spent the rest of the way discussing how they could get Kevin to join them next time. By the time they made it to Butters' driveway, they were 95% sure it would only take Karen's puppy dog eyes and candy bar or two.

"No one's waiting." Butters said, looking relieved as they walked up to the front door. "That's a good sign I'm not in trouble yet."

"Your parents really need to stop being so strict on you."

"They're just looking out for me." Butters said, though he didn't look entirely convinced of the truth in that statement. He sighed as his hand touched the doorknob and turned to face Kenny one last time. "Goodnight, Ken. I'll see ya tomorrow."

"'Night, Butters." Kenny said, reaching up to pat Butters in the back. "Get ready for a wicked cool resurrection tomorrow."

Butters paused for a moment at the contact, but then he smiled warmly and nodded. "I can't wait!"

Walking away from the house, Kenny couldn't keep the bounce out of his step. He told himself it was because of all the fun they'd had today, and how Karen had really come out of her shell when they'd been playing. It definitely wasn't because he was looking forward to spending the whole day with Butters again tomorrow.

He wondered... would it be weird to suggest a political marriage again?

#south park #sp bunny #butters stotch #kenny mccormick #karen mccormick #kevin mccormick #bunny sp #south park fic #my fics #super nervous posting my fics here lol #the summary is so silly XD

[mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune]

What Humans Are Doing To Pepe Le Pew, Is Added To My Semi-Misanthrope

okay I don’t think I wanted to believe it, but I’m still in the middle of watching the video this video --> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BUpm9M45O_s

I’m watching it on the Xbox In the living room, but I just had to pause it and sign on to tumblr to talk about my feelings. 

I was watching some movies before that,

that has a crossover of live action and animation.

I love movies that has crossovers of the real world and cartoon world.

even if Pepe comes on a bit strong to women, maybe both toon and non-toon.

he isn’t as bad as some humans in real life, who have done far worse.

and if it is true that Johnny Bravo will be next, then I will have another thing to add to my Semi-Misanthropy.

I still like humanity, just not when they do stupid and insensitive disgusting things like what they are trying to do to Pepe Le Pew.

lucky there are some humans that know better and those are the ones that I still don’t find disgusting and doing that disgusting act on Pepe.

who by the way is a TOON, not a human.

even if he and some toons like him are “human on the inside”

they are Anthropomorphic.

even if some years decades back, there were such offensive cartoons

that are known as the Banned Cartoons.

but you can’t just mix them in with toons like Pepe Le Pew or even Johnny Bravo.

if the cartoon Johnny Bravo gets hurt in anyway by those so called women,

who think they are helping women by cancelling Johnny Bravo,

their not, and Johnny Bravo might be many things, but at least he doesn’t try to “hurt” women like most attackers do in real life.

  yeah both Pepe and Bravo flirt, and kiss the toon females in their cartoons,

BUT they do not cross the line into what some disgusting humans do in real life.

so don’t go and blame those self proclaim gift to women/adorkable toon romeos, for how some humans act in real life.

  also please read this too -->  https://www.nbcnews.com/pop-culture/movies/pep-le-pew-scene-removed-space-jam-sequel-actor-says-n1260282

but make sure to watch the video link first.

I have it on pause right now, and I’m still watching it, and I plan to check out the other videos that talk about what is happening to Pepe Le Pew.

then after that, I might just play Bendy And The Ink Machine.

if they wanted to change Pepe, they could of had Pepe end up in some kind of scene where he sings about how he only has eyes for Penelope,

and him ending up not flirting with every pretty face after they started to meet up again, and Pepe gets the realization that he is truly in love with Penelope.

but instead of doing that, they just decide to cut him out.

my fighting for Pepe has nothing to do with my heritage,

like my 23rd Great-Grandfather Philip being from France,

and well he was a very important person back in his time.

but like I said, my fighting for Pepe has nothing to do with one of my heritages.

Pepe deserves better, he is a Toon that should have some rights,

even if he and other toons are fictional, he shouldn’t be cut out of the movie.

 and it seems Warner Bros wont have Pepe appear in anymore future projects  

even if Penelope got a restraining order on Pepe,

for him touching others without their consent, it doesn’t mean he did what most humans have done in real life.

touching, could imply the kissing and touching of the arm or hugging,

not the forbidden zone, he ain’t No Holli Would.

if we want toons to be modernize, don’t just kill them off.

in one of the Looney Tunes Shows, where that new character Tina appeared in,

who I happen to like has Daffy’s new love interest.

Speedy ran his own restaurant and even had a dance studio where he taught other people dancing, he did thought Bugs was a real lady when Bugs was in disguise.

and Pepe he was helping plan Lola and Bugs’s wedding, and he was apparently married many times himself.

yes I can agree that Pepe can be a bit forceful in his smitten affections,

as well as him not being able to take a no for a answer.

plus if you watched any re-run of his cartoons,

you will see that he gets his karma by the shoe being on the other foot,

and he becomes the scared and running away from the lovesick female cat.

so how come no one is fighting for Pepe when he ends up being the one who tries to get away from the lovesick female...?

he wasn’t the only one who locked the door so the one he was trying to chase after couldn’t escape.

if you watch one of the re-run cartoons that has that episode,

it is the female cat who locks the door so Pepe couldn’t escape.

so how come Pepe when he ends up in the shoes/place of the females he tries to win the love of (even if it is in the wrong way) he doesn’t get people who tell him it’s okay, and he isn’t the only guy who went through such a terrible thing?

I don’t believe that Looney Tunes would go so far in their show of aggressive affection.

Pepe and Johnny might be many things, like not being able to take a No,

and tend to hug or kiss gals without consent,

but they are not the “R” word.

if toons have to get modernize, they shouldn’t be hurt like how Pepe is being hurt right now.

some cartoons aren’t for kids, and it should be the parents or guardians responsibility to keep the kids from seeing mature cartoons, or some mature live action/cartoon crossover type movies with mature themes in them,

until they are the proper ages to watch them.

I also want to say that I hope that someday the Cartoon Network’s name

is changed to “Warnertoon Network” because technically the Cartoon Network is linked to Warner Bros.

there is a old short, that is even shown on Youtube,

that shows Johnny Bravo having some form of attraction to Samurai Jack.

even if it could show some form of proof that Johnny isn’t as hetero as he appears in his cartoons, and his interaction with Jack shows that he might be either bi or pan, but not realize it.

it might not truly stop Johnny being the next victim.

I am not a feminist or feminism, even if there are some positive groups that are still fighting for women and girls rights.

I rather be a part of a Androgyny side, it could still fight for Feminine.

but it can be a group for both Female, Male, Andro-Agender, Gyno-Agender, Agender, any form of Binary and Non-Binary.

yes there can still be jerk guys who still think girls are beneath them.

but a guy should only feel that way, if the said girls are being sexist jerks,

and the same goes for girls who are treated the same way, if a guy is being a sexist jerk, then try not to give them power to treat you that way.

even if I know there can be good people in this world,

like friends, family and others.

