#usually said in much nastier ways

[asteria-argo]

you know as someone who doesn't want kids but enjoys the hell out of families in fiction both found and otherwise, I gotta say the people who are vehemently against the idea of their Girlboss Fav having kids because it'll ruin their characters are usually right but they're also super annoying about it.

#yes! they often will be reduced to ONLY being mothers in the event they have children by both fans and writers and that IS super annoying #but ALSO a lot of y'all get really hateful about the very concept of children in the process of expressing that #and it is super uncomfortable to witness #you know kids are still people right? they are human people regardless of if you personally like them or not #their only traits are not being sticky or clingy or dirty #they are whole entire people with actual personalities and feelings and wants #Yes even babies #the very prevalent hatred for children that exists in the world is truly horrifying #and seeing it in fandom when talking about the possibility of female characters wanting kids or a family is not shocking to me #but it is disappointing #especially when I often agree that I don't think one of these characters would WANT to be a mother #but their reasoning for why usually boils down to kids are disgusting and annoying #usually said in much nastier ways

[thekillingvote]

No Birds Allowed: Batman without Robin

The usual claim is that Jason Todd was singularly hated by audiences. Dick Grayson, Carrie Kelley, and Tim Drake are proper, beloved Robins—and Jason Todd is the one and only outlier so unlikable that audiences killed him off by popular vote.

But this claim ignores a massive piece of the puzzle—the Robin role has long been treated as an outdated remnant of a childish era, not only by a significant share of Batman fans, but also by Batman creative teams. While there were definitely fans who hated Jason Todd, he was at least partly chosen to be killed as a scapegoat for some long-standing complaints about the Robin role in Batman stories.

The 1988 poll to kill Jason Todd wasn't just a poll to kill Jason Todd—the poll to kill Robin was a poll to kill Robin.

Fan letters columns from Batman #221 and Detective Comics #398, reacting to Dick leaving for Hudson University in Batman #217 (1969):

Denny O'Neil Batman/Detective Comics writer (1970-1980) Batman group editor (1986-2000) on sending Robin away to Hudson University:

Dan Greenfield: Actually, last night I went back through my comics and the one thing that always strikes me is that before you came onto the character, they’d already made the decision to have Robin leave. Robin was up at Hudson University and was used sparingly from that point forward. Denny O’Neil: Well, that was a conscious decision of mine. Greenfield: Oh! O’Neil: Yeah, I mean … I had been offered Batman a year before I did it. Greenfield: No kidding? I wanna hear this. O’Neil: Because that was in the (Batman TV show) camp thing. The comics were very half-heartedly following in the footsteps of the camp because it was having a palpable effect on circulation. That’s not always true but it was in that case. Camp as in the sense — as opposed to the more erudite sense — this one-line joke about: “I loved this stuff when I was 6 and now that I’m 28 and I have a bi-weekly appointment with a therapist and a little, mild drug habit and two divorces, ‘Look how silly it is.'” I would go into the most literary bar in Greenwich Village on (Wednesday) or Thursday evenings and there would be writers and poets and college professors, all looking at Batman! But when that was over, it was over. It was like somebody turned a switch. And that’s when (editor) Julie (Schwartz) said, in his avuncular way, did I have any ideas for Batman? And at that point, I wasn’t going to be asked to do camp. I was going to be asked to do anything within the bounds of good taste, etc., that I wanted to.

O'Neil, quoted from “Notes from the Batcave: An Interview with Dennis O’Neil” in The Many Lives of The Batman: Critical Approaches to a Superhero and His Media:

There was a time right before I took over as Batman editor when he seemed to be much closer to a family man, much closer to a nice guy. He seemed to have a love life and he seemed to be very paternal towards Robin. My version is a lot nastier than that. He has a lot more edge to him.

O'Neil in 2015:

Modern Batman does not do camp. He has to evolve but to stay true to the concept he has to stay lonely. The kids, there shouldn't be many. Keep him the lone, obsessed crusader and the stories will be better. We did a story called Son of the Demon. It told a story where he had a kid, a baby. It wasn't in continuity. These days, the kid came back and became the new Robin, and I hear that Batman's got a few more running around.

Jim Starlin, Batman writer (1987-1988), writer of A Death in the Family:

I tried to avoid using [Robin] as much as I could. In most of my early Batman stories, he doesn’t appear. Eventually Denny asked me to do a specific Robin story, which I did, and I guess it went over fairly well from what I understand. But I wasn’t crazy about Robin.

I thought that going out and fighting crime in a grey and black outfit while you send out a kid in primary colors was kind of like child abuse. So when I started working on Batman, I was always leaving Robin out of the stories, and Denny O’Neil who is the editor finally said, "You gotta put [Robin] in."

In the one Batman issue I wrote with Robin featured, I had him do something underhanded, as I recall. Denny had told me that the character was very unpopular with fans, so I decided to play on that dislike. [...] At that time, DC had this idea that they were gonna do an AIDS education book, and so they put a box out and wanted everybody to put in suggestions of who should contract AIDS and perish in the comics. I stuffed it with Robin. They realized it was all my handwriting so they ended up throwing all my things out. About six months later, Denny came up with this idea of the call-in thing. [...] I didn’t find out about it until I came back [from Mexico] and found out that, just as I expected, my ghoulish little fans voted him dead. But by a much smaller margin than I’d imagined. It was only like 72 votes out of 10,000, so statistically it was next to nothing.

Dan Raspler, assistant editor/associate editor to Denny O’Neil (1988-1990):

Denny wasn’t really interested in comics continuity, and he didn’t like superheroes. And if you read his work, you see his influence was really a pushing away from the conventions at the time—it was growing old, that sort of Golden Age-y, Silver Age-y stuff, and Denny sort of modernized it, and he never stopped feeling that way. Jim Starlin’s Batman appealed to Denny. It was a little more ‘down to Earth. Nobody liked Robin at the time. For a while Robin was not—it didn’t make sense in comics. Comics were darkening, and so having the kid was just, it was silly, and even at the time I kind of didn’t. Now Robin is my favorite all-time character, but at the time when I was twenty-whatever, I accepted kicking Robin out, the short pants and all the rest of it.

Comic shop owner Phil Beracha on A Death in the Family, quoted in The Sun Sentinel (October 22, 1988):

"I got 100 copies, and I don't expect them to last past the weekend," said Phil Beracha, owner of Phil's Comic Shoppe in Margate. "I usually get 50 copies of Batman. I doubled my order, and I still expect to sell out." The readers voted right, Beracha said. "Robin is an outdated concept. He was created in the `40s, and back then in a comic book you could have a kid beating up grown men. I don't think that works today."

Writer Steve Englehart, quoted in "Batman, the Gamble; Warner Bros. is betting big money that a 50-year-old comic book vigilante will be a `hero for our times'" in the Los Angeles Times (June 18, 1989):

Writer Steven Englehart, who did a series of Batman stories in Detective Comics, also worked up some movie treatments. In a letter to Comics Buyer's Guide, he revealed the approach he had in mind, which would have pleased Batfanatics: "My first treatment had Robin getting blown away in the first 90 seconds, so that every reviewer in the country would begin his review with, `This sure isn't the TV show.' "

Michael Uslan, producer and film rights holder for the 1989 Batman film:

I only let Tim [Burton] see the original year of the Bob Kane/Bill Finger run, up until the time that Robin was introduced. I showed him the Steve Englehart/Marshall Rogers and the Neal Adams/Denny O'Neil stories. My biggest fear was that somehow Tim would get hold of the campiest Batman comics and then where would we be?

"Death Knell for the Campy Crusader" in the Orlando Sentinel (23 June 1989):

For most people, the name Batman summons up a picture of a clown in long johns, a Campy Crusader who - with the young punster Robin - ZAPed and POWed his way into our lives. That's the Batman that appeared on TV in the mid-'60s, and that's the Batman that the world at large knows. Such is the power of television. But this ludicrous image may become obsolete now that the new, $40 million Batman movie has opened. Robin is absent from the film, as are the perky Batgirl and the utterly superfluous Aunt Harriet of the TV series. And though the movie has plenty of sound effects, they don't appear on the screen as words, spelled out in neo-Brechtian absurdity.

Sam Hamm, writer for Batman (1989 live-action film):

The Case of the Disappearing Robin is high comedy. Tim (Burton) and I had worked out a plotline that did not include the Boy Wonder, whom we both regarded as an unnecessary intrusion. Really: Our hero was crazy to begin with. Did he have to prove it by enlisting a pimply adolescent to help him fight crime? Was Bat-Baby unavailable? But the studio was insistent: There was no such thing as solo Batman, there was only Batman and Robin. So, after holding off the executives for as long as we could, Tim and I realized we had better try to accommodate them. He flew up to my house in San Francisco and we walked around in circles for two days, finally deciding that there was no way to shoehorn Robin into our story. [...] We figured that if we managed to squeeze him in, the lame hacks who were making the sequel could worry about what to do with him next. When the film went into production in London, and ran seriously over budget, WB started looking for a sequence that could be cut to save money. And there was one obvious candidate: Intro Robin! So Robin was cut from the movie and shoved back to Batman Returns— from which he was cut yet again and shoved back to Batman Forever.

Grant Morrison on creating Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth (written 1987-1988, published 1989) with Dave McKean (see the annotated script's fourth page):

The original first draft of the script included Robin. Robin appeared in a few scenes at the beginning then remained at Police Headquarters for the bulk of the book, where he spent his time studying plans and histories of the house, in order to find a way in to help his mentor. Dave McKean, however, felt that he had already compromised his artistic integrity sufficiently by drawing Batman and refused point blank over for the Boy Wonder — so after one brave but ridiculous attempt to put him in a trench coat, I wisely removed him from the script.

Paul Dini on Batman: The Animated Series (1992), as told in the 1998 book Batman Animated:

The Fox Network, on the assumption that kids won't watch a kid’s show unless kids are in it, soon began insisting that Robin be prominently featured in every episode. When Fox changed the title from Batman: The Animated Series to The Adventures of Batman & Robin, they laid down the law-no story premise was to be considered unless it was either a Robin story or one in which the Boy Wonder played a key role. Out were underworld character studies like “It's Never Too Late"; in were traditional Batman and Robin escapades like “The Lion and the Unicorn.” A potentially intriguing Catwoman/Black Canary team-up was interrupted in midpitch to the network by their demand, “Where's Robin?” When the writers asked if they could omit Robin from just this one episode, Fox obliged by omitting the entire story. Looking back, there was nothing drastically wrong with Robin's full-time insertion into the series—after all, kids do love him. Our major gripe at the time was that it started turning the series into the predictable Batman and Robin show people had initially expected it would be. For the first season, Batman had been an experiment we weren't sure would work. We were trying out different ways of telling all kinds of stories with Batman as our only constant. For better or worse, having a kid forced him, and the series, to settle down.

Christian Bale, star of Christopher Nolan's The Dark Knight trilogy (2008):

If Robin crops up in one of the new Batman films, I'll be chaining myself up somewhere and refusing to go to work.

Summed up

Among the keepers of Batman, there has been a vocal contingent arguing against the inclusion of Robin. They argue that Robin damages Batman's brooding, solitary persona. They argue that the concept of Robin is too ridiculous and fantastic for the grounded, gritty ideal of Batman. They argue that a respectable version of Batman shouldn't allow, encourage, or train "child soldiers" to endanger their lives fighting against violent evil-doers.

The original and most iconic Robin, Dick Grayson, has definitely benefited from his deep roots in DC lore and his consistent popularity among fans—and yet even he has been shunned from various Batman projects over the decades. When even he struggles to get his foot in the door, his successors face stiffer opposition.

So it's not quite correct to say that Jim Starlin hated Jason Todd. In his own words, Starlin wasn't fond of Robin, and his storytelling (most obviously A Death in the Family) set out to argue against Batman having any kind of "partner" at all. This, following the wildly successful comic that treated Barbara Gordon as a disposable prop. A growing audience welcomed the Dark Age, and the gruesome spectacles made of kid-friendly elements like Batgirl and Robin.

This trend could be broken by the upcoming sequel to The Batman and by the planned slate of upcoming DCU films. But most Robin fans will tell you that many movie-going Batman fans still have their doubts about Robin sharing Batman's spotlight.

#DC Robin #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #DC Comics #Batman meta #Batman comics #Robin DC #Batkids #Batdad #Batfamily #thekillingvote #Jason Todd meta #Grant Morrison #Tim Burton #Dennis O'Neil #Jim Starlin #Batman 1989 #Nolanverse #Christian Bale #Steve Englehart #Barbara Gordon #Jimmy Olsen #Burtonverse #Michael Uslan #Battinson #DC Batman #Bruce Wayne #Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth #described #ID in alt

[to-the-stars8]

Learning to Love Slowly

Jason Todd x Reader All Chapters AO3

50- Strips Clubs and Cuddles at 3 AM

Jason had vaguely disclosed to you once the nastier parts of his job so there was never the risk of a misunderstanding that would have you questioning his loyalty to you. He told you about the strip joints and clubs that gang leaders would often run their businesses out of, stressing that it was all strictly business. So, as he sat across from some nobody gang leader, his mind momentarily wandered to you as a pretty girl entered the room. 