I can’t agree with what is happening with Pepe Le Pew,

I feel it is wrong and if they have to change Pepe for the modern times,

it should show in Space Jam 2 Movie, that after meeting with Penelope again,

and he finds himself not hitting on other females, because he comes to the realization that he is truly in love with her,

and doesn’t want anyone else but her.

characters do evolve and change over time,

some still stay the same but can still be a bit different.

if they did have a musical in Space Jam 2,

it would have Pepe Le Pew singing about how much he loves Penelope,

and how he no longer wants to chase any other girl

but her from now on.

even if it is still good to fight for rights for women, but Pepe isn’t a monster.

he might kiss and hug without consent, but he would NEVER cross the line.

even if some cartoon episodes might give the misinterpretation he would.

also even if I do have a Semi-Androphobia, I know that not all guys are bad or dangerous, and some can be safe to be around.

plus there can be some guys who have Gynophobia,

which could be caused by different reasons,

one of which could have to do with being a victim of unwanted forbidden zone advances.

and even Mr. Max Landis did do such a disgusting thing,

Pepe should not be some form of scapegoat, 

or be blamed for that disgusting human’s actions.

like I said, Pepe Le Pew and Johnny Bravo might be many things,

but they would NEVER cross the line,

and do what that Shisno Landis  did.

no matter what bio-sex or gender identity you are,

if you believe that Pepe is being wrong, that I hope you can agree that what is happening to him isn’t right.

Pepe might think he can flirt or hug and kiss other gals without their consent,

and think they will fall for him, but he would never do what that Shisno did.

Shisno is of course from Red Vs Blue, and is what A.I. and Robots

call Humans, or in other words, what Organics are called.

even if Tali from Mass Effect does have her positive side,

and she does end up forming some type of friendship with Legion in one of the game timelines.

when she doesn’t form a friendship with Legion or starts to finally realize

that her people did the geth wrong.

she stays a dirty dirty shisno.

at least some quarians didn’t try to destroy the geth,

and wanted to help them, those quarians that did try to help the geth,

aren’t dirty shisno. but those quarians in the past were met with a bad end when they did try to help and protect the geth.

even if I haven’t been able to beat the Mass Effect 3 yet,

I know the info from reading or watching clips about it.

I hope that someone makes a petition to save Pepe and put him back in the Space Jam 2 Movie, and maybe have Pepe realize he wants no other woman in his life but Penelope, maybe even have Penelope realize the same thing too.

I know that there is a possibility by the time the movie is fully finished,

Pepe might still be out of it, which isn’t fair and should be fixed.

Pepe is a bit aggressive in his flirting, but he isn’t a monster like some humans are in real life.

if ya want to change Pepe a bit, to make him less how he was in his older cartoons, then make it so that he at least gets a slap or takes one No for answer.

Pepe acting the way he does, could mirror how Johnny Bravo acts, but a big differently.

yes Pepe is suppose to be French, but who he is wouldn’t have to do with his heritage, he is flirty and can take his flirting in the wrong direction.

but he is not a monster who would hurt the females he tries to win the love of,

if someone says that in some non-canon work that has Pepe in it,

it would NOT be canon to the canon Pepe.

 Pepe being the way he is, would have to do with the person he is on the inside,

not because of where he comes from.

if we want to save Pepe Le Pew, then how he ends up chasing women,

can be changed a bit when he finally take the first or few signs of no,

as  sign that he needs to stop, or his flirting can be played down a bit,

so it doesn’t get misinterpreted as being something that would cross the line to the forbidden zone.

I know that not everyone will see reason or try to understand that Pepe Le Pew,

might be a bit aggressive when he falls in love, or becomes attracted to someone that he believes he is in love with, but really he might not of truly have fallen in love before.

Pepe could have have his character developed a bit more

so he doesn’t get misinterpreted as one of the dangerous men/women that are seen in real life.       

yes I am counting the women too, because there are some who are just as bad as men.

and yes as the title shows, what is happening with Pepe Le Pew,

is something that I have mentally added to my reasons to dislike humanity.

even if I still have some love for humanity,

it is what Pepe Le Pew that I just can’t stand.

if Pepe has to get rebooted to save him from the metaphorical dip,

which is because of the different reasons he is cut from the Space Jam 2 Movie, then I would be for Pepe’s character being rebooted if it saves him.

if they do reboot him a bit, but still have him be a flirt, they could make it so that he does take a No for answer, but would just do friendly flirts from time to time

but not cross the uncomfortable line.

they could even have his Nationally Changed a bit,

like him being American, but having French heritage.

I mean I am from America, but I do have French heritage,

sadly I can’t speak the language and might only know a few words.

I got a few other different heritages too...

but I strongly believe that Pepe Henri Le Pew, deserves better.

and if rebooting him saves him from being no longer used by a Warner Brothers and keeps humans from misinterpreting him, because of how he is as a person on the inside, then I am for him rebooting him if it means he can be back on the Space Jam 2 Movie.

how some people act wouldn’t have to do with where they come from,

it would have to do with the person they are on the inside.

and I hope some of you understand that and don’t misunderstand.

I want to believe there can be hope for Pepe Henri Le Pew,

that if he does end up back in the movie, those who work on the movie

will point out they will change Pepe a bit, and make it so that he doesn’t flirt the same way he had done in the past, and will fall in love in the movie and no longer have eyes on anyone but who he has fallen for.

once more Pepe should not be blamed for what some shisno guy did,

and if he is causing misunderstandings of any kind,

just reboot him and make it so he flirts but he does take a no, and even does friendly flirts without crossing the line of no touching like hugging or kisses without the consent.

consent is very important, and I still think Pepe’s old cartoon where in the end

he ends up being the one who becomes the runner while the female cat ends up chasing him, should be mention.

Pepe might be the type that is desperate for romantic love but never truly fell in love and only felt attraction.

and he just goes about it the wrong way, but if he never truly crossed the forbidden zone line, that would mean that Pepe would have some form of

Moral Compass where he knows there are some actions he would not take to try to win the heart of those he chases.

he might cross the line of hugging and kissing and unwanted cuddles,

but I don’t believe he would cross to the forbidden zone line, where it goes beyond hugs, kisses and cuddles.

Put Pepe Le Pew back in the Space Jam 2 Movie,

but make sure there is info saying that his character will be changed a bit,

to be less aggressive in his flirting, and he has learn to take No for answer,

and his flirting has transformed into friendly flirting, and he no longer kisses or hugs a woman without her consent.

I can only hope some other fans of Looney Tunes, feel the same and will speak out about it.

if they go after Fifi too, then that would be another line crossed,

yeah she can be a bit aggressive when chasing after boys,

but she does seem to have a love interest in Hampton, who likes her back.

but she wouldn’t cross the line either.

I need to grab something to eat, I’m still gonna finish watching that video.

once more even though I am Semi-Misanthrope,

I still have humans that I still care about and I know that not all humans

are the same and wouldn’t just place the blame solely on Pepe.

and I really do hope he lets back in the movie before it’s fully finished,

and his character gets changed a little bit, so he comes off as a friendly flirt

that has learn to take No for answer.

Pepe and Johnny might take their flirting over the line at times,

but they would never cross the gross and physically harmful line,

where it would cause the person to become scared of either a man or woman that did harm to them.

the sooner humans learn this, I think the better it will be for all toonkind in the cartoons we love, both in shows, movies, video games and comics.

even if they are just fictional, even those like Pepe Le Pew and Johnny Bravo,

should have some form of justice.

see ya later and stay safe everybody.

I’m gonna go grab something to eat now, and continue watching that video

that talks about Pepe Le Pew. 

#justice for toons #pepe le pew #save our toon romeo pepe le pew #looney tunes

[floralkittygambler]

Reposting for reasons

Response to Honest’s post here: Doing this to spread this awareness more as I know theres a bit of a rift in the critical community - plus I really fucking go on. Im PISSED and I do apologise however it NEEDS urgent addressing. I know people will hate me for it but Im used to hate and honestly? Hating rather than helping to solve the issue only furthers my fucking point here. So yeah this is so more people are aware (no offense to any of those involved in said rift either, but this is an important message. Thank you for understanding and if I can do anything to make all sides comfortable, then please message me and I’ll do my upmost.) “ More awareness of this is needed. Even if it’s your favourite, you can’t justify their shit but rally against another’s shit. Have people tell you you’re experiences arent real or invalid because, like Husk, people have - in real life - shipped you with someone you are far from comfortable with but you still treat them like a person. Because you have basic respect. And people force you to accept harassment, touching, stalking, advances for THEIR satisfaction. People use you for their fantasies. But you’re just a ‘tsundere’ for it. Or you have addiction issues but people think being with another addict will ‘save’ you because you’re apparently too incompetent to save yourself. Love isnt some magic fuckin cure so stop romanticising it as a fuckin saviour. It’s gross and fuckin creepy. Get stalked and have someone NEVER accept your no just because you show youre still decent enough to not treat them shitty or any different from anyone else. Try having someone way older or way younger (both in morally fucked up ways) advance on you and people encourage that. People you’re supposed to feel safe around.