Just as she did, the guy he was talking business with said something along the lines that he was glad it was a job well done and she was the prize for cooperation. The woman was beautiful, but Jason didn’t give a fuck. When the woman started to sit, she put her hand down on Jason’s thigh before leaning in closer to whisper, “Tell me what you want, Red, and I’ll do it. Anything.”

“Fuck you,” Jason said. He hadn’t meant his anger to come out so harsh, he needed to get back into his head. Sucking in a breath, Jason reminded himself to be cool—calculated like usual. This woman was just doing her job, and he had no right o lash out at her like that. But her touching his thigh like that and being so close made him feel so damn uncomfortable. So, he handed her a hundred. “Take this and get the fuck away from me.”

Before the woman could say anything, he pushed away from her, making his way out of the stupid damn club to the one place he had in mind.

When he walked into the apartment it was dark and silent. It was well into the night, so he knew you were asleep. For once, he looked forward to curling up with you. Jason wanted to smell the shampoo in your hair and the nice clean smell of sheets. It was so much better than the stench left on his body left from the club. 

Throwing off his helmet, Jason continued to strip himself of all his gear until he got to your bedroom door. Quietly, he swung the door open, letting the light hit your sleeping body without thought. 

Your eyebrows furrowed at first at the unwelcomed brightness before opening slowly, not fully focusing as you said, “Jason?”

He hurriedly stepped in and closed the door behind him while he said, “I didn’t mean to wake you, baby.”

You groaned before sitting up, patting the spot next to him to sit. He did, but only after removing his pants so he was left in boxers. Your hands were faster than your words, moving up his spine and up over the back of his neck as you buried your fingers in his hair. 

“Everything okay?” Fuck, he loved you so damn much. 

He hummed a yes, then went silent for a second. “I was at a strip club tonight…For work!”

Jason tumbled into a whole tirade of explaining exactly every detail of the night, so into his own story that he failed to see that you were breaking out into a little giggling fit. When he finally noted that your face wasn’t red with rage but with heavenly laughter he stopped talking. 

“What?” He asked, dumbfounded. 

You shook your head. “Jason, I know your line of work and I trust you. More than anyone else, actually.”

“You’re not mad?” 

You giggled again and kissed him on the lips before moving to lie down. You gently pushed him down to lie with you, telling him to get comfortable. Jason wanted to shower first, but you insisted that you wanted to cuddle him right then. So, he did as you asked, curling in towards your chest as you pressed kisses into his hair. There were a million butterflies fluttering around in Jason’s stomach, making him almost feel dizzy with love. 

“Was she hot?” You asked suddenly. 

Jason moved his head so it was resting on your chest. “What?”

“The girl, was she hot?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

You were silent for a second before shrugging. “Pretty girls deserved to be admired.”

Jason snickered and shook his head, burying his chest back into your chest. After a few seconds he then said, “Sweetheart, you’re the only one that I think about. A thousand beautiful people couldn’t compare to you.”

You mumbled something before pulling him into your chest tighter. It took Jason a few moments to realize that your hands, once they moved from his hair down his back to the hem of his boxers, that you wanted something else. Something he was more than willing to give you.

#jason todd smut #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x reader #jason todd #romance #red hood #red hood x reader #batfamily #red hood fanfiction

[russellsppttemplates]

You have me (Charles Leclerc)

Note: english is not my first language. This is, again, particularly special because this is a topic that I feel huge responsibility writing about and I feel grateful that I'm trusted enough to have it be requested. This is a neurodivergent!reader piece and while I, like I said in the other one I wrote, like to see everything as we are all the same and I hate the idea of labelling, I tried to do this is the most respectful way with help and knowledge that I gathered over the years. These are a few little moments but they are in no way representative of the whole spectrum! And please remember, there are 5 fingers in a hand and they're all different and we need them all, there's no need to spread hatred or mean words to someone just because they're "different" than what is socially expected as the norm 🩶

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm not taking requests, but I am writing some blurbs when I can (usually at nighttime when I can) so if you have any ideas or concepts that can be written in a small amount of sentences and you want to share, feel free to do so!

If things had been going smoothly with Charles, right now they had taken a bad turn. You did not usually get that bothered about people commenting on how you sometimes behaved differently when compared to other people, but when you noticed a few more accounts that supported your boyfriend and his racing team point out how you usually stayed back and did not get involved directly in the celebrations, how all the other drivers had gone to an after party and you and Charles had stayed behind in the hotel and how apparently you had been keeping him from the world, nastier words flying around about you like they weren't directed at a human. Sure, there had been the odd comment here and there but usually people had been very respectful about it, even when it came to people approaching you and Charles on the street during your walks around the city, they respected your space while still being kind and understanding, but it seemed that online they had taken their thumbs to a new level, the posts even so much as going to make fun of things like how you tended to tap your fingers on top of the counter in the Ferrari garage or how you rarely ever took off rhe headphones as the noises around you bothered you a lot. Deciding that it wouldn't do you any good to keep looking at what other people thought about you, you locked your phone when you heard the front door unlock, youe boyfriend coming in as he dropped his training bag in its usual place, "Mon coeur, I'm home! I showered at the gym too, so I don't smell bad. Are you up for a hug?", he said as he crossed the corner and sat next to you on the sofa, already noticing your nervous stance, "is everything alright?", he asked worriedly, "is something bothering you that I can help with?", he finished carefully as he tried not to approach you too much, knowing you liked your personal space if you were feeling particularly sensory overwhelmed, "it's not what you think it is, everything is fine on that", you said simply, "but people online have been really mean. And without any reason for it. It's not my fault", you said as you felt your lip tremble slightly, hearing a sigh on Charles' part, "I also saw it this morning, I was genuinely hoping you wouldn't see it. I never meant to hide it from you", he apologised as he tentatively reached for your hand, your own hesitating before latching into his, "I know you didn't. And I don't want to hide from it either. But it also doesn't make sense as to why they're doing it, because it really isn't nice", you admitted as you seeked for more comfort in the for of running the zipper up and down on your boyfriend's sweatshirt jacket material, your head snuggling into his chest, "I was thinking, with your permission obviously, about posting something. Doesn't need to be very structured but I want to show them that I do not support that whatsoever. I love you so much beyond whatever they are pointing out. All of it is part of you and I am madly in love with every single part of you and will not tolerate this behaviour towards you", he said as he kissed the top of your head, "that'd be good, yes", you admitted, "I love you too, handsome".

.

"I'm going to play some games with the guys, okay?", Charles said as he placed his hand on your shoulder, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he excused himself from the living room where you stayed in reading your book. You flicked through the pages quite quickly, the plot holding your attention until you decided you wanted to take a bath, the position you had been in from working on your laptop for university making your muscles tense and a bit painful. Grabbing the usual products you use, you carefully let them soak in the water for a bit before it was at the perfect level for you to get inside, your muscles welcoming the warmth while you got the rest of your body submerged, just enjoying the peace and quiet as only the water swooshing around was heard.

Charles had lost yet another battle with George as they raced on the game, "honestly, Charles, will you ever win?", Alex asked as Pierre could only laugh, "I'm trying, I really am", he said as he managed to restart the game, racing eachother like they did on track until he heard a rhythmic noise, almost sounding like a bang, and he was up before the gears fully turned in their head, "I have to go, guys, bye!", he said as he followed the noise, the inkling he had that it came from your shared bathroom proving to be true as he heard you inside, opening the door as he announced his presence, "mon coeur, I'm coming in!", he said as he walked inside, his hand coming to the edge of the bath where your head had been banging on, "Hey, gentle, gentle", he urged you to stop, "all good now?", he said as he grabbed a towell, with his other hand, ready if you wanted to leave, "sorry, got distracted", you mumbled as you looked up at him, "No need to apoligise, just don't want you to hurt your pretty head. Do you want to stay for a bit longer?", he asked, your head shaking no as you accepted his help to get out, your foot tapping on the drain piece so the water would go while you let your boyfriend wrap the towell around your body, kissing your shoulder once he had you in his embrace, "you smell nice", he said as he guided you both back to the bedroom, "it's my new scent, the one I chose with your mother as my birthday gift", you revealed, Pascale being attentive to the scents that you did and didn't like. While you got ready in the bathroom, Charles offered to make dinner, "Ma belle, dinner is on the table", he announced as you got up from the sofa, joining him at the table for your meal, "this is really nice, I like this recipe", you said, "you do? That's great, means I can cook more often for you", he beamed, happy to have made something you liked, "so definitely nothing like the pie I made last week?", earning a giggle from you, "it was okay, Charles, just not my favourite though".

.

While sitting on the hospitality's outside area, you and Charles enjoyed the sunset while he spoke to Carlos and the engineering team about the upcoming race, your thoughts leaving you to distract yourself and you started running your hands through your hair, grabbing a strand and twisting it along your fingers, doing it without minding it much until you felt a knot forming, "here, mon coeur", you heard Charles whisper quietly as he placed your hand on the nape of his neck, your fingers quickly finding the longer hairs in there that he had yet to get cut and running your fingers there, "merci", you whispered as you took the opportunity to look at how his eyes looked even more beautiful against the sunlight that was painting the sky, "I'm here for you, always. You have me.".

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fluff #f1 blurb #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

[sleepymccoy]

This aos fic where tos Spock and McCoy have rocked up and gotten married in the background is still going strong... Check it out!

“Are you expecting news, Doctor?” Spock asked.

McCoy sighed and sat at the edge of the table with Spock. He quietly put a glove on as he considered what to say. “Our older Doctor McCoy asked me to run a few tests on myself, I’m waiting to hear what he has to say.” He indicated for Spock’s hand.

Spock placed his hand in McCoy’s, his attention on McCoy’s face as McCoy began spreading the thick cream across Spock’s skin. “What kind of tests?”

“Bone marrow.”

Spock’s hand twitched, then he moved intentionally and held McCoy’s gloved hand. McCoy shut his eyes and breathed, but let Spock hold his hand.

“What is the test for?”

McCoy’s chest felt tight. He was all too aware of the blood in his veins, there was too much of it! Just too much…

“You need this cream, Spock, would you let me- ” His voice cracked.

Spock released his hold and sat back. “Explain as you apply the cream, then,” he instructed.

“Do you know polycythemia?”

“I admit I do not,” Spock said softly. “Poly is many, cy is a condition or denotation. I do not recognise themia, unless is refers to thematics?”

McCoy smiled and took Spock’s hand, dipping two of his fingers in the jar of cream again to return to his work. “It’s from cyte and heamo, the pronunciation has blurred them.”

“Cells and blood.”

“Right in one.”

“That was right in two, I required your aid.”

McCoy’s smile became a grin. Spock was being kind to him. “It’s a rare condition, no reason you’d know it,” he said, glancing up at Spock at last. Spock’s attention was on him completely, but it didn’t feel heated like it usually did. This was soft.

McCoy had woken up today planning on asking Spock out. This had thrown him completely off track.

“It increases red blood cell counts to unmanageable levels. There’s some managements, periodic blood removal, blood thinners, so on.”

“That sounds- ”

“The xeno strain of it is much nastier,” McCoy interrupted before Spock could get too comfortable. He shook his head. “Red blood cells become individually larger, restricting blood flow. There are treatments for a year or so after first symptoms, but at some point the cell walls can’t hold them together and they degrade. It hurts, as a way to go.”

McCoy kept his touch gentle, smearing cream up Spock’s wrists and forearm. He let go of Spock’s hand and waggled his fingers. Spock understood and swapped his hands. McCoy did not look up, he felt like crying and didn’t need Spock to see that, instead just diving right in to work the cream into Spock’s skin.

“How advanced is your case?” Spock asked.

“Early. Years before symptoms.”

Spock breathed out slowly.

“I was going to ask you out today,” McCoy whispered.

Spock’s hand twitched in his. “You were?”

Shit. McCoy let go of Spock and pulled a glove off. He pressed his finger and thumb to his eyes and tried to keep his turmoil in check. Try to keep his damned words to himself.

“I would like it if you did so,” Spock said.

Fucking shit.

#spones #spones fic #aos spones

[northern-passage]

honestly same...I also only stick to reading the same ifs I've been reading since like 2 years ago + as a disabled lgbt person this community has gotten to toxic to interact wth tbh

hmmm putting this under a read more but here's some ramblings about my personal experience as well as some advice if anyone wants it

before i started writing tnp, when i was just a reader, it was very easy to curate my space and avoid a lot of the nastier people (especially back when the forums were the main space for people to talk about IF. i didn't go on the forums at all) and i was very much outside of the fandom and followed only like one artist whose recommendations i started off with before finding more stuff on my own.

once i became an author though it is impossible to avoid certain groups of people and it's really hard to hold on to that comfortable space. over the last like 3 years now my audience has definitely changed and dwindled a lot due to my.... Big personality but before that i had to endure a lot of harassment, people stalking me, people harassing my friends just for being my friend, almost constant transphobia and racism, and even now i still have people that seem to just camp in my inbox waiting for any opportunity to try and hurt me/get a reaction out of me.

i've been pretty open about all of this stuff happening too which most people also don't like, though that seems to be pretty standard across any fandom when you try to talk about how bad they are. i'm never really surprised when other authors delete without any warning or they just slowly stop posting and never come back. it's definitely something i've wanted to do more than once and still think about sometimes. even now after finally seeming to find my "niche" and a more understanding audience, it's really hard and i struggle with finding inspiration and motivation because of how people have treated me.

unfortunately i think it's always been this way, it's the nature of sharing work online and especially with IF feeling so "collaborative" people really feel entitled to it. and i also see readers facing this same kind of harassment, too, so it's definitely not just an author problem.

my advice is to just block and ignore people as best you can and just stay in your own little bubble with your friends or at least people that you trust. if you're an author going through any of the things i mentioned then just know there are a lot of other authors that have had to go through it, too, and that you should also just block and ignore to the best of your ability. just because you're an author doesn't mean you have to tolerate it. i used to respond to a lot of messages which is why i feel that a lot of my harassment lasted for so long, because they thought it was "funny" to upset me, but the more you respond and give them attention the more they'll keep doing it. so just block anons and move on (i know i make it sound so simple. trust me i used to be really bad about it, now i try to take at least a day or two before responding and usually by that time i realize how stupid it is and i just delete it without any fanfare)

at the end of the day though it's your decision, and your well-being comes first before anything else. i say this to both authors and readers, there's no reason to force yourself to stay in a place that makes you uncomfortable or is triggering. sometimes it's better to just let go and move on, though i know that's easier said than done. i'm a prime example as someone who still logs into tumblr daily despite trying really hard not to do that.

and i'm not saying to give up on your work, but rather that writing privately is always an option, and it's what i've been doing now with my other projects ever since i took siren's call down. i know the desire for outside validation can be overwhelming but i think it's important to remember that you should be writing this for yourself first and that there's no harm in keeping your work private until you're ready. tumblr is fun but there's also a lot of problems that can be difficult to deal with while you're also trying to keep motivation and creativity up to write your story, and it can be really discouraging.

like i said, your first priority should be yourself, and if you have to step back away from tumblr/fandom then you should & you shouldn't feel guilty about it.

all of that to say that there are nice people out there, too, i've made really good friends here and i really value their friendship and their understanding, especially when i was going through the worst of it. and there are a lot of readers who have been very kind to me and that have sent me very nice messages and drawn lovely art over the years and i always try to focus on that over everything else.

it can be really easy to get overwhelmed by all the negativity and hostility which is why it's so important to find your people and be supportive of each other.

#obviously negative discussion under the break #i might delete this later #the only thing i dont really have any advice for is the stalking. im still dealing with fallout from that #and i don't know if it's something that i'll ever be able to get over or really feel closure about #ask #anonymous

[purpleandstarlight]

Dadbastian Week 2023 - Day Three: Trick or Treat

It was amusing how his Young Master - despite all his talk of being this invincible Lord of the Underworld, the feared Watchdog, the vicious King of the chessboard, someone ready to throw away his 'pawns' for the sake of his own goals - folded so quickly at a simple word from his own underlings.

Not Sebastian, of course. He was always as vicious as ever with the demonic butler. In fact, when the man clad in back ever suggested something, it only made the little Earl do just the opposite as a way to give him more troubles, even if the head servant had already enough of those.

No, when Sebastian wanted his Young Master to do something, he needed to be sneaky about it. But if Bardroy mentioned seeing something that reminded him of his departed son in a shop's display as a way to apologise for stopping in front of it for a little too long while walking on the street in one of the rare times the Young Master and his servants got out for some much needed shopping, the so-called Cheff would 'misteriously' find said item on his bed that same evening. If Mei-Rin was even slightly inconvenienced after hurting her ankle in a slightly nastier fall than usual, the clumsy maid would soon receive some medicine to help with the pain - and not the cheap kind, either. If the respectable Tanaka, usually silent and so adept at minding his own business, simply arched his eyebrow after one of their Young Master's uglier remarks, the child was quick to calm down and apologise to even the rudest of guests, acting like a proper gentlemen even though he was prey to seemingly uncontrollable rage just a moment before. And if the earl overheard the as-inhumanly-strong-as-extremely-naive gardner as he excitedly wondered how trick-or-treating went, mentioning how he's never celebrated this tradition before...

Well, thats how an amused Sebastian found himself watching his Young Master from afar, disguised as a commoner (probably so that the people who lived on his property didn't suspect it was their own landlord who was now succumbing to such a child-like festivity), while he and the older blond tried to convince the habitants of the little house to share their candy with them by showing some tricks or telling little jokes. Unsurprisingly, Finnian did most of the work, but the family was still enamoured by the younger child's red face and shy behavior.

This had been going on for a little under an hour and, although Sebastian and the blonde were clearly having the time of their lives, their Young Master had clearly reached his limit of social interactions for the day. It was almost bothersome, how inept he was when it came to talking with strangers for more than half-an-hour...Luckly, this wasn't an important business party where he had to keep up appearances, so Sebastian quickly sneaked down from a tree and made his way towards the pair of kids.

After all, if he couldn't save the Phantomhive Earl from too much public speaking, what kind of butler would he be?

"There you are. I take it the evening is going well?" Smiled the demon, carefully hiding his amusement by closing his eyes in a friendly expression, knowing that only the younger of the two would get the slight hint of mockery in his tone.

"Mr. Sebastian! Are you trick-or-treating as well?"

As expected, the Young Master's slightly uncomfortable smile turned into a grimace as soon as the butler made himself known, while the gardener's eyes sparkled at his own honestly ridiculous speculation.

"Not really, no. I just came to find you and bring you both back to the Manor. The Young Master's bed time is fast approaching, after all, and he has important business to attend to all day tomorrow."

He could tell the Earl was clearly unhappy with the idea of going along with the demon's suggestion, but in the end, his despise for social events must have been enough to convince him not to throw a tantrum and just accept the escape route the older being was offering.

"Right, I guess it is quite late...We should head home. You have to work too, after all, Finny, and a gardner job starts as soon as the sun is up."

This annoyed the butler, seeing as the younger servant clearly didn't work as much as he ruined everything and made more work for Sebastian instead, but the man clad in black decided not to speak his thoughts out lout, and instead started leading the two as they walked back to the Manor.

"This way, then."

Though silent, the demon still listened to the conversation happening behind him.

"Thank you for the fun night, Young Master! I never went trick-or-treating before, so i was curious!"

"Didn't you?" He very clearly lied. Of course the gardner never experienced such a tradition. It wasn't as if mad scientists normally let their illegal test subjects run around town asking for chocolate. But their Young Master was always into pretending his acts of kindness towards others were just things made to help himself and himself alone, Sebastian knew, so that wasn't a very surprising answer. "I'm glad this little research for Funtom helped us both then. But from tomorrow, it's back to work, you hear me? No lazing around in bed eating candy all day."

"Yes, my lord!"

Internally, the demon rolled his eyes, amused by the irony. His Young Master was clearly projecting, but again, he'd keep his thoughts to himself for now. It would be against a butler's code to speak against his own Young Master...in public, at least.

"Why did you follow me? If you knew where I was, you clearly already knew Finny was with me, therefore you didn't need to protect me. Are you that much of a control freak that you can't leave your prey alone for more than five minutes?"

More than an hour had passed, and since then, the three had already arrived home, and the Phantomhive Earl was now clean as his butler prepared him for bed.

"You could say that...After all, what kind of butler would I be, if I didn't worry about my Master's safety?"

"Don't give me that crap. You probably just wanted to see me struggle."

Right on the money. He could be quite clever, sometimes, for such a tiny human.

"As a butler, I would never do such a thing."

"And as a Demon?"

"Well, If I had to be honest -and I have to, seeing as that's one of your conditions for our little deal- as a Demon, i just like seeing you fail."

"Pfft," His Young Master let out an amused sound, a smirk on his face. "As expected from a beast."

"That's in my nature, at least. You as a human, though, still like to see me fail as well, so what's your excuse?"

"We could argue that wanting a seemingly perfect being not to succeed is human nature as well, but honestly? I just really despise you."

"I see," the butler had been smirking as well this entire time, and didn't abandon the amused expression even as he got up after fixing the last button on his Master's blouse, making him able to climb up to the bed, ready to be tucked under the covers by the demon. "If that's all then, I'll free you from my despicable presence for tonight."

"Yes, that would be ideal. I am quite tired of seeing your face already."

"Good night, then, my Lord." The malicious entiry bowed elegantly one last time after blowing on the candlestick, leaving the child to his needed rest.

#dadbastianweek2023 #dadbastiantrickortreat #spreading my phantomfam agenda as well as my dadbastian one today #happy halloween!!!

[suguwuus]

★ study session

"but but but harry became an auro—" not up for arguments concerning hp lore, i left the fandom a long time ago and this is my fanfiction so i can do what i want.

wc: 2.1k words

contains: makeout session, scorbus cameo (yeah i was a fan), swearing

"Miss Y/N? Miss Y/N!" A voice called, cutting through the roaring wind. Your teammates, who you were practicing with, nodded at you. You gave a little salute as you steered your broom down.

"Yes, professor?" Your feet tingled at the feeling of being back on solid ground again. The next Quidditch match of the season was approaching fast, and your fellow H/H teammates had agreed to practice right after leaving potions class.

Professor Potter stood beside a pillar, waiting for you with a fuzzy sweater on and a book tucked under his arms. "I trust that your schedule isn't loaded with homework and deadlines. You understand our lessons, don't you?" He asked as you approached, marching on the dewy grass.

You wondered what his reason was to ask about this. "Uh...yes, sir, pretty much."

"Good. Then are you willing to tutor one of my students?"

"Oh. Sure, Professor. But can me and my team finish practice first?"

"Of course. He's still in detention, anyways. I'll show you where to find him, if you can spare a minute."

Before you could ask who "he" was, your Professor had turned around and gestured vaguely for you to follow. You bit back a complaint.

On the way, your Professor spotted Scorpius Malfoy and Albus Potter. His green eyes narrowed under his spectacles. "Don't you two have class?"

"We were dismissed early, sir."

"Then I suggest you remind your boyfriend to wash his hands if he hasn't already. Albus cleaned the blast-ended skrewts' cases earlier, and I got word from Hagrid that they have nasty appetites and nastier excretions."

Professor Potter gave them a knowing nod before making his way back into the castle. You jogged to keep up with him, shaking your head at the two notorious boys.

"Almost there, just up these stairs."

"L/N! L/N, is that a broom? Can I borrow it? Make it—what's the word—levitate, please!"

You looked up, confused at the sudden yelling. You stood at the foot of the stairs ascending the detention tower, and if you stepped back outside you'd see a very broken window several yards up off the ground, as if someone had blasted a hole through the stone by means of magic.

You squinted up at the source of the voice, shielding your eyes from the sun. Then you cursed under your breath. Connor Stoll was grinning devilishly, the hem of his robes flapping in the wind as he stood daringly close to the hole.

"L/N!? That's you, right? The broom!" He held out a hand.

"Why?" You asked blankly.

"Because," He emphasized, "I'm gonna fly out of the window and...oh." His eyes trailed over to Professor Potter, and he froze in shock and embarrassment. "Sorry, Professor!"

Professor Potter looked at you with a smile that said, good luck.

"Merlin's saggy left ballsack, stop asking me unrelated questions!"

An hour had almost passed, and you two had done nothing but argue. Connor would not stop fidgeting and asking questions that sent you out of focus, and your temper had been cut short within 10 minutes of being around the boy. Usually you weren't this snappy, but with Connor, it seemed like you were constantly on the edge of hexing him.

"You're really testing my fucking patience, aren't you, Stoll?" You asked with a sharp exhale as you turned a page of your book.

"You tested our friendship and—"

"Oh, I did the testing now? It's my fault? I started it?" This time, you had put on your most poisonous glare, your words seething with detest. He had crossed the line this time, and even though you didn't mention any names or specific incidents, you both knew exactly what you were talking about.

For a second, you thought you had rendered Connor speechless. But then he opened that stupid mouth of his with equal fury. "You didn't start it, but you ended it. No—could you even call that an ending? You left me hanging for—"

"For good reason! How could you say something like that—"

"How could you not say anything—"

"Just tell me you're sorry!"

You laughed without humor, almost tearing the page of your book off. "I'm the one who's supposed to apologize now? My goodness, you haven't changed since third year."

"You—"

"You are so loud," You cut him off and spoke through gritted teeth. "We're in a library."

"Why are you acting like I'm the only one who's been yelling?" Connor stomped his foot and stood up. "Stop leaving yourself out of the narrative! You're not always innocent! Just because I'm the troublemaker, the delinquent, the instigator—does not mean the other person is always the goddamn angel!"