People touch you when you pull away or show discomfort. Follow you home. Have pictures of you and wont accept you dont like them like that and it’s not ‘playing hard to get’ or ‘the thrill of the chase’. Fuck. OFF. In fact, Im not only disappointed in the fandom. Im disappointed in the entire team who some should know better from their OWN personal experiences - or at least the bare minimal of being a fucking adult. Im disappointed in especially females (sorry idk whether girl or woman is more appropriate here-) who statistically are more likely to have experienced something similar at some point in their lives think this is a cute gay moment. No. Angel is made out as a fucking predator - Im not saying he is, Im saying that his persistence is very fucking unwelcome like one. People like Husk dont need that fucking invasiveness. They/We need patience and someone on our level. Angel’s I know are the fuckin polar opposite - and some of them I know are very sexually harassing, including unwanted touching. It’s a shitty way to present gay people. Gays are fuckin people. Some are cunts and some arent. It’s a HUMAN thing. But considering the shit theyve been subjected to, presenting a gay as a victim only to also show them as a perpetrator is insulting! And for those Ive seen argue this about how people like AD wouldnt know how to express their love normally and whatnot? His pig. His best friend. He’s in his fucking 30s. There are literal real life criminals who get molested as kids and then go on to molest kids. Not all who grow up like that turn into nonces. Stop just fucking STOP justifying and romanticising this bullshit! I used to see the good in AD but now he makes me fucking sick. Especially with my verrrrrry fucking real traumas and connections. But fuck me, eh? Because this fictional guy matters so much more. Fuck real victims. And whilst we’re at it, fuck AD too when it suits your fetishes! Sarcasm aside, the fans and the team need to straighten up their abhorrent behaviour. Stolas. Fucking clearly having an affair, knowingly fucking up his daughter’s mental health and bribing a guy into sex who only wants the book and nothing more. He even has a fucking warning button over Stolas- Guys, how do you think any of this is cute? Even the team gross me out- I genuinely see potential and talent and it’s all gone to shit to satisfy horny teens, horny adults, and literally everyone who doesnt for the life of them understand being an adult is more than sex, drugs, violence and swears! I REALLY want to keep enjoying HB/HH but it’s getting harder and harder with such ignorant and bordering lazy creators (note: lazy as in wont do the fucking research or actually listen to real criticism and victims), such despicable fans (yeah, some HDers fuckin mocked that they triggered my ED, yet they had the fucking NERVE to support Angel’s potential ED AND laugh and blame me for me getting treated so badly for actually having the balls to call Angel and the teams hypocrisy. I got told to kill myself, that my problems arent real - oh but Angels apparently is! Which... They *are* but AD isnt real so technically only onlookers will suffer and not a drawing  - and they just excused their toxic behaviours. These people are like “aww poor angie babey!” yet fuckin INSULT sex workers. All this red in Hazbin yet it feels everyone and they mama colour blind. The issues are getting worse and fans are outright becoming EVIL, VILE, Vindictive little bullies - from kids to adults. You SHOULD be ashamed of yourself if you conduct yourself in such a manner. And you need to readjust your attitudes and behaviours because the only fuckers getting hurt are actual fucking victims. Ever been violated and been gaslit so much you STILL fucking question it’s reality? So you drown that shit out yet somehow it’s effects still hit you? Fetishise it. Make it your uwu gae couple goals, you’re no better than people believing Harley and the Joker werent toxic af. If this shit happened to you, most of you would actually SEE where we’re all coming from. Also, stop making gay a fetish - you’re like those creepy old men in the alley heckling lesbians to make out so they can wank off. Gays, no ALL the LGBT+ are fucking people too. So dont give me that bullshit then start turning everything just gay or just straight to mentally wank off to. It’s degrading and dehumanising. And yes, fiction does effect reality. You crush on a fictional character? Mourn one? Support one? Hell, fuckin jerk off to one - that’s affecting reality. Remember how in fiction all blacks were treated as villians? Look how theyre treated IRL. JAWS, great classic unfortunately their was a spike in shark killings over a fucking movie - the shark in the movie wasnt even real for the most part because they dont behave like that! (Also the animatronic was so shit they genuinely had so many issues - I think they even took to naming each one! Some fun trivia there!). Tiger sharks are more nasty than great whites as tiger sharks will hunt and eat a human. Great whites prefer seals and dislike human flesh, they just mistake us for seals. Hell, theres the toothless basking shark - theyre often SWAM WITH by divers for being so friendly. Yet Jaws made people think all sharks are bloodlusting over humans. Slenderman was created for a fucking contest and that influenced a stabbing (NOT Victor’s fault). Watch a horror movie that isnt based on a real life event and tell me that at least ONE has left you peaking over your shoulder. Stella may be a bitch - we dont know for certain - but try getting cheated on. Y’know what? Try growing up in such a broken home like Octavia. Yeah reaaaaaal fucking cute now, huh? Funny how as well y’all petition for male victims to be taken seriously then laugh when fictional males experience this abuse, further adding to stigma. You can be hit on by the hottest mf on the planet but if you arent interested, that should be respected! Also we’ve all been inspired by at least one fictional character so yeah. Yknow, since I was little Ive been fighting for sex worker and homeless rights. But HH/HB treatment of both leave a bitter taste in my mouth. I’ll still fully support sex workers and the homeless, but that’s the fucking effect this show is having. Bearing in mind I wont ever share everything Ive been through - and I shouldnt fucking have to in order to be believed and validated (obvs proof is required in a legal case but that’s a whole other topic). Why should I share MY fucking pain especially when you fuckers have belittled and triggered it more so? We have our rights to our secrets but fuck ME you lot NEED to start acting appropriately and like decent fucking humans. ‘iTs HeLl’ yeah and welcome to Earth- the team and yourselves live HERE. You obide by THESE rules. And as someone with beliefs (and a LOT of ancient fucking texts and studies on this shit) their Hell isnt even a proper Hell! It’s closer to purgatory and even then it’s not. Regardless, it’s a poorly built world with the lore consistently changing per episode and tweet, with many plot holes, and is apparently easy to get into - even via accidentally watching porn according to a stream. If youre gonna parade youre a fucking expert and research into demonology and use real believed figures, at least get THAT right. In fact, Lucifer and Lilith (and Stolas tbf) are ESPECIALLY risky as theyre a lot more complex than most easy access texts will tell you. Likewise, Stolas’s first introduction and main focus is sex. He’s one of the FEW Goetia demons that dont have some involvement in relationship issues at ALL. He’s known for astrology, crystals and herbs but hes also known to aid MONEY troubles (it’s lesser known but it’s true! HB Stolas is an insult to the Prince). Turning Vodou into something evil is vile considering it’s powerful and liberated slaves. Pentagrams are nothing to do with Satan, they’re magic based sigils. Upside down cross is the symbol of a SAINT. It’s just some edgy attempt to trick people into believing they know more than they do. Also you should NEVER dabble and doodle sigils without knowing the meanings or respecting what they behold. Vox and Val, real fuckin cute way to make them look like a stupid fucking highschool drama instead of a fucking SEX TRAFFICKER (note: real pimps often target YOUNG folks too - aka minors - and groom them into sex work. Theres different types of pimp. Viv has shown barely any understanding of ‘the game’ and its a fucking insult to injury. Yes we KNOW what a fucking pimp and prozzie are! We dont need to see it. We need REAL AWARENESS.) and a fucking scheming bastard of a CEO salesman botman. And yet even THEN lets go a step further and make some yandere wuv on boyfweind aboose! Fuck off- Now I love a good anime but these tropes are getting fucking dangerous now. And unrealistic to real love and relationships. Kids nowadays know fuck all on a healthy relationship (neither did the fuckin 50s tbf) and Im seeing more romaticism and glorifying abusive situations. Like the show ‘You’. Ok, there’s a fuckin bloke online who slaughtered innocents and kidnapped yet people commented how cute he is on his IG and that they want to be kidnapped or killed by him next. Dont believe me? Look up Peter Manfredonia Connecticut and the comments people left him and then tell me why shit like whats being presented in HH/HB ISNT fucking concerning - because it is. For a series about redemption, it’s brilliant at the opposite (Quote from the creator herself, Viv has posted that it’s influencing her bad choices. Even as a joke, proof’s in the pudding). And the overall focus on sex in the way Viv does is so immature and really creepy, and this is from an ADULTS perspective. From one adult to another, Im concerned as to why any of them think this is a normal fixation. Then again they’ve hired quite a large amount of dodgy folks and even a child. Most of this shit gets avoided with a basic background check like most companies run. I DO like Hazbin. Or the premise. I love some of the cast and spite the others. In Helluva, I just like a tiny portion of the cast. And I critique it so harshly because Viv DOES need a wakeup slap, grounding to reality, people who arent going to big her up or kiss her arse for once and shape her up to be the best she can be. The actually reach and even surpass her potential. And to reach where you need to be, there’s a lot of harsh lessons youll face. That’s life. Shes chosen one of the most HEARTLESS industries and if she blocks out critique as ‘hate’ then she’s not strong enough and wont last. It’s just another unprepped YanDev again (except I dont believe Viv to be a nonce. Even with her dodgy past and dodgy present, I think her perspective on sex and relationship with sexuality is FAR from healthy BUT I dont believe she’s a pedophile. Ive bled my fair share and so far, I just think her sex perspective isnt healthy or mature for her age. But there’s little to nothing to suggest actual noncery - dont worry about accusations there. But YanDev is totally a dirty predator. Just clearing that up). Viv NEEDS some harshness and stability if she wants to do things right. And it’ll make her fucking cry but if she loves these projects as much as she claims to, then you’ll sacrifice blood, sweat and tears for that shit. Even the strongest points are mediocre at best when properly observed. She CAN do more, but she’ll have to face the harsh music. Viv wont see this, but if she does, I dont care if it upsets her. Why? Because this is that much of an issue - something she’s cultivated - that she needs to take action and not ignore it or be secretive about it. She needs to grow up and get tougher skin. Im not saying this to cause her pain. In fact, I wouldnt waste my fucking limited time if I DIDNT care. Trust me, I have duties to be met at a certain quota every single day. I say this shit only because I give a shit and care. If we met, she’d fucking hate me. But people like me are good for shaping people up to their potential. And we arent always this ‘tough love’ either. But when someone needs that level of harshness to help themselves, we’re not afraid to lose people or cause upset if the results end up being the best for them. If she ever saw this, she needs to re fucking evaluate her message, her story, and those she’s choosing to welcome into her circle. And all Im seeing is one rookie mistake after the other. Her paid patreon discord. Just like the messages Honest has posted on her side of being harassed (not in Vivs fyi), Ive experienced shit and bullying and even stay silent on their for being attacked for a group I fuckin paid to be in and yet I feel isolated. It’s all arsekissing and ‘thank you viv’ (thats an actual channel-) and it feels like a place of borderline worship and people trying to appease her 24/7 whilst kicking others with different opinions down. There’s so many I love but I aint kissin yer fuckin arse. Ask the closest friend I have - we’re fucking raw and wont just side with each other just because. We’ll call each other out if we think they’ve fucked up and then help each other build themselves up better. Because real fuckin people who actually care wont just want to be adored by you. They’ll care enough to point out your bullshit and help you, even if they upset you at the time. They’re real and upfront with you. People like us arent always the easiest to be close to either because we arent afraid of upsetting someone if it’s in their best interest and to help them. Likewise, we dont go out looking for fights either. Most times, we’re fuckin soft bastards- All this shit listed is the fuckin surface level of the real life hell of this fandom. And unsurprisingly, those who experience little to no toxicity have always been higher on that popularity ‘food chain’ - enough admirers and shared opinions that people wanna arse kiss regardless of their OWN feelings as well as neutral perspectives. I’d say you’re the lucky fans, but you’re not. You’re sheltered, and that isnt always the best way to be sadly. As for the fans. If Ive upset you. Well... I dont care. Because many of you have actively sought me out and weaponised my traumas against me. You never cared about my feelings then. Why should I care about yours? Im not doing this out of malice. Im fed up of humans behaving so pathetically yet claiming to be high and mighty. Most of you have been arseholes to those in and out of the community. The victims and non-victims alike. Hardly any of you considered once my real suffering. You put a drawing over a life. Many lives. You had the audacity to tell me Im full of shit. Some even using my real traumas to make a mockery of me and those Im around with a very similar history. Some with traumatic histories that differ from my own. You hardly ever considered the real lives of those effected. So no, Im not sorry for having the fucking balls to this day to still stand up for our rights and give us a voice that’s long been stolen. Im not sorry for being a fucking victim. Im not sorry for saying what desperately NEEDS voicing. And Im not sorry for not conforming to you or any fandom just to belong. We deserve better than to constantly be your fuckin arse monkeys (well... the trope is butt monkey but yknow-) and to be mistreated, misrepresented and harmed by you. You’re no different to the school bullies who give speeches on anti-bullying day. And I hope every single one of you starts looking into yourselves and improving. PS: Depending on the texts you read, Lucifer is said to have been redeemed or to be redeemed. Fun fact to haunt yalls with~ “