"You're comparing the rumor to me cutting you off?" You scoffed. "Sit down."

He groaned and ran a hand over his face. "You're changing the subject. Of course you're changing the fucking subject. We're going back and forth like always, or how we used to, until you stopped talking to me!"

"Sit down," You repeated. He sat down, almost kicking the bench. You then forced yourself to flip through the book once more. "Let's get this over with, because I never want to see you again."

Saying that seemed to send a shock down your spine. You had always held some sort of grudge against Connor since...the rumor, but you had never said something like that. That hurt for sure. But you couldn't get yourself to apologize. Not yet.

It seemed unfair that he was asking for an apology from you when he was the one who started it with one small, cruel joke. Of course, you made mistakes, too, but no way he was acting like his side of the story was worse than yours. Ridiculous.

Too many things happened in third year. Scorpius Malfoy, on top of being called the "child of Voldemort" had lost his mother in the same year, and you had befriended him out of pure intentions. It was going fine until Connor had to involve himself.

He knew one of your relatives had a bad history with the Greengrass family, so he took it as an opportunity to humiliate you, saying you thing to do with Astoria Malfoy's death. The joke spread, and it continued to spread until people stopped taking it as a joke, prodding you with questions as if you really took part in whatever happened to her. You hated it. You barely even knew her name! It was a joke carelessly thrown around, though you couldn't find what was so funny about it. Often you'd find yourself wondering what kind of sick humor Connor had back then.

But you were thirteen, too. You felt helpless and betrayed, so you opted for the path where you'd deny anyone who brought it up and respond with anger. Whenever Connor tried to get close to you, you shut down and acted like he wasn't there. It shattered you more to stop talking to him, because you had your truths rooted; you knew the rumor wasn't true and that was enough. But you left behind a friendship, a great friendship, even, and the unresolved burden rotted on your shoulders and weighed you down.

You couldn't deny it hurt. How could it not? Too many things were left unfinished, abandoned after you had run from it all. Plans to visit each other over Christmas, pranks you had wanted to pull, reserved snacks for each other that grew moldy and stale. Thinking about it now, you felt an ache that you thought had been gone.

You drew in a breath, ready to get it over with like you always did. You braced yourself, forcing an apology out of your mouth.

"I'm sorry."

You looked up, but Connor was facing away with arms crossed. He beat you to it, leaving you to stare at the back of his head.

"I was a stupid kid. I don't think before speaking sometimes. Sorry. You don't deserve that and...and I...I'm sorry."

Your expression slowly softened as you thought of what to say. He still wouldn't face you.

"It's, um...I forgive you, Con." It had felt like forever since you had last said his nickname. "It's died down, anyway. People...people and I don't care about it as much as we used to." You sighed and propped your head up on your hand. "I'm sorry, too."

He turned to you, still avoiding eye contact. "It's been a long time, you know. Things have been different."

"I know." You slid your notes over to him, where you had summarized your lesson. You put it on top of the open book, which was turned to the most important page as well. "Are we good now?" You asked hesitantly. It felt like a relief to finally talk normally with a friend turned stranger, but it was also a bit jarring to fix things so quickly. Your heart pounded in your chest.

"I guess so. Yes, I mean," He confirmed, glancing over at you. You almost cracked a smile at that nervous puppy expression he had on, something that you had always found endearing about him.

"Hmm...thanks," He said, scanning your notes. Hunched over the papers, his voice was back to normal, and there was less tension between you two.

"You're welcome." As you watched him study, you took the opportunity to have a good look at him. Aside from the times you'd tear your eyes away from him in passing hallways, you had never seen him up close until now. He looked different from his younger self; of course he did. He looked more matured, his hair grew a bit thicker, his brows and jaw more defined, and he definitely got more athletic. You could spot scars here and there, too, most likely results of his recklessness. His robes seemed a little short on him. You made a note to tell him about it later.

He chuckled and mumbled your name, shaking his head. "What happened to your handwriting?"

"What?" You straightened your back and sat up, scooting over to him on the bench to see what he was pointing at. He wasn't pointing at anything, just a blank spot on the page. You cocked a brow and turned to him.

He was gazing at you with something you weren't sure you were interpreting right. Longing? Admiration? Was he flirting? The little smile on his lips gave it away. You felt guilty for the thoughts that started to drift into your mind. You shouldn't be acting so quickly, so rashly, giving into your desires right after resolving a year-long quarrel—

But then you found yourself on his lips, breath shaking as you hesitated to touch him. He gently took your wrist, putting his quill down and guiding your hand over to wherever you wanted it. When you settled on his arm, he slowly turned on the bench so he was straddling the seat, and facing you.

"I missed you," He mumbled breathlessly, almost whining against your lips. "I miss you, I miss you..." You hoped Madam Pince wouldn't have happened to be passing by, but with the way he was kissing you, that thought vanished almost immediately.

"Y-You're so...you're so..." You trailed off, unsure of how to describe him or whatever you were feeling. It didn't feel real, being there and holding him. A bit strange that that was what was happening after you two made up, but you couldn't deny he was spending your time in a way you wouldn't regret.

He chewed softly on your bottom lip, making you yelp and pull away. "Slow down, jackass."

"No," He giggled, before going back to kiss you. Hard. Your hands on his collar, his hands on the small of your back, sighing in both relief and , studying materials left abandoned.

Footsteps approached and you broke apart. Connor coughed loudly, avoiding the eyes of his older brother and the eyes of his friend.

Teddy Lupin, sporting bubblegum pink hair, wiggle his eyebrows at Connor. "Didn't know you were capable of making someone enjoy kissing you. Did you enjoy that?" He turned to you. You felt your face go hot.

You were about to stutter out an answer when Travis cut you off, rolling his eyes at the other two. "I thought you were being tutored. Anyway, someone's looking for you."

Connor stood up, smiling giddily. He tossed his things into his book back and shooed them away. Then he turned to you. "I'll come back to you later." You waved, speechless, and he walked away with kiss-bitten lips.

first post kinda nervous teehee >_< joke but lmk what u thought of this. if anyone sees this. anyway ill be working on fixing my ocs next mwah

#— suguwuu's posts #connor stoll #connor stoll x reader #pjo oneshots #pjo x reader #pjo

[inexplicifics]

oh, those domestic prompts are so sweet! if you like, 12 for awau geralt/eskel/jaskier, or 27 for lambert/milena? love your work!!

Lambert takes a deep breath. He can do this. He’s quite literally faced down an angry bear, he can manage dinner with his girlfriend’s family.

Even if they are a bunch of stuck-up assholes who wouldn’t spit on him if he was on fire.

One dinner. Milena promised. One dinner and then never again. She just needs to make it clear to them that she’s made her choice and they can’t change her mind.

Normally, Lambert couldn’t give two shits what he looks like, really. He wears shitkicker boots and his battered old leather jacket that he stole from Eskel and clothes that can stand up to dirt and motor oil and nastier things. He cleans up when he takes Milena out, yeah, he’ll wear a nicer shirt and some jeans without holes in them, but he doesn’t usually bother with any vanity besides making sure the lines of his beard could be used as straight-edges, and that’s mostly because he kind of likes looking enough like a devil to make people do double-takes and make signs against evil when he glares at them.

But tonight’s important to Milena, so it’s important to him, and so he has put on the nicest shirt he has - one Milena got him, naturally - and an actual pair of slacks, and borrowed a pair of nice loafers from Jaskier, who said he could keep them on account of them not being flashy enough for the singer’s taste, and now he’s jittering in the front hallway, feeling far more nervous than a dinner ought to warrant.

Even a dinner with a bunch of stuck-up rich assholes who think he’s the sort of shit they’d scrape off their shoes. How a sweetheart like Milena came out of her cesspit of a family, Lambert does not fucking know.

Milena comes down the stairs, and Lambert loses his breath, the same way he does every time he sees her. She’s wearing a blue dress that he bought her, with a skirt that swishes around her ankles, and a sapphire necklace and earrings to match, and she’s put her hair up in an elaborate crown braid studded with silver-and-sapphire hairpins. Her cheeks are painted with a delicate blush, and there’s eyeliner making her dark eyes look even larger and a bright red stain to her lips. Her fingernails are painted as blue as her dress, with silver tips. Her shoes are delicate, spindly things, with heels tall enough that Lambert’s always worried she’ll fall right off of them.

She looks much too good for him.

But she smiles when she sees him, and comes right over to go up on her toes and kiss him softly, bracing herself with one delicate hand on his chest. “You look very fancy, my love,” she says, settling back on her heels and looking him up and down.

“It’s alright?” Lambert asks nervously.

“It’s perfect,” Milena assures him, even as she reaches up to adjust his collar a little and pluck a bit of fluff from his sleeve. “Do a little turn for me?”

Lambert turns in a slow circle, letting her smooth his shirt down in the back and pick another bit of fluff from his trousers.

“There,” she says warmly as he finishes his twirl. “You look entirely ready to face down my horrid parents.” She gives him a rueful look. “I must admit I vastly prefer your usual aesthetic, but my father would be dreadful about it, and I’d prefer you not to punch him before the first course.”

Lambert grins down at her. “That mean I’m allowed to punch him after the first course, darlin’?”

Milena’s lips twist in a little moue of half-amused dismay. “Don’t tempt me, my love.”

“I think tempting you is in fact my duty as your boyfriend,” Lambert teases, and catches one of her hands, lifting it to his lips and kissing the knuckles softly. “Could tempt you to stay right here and let me mess up your pretty dress if you like.”

“Dreadful,” Milena laughs, and bats at him with her free hand, whacking his shoulder gently enough that he can barely feel it. “If we get through this dinner without any punching, my love, then you may make an absolute ruin of my pretty dress if that’s what you want. I will appreciate the distraction!”

Lambert snickers. “I’ll take you up on that,” he agrees.

“Do I look well?” Milena asks, taking her hand back and doing her own slow spin.

“Absolutely perfect,” Lambert says, with a sort of raw honesty only Milena ever draws from him. Milena blushes, the pink of it visible even beneath her makeup.

“Thank you,” she says, and tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Let us go and discombobulate my family.”

“They’re not gonna know what hit ‘em,” Lambert says, and ushers her out the door.

#questions answered #domestic asks

[morgana-ren]

What's your biggest fantasy kink?

The power imbalance of an older nastier man drives me wild. Want to take advantage, hurt me and use me? Yes pls thank you Sir. Manipulate me into behaving as your perfect pet, never letting me go, willing to share with a couple of his besties who are just as vile? Would kill for me but is never actually traditionally nice to me? Love it so hard.

This is very much a question that I don't think you want the answer to lmao. I have adhd and it's early so forgive the rambling, but it's hard for me to narrow it down. There's a lot, and I'm sure I will have forgotten something.

I've had years upon years to ponder myself, what I like, and by proxy, why I enjoy the things I do. Through that, I was able to let go of any shame or guilt that I might have felt initially, and thus it was allowed to run rampant. Whether or not it's healthy is another question, but that's for therapy to answer, not me.

Power imbalance is a huge one, and so is someone older, bigger, and stronger. Not being afraid to use those things in such a way as to get what they want, much like you said. A professor; a boss; a dragon; a pirate-- something or someone of immense power over my life and likely others. Someone you don't approach with ease. These aren't characters that fit in or blend well in society.

They're unhinged and usually very dangerous. Looking at the characters I like (Reaver, Tomura, Asto, etc) these are people that are very powerful, very dangerous, and very immoral to the point you could argue a black and white evil perspective. I want someone older. I don't want a child who has barely had time to process the world and stumbles into a clumsy love with the first girl he sees. I want someone who has lived and seen and still rejected it all for me.

Fictional hybristophilia, I believe. Bad guys. Always bad guys. I do not ever like good guys with the same passion as I enjoy their worse counterparts to the point that it's more 'bff admiration' rather than an actual crush. I don't want someone that has power but doesn't use it. I don't want restraint. I want someone that wields it like a weapon and fine hones it to achieve their ends, banal ideas like 'right' or 'wrong' be damned.

I like the fear and the terror, and not just my end, but everyone else's. Being completely and utterly untouchable for better or worse because no one would fuck with them. I am, self admittedly, attracted to power. I like the type of power that makes you question even defending yourself against something blatantly horrible because they can and will hurt you to get their way.

I want fierce possession. Mine, mine, mine. I don't want to be one person in a 93 part harem. I want to be the only one. I require feeling special, and I don't like tropes where they try to make you jealous by belittling your looks or intelligence and comparing you to someone else or want to have you 'on the side' as well as a bunch of other people. It's very much a 'My wife/girl/pet/whatever' thing for me.

They'll hurt you, ever enough to lose you. They'd never, ever kill you. It's not a matter of 'If I can't have you, no one can.' It's a shrug and a simple murder of whatever the threat is. There is no escape. This is your life now. Accept it or don't. It's cute when you fight.