#warning long #long post #hazbin critical #very long rant #important #hear victims voices #just sick of how awful people can treat one another and believe this is acceptable #everyone is accountable #toxic fanbase #Toxic shippers #toxic ships #im literally too fucking old for this #forgive the anger but after years and years it gets so cumbersome and tiring #im happy to be the pariah if it means victims actually get heard and helped

[mnthpprt]

Chapter 5: First We Feast

[For those who are following my writing, you may have seen it doesn’t quite line up with the game’s timeline. I don’t want it to be exactly the same, but I do want to keep the core of the story. In this version, the events take place in 1894, and the main character is from 2020. Well, a version of 2020 without any of this Covid fuckery. I wanted to make a more realistic MC than the one in the game, whose actions rarely line up with my own. This MC is modern and feisty, and specifically written from the cultures I know best. While it might not be as relatable as most Ikevamp works, I can promise you all it is as authentic as it gets, kinda like a “what would I do” scenario if I was in MC’s situation. On top of that, there are several headcanons applied to the different characters, so if you have any, let me know and I will add the ones I like. Thank you for reading. This is my first public piece of writing so I am thrilled that some people are enjoying it already.]

Le Comte de Saint-Germain returns to the dining room, pulling me out of my thoughts just before the silence gets awkward. It is then that I realize that Sebastian is no longer standing next to me. I did not see him leave. Prompted by the nobleman’s return, all the other men take a seat around the large table. Once everyone is in place, I sit on one of the empty chairs beside le Comte, and look at him for validation. He smiles approvingly, and as if on cue, Sebastian reappears with a cart full of plates that he begins setting on the table.

My stomach growls at the smell. It is supposed to be around 4 in the afternoon - back in the present, at least - and I have ingested nothing but iced coffee all day. As Sebastian serves everyone, I softly nudge le Comte’s arm.

“I have so many questions I don’t know where to begin. Do you think you could...?” I inquire, before being gently interrupted by him.

“Of course, ma chérie, I will answer anything you want to know. After dinner, you can visit my study.” After dinner. Of course. My leg bounces under the table in a poor attempt to get rid of some impatient energy. Meanwhile, le Comte raises his voice, along with the glass of champagne that now sits in front of him. “It has been a while since most of us were gathered together to enjoy the evening like this, and I must say I greatly appreciate it. À votre santé!”

The rest follow his lead and all drink in unison. I, on the other hand, take my time eyeing and then sniffing the bubbly liquid. Though I am less jittery now, I still don’t trust these people. I have no way of knowing whether the mysterious door that led me here is truly impossible to open or if they are deliberately keeping me in this century. I soon conclude that the champagne is safe to drink. I’m sure it all came from the same bottle, so anything that might be in it would affect everyone else too.

I take a hesitant sip, not wanting to drink on an empty stomach. A pleasured sound escapes my lips. This is the best champagne I have ever tasted. Though I am tempted to have more, I decide to try the food first. I have no idea if this coq au vin could be drugged or poisoned, but at this point I am too hungry to care. My eyes go wide at the wonderful taste of the dish, and I dig in. More food follows soon after, which I rest from by taking more sips of champagne.

The rest of the banquet goes on like any other dinner would. I remain silent, my mouth busy chewing, and some small talk can be heard between the residents. When everyone is finished, le Comte speaks again.

“Thank you, Sebastian. What a wonderful meal.” He politely excuses himself as everyone starts to get up, and I follow close behind. “Anaïs. There is something I want to show you,” he tells me once we make it onto the hallway. I nod silently and walk along with him to his study.

Once inside, he gestures toward a large hourglass that sits on the floor by a fireplace. It looks like it was recently turned, the sand falling from it in a thin stream forming a small pile at the bottom.

“This is what measures when the door will open,” he explains, his voice low and gentle, like he is fully aware that he is delivering delicate information. “You are welcome to come in at any time to see its progress. As I mentioned before, it takes roughly a month for all the sand to fall. Sadly, during that time, you will be stuck here, in the 19th century. So will I. The door works in mysterious ways, but even I must abide by its rules.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. So this is it. This is the thing keeping me from going home. For something so scary and frustrating, I find it surprisingly beautiful. I wordlessly shuffle closer and look at the lights reflecting off the curved glass surface.

“Comte?” My eyes remain on the stream of sand as I talk.

“Yes, ma chérie?”

“How does this work? How is any of this possible?” I breathe out. I do not expect an answer, for even if he had one, I doubt I would be able to comprehend it. “And the residents, are they really...?”

“Who they say they are? Yes. Tonight you met the real Vincent Van Gogh, the real Isaac Newton, the real Mozart. They arrived here the same way you did, through a time slip. I personally brought each of them back after they died.”

“What do you mean, after they died?”

Before he can answer, someone knocks on the door. Sebastian doesn’t wait to be invited to come in and stand under the frame, waiting.

“Oh? It appears your room is ready,” le Comte changes the topic. “Your belongings are already there. Good night, ma chérie.”

I take that as being dismissed, and I begrudgingly follow Sebastian out of the study, unsatisfied with my answers - or lack thereof. As we walk, a light piano melody floats through the hallway. That must be Mozart. I can’t help but wonder at how happy the music sounds in contrast to his attitude during diner.

We come to a halt in front of an open door. The bedroom inside is elegantly decorated, but ultimately simple, mostly consisting of whites and light pinks. My backpack sits on a plush ottoman by the bed, and my skates, still strapped together, on the floor below it. Next to me, Sebastian clears his throat.

“There is a nightgown on the bed for you. We shall get you some new clothes tomorrow so you have something else to wear. Not that there’s anything wrong with your outfit, in fact, I quite like it, but it might call unwanted attention in this century.” His casual statement surprises me.

“Wait, are you from the future too?” He does not seem fazed or offended by my tight jeans and cropped sweater, and having received a few strange looks from the other residents, I know that there is more than just discretion at play here.

“Yes,” he nods with a smile. “2013. Le Comte mentioned you yourself came from the year 2020, correct?”

“Yeah. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who got literally stuck in the past. A lot has changed since 2013, too. I was just a child, back then. Back then? Can I say that if it’s 119 years in the future?” I notice I have started to ramble and trail off. Sebastian laughs. His presence in this mansion is somewhat comforting, and I am happy to know we have that in common, which makes me wonder. “Sebastian?” I hesitate to ask. “How did you end up here?”

“Unlike you, I came willingly.” I tilt my head as my lips form a quiet ‘oh’. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. “I was a historian in my time,” he continues. “I met le Comte while traveling and he invited me here. Of course, having spent my life studying these remarkable people, I could not miss the chance to meet them in person.”

That makes sense. I wonder if he knew then that he would not be able to come back, but from the way he speaks of the experience, I don’t think he minds.

“Huh. Now that I think about it, the only one I don’t know anything about is Dazai. His name sounds familiar, isn’t he a writer or something?” I am familiar with a couple modern Japanese authors, but anything before the 70s isn’t exactly available in the West, even in my time. Sebastian nods.

“He is one of the most important writers in Japan. I see the availability of his work in the rest of the world hasn’t changed much, huh? Lucky for you, I have an English copy of ‘No Longer Human’. You can borrow it any time you like.” I thank him with a smile before he continues. “As for the residents, there are two you have yet to meet that were not present at the banquet. Leonardo da Vinci and Jean d’Arc.”

“She’s here?” I perk up upon hearing the name. It has just dawned on me that staying for a month might pose certain feminine problems, and I welcome the idea of another woman to give me such advice. Sebastian’s laugh warns me like a stop sign before my hopes crash.

“He.” I stare blankly at him, failing to understand what he means by that. He must know what I’m thinking, because he goes on to explain. “Jean is a man. Historical records have a funny way of twisting the facts

“Damn it,” I quietly mutter. Regardless, I am still excited to meet them. I will have to talk to le Comte about my problem, though. It’s not like tampons have been invented yet. “Anyway, Sebastian, thank you for everything. I don’t want to keep you for too long.”

With another friendly smile, he wishes me good night and leaves me alone in my room. I close the door behind me, kick off my shoes and sit on the edge of the bed before fishing my phone from the backpack I brought with me. The screen says 17:02, but here it must be past midnight already. Between the over all shock and the fact that I am a night owl in my present, I wonder how I am going to sleep tonight. Who knew transtemporal jet lag could be such an inconvenience?

There is no signal, which isn’t surprising. Luckily, the battery is still almost full. I wonder how the other residents would react to seeing a smartphone. I doubt advanced technology would warrant the same kind of side eye Mozart gave me for my appearance. And then I wonder how I will get used to the corsets and big dresses that I will probably be wearing for the rest of the month. While I love the aesthetic of the period, I will have to learn to deal with the discomfort and limited freedom of movement.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevam #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevamp fanfiction #ikevam fanfic #ikemen vampire comte #ikevamp comte #ikemen vampire sebastian #ikevamp sebastian

[risingmoonyue]

Old Soul

Summary: Talia always said Damian was an old soul. She just didn’t realize how right she was. 

Fandom: Batman

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 3779

Trigger Warnings: Character Death, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Cutting, Child Abuse

Notes: This is a reincarnation fanfiction about Damian. It is to be noted that the reincarnated person does not know about Batman from their past life. There are a few religious hints in a place or two, but if you don’t like it you don’t have to read it. It’s also pretty easy to skip over. I am also ignoring the whole Ric Grayson thing and probably have gotten the timeline wrong, but neither of those really matter a whole lot for this fic. 

On a separate note, I finally found the Keep Reading button. Beat that Tumblr!

Talia always said Damian was an old soul. She just didn’t realize just how right she was.

XXX

Damian al Ghul was born on a warm August night out of an artificial womb in a cold, cold room. Somewhere far away, nine months before, a talented young girl died far before her time. Somehow, that girl was aware of both these events. 

She wailed as she was pulled out of a glowing green tube.

She was so cold.

XXX

Time passes, and she learns more. Her name is Damian. She’s a he now. He didn’t mind too much. Sympathy for both sides now, he supposed. She always went with the flow in the Before, and he would too in the Now. 

He contemplated how different—how advanced, if he’s grasped his current surroundings well enough—his biology must be for him to be able to comprehend everything in the Before and Now when he was one. (He didn’t think he should ask.)

He learned his family legacy at two. 

He officially met his grandfather at three. 

He was trained since he was able to walk. 

His first kill was the nursemaid his mother deemed too close to him after he learned basic Arabic. 

He learned he could not be as he was when he met his mother. 

In his previous life, Damian had been an actor. Who-he-was-Before had trained endlessly for years with a passion unlike any other. She was the best at what she did, and everyone knew it. 

To survive, Damian-in-the-Now realized he needed a mask. A role to play.

At two years old, Damian donned the mask of “Ibn al Xu’ffasch”. 

At two years old, Damian started the riskiest play he will ever act in either lives. 

At two years old, Damian’s tears and screams silenced. 

He felt so numb.

XXX

“Ibn” was a little snot. He was self-entitled, spoiled, and had a superiority complex. 

Despite everything though, “Ibn” just wanted acknowledgment, being someone raised in a loveless environment. He had soft spots, but if he felt threatened, he fell onto the instincts brutally beaten into him and attacked.

He was a child raised in a horrible environment that adapted the best he could.

This was the character Damian made.

This was “Ibn”.

XXX

At five years old, Damian played “Ibn” constantly. The stage was set, he had memorized his lines, and it was far too late—far too dangerous—to back out now. 

If he stopped, he knew, he would break into thousands of tiny pieces. 

(He didn’t want to be doing this for nothing.)

(Maybe, maybe if he did this long enough, he would finally get to exit stage left, and go far, far away.)

(Maybe he’d get to act for fun again.)

(He liked that thought.)

Damian could only come out when he was safe, when there was an intermission in this big, long play. 

Damian was never safe. 

XXX

At eight years old, Damian completes the Year of Blood. He prays for forgiveness to God, even if he’s certain at this point he would never deserve anything close to it. He prays that the souls he so mercilessly slaughtered would find peace, even if he burns in hell forever for everything he’s done. 

Damian feels dirty. 

He has never wanted to cry more in the years of playing “Ibn”. 

But Damian is never safe. 

So “Ibn” must stay on—a mask that never leaves. 

He was slowly starting to forget the life Before; starting to lose himself to “Ibn”. 

He didn’t want to forget—he didn’t want to become “Ibn”. He’d rather die. 

Was it bad that Damian wanted to die?

XXX

At ten years old, Mother sends Damian—sends her son “Ibn”—to his father. Damian was expecting a detective, one who could fight well enough to impress Mother and Grandfather.

That is not what he sees. Oh, the man is still a seasoned fighter and a brilliant detective. That much is true. But...

His father is a grown man who dresses like a bat. His father is a furry. And, supposedly, a superhero. Which was weird, because he didn’t realize superheroes were real. (Then again, at this point he had found enough differences to establish that he was from an alternate universe.)

Mother left these bits out when she spoke with “Ibn” about him. 

He supposed it was just his luck he was reborn into a family full of assassins and furries. 

Damian wasn’t quite sure what to think about that. Regardless, it likely doesn’t matter what Damian thinks of the man. His father had—had sexual intercourse with Mother of all people, who has been pit-mad for as long as Damian can remember. (And God, wasn’t that an image he wanted out of his head.)

Surely his father was just like Mother?

After all, it’s all he’s ever known in this cruel world. 

No, much better in the long run for “Ibn” to stay on, even as Mother leaves him cold and alone in Gotham. 

Father may not say it, but he knows he’s unwanted. 

XXX

Damian doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand anything here. 

Back in his previous prison abode home, the rules were clearly defined. The stage was set, the props were up, the script was written, and “Ibn” was made for center stage. 

Bat Father didn’t want “Ibn”. 

As “Ibn”, he was a burden. Unuseful. A monster in human skin. 

There was no way to accept “Ibn” in his life. 

Damian wanted to cry. He couldn’t switch masks, he couldn’t. If he did, he would break. Shatter into a thousand tiny pieces cutting into his flesh and bones. 

He couldn’t subject himself to that. 

Damian didn’t want to be here. 

Damian didn’t want to be anywhere. 

Damian wanted to die. 

But he couldn’t.

Mother and Grandfather would bring him back in the pits whose water already stained his eyes green. 