Infantilization, in a way. Thanks in part to childhood trauma and the way-- or lack thereof-- that I was raised, I've always had to take charge and be in control. I don't want to anymore. I want someone who takes that control and that power with ease. I don't want to be treated like a child or a baby, but I don't want to be the bigger, smarter one that can outwit my partner with ease. I want to feel small and 'taken care of,' in a way. Small and cute and helpless. Adorable in their rage, and all that.

Essentially, a sub in quite literally every conceivable way. I don't like taking charge, or making decisions, and my head is so loud and messy all the time that thinking is painful. I don't trust my own judgement. I don't wanna. I want someone dastardly intelligent who is comfortable taking the control, and does so with ease. Someone who doesn't need my help constantly and is comfortable in their skin and with their mind in ways I'm not.

I do like violence. Choking me out, forcefully maneuvering me, slapping, whatever. A lot of it is just violence gets them off. I don't want a manchild that can't manage their own emotions so often that they just explode in a violent rage, but more of... think of like a stern teacher. Or someone tickled by your attempts at overpowering them. Someone who gets off on it.

I like malevolent assholes is what I'm saying. Ones that manipulate and abuse and act like monsters, but would burn the world down just to have you. Can and will. It very much is an obsession, and it's one that doesn't die. Can't do abandonment. They fully intend on forever, so that's what it will be.

I'm not opposed to being 'shared' but it would be an extremely rare situation and wouldn't be purely sexual. We're talking these are people that are EXTREMELY close to the person in question and it's not just to humiliate. Think like 'three husbands' type of deal. Perhaps they're inseparable or whatever else, but it's not something given lightly AT ALL, and they'd kill anyone who tries unless it's in VERY specific circumstances.

I'm a bitch. Or in this context, a brat. They have to like that. I can't have a finnicky control freak who doesn't enjoy the dynamic and tries to breed it out of me. Amused by it, and never threatened by it. I'll never be a quiet, demure little thing, but they take pleasure in trying. Occasionally I like fights to spawn over it, but not a consistent barrage of punishment to the point it loses the charm.

Think like... Someone who slaps you when you talk back too much, licks the blood from your lip, gets worked up and does absolutely deplorable things in bed but then curls around you purring mine and sleeps like a goddamn baby with you chained there next to them. Genuine love, but just displayed in the most horrible ways.

I'm whiny, emotionally stunted, touch starved, traumatized, isolated, brash, angry, intimidating, and not quite right in the head. So ultimately, my go-to are strong, powerful, dangerous, obsessive, possessive, deranged, intelligent, abusive bastards that aren't remotely intimidated by my facade, with fantasies that are worse than mine and the power to make it real. Usually sexual deviants. Collars, leashes, and not even in a petplay sort of way, but in a 'you belong to me and you aren't going anywhere' way. Someone who loves me with such a fierce, covetous desire that it drives them mad. I want to be small compared to them, protected by them, etc.

You can imagine what this says about my psyche. Someone who could decode this could quite literally get my entire life's gimmick, and it's not hard.

Look, I am aware it's literally impossible. Someone who loves you would never treat you like this, and in real life, this would be and is a nightmare. I am well aware of the line between fantasy and fiction and have unfortunately lived it. But in my fantasy world in my head? That's what I go for.

#morgana and friends #morgana overshares #There's so much and I'm so bad at organizing my thoughts #so I just word-vomit it #Obviously I'll write much of anything but this is where I really go feral #anything that aligns with this just sparks the passion #I live in my head dude and this is where i live

[asknarashikari]

Something has been on my mind for a bit of a while now...and I'd like to your few cents on the matter.

Do you think overly ambitious shows can be...a bit of a gamble? Or does it more so matter that the production team knows what the hell they're even doing? Or is it both? Like overly ambitious shows can very satisfying if done right, but on the other hand they can be a huge pile of frustration if done poorly especially if said outwardly ambitious show raises expectations with it's potential.

Like we get something Kamen Rider Build actually handled it's ambitious ideas and high proportions quite swell for the most part and the writer seems to know what they're doing and what they are hoping to achieve... and then we get something like Kamen Rider Geats which held a lot of potential and naturally would raise expectations, (and higher expectations usually end up leading you to greater frustration) it had a strong start only for that plane to become turbulent and crash hard during the final fourth, especially that endgame arc, considering Takahashi relapsed to previous habits that didn't age well over the years and use ideas that don't quite work. Plus this ambitious rider show kinda screwed the perception and drew out the nastier side of the fanbase, even though the show had it's glaring flaws.

Long post ahead

It's definitely both.

I think it does take a lot of skill to pull something ambitious off, and having people who know what they're doing leading and working on the project does go a long way in making it successful. After all, people who have experience would know what work and what doesn't, what the current trends are that could work for or against them, how much they can push certain concepts without alienating different parts of the audience, how to execute the concepts effectively with a consistent quality.

And of course, it takes experience to balance making the show match their ambitions and wishes, and being pragmatic about not only what works for the audiences but other stakeholders involved in the production. For example, writers for Kamen Rider usually have to write around toy releases, which is something they don't have control over. There's also the fact that this show is primarily watched by children, so they can't get too highfalutin about it or their primary audience would be turned off.

However, it's still a gamble because in the end, the success actually depends on audience reception, who may feel differently despite all the effort put into the show itself. And the audience not only is fickle about what they feel works or not (such is the nature of trends), but also can have a variety of opinions on how well the ideas are executed. Some can feel that the show is peak and see it as perfect, others are more openly critical about its flaws, and still others feel the show failed to live up to their expectations at all.

I think in Geats' case, especially as far as my own opinion goes, it's a mix of both. Takahashi had great, ambitious ideas for Geats on paper, but he and the rest of the production were unable to execute them in a satisfactory way, especially in the latter part of the show. And he also had some ideas that he should've known better than to do. (Honestly, I'm baffled he did the Darth Tanuki arc at all when the reception for Daiji's similar arc in Revice was poor across the board.)

On the other hand, Geats is a popular series, with people who think of it as average/mediocre or not good at all being in the minority, so I suppose he did something right. I just happen to be one of the people who see its flaws more, would rather have seen things handled differently and definitely don't hold it up as the pinnacle of Kamen Rider.

As for the nasty fans... that's not something I hold Takahashi at fault for. Geats may have been the show to bring them out of the woodwork but it was still their choice to be nasty fuckers, though in my case it definitely colored my opinion of the series for the worse.

#kamen rider geats #ask #ultrariderfiretornado

[bluemoonfantasiesiii]

For Now Just Kiss Me (KazuScara Idol AU)

Wanderer had always been an elusive figure, refusing to even tell anyone his real name. Honestly, Kazuha had been shocked to learn that there was someone in the world with more bite than Xiao. But at least Xiao had humility. Heizou’s deductive skills had yielded no results on the newest member of 5WIRL. Not even Venti, who despite his lax nature seemed to know everything, could figure out what Wanderer’s name was.

But Kazuha had always been drawn to the unknown and mysterious, for he too was a drifter. He blamed that for his continued attempts to get close to his indigo-haired bandmate, despite the other’s repeated attempts to push him away, to keep the rest of the world shut out. In his quiet observations, Kazuha had discovered that Wanderer was a bit more open immediately after a show. He was tired, leaving his defenses weakened and his walls just the slightest bit translucent. It was these moments in which Kazuha was able to pry little things out of him. He knew that Wanderer hated sweets and that he loved bitter tea and black coffee. He knew Wanderer had grown up in a foster home, but he didn’t know any details.

The most intimate details he’d gotten Wanderer to open up about was his relationship with his previous manager when he was working small gigs as a solo artist. A horrid man who’d referred to himself as Dottore picked up a young Wanderer, freshly 18 and with no place to go after aging out of the foster system, and took advantage of his naivety in more ways than one. Wanderer was absolutely exhausted that night, his voice uncharacteristically soft, and it could have been a scene out of a romance film if the words that fell from his lips didn’t have Kazuha feeling sick to his stomach.

The next morning, when Wanderer had been hit with the realization of what he’d revealed to Kazuha, he was nastier to the albino than usual for about a week, almost as if he was trying to counteract the vulnerability he’d shown in that moment.

But learning about his previous manager told Kazuha everything he needed to know about how to approach him. He exercised more patience, something he thankfully already had in abundance. He backed off when Wanderer told him to. He listened.

And although he could tell Wanderer was infuriated by it, Kazuha could tell it was working. Wanderer would slip up and say too much with more regularity, blushing and stumbling to backtrack every time. He really was adorable. As much as he tried to fight it, Wanderer was falling for Kazuha, and while Heizou and Venti had half-jokingly offered to help speed things along, Kazuha fought back. This wasn’t something that could be rushed, especially when he was so close.

Kazuha was no stranger to relationships. He’d had a brief fling with all of his bandmates and then some, but Xiao and Venti were now happily dating each other, and Heizou was eyeing some blonde-haired, blue-eyed artist who happened to be having fidelity issues with a member of a rival band. Kazuha wasn’t about to touch that mess. If Heizou got into a fistfight with Kaeya Alberich, well, that was Kaeya’s funeral.

Besides, Wanderer seemed like he needed someone with him tonight. It was normal for Wanderer to lock himself in one of the rooms of whatever suite they were staying in the night after a performance. What wasn’t normal was for him to do so silently. This time, he’d skipped the part where he cursed the others out and told them not to need him before slamming the door. This time, they’d been back at the hotel for about half an hour before anyone even realized he was missing from the afterparty of wine and weed.

“Hey…” Kazuha said, standing up from where he, Venti, and Heizou were sat together on the floor, Xiao having retreated to his and Venti’s room to listen to music in relative peace. “I’m gonna go check on Wanderer. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet tonight.”

“Finally gonna make a move?” Venti teased, red cup sloshing with his favorite dandelion wine. Kazuha briefly wondered how many drinks he’d had already before aiming a soft glare at him.

“I would never take advantage of someone’s vulnerability like that,” he said. “Who do you take me for? Heizou?”

“Oof, low blow,” said the auburn-haired man in question, tone of voice betraying that he wasn’t really offended. “I’m not gonna pursue anything further with Albedo until he and Kaeya actually break up.”

Kazuha rolled his eyes. “I just want to make sure Wanderer’s okay,” he clarified. “He didn’t throw his usual theatrics before going to bed. Lend me a hairpin? He probably locked the door.”

Heizou fished a pin out of his hair and plopped it into Kazuha’s waiting hand. The albino approached the door of the room Wanderer had taken over and knocked gently. “Wanderer? Are you still awake?”

“Fuck off, Kaedehara,” came the eloquent response through the door.

“Are you alright?” Kazuha pushed.

“Am I ever? Leave me alone.”

Kazuha’s mind flashed back to the immediate aftermath of his best friend’s death years ago. He’d spent some time lashing out just like Wanderer was now, locking himself away and finding creative ways to harm himself behind closed doors. The bandages that adorned his right hand were a permanent reminder to never let himself reach that point again. Yes, Wanderer was telling him to piss off, but he was also outright telling Kazuha that he wasn’t okay, and Kazuha couldn’t just leave him in that state. He needed to make sure Wanderer wasn’t hurting himself the way Kazuha had back then. Kazuha tried the door. As expected, it was locked. He straightened out the hairpin and stuck it into the lock, listening carefully for the telltale click and opening the door. The lights were off, and Wanderer was laying on the bed closest to the window, his back to the door, still half dressed in his blue, white, and black stage costume.

“I thought I told you to fuck off,” he muttered, making no move to look at Kazuha.

Kazuha closed the door, blocking out the ruckus Venti and Heizou were causing in the common area. “I’ll keep my mouth shut if you want me to, but I can’t just leave you alone when something is clearly wrong.”

“What’s wrong is that you’re the last person I want to see right now,” Wanderer spat.

“Did I do something to upset you?” Kazuha asked softly, taking a seat on the other bed.

“No, it’s not you, it’s just— Ugh! Why am I telling you this shit? I must be getting some secondhand high from your goddamn pot.”

“Wanderer… I’ll let you in on a secret. I went to therapy when I was younger. One thing the therapist told me that stuck is that keeping everything to yourself isn’t healthy. A person can only bottle everything up for so long until there’s no more room and the bottle explodes in a shower of broken glass. I swear that anything you say right now will stay between us, but I think it’s time you let it out to someone.”

Wanderer was silent for a long while, and Kazuha began to wonder if he’d fallen asleep, or at least pretended to fall asleep. Just as he considered leaving the room, Wanderer shifted to sit up on his bed, back still to the other.

“I saw my ex in the crowd tonight,” he said quietly.

Red eyes widened. “Dottore?”

“No! Gods, no. I would never call that bastard an ex. He was never my boyfriend, no matter how much he might have deluded himself otherwise. No, it was…” A humorless chuckle left his lips. “I don’t know why I’m calling him my ex. We never went anywhere…”

“But you wanted to,” Kazuha pieced together.

The albino watched Wanderer hug himself before he continued, voice softer than it had any right to be. “He and I grew up in Tatarasuna together. We were close. He was the one who encouraged me to pursue a music career in the first place. He aged out of the system a couple months after I did, and he found a place for both of us to stay. It was filthy and run down, and we couldn’t afford repairs, but none of that mattered to me because he was there. I wanted us to be something more. I was ready to take that next step. But then I started taking off as a musician… When that piece of shit Dottore found me, I wasn’t allowed to date, and just like that, my old friend was a thing of the past. I saw him in the crowd tonight. And I couldn’t help but wonder…has he been showing up to all of our shows?” Wanderer sighed. “You remind me so much of him. Every time I look at you, I see him, and it hurts. It hurts to remember what we could’ve been…”

Kazuha heard a small sniffle, and his arms were around Wanderer in the next second, consequences be damned. He knew he’d made the right choice when Wanderer didn’t attempt to claw his eyes out but instead buried his face in the crook of Kazuha’s shoulder, black painted nails digging into the back of his white and red hoodie as he allowed himself to cry, likely for the first time in years.

“You still could,” Kazuha said, ignoring the pang in his chest at the thought of Wanderer being with someone else. This wasn’t about him. Wanderer deserved to be happy, and if that happiness wasn’t with him, then he would accept that. “Dottore isn’t here anymore.”

“But I don’t--” Wanderer struggled for the right words, hands loosening their grip on Kazuha’s clothes. “I do miss him, but I’m not the same person he grew up with anymore. The part of me that wanted to be more than friends has moved on because…”

“Because…?” Kazuha urged.

Wanderer lifted his head, violet eyes shining in the moonlight as he aimed his gaze at the other. “Because I have you now.”

Kazuha’s eyes went wide. He must have been higher than he thought. There was no way Wanderer just said what he thought he said. Snippy, arrogant, guarded Wanderer, admitting that he was in love with Kazuha? This had to be a dream. The albino was snapped out of his shock by a scoff.

“Pick your damn jaw up off the floor,” he chided, his tone much more in character now. “I don’t know how the hell you did it, but you wormed your grimy little pothead way into my heart. You grew on me like a fucking fungus.” Even in the dark, Kazuha could see a blush forming on the other’s face. “So, congratulations. Whatever your scheme was to win me over worked. What will you do now?”

Shaking his head clear, Kazuha cupped Wanderer’s face, wiping away the tear tracks with his thumbs, expression softening as red met violet. “What would you like me to do?” he asked. “I don’t want to push any boundaries with you. This will all be your call.”

“Tch. Your kindness is sickening. Spare me the pity.”

“It’s not pity,” Kazuha said. “I simply pride myself on my impulse control.”

“So you’re saying if I allowed it, you would shove me onto the bed right now?”

“Are you inviting me to do so?” Kazuha’s voice lowered to something that had a pleasant shiver running down Wanderer’s spine.

“Some other time,” Wanderer said. “For now, just kiss me.”

“Gladly,” Kazuha said with a chuckle before leaning in to press his lips to Wanderer’s. The softness was a sharp contrast to Wanderer’s personality. Hands wound into white locks, undoing the ponytail sloppily tied at the back of Kazuha’s head. A careful brush of tongue against lip had Wanderer opening his mouth to Kazuha, inviting him in physically now that he’d been allowed in emotionally. A small whimper left Wanderer’s throat, and Kazuha found himself taking the other’s hands and shoving his back onto the mattress, fingers interlocked on either side of Wanderer’s head.

Finally pulling away when he was more desperate for air than he was for Wanderer, Kazuha was ensnared by the flushed, half-lidded expression on his bandmate’s face as they both panted. Realizing the position he had Wanderer in, hands trapped in his own and hovering over him, he began to fret again.

“Is this okay, Wanderer?” Kazuha asked.

“Kabuki,” said Wanderer.

Kazuha tilted his head like a confused puppy, earning a soft chuckle from the man under him that had his heart skipping a beat with how...innocent it sounded.

“I keep telling you the weed is making you stupid,” said Wanderer. “My name. It’s Kabuki.”

“Like Kabuki theatre?” Kazuha asked.

Wanderer- Kabuki heaved a sigh. “Yeah, my mom never bothered to give me a name, and my foster parents weren’t the best with naming. Now do you see why I just go by Wanderer?”

Kazuha couldn’t help but laugh. “I would argue that Wanderer is an even stranger name.”

“If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you,” Kabuki threatened.

“Didn’t I say in the beginning, everything that happens tonight stays between us? Your secret is safe with me, Kabuki.” Kazuha fell into another fit of giggles saying the name out loud.

“Just shut up and kiss me again,” Kabuki demanded. He was back to himself. Feeling relief wash over him, Kazuha leaned down for another kiss.

Ready to call it a night, Heizou opened the door to invite Kazuha to share the second bed in Venti and Xiao’s room with him, but before he could utter a single syllable, he registered what was happening. With a smirk, he silently shut the door, the new couple none the wiser that they’d been caught.

“Looks like it’s just going to be me third-wheeling you two tonight,” the redhead said to Venti.

Venti fell back onto the carpet with a dramatic sigh. “Finally,” he said. “Think Wanderer will mellow out now?”

“Kazuha’s a poet, not a miracle worker,” Heizou said.

“Well, at the very least, we can all rest easy tonight. Perhaps we should go out for drinks to celebrate tomorrow. On your tab, of course~” Venti laughed as he dodged a pillow that was thrown from the couch with frightening accuracy and strength.

Yes, everything would be just fine.

#moon writes shit #genshin impact #idol au #kaedehara kazuha #genshin scaramouche #genshin wanderer #shikanoin heizou #venti #xiao #kazuscara #xiaoven #heibedo #kinda #5WIRL #drug usage #alcohol #mentions of abuse #mentions of infidelity #mentions of self harm

[berenwrites]

Whole New Us Ch5 - Stranger Things - Steddie

Whole New Us: Trauma Bonded and Beyond

Also on AO3 | Or here CH1 | CH2 | CH3 | CH4 | CH5 | CH6 | CH7 | CH8 | CH9 | CH10 | CH11 | CH12 | CH13 | CH14 | CH15 | CH16 | CH17 | CH18 | CH19 | CH20 | CH21 | CH22 | CH23 | CH24 | CH25 (Mature) | CH25 (Fade to black) COMPLETE

Summary: Steve has been ignoring his own problems, he’s been busy. They’ve all been busy, preoccupied with fixing everything that was broken. Vecna has been defeated, but the Upside Down is still there, and the gates are not completely closed even though Hawkins has almost returned to normal. It’s been a couple of months and the aftereffects of Steve’s encounter with the demobats is about to come back to bite him. However, it also brings some unexpected hope.

Pairing: steddie (Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson)

Rating: Teen (with mature content in later chapters)

Chapter 5. Home?

“Let’s get back to the gate,” Hopper said, taking the lead once more.

Steve couldn’t look at Robin or Nancy as he fell in, carrying a half-conscious Eddie as gently as he could. He was terrified of what he might see if he looked into their eyes. El touched his arm, wiping her nose with her hand and giving him a nod, but that was the limit of their communication. No one spoke on the way back to their exit point. He let the demobat changes in him go as they neared the way out, waiting for the others to get through the gate to Dustin, Mike and Lucas before passing Eddie through.

Once they were all safe, he took over looking after Eddie once more. El closed the gate with an efficiency that should have been scary while Hopper wrangled the kids. Job done, they all headed to Steve’s place. He’d insisted it would make the perfect base of operations because it was the least likely place anyone would come looking and he had a lot of space.

Eddie didn’t rouse at all on the way back to his house.

“Bring the steak from the refrigerator,” he told Dustin as he climbed the stairs with Eddie in his arms.

He could feel the hunger running through Eddie, even though Eddie was mostly out of it. Robin was a warmth at his shoulder as he took Eddie into the main bathroom and gently put him down on the closed toilet lid.

“Robin, can you run the bath please?” he asked, still not able to look at her.

She moved past him and Eddie, placing a hand on his shoulder as she did so, before leaning over to turn on the taps.

Eddie was filthy, his hair matted with plant material and other, nastier things. If it had been him, Steve knew he would want the detritus of the Upside  Down gone, and he was determined to do the same for Eddie.

“Eddie,” he said gently, holding Eddie up with one arm and lifting his chin with the other.

Tired brown eyes blinked at him.

“Hi,” Steve said. “Time to get you clean, okay?” he asked.

Eddie hummed in reply.

“And I know you’re hungry,” Steve told him. “Dustin will be up with food soon too.”

At that Eddie tried to shake his head.

“It’s okay,” Steve said, making sure Eddie was actually looking at him, “I know. I know.”

Eddie had cried himself out on the way back to the gate, but at that he looked like he might start again.

“Sorry, man, but your clothes are wrecked, not that that’s much of a loss,” Steve tried to make his tone light. “Gonna have to cut you out of them and get you some more later.”

It was at least enough to stop Eddie breaking down again as he nodded.

Robin and Steve set about removing Eddie’s half shredded garments when there was a light knock on the door.

“It’s Dustin,” came the voice from the other side.

“Come in,” Steve said.

Dustin stuck his head in hesitantly, not a usual manner for him at all, but the rest of him soon followed and he was carrying the plate Steve had left in the fridge. In a fit of civility, Steve had cubed the meat before they set out for their mission, now it struck him as kind of ridiculous.

“Where do you want this?” Dustin asked.

“End of the bath, thanks,” Steve replied. “Could you make sure everyone has what they need downstairs,” he added, even though he suspected Nancy would already be doing so. “You know where everything is?”

Dustin’s eyes danced over Eddie as he wiped his hands nervously on his jeans.

“Yeah, sure,” Dustin said after a moment. “Look after him for us, yeah?”

“We will,” Steve told him with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

After Dustin left, it didn’t take Steve and Robin long to finish their task until Eddie was huddled on the toilet naked. Without being asked, Robin backed up to give Steve room to pick up their helpless friend and, ever so gently, place him in the tub. Eddie moaned quietly as the warm water lapped over his skin.

“I’ve got it from here, thanks,” Steve said and finally gathered the courage to look up at his best friend.

“But who’s got you?” Robin asked, reaching out to put a hand on his arm.

“I’m fine,” he said automatically, but that earned him a familiar look. “You know while I have someone who needs looking after I can’t stop,” he told her. “When Eddie’s settled, we’ll talk.”

“If you need me, call,” Robin told him, before slipping out of the bathroom.

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve said, turning back to the semi-conscious man, “let’s get the worst of this grime off, then I’ve got some of the good stuff for us, before we worry about your hair and make sure you’re properly clean.”

“’kay,” Eddie slurred.

Steve knew deep shock when he saw it. Eddie had been alone for over two months, surviving in the most brutal way if Steve’s dreams were anything to go by. He was reeling himself, but he couldn’t imagine what was going through Eddie’s head.

As gently and as carefully as he could, he reached for the soap and a sponge and began to wash all of Eddie’s exposed skin. The scars from the bat bites stood out against flesh slowly pinking up at the heat of the water. He emptied and filled the tub once more before he was satisfied that most of the grime was gone. Eddie for his part sat there swaying every now and then, occasionally looking at what Steve was doing, but otherwise not interacting.

Steve emptied the water a second time, before beginning the third refill. However, he didn’t immediately go back to washing.

“Time to eat,” he said, turning and picking up the plate of steak from where Dustin had left it.

The moment he pulled back the clingwrap, Eddie’s eyes went red. His hunger lanced at Steve like a psychic battering ram, but he also sensed fear and disgust. Eddie shook his head.

“M…monster,” he said trying to back away against the tub.

“No, Eddie,” Steve said, placing a hand on his arm and letting his own peculiarities leap to the surface, “we’re not monsters. I thought the same, but I went to El. I know you never met her, and she may only be a kid, but her powers make her an expert. We’re different, we’re scarred, but we’re not monsters.”

He took one of the pieces of steak and put it in his own mouth.

“We’ve got superpowers, man,” he said as he chewed and swallowed in a couple of seconds, “but we have needs.”

Eddie still didn’t look too sure, so Steve slowly picked up another piece, holding it out for Eddie to eat.

“This tastes way better than what you had to survive in the Upside Down,” he promised, trying to make his tone seem light no matter how his emotions were churning.

“How do you know?” Eddie asked, apparently having a moment of clarity.

“I dreamed about you,” Steve told him. “I didn’t know they were real until this happened five days ago. As soon as I did, I called in the cavalry.”

Eddie looked at the cube of high-end steak in Steve’s fingers and slowly leaned forward. The way Eddie took it from him was almost delicate, but the moment Eddie bit down those red eyes closed and Eddie full-body shuddered. When Eddie’s gaze return to his, it was oh so very hungry and much more awake.

“Do you want me to feed you,” Steve asked, “or can you do it yourself, because one time after Starcourt, Robin had to feed me soup because I was shaking so much I kept missing my mouth, so no stress either way.”

The way Eddie was looking at him made something in Steve tremble for reasons he couldn’t quite pin down.

“I can manage,” Eddie said, eyes going to the plate.

Steve put it on the side of the bath, in easy reach and stood.