And he would break. But this time there would be no escape.

Damian wonders why he was even born. 

XXX

Damian had the feeling that if he were born here, he would have loved them—been a real family, like he can foggily remember having in the Before. 

Father is large and strong, an unchanging pillar in a mess of chaos. Despite his furry status (which he will never ever speak of out loud), he has proven to be a reliable man and an even better fighter. Damian respects him so much. Especially his no-kill policy.

Grayson is a smiling, warm light that Damian desperately wanted directed at him. The man had a temper, but did his best to treat him kindly, even with Ibn being an unwanted mess in their lives. He reminds Damian of an acrobat—a fellow showman—Who-he-was-Before knew in life. He was always smiling and finding a reason to laugh. Damian wonders what he’s doing now.

Drake is a certifiable genius, who also happens to be around the same age as Who-he-was-Before. He thinks that it would’ve been fun to talk with him, pick his brain, and make stupid Gen Z jokes no one else got to make. Damian was sad that Ibn had to take such a negative light on him. He thinks they could’ve been close if they met in the Before. He's sad Ibn has to hate him.

Todd reminded him of home at first—of Mother, of Grandfather, and of endless bloody steel—but as he gathered more information about him (always know who poses a threat to your legacy, my son), he decided Todd was much closer to Damian and Ibn—to himself—than anyone at the League. He was someone who died and woke up again in the cold, cold dark. Damian wonders if Todd is more like him than he realized. Maybe he had a Before too. Maybe he was also an unwilling actor on this great stage. Even if he wasn’t, they remained the same at their core—a broken soul inside a bruised and battered body.

Alfred reminded him of the misty images he had of Grandpa from the Before—always bustling about, finding something to do, scolding everyone when required, always with words of wisdom to impart. Damian missed Grandpa. He always knew what to say or do. 

He wishes Ibn didn't always try to kill everyone. He hates killing people.

Maybe in another life, Damian would’ve been born here. Maybe instead of a Mother’s pit-tainted love, a Grandfather’s twisted teachings, and a legacy of blood, shadows and death, he could’ve had this. 

Maybe.

Ibn decides there is no point thinking about this.

Damian decides this whole business terrifies him. 

He’s  s o  c o l d .

XXX

At ten years old, Father dies. 

Damian couldn’t bring himself to be surprised, even if Ibn acted otherwise. Everyone around him seemed to die eventually. Everyone but him. 

He resigned himself to returning to warm nights and cold, cold blood-soaked steel. 

XXX

Damian didn’t understand. 

They had the chance to send him back. “Ibn” had been a burden on them. “Ibn” never listened. “Ibn” was a murderer. They should have abandoned him, just like he deserved for all the blood on his grimy little hands. 

Why did they keep him? Why make him Robin? This wasn’t in the script. This wasn’t in the script at all. 

Damian didn’t understand. 

XXX

For the first time since the Before, Damian felt warm. Grayson—Richard, he allowed, if only in his head—kept him, cared for him, taught him, scolded him, trusted him, treated him like the child he was never allowed to be. Let him be that child.

Didn't force expectations on him. Explained exactly what the rules were. 

Damian didn’t need a script here. For once “Ibn” was slowly showing the actor underneath. Not quite, but…

Damian thought that if he let himself break, Richard might just pick up the pieces. 

Maybe he’d finally live.

XXX

Father returned. Richard—Grayson—left. Only back to Bludhaven, but left all the same. Left him with Father and Drake. 

He felt cold again. 

He didn’t know how to act around Father and Drake. 

Damian didn’t think about breaking character anymore. 

XXX

Mother placed a bounty on Damian’s head. 

He didn’t know why it hurt so much. It was in character, after all. A future act of the play he just didn’t look at for fear of what lay ahead. 

It was completely in character. 

So why did it blindside him so much?

Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. 

His Father’s family never stayed on the same script—or even a script at all. One moment everything was going as predicted, then the next the entire course changed, and the characters completely changed while Ibn stayed the same. He wished their scripts would just choose one and stay there. It would make so much more sense. 

(He wished Mother’s script would change.)

(Mother’s script was full of death-tainted love with the magic of the pits corroding its edges.)

It really shouldn’t hurt this much. It was just all one big play, after all. 

So why did it hurt so bad?

XXX

Mother killed him.

She created a clone that was and wasn’t him, the body but not the soul. An actor who had no other. 

She ignored his cries to stop, to call off his pitiful brother that only listened to her commands and nothing else. 

She killed him. 

He finally got what he wanted. 

So why was he not content?

Why was he still hurting?

Why would it not stop?!

He wondered if he would be reborn again. 

Would he have an After, and leave Damian and Ibn to become Who-he-was-Before as well?

Or would he be reborn like Todd and Grandfather and Mother, with the evil magic of Lazarus that corrupts and changes?

Damian wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

He was fine staying dead.

Really.

He was.

XXX

He woke up. 

Father came for him. 

Father revived him, without using the Lazarus Pits.

Father smiled at him.

He was fine with not waking up. But now he thinks he’s fine with waking up too. 

Damian felt warm again.

Maybe he would stay this way?

XXX

Grayson was dead. 

Damian died so the man would live, and the man doesn’t have the decency to at least stay alive to see Damian again. 

Damian wished his Father’s family would stop making him feel warm again. It wasn’t worth it when the cold inevitably came back. 

So much pain, so much emotional whiplash, so much cold-then-warm-then-coldcoldcold.

“Ibn” was becoming harder to maintain. Someday, he knows, he won’t have the chance to take off the mask, to exit the stage before he breaks. Still, he maintains character.

Actors don’t break character.

No matter what.

Outside, Ibn stood strong and proud.

Inside, Damian was falling, falling, fading, slowly being embraced by the cold, cold dark. 

XXX

Jon was nice. For all that he and Ibn got off on the wrong foot, Ibn liked him. 

Ibn liked someone Damian liked.

Damian didn’t think it would happen in his lifetime, not this quickly, and not someone unrelated to Father.

Damian thinks it’s nice to have a friend like Jon. Jon seems to understand him in ways a lot of other people don’t. Jon somehow managed to see the actor without knowing he was seeing him. It was weird. (He'd be a natural actor, Damian thinks)

He somehow knows when Damian is feeling so, so cold; more cold than normal. When he is, he takes Ibn-and-Damian somewhere quiet, and they just… sit. And talk. And just be.

It’s nice.

Damian is glad he has Jon as a friend. 

Damian isn’t scared to feel a little warm around Jon. 

Just a quiet warmth, only with him. He never took it anywhere else. It was a special kind of warmth, reserved for special times and special people. Like a family that chose him regardless of his wishes, of his past; a sibling he never knew he had.

Jon was his grounding rock in this chaotic mess of a play.

Damian had missed having a best friend.

Damian thinks it may be worth living if he can make Jon smile more.

XXX

Sometimes, in a rare good mood, he would gently teach Jon how to act. The way to direct attention to his hands at all the right times, how to keep a poker face, how to fully immerse yourself in your role. How to decide a script for yourself and to stick to it. How to use the skills on and off the stage, and the differences between the two. Warns him about the dangers of long-term roles, of a semi-permanent mask. Of becoming too immersed, of losing yourself. They never said anything about it. This time was something special. Something theirs. (He thinks Jon has probably realized by now that Damian always wears his mask.)