“I’m just going to get you some clothes, a toothbrush, and some stuff to do your hair,” he said. “Don’t try and get up because I don’t want you to brain yourself after we went to so much trouble to get you back, okay?”

Eddie nodded, but didn’t reach for the meat until Steve closed the door. As he turned to walk to his bedroom, he heard a rather desperate moan so he hurried away. It took him a couple of minutes to round up some sweatpants, a t-shirt and some underwear along with several hair products, a comb and the spare toothbrush he kept under the sink. He also picked up a pair of scissors, just in case.

When he made it back to the bathroom, the plate of steak was sitting on the closed toilet seat and most of it was gone.

“Sorry,” Eddie said, “was really hungry.”

“You could have eaten it all,” Steve assured him, “there’s more in the refrigerator. I’m sure the delivery guy thinks I’m throwing a fuck tone of barbeques or something with the amount I order.”

“Wayne always taught me to share,” Eddie replied, almost sounding like his old self.

“Well, if you insist,” Steve replied, putting everything he had brought down to one side. “It has been an eventful day.”

He almost managed to get a smile out of Eddie with that one. Picking up the plate he sat down and popped two pieces of steak in his mouth at the same time. He offered the plate back to Eddie, but the other man shook his head, leaning over to turn off the water instead, which was now above his waist.

“How are you not freaking out?” Eddie asked, as Steve finished his snack.

“I have you to look after and I did a bit of freaking out before I realised you were still alive. I will definitely be freaking out again at a later date,” he replied.

“You are strange, Harrington,” Eddie said.

Steve just shrugged.

“Robin assures me it’s overcompensation for my shitty parents, but who the hell knows,” he replied. “Now, shall we start on your hair?”

“Those better not have been scissors I saw,” Eddie said, glancing at the pile of hair products.

“For emergency purposes only,” he said with his hand over his heart. “I would never dream of damaging another man’s hair.”

That did get a real, if momentary, smile out of Eddie.

It took half an hour to get the gunk and tangles out of Eddie’s hair and Steve was rather proud of the fact there was only one unsalvageable knot he had to cut out. After that was finished, Steve let Eddie give himself one more wash and helped him out of the tub and into a very fluffy towel.

“Oh my god,” Eddie said, “what is this made of, a cloud?”

“Ridiculously expensive cotton,” Steve replied, helping Eddie dry off since he was still weak. “My mom only buys what she thinks is the best, even when it’s just hideously overpriced. The real secret is good fabric softener.”

Eddie gave him a very funny look.

“You sound incredibly domestic, Harrington,” Eddie said.

“I’ve been looking after myself most of my teenage years,” Steve replied. “I figured I’d rather swim than sink. We used to have a maid, but my dad fired her after accusing her of stealing his watch. He’d just lost it, but he never did anything about it once he found it again.”

“Asshole,” Eddie said.

“Yeah, with you on that one,” Steve said. “If you sit down, I can dry your hair for you.”

“If you give me another towel, I can do it myself,” Eddie countered.

Steve just picked up the hairdryer.

“Not going to let you wreck all my hard work,” he said.

“Bossy jerk,” Eddie said, but did sit down.

Steve just laughed and got on with his self-appointed mission. By the time he was done, Eddie’s eyes were drooping once again.

“Light touch,” Eddie mumbled as Steve put the hairdryer away.

“I do my best,” Steve replied. “Now, let’s get you dressed, then you can clean your teeth. These might be a bit big until we can get you fed back up, but they’ve all I’ve got, sorry.”

“S’fine, thanks,” Eddie said, dropping his towel without compunction.

Steve couldn’t help looking at the demobat scars all over Eddie’s body.

“Yeah, not pretty,” Eddie said, taking the clothes from Steve’s hands.

“Actually, I was thinking they kind of give you a heroic look,” Steve said. “And they look years old, not months.”

Eddie looked down at himself for a moment, but didn’t reply.

“Next question,” Steve said once Eddie was dressed and had cleaned his teeth (the moans of joy about that had been interesting), “do you want to sleep, or do you want to go downstairs for more food? Or I can bring you some up.”

“You already fed me,” Eddie pointed out.

“Yeah, but you’re still hungry and real food works just as well once the cravings are dealt with,” he explained. “I was going to order takeout for everyone.”

“Who’s everyone?” Eddie asked, swaying slightly, so Steve reached out to carefully steady him.

“Robin, Nancy, Hopper, El, Dustin, Mike and Lucas,” Steve told him. “Everyone else is out of town at the moment. Do you remember anything of when we came in to get you?”

Eddie thought for a moment, frowning before finally shaking his head.

“Just you,” Eddie said. “Don’t really remember much after the bat attack, just flashes and emotions until there you were, plain as day.”

“Yeah, like knows like,” he said, although at some point they were going to have to have a conversation about the connection between them.

Steve was pretty sure the only reason Eddie hadn’t already noticed was because he was only partially with it.

“Do the rest know?” Eddie asked, a fear Steve could completely understand in his eyes.

“Hopper, El, Nancy and Robin know about both of us,” he explained, “and the rest of the kids know something, but not everything, and they don’t know anything about me. Didn’t want to freak them out before we came to get you, or there would have been more fighting about who was coming in.”

“Afraid, Harrington,” Eddie asked with a challenging tilt of his chin.

“Yeah, shit scared,” Steve replied without remotely trying to hide it, “but I’m not leaving you out in the cold, Munson, so if you tell them, I’ll come clean too. We’re in this together.”

Eddie’s eyes opened in shock.

“But you look dead on your feet,” Steve pointed out, “so no one will mind if you’d rather sleep.”

“And disappoint the rescue party, Sir Harrington,” Eddie replied, putting on a very posh British accent, “never! Ummm … but I’m not sure I can manage the stairs.”

“Well, I carried you up here like the swooning damsel we all know you are,” Steve said with a grin, “but that’s probably not the entrance you want to make. You can lean on me, or, just this once, I could act as your faithful steed.”

Much to Steve’s delight, that startled a laugh out of Eddie and a genuine smile that didn’t instantly disappear.

“Well one of your more interesting nicknames at school was Steve the Stallion,” Eddie said, still grinning.

Steve felt his face heating up. He thought he had destroyed that nickname before it had started, but clearly not as completely as he had hoped.

“I take it all back,” he said, shaking his head, “you’re on your own, Munson.”

Which just made Eddie laugh again.

“Oh god, too bright,” Eddie complained as soon as Steve helped him out of the bathroom.

There was bright sunshine coming through all the windows onto the landing. Steve has gotten more used to it over the last few days, as if he was adapting, so he was okay unless outside in real brightness, but Eddie hadn’t had that chance.

“Wait here, don’t move,” Steve said, and dashed to his room, grabbing the sunglasses from his sideboard. “Here,” he said, giving them to Eddie as soon as he came back.

Eddie was staring at him again.

“What?” he asked.

“How fast did you just move?” Eddie replied.

Steve glanced over at his room and then back at Eddie. He had done that without even thinking because Eddie needed his help.

“Um,” he said as he went over it in his mind. “Protective instincts,” was the best explanation he could come up with.

“Shit,” Eddie said, “we really do have superpowers.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, nodding. “Wait ‘til you see my metal bar bending trick.”

Eddie lifted an eyebrow.

“So, still want to go downstairs?” Steve checked.

That got a nod, so he turned and crouched down, so it was easy for Eddie to climb onto his back. He stood up with ease and made his way to the stairs. It didn’t take long to make his way down, being careful to make sure Eddie was not jostled.

“Eddie!” Dustin yelled the moment they turned at the bottom.

Steve carefully put Eddie down, even as Dustin ran across the room. There was an audible ‘ouf’ when Dustin barrelled into their previously missing member and wrapped his arms around him.

“Hey, Henderson,” Eddie managed, hugging back.

“We thought you were dead,” Dustin said, clinging to Eddie, and Steve could hear tears in his voice.

Eddie had “died” to save Dustin and it was definitely Dustin who had taken it the hardest.

“So, I heard,” Eddie said, rubbing Dustin’s back.

“You gonna be okay if I go and talk to Robin for a minute?” Steve asked, not willing to leave Eddie if he was needed, but also feeling that urge to talk to his best friend. “And order the food,” he added.

“Yeah, sure, thanks,” Eddie replied.

“Won’t be long,” Steve promised. “And no bombarding Eddie with questions, got it?” he said looking at the boys as he started to walk away.

He got about six feet when something stopped him. Turning he noticed Eddie’s whole demeanour had changed. Eddie looked confused and afraid, and his knees collapsed under him. Steve didn’t even hesitate, he shot back to Eddie’s side, catching him before he could fall out of the embrace with Dustin.

“Okay, maybe not,” he said, trying to make light of it, “let’s get you sitting down.”

When he turned and saw the faces of Mike and Lucas staring at him, it occurred to him he had reacted without thinking. He had moved ridiculously fast once again.

“Steve,” Mike said, “what the hell?” “Fuck,” was the best response Steve could come up with.

End of Chapter 5

Chapter 6

#stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie lives #stranger things #st: whole new us #fanfic #post season 4 #vampires #kind of vampires #hurt/comfort

[theashen-fox]

@small-red-rose

Ash was one of those students. Everyone knows the type: the type that stands out but tries their damndest to blend in. While his grades in Beacon were quite good—not “prodigious”, but definitely good—he rarely ever spoke in classes, be it to ask questions or even whisper to other students. He just sat in the back, away from everyone else, even his own Team. This was evident even during lunch periods and between class hours. Any chance he got, he would slink away to a secluded spot in the courtyard with several trees, sit beneath one or climb up into one, and just read for a while. In some ways, he was like Blake, as Ruby might have observed. However, unlike Blake, he made next to no effort to interact with others unless absolutely necessary, whereas she at least made an effort. He had heard the whispers among the nastier students that circulated—phrases like “what a creep”, “I heard he put some kid in the hospital...” “don’t get too close, I think he likes to carry knives,” and “why the hell are we letting him stay here? How do we know he’s not with the White Fang?” were among his personal favorites. The last one, he was often tempted to actually attack people for; if they knew how much he hated the White Fang, they’d know just how damn wrong they were.

Ash never expected to hear anyone approach his “sanctuary.” Hardly anyone ever came here, and when they did, they usually left rather quickly. So, deciding to adopt his more snarky persona, he said from his place in the branches, “Freak show’s closed, I’m afraid. Come back tomorrow, kiddo.” This had been his standard go-to phrase to tell potential bullies to piss off, but with Ruby, the odds were pretty good she wouldn’t get it.

#small-red-rose #main!/rwby! verse

[justminawrites]

Of Ribbons and Other Lost Things - Chapter 1: Symphony of Broken Hearts

AO3

1 | 2 | 3 | TBC

Summary: Marinette is about to tell her best friend the truth after a full year of lying: she is Ladybug. But the forces of the universe don't seem to like this idea. [Starts off right at the end of Gang of Secrets.]

“If I tell you things will never be the same between us again! It’ll mess up everything— maybe even destroy it!"

"Marinette.. I'm your very best friend.."

"And I— I’m.. Multimouse."

Luka Couffaine figured the akuma attack must’ve been bad if he could still remember every single detail over a week after it happened.

Truth had been one of the nastier ones; not just in terms of how conveniently his secret-exposing powers could’ve been misused, but also because of the can of worms it had already opened. No matter how many ‘miraculous ladybugs’ came after it, Luka could never unknow that Jagged Stone– his hero, his idol, his inspiration for years, that Jagged Stone– was his father. 

Or how he’d subsequently tossed said father off the roof of a hotel minutes after his confession.

“Thanks for the pizza, Luka!”

“It’s no problem, Rose,” he replied, absentmindedly stuffing the both the notes and the tip into the pocket of his slate-blue jacket as he hopped back onto the bike. He’d just split them later, when he could close his eyes without recalling flashes of Ladybug’s yoyo or Chat Noir’s spotlit face twisting with panic. 

Without remembering Anarka Couffaine’s panicked sobs as she pulled him in for a hug, when he’d finally made his way back home.

Rose Lavillant, his fellow band member and sisters’ girlfriend, frowned, reaching over her patio-fence to immobilise him by grabbing the bike’s wicker-basket with one hand and waving the other in front of his face. 

“What’s going on?” She asked, giving the basket a little shake.

“Nothing,” Luka tried to discreetly tug his bicycle back but her grip was iron-tight, “Why.. Did– did Jule say something?”

His sister had been on his case almost as much as his mother. 

Luka had always been the rational one in his family; the one to keep peace, go with the flow, take everything in stride, but he’d very nearly gotten re-akumatised when a certain purple-haired, black-goateed, I-was-too-lame-to-take-care-of-a-kid rockstar greeted him over Anarka’s shoulder by calling him ‘son.’ 

I’m not your son, he’d hissed with finality, and slammed the door to the room he and Juleka shared. He remembered unfairly snapping at his sister that night too, when she’d dared to suggest reconciliation. 