Damian liked using his skills for something good in this life. (Someone to pass them on to, just in case.)

If this was the closest Damian ever came to removing his mask (even closer than with Grayson), neither of them ever said a word.

It was better that way.

XXX

Grayson was alive. 

Grayson was always alive, and Damian didn’t think he’d ever been this angry—this hurt—ever, in the Before and the Now. Never for this long, never this intensely. 

In the Before, Damian’s anger came slowly and burned quickly, never staying long. He went with the flow. His forgiveness came quickly, but his memory lasted forever. He went with the flow always, he still did when he could, but—

But he was so ANGRY. 

Damian thought death might be better than this hot-cold-burning anger. 

Was this what being warm around someone brought him? The hot-cold-burning feeling? 

He didn’t like it.

The numb cold was safe. “Ibn” was easier in the cold. Why couldn’t he just stay cold?

Why did Grayson always make him feel again, no matter how hard he tried? Why did Grayson keep messing up his script? Even Jon, a key cast member, never did that. Jon danced around, a supporting role in the cast of characters, supporting him as he could from the sidelines. He was like a senior understudy, learning as both the backup and his own role. (But there was no equivalent of how special Jon was, Damian knew.) His times became his own, making use of every second of spotlight. Grayson always seemed to jump onto the stage regardless of the script and do whatever the heck he wanted.

Damian sometimes thought that the only way to feel completely numb again was to just die. For good. 

XXX

He tried. 

He slit his wrist. 

He really tried.

But he couldn’t. Once the blood started pouring, he thought of Jon, Father, of Drake and Todd and Alfred and Grayson and how warm they sometimes made him even if he was sure they had to hate him so much—

He couldn’t. 

He couldn’t die. 

He cursed his selfish heart, that despite his best efforts, still craved that beautiful, comfortable warmth. 

He just wanted to feel numb again. 

He looked at his bleeding wrist, staunching the blood, and felt just an inkling of that numbness, and—

He kept doing it.

XXX

Damian was very careful after that first time. He never cut too deep, and “Ibn” never showed any signs of wounds nor pain (no grandson of mine will show such pathetic weakness).

(He started pulling away from Jon. He didn’t want to taint his warm-warm-light with his dark-dark-cold.)

Everything was fine.

Everything was completely under control. 

(It had to be.)

XXX

It wasn’t enough. Soon cutting didn’t seem to help, didn’t seem to bring back that blessedblessednumbness and he needed it and he didn’t understand why and he just wanted to feel that numbness one more time—

XXX

Damian got careless. 

He cut too much, and he cut too deep. He would live, but hiding them was next to impossible with the weather warming up and the humidity hanging in the air. It would be so hard for Ibn to hide them.

God, he was so tired. 

XXX

They were on patrol. Everyone was there for once. Grayson was visiting from Bludhaven, and Todd was hanging around from wherever he left to when he was globetrotting. 

His Father and his three sons, all on one patrol together. With Damian. 

He should’ve known it would be impossible to hide his wounds. 

All it took was Drake grabbing his arm to stop him from leaving. He showed pain. He cried out in pain. 

Pathetic. 

He’s an actor. He was supposed to keep to his role. No breaking character in the middle of a scene. 

Ever.

But he did. 

And now they know. 

XXX

They wouldn’t stop asking questions.

They were in the Medbay, and as they inspected and treated his wounds, they kept asking WHY and HOW and with WHAT and it's all Damian can do to keep “Ibn” up and running. 

He isn’t sure how much longer he can last. 

XXX 

It’s Todd that finally got Ibn—Damian—to break. 

Damian knew that Todd had stayed in the League for a time after being revived. He was Mother’s “pet project,” so to speak. 

He just hadn’t realized Mother talked about him to Todd during that time. 

“You know,” said Todd, his eyes sympathetic and knowing as he tried to get Damian to open up, “Talia always said you were an old soul.”

That sentence. That one blasted sentence that defined his very existence in this world. 

It broke “Ibn” to pieces. 

And shattered Damian along with it. 

XXX

Damian didn’t stop crying for hours. He was so tired, and this was just all so wrong, he didn’t want to break script, he shouldn’t, but—

He was so tired.

XXX

In the end, Damian told them.

About the Before and Now. 

About Mother and Grandfather. 

About the warm-and-cold. 

About the numbness he needed. 

About how he wanted to die, but couldn’t.

About “Ibn”.

About the grand play that was his entire life. 

About the scripts everyone and no one seemed to follow. 

He told them everything. 

XXX

They listened in silence.

Damian didn’t dare look at them. He didn’t want to risk seeing—something. Anything. He didn’t want to see what was going through their thoughts. 

He didn’t know how they would react. They never stayed on script. Why should they adhere to any kind of script at all now? 

Why expect anything good to come out of this?

He was a broken mess, a freak of nature. He was a murderous monster who was bred to feel no grief nor guilt nor sadness.

He wasn’t supposed to care.

So

WHY

D I D

H   E

?

XXX

Damian closed his eyes when he finished. He didn’t even want to chance seeing their reactions. Their rejection. Their hate. Their disgust. 

He had no mask to hide behind. 

He was already broken. 

He didn’t want the broken shards of what was left to be pulverized. 

He waited for the sounds of their rejection, of their hate, of their disgust. Scorn, anger. Something. ANYTHING. He just hoped that whatever they did, they didn’t drag it out. That they got it over with. 

Maybe then he could finally die?

“Damian.” That sound. It was his name. But it was careful. Delicate. Within it was a tone that felt so familiar. It reminded him of the warm feeling he sometimes got. He remembered hearing that tone in the Before, but… What was it? He used to know, he knew, but he couldn’t remember anymore. 

“Dami… You know we love you, right?”

What?

Love?

Him?

Damian’s eyes popped open in surprise. He didn’t understand. 

Those words. He couldn’t comprehend those words. Love?

Damian?

The one who created Ibn al Xu’ffasch?

The one who played Ibn for years? Who played him for so long he could barely remember who “Damian” was?

Who could love someone like that?

He told them so. 

Why did they look so sad? 

Why did they look so scared, so horrified, but still have that- that warmth, that emotion- that love in their eyes?

Damian didn’t understand. 

D A M I A N  D I D N ’ T  U N D E R S T A N D !

Why? 

WHY?

WHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHY—?!

Damian started crying again as warm-warm-so-warm arms circled around him, encompassing him with a warmth he hadn’t felt before, not in this life.

It was like the stage lights were replaced with sunshine instead.

His ears were barraged with the sounds of endless warm-warm-warm words, saying things he thought would be impossible to attribute to him ever since he was small. 

The dead girl-now-boy.

The actor.

The creator of “Ibn”. 

The coward who hid behind a mask for over eight years. 

Damian.

All of him. Maybe, Damian thought, feeling so, so warm, he could be okay again.

Just sitting here, surrounded by this warm, warm love. 

(END)

Whoo boy. If you’re still here, thanks for reading! Lemme know what you guys think, and if you want to see more from this AU!

Now, if you excuse me, I’m gonna go read something fluffy.

#batman #batman au #batman fanfiction #angst #hurt/comfort #reincarnation #damian wayne #talia al ghul #ras al ghul #bruce wayne #dick grayson #tim drake #jason todd #jon kent #oc #trigger warning #batfam #reincarnation au