It was a mixture of shock, heartbreak, and loneliness so severe, he wondered if the akuma hadn’t poisoned him beyond repair. He’d lost his best-friend, his girlfriend, and his hero, all in the span of five short hours. 

Luka was sure everyone on the Liberty could hear the crying that night, despite how hard he’d tried to muffle the sound with his pillow.

“Is this about Marinette?” The blonde blurted out bluntly, oblivious to the way he flinched back into reality, “–because I don’t think she’s that upset about it to be honest.” 

And, Marinette. He didn’t even know where to begin with Marinette.

“Maybe a little frazzled by the breakup, but not seriously disturbed in any way, which is weird because you did break into her house, but I’m sure she’ll forgive you if you just–“

“Thank you for the concern, Rose,” Luka interrupted firmly, plucking her fingers free of his bike, “But this is about something else.” 

He adjusted the empty thermal food delivery bag, ensuring there was no way this one would fly off, akuma attack be damned, and hoisted himself onto the seat.

“Could you tell Jule to head back without me today? I’ve got an interview.”

It wasn’t the entire truth (God knows that hadn’t gotten him anywhere anyway), but it wasn’t the real reason he couldn’t pick up his sister either. 

For the past week, Jagged had been showing up unannounced to the Liberty, armfuls of gifts (usually discontinued merch) in tow, determined to suddenly spend time with his children, and Luka was sure he was going to go insane. 

Anarka chased him off the ship with a broom the first dozen times, No stowaways on my ship, ya scallywag!, but after he’d brought her a present too (a noise permit she’d gleefully shoved in Roger’s face), she let him stay till curfew.

Luka could usually avoid him last-minute– the gaudy purple tour bus parked right by the dock was a dead giveaway– but it wasn’t a sure-fire solution. So he reverted to plan B: a part-time job (or two) that would keep him till late, and away from his admittedly well-meaning father until he could figure out how he felt about all this. 

Sort the sour tune of guilt and betrayal from the tiny notes of fondness that had begun to echo within him. 

“Sure, I’ll tell her.”

Luka ducked his head gratefully and clipped on his yellow helmet, resisting the urge to rub the sleep-deprivation off of his face. 

Now the only problem left was to find a place that would keep him busy till curfew, but was still flexible enough work around his pizza delivery schedule.

“But Luka–“ He turned back. 

Rose was nibbling on her right thumb nail as she gave him a once over with her cartoonishly-blue eyes, “Are you okay?”

He smiled weakly instead of lying. 

...

“If I tell you, things will never be the same between us again! It’ll mess up everything– maybe even destroy it!”

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was going to reveal her identity as Ladybug to her best friend, Alya Cesaire. 

It’d been decided for her, the moment Alya had shut the trap door and gently confronted Marinette about her lies. She couldn’t keep it from her best friend, she’d only barely managed to keep it from Luka last week, and if it wasn’t meant to be then the universe wouldn’t have kept her back here... because.. because that was how things worked now.. right? 

If Bunnix or a future version of herself didn’t pop out from a glowing portal to make sure she’d changed her decision, it probably meant that it was the correct one... or at least Marinette hoped it was. Because that was the logic she’d been basing almost all of her decisions around since him. She repressed the chill that crept up on her, recalling the ominous tinkle of a snow-white bell, the madness in his blue, blue eyes. 

“Marinette.. I’m your very best friend..” Alya for her part, looked shocked by the outburst; it was so unlike her friend to be serious about something. As the brunette squeezed her shoulders softly, dispelling the ghost of Chat Blanc, Marinette made up her mind. 

“And I–“ she began, mustering up the courage to look into Alya’s hazel eyes, “I’m–“

“Multimouse!”

“Yes, I’m, wait– what?”

Mullo, the mouse Kwami of Multiplication was hovering in mid-air, holding onto a necklace with a small, circular pendant. Marinette couldn’t be sure, but she had the distinct sense that the kwami was disappointed with her.

“Multimouse?” Alya gasped in delight, “You’re multimouse?”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Mullo said uncharacteristically formal as she dropped the miraculous into Marinette’s lap, “I’m Mullo, Marinette’s kwami.”

“How many times do I need to tell you, Marinette? You can’t forget to wear the miraculous! That’s the whole point!”

She definitely hadn’t imagined it now. The mouse’s normally mischievous tone was dripping with venom.

“I– I’m–“ She mumbled, but the damage was already done. Alya let go of her shoulders to ooh and ahh appropriately at Mullo, and ask the kwami questions she couldn’t actually answer.

Marinette looked around her helplessly, gaze landing on the pink-and-white spotted sewing crate that housed the new Miracle Box, suddenly wondering if Tikki was in there– if this was all her doing. 

“What was that you said?” 

Mullo’s red eyes narrowed, honing in on the necklace pendant she’d let remain on her lap uselessly, daring Marinette to finish her train of thought. Maybe this was the sign.

“I’m sorry,” she finished lamely, picking up the necklace to latch it around her neck. Master Fu had warned her not to wear too many miraculouses at a time, but she figured only the two couldn’t hurt. Besides, she had to sell this new lie.

“Girl, you know I don’t blame you,” Alya said excitedly, returning to her place on Marinette’s chaise, “Ladybug told you to keep your identity a secret, huh?”

“YeAH,” Marinette replied squeakily, “Ladybug did– she’s um..“

“I know. She’s a little strict about that,” Alya elbowed her good-naturedly, “Still– I’m jealous. You and Chat get to keep yours forever, while some of us have to wait for Ladybug to decide wether or not she needs us.”

“Yeah– well, that’s because.. um..” She wracked her brain to come up with a way to deflect what was definitely her best friend’s passive-aggressive way of asking how she’d convinced Paris’ Greatest Superhero to entrust her with a power permanently.

“Wait,” Marinette pretended to gasp, “Some of ‘us’? Alya, are you..”

She didn’t know what she was expecting. Maybe for Alya to drop the subject, or change the topic - maybe stammer a little over a slip of tongue like she’d been teased for doing so often.

“Yep,” Alya replied nonchalantly, “Rena Rouge at your service.”

Marinette hadn’t expected that.

“Alya!” She covered her friend’s mouth impulsively, before the brunette pushed her away, “You’re not supposed to tell me that!”

“You just told me,” Alya pointed out, “–and there’s no use in hiding it anyway. After what happened with Hawkmoth and Chloé’s mega tantrum last month as Queen Wasp, I doubt she’ll be reinstating me anytime soon.”

“I- I suppose.. you’re right,” Marinette sighed, trying not to let too much defeat into her voice. She didn’t want to accidentally trigger Alya’s journalist senses. 

“It’s probably for the best,” her friend looked down, “I’m not really cut out for that superhero life, though I’ll miss the little rascal.”

Marinette swallowed the urge to guiltily glance at the sewing box again, inside which Trixx was no doubt eavesdropping on the entire conversation. It was her fault they’d lost, after all; if Ladybug had just de-transformed, if she’d just stuck to the rules that Master Fu had set out for her, he’d still be.. they’d all be..

“But I’m still happy for you, Marinette!” Alya smiled, pulling her into a side-hug, “It’s a little scary but it’s exciting isn’t it? Being a real-life superhero?”

“It’s a lot of pressure,” She managed, sinking into the warmth of her friend’s hug. For a brief second, she wondered if this what it would’ve felt like if she’d told Alya nine months ago, when she’d first come into possession of the little miraculous box with the earrings. It felt nice.

Before Marinette could stop herself, all of her fears tumbled out. 

“What if- what if I’m not cut out for this, Alya?”

“What’re you on about?”

Marinette was talking about being the Guardian, of course, but her friend didn’t know that.

“What if I mess everything up, and the miraculouses get stolen or what if I get akumatised and Hawk Moth– Shadow Moth now– finds out my identity and what if he takes them.. er.. it. What if he hurts my family or the bakery and what if the ladybugs can’t fix it and Chat’s already mad that I’m... um she’s keeping things from him, what if I break up the team, what if–“

“Marinette,” Alya pulled back and shook her by the shoulders to stop the overflow of words, watching tears fill up her friend’s eyes. 

“I’m scared, Alya. I’m scared and tired, and tired of being scared and scared of being too tired, and I broke up with Luka because he just keeps getting akumatised when I’m around and he didn’t sign up to date a superhero anyway. So it’s not fair, to him or Adrien or anyone I might like in the future.”

“Maybe I should just quit now before I royally screw up.” Again, Marinette added in her head.

Alya fell silent at that, cupping her chin in contemplation. “Okay, quit.” She said finally. 

Marinette’s head went blank as she looked at her friend in disbelief.

“But– but–“

“Quit,” Alya offered, more confidently this time, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t just–“

“Why not?”

“Because–  Ladybug– I mean..“

“Ladybug can always give your miraculous to someone else. There can be another Multimouse. Why can’t you quit, Marinette?”

“Because it’s wrong,” she said quietly. Because I don’t have a choice.

“No– because it’s you,” Alya corrected, taking Marinette’s hands in hers and giving them a quick squeeze. 

“What’s me?”

“Multimouse.. she’s a part of you, just as much as Marinette is.”

“But I’m so clumsy and forgetful, what if I–“

“Someone entrusted you with this miraculous because they know how capable you are. Other people can see things in you that you can’t always see.”

A flash of Master Fu’s soothing chuckle and sympathetic face came to her, and the tears she’d hidden threatened to rise up again.

“You’re kind and sweet and a loyal friend, Marinette,” Alya’s brown eyes filled with genuine admiration for her, “You’ve got a good heart, girl– you just need to trust it a little more.”

“You’re our everyday Ladybug for a reason, you know?”

“Okay,” She released a long breath. 

While it wasn’t exactly how she’d intended the conversation to go, Marinette felt strangely better after talking to Alya and getting some, if not all, of her worries off her chest. 

“You’re right, I just had a bad moment. I can recover from this.”

“Of course you can.” Alya cheered, “You’re Marinette Dupain-Cheng. You can do anything!”

She felt the blush rise to her cheeks. 

While she received praise daily for masquerading as Ladybug, Marinette was still unused to people complimenting her civilian identity, especially since she’d always just been silly Marinette to everyone; silly Marinette, clumsy Marinette, awkward, uncoordinated, foot-in-her-mouth Marinette. To everyone except–  well, there was no use in thinking about him either.

“C’mon,” Alya grabbed her hand, making for the trap door, “Let’s see if we can get some ice-cream. All this superhero talk's got me in the mood for André’s LadyNoir special.”

“Ugh,” Marinette made a face, “You know they aren’t actually dating right–“

“I know, girl,” Alya giggled, “It’s just half-price for the next few days!”

“Fine, I’m coming.”

Marinette caught a glimpse of a red and black-spotted kwami flitting out of the sewing box to wave her over. Marinette, she could hear Tikki’s tiny voice in her ear, We need to talk.

“Nino just texted, the cart’s by Le Grand Paris hotel today,” Alya smiled fondly down at her phone, and Marinette tore her eyes away from her kwami’s frantic beckoning.

“I- I’ll catch up with you, I just need to grab something first.”

“Alright, but don’t take too long Marinette,” the brunette lowered herself down the stairs, “–or should I call you Multi-nette now?”

“Alya!” She cried, scandalised. 

Her friend’s head disappeared with a wink.

“What about Mousinette then?”

“ALYA!”

______________________________________________________________

NEXT CHAPTER ->

A/N: So let's all imagine that Gang of Secrets went very differently and Ladybug did not enlist Alya's help to defeat the akuma. What would have happened then? I present to you: this fic.

#ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fic #justminawrites #miraculous ladybug #miraculous les aventures de ladybug et chat noir #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #mlb lukanette #mlb marinette #mlb adrien #mlb fandom #rewriting miraculous season 4 #miraculous season 5 #adrien agreste #adrigami #kagami tsurugi #marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine #the love square #felix fathom #mlb fanfic #i know everyone's mad about the s5 ending but would anyone be willing to pretend none of it happened w/ me? #mlb plagg #mlb juleka #miraculous s5 #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #miraculous adrien #miraculous memes #miraculous marinette #ORAOLT

[nostalgia-tblr]

I get so annoyed at the comparisons of Lokius to fluffy ship Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens) because they have nothing in common. And there really should be more fic exploring the abusive dynamics of Lokius. And ok, I admit I don't like cutesy ships like Ineffable Husbands much either way, but it's such a shame Lokius has so little tasty fucked up content and most fics are boring fluff. And people like OW so much they hardly ever make Mobius the perpetrator. I've seen fics were Ravonna made them do it or another Loki (usu. President) or EVEN TVA!Loki were the perpetrators and those options just rub me the wrong way. Lokius fandom is so quick to make Ravonna irredeemable (but not pure bean Mobius) and the power imbalance is not on the favor of the Lokis (the abuse and literal torture excused from Mobius while Sylvie gets called abusive for calling Loki a clown and trying to complete her life's mission... smdh).

The main issue, I think, is that "the Discourse" is so fraught and neverending that people either hate Mobius and everything connected to him and so they won't write about him anyway or they're on the defensive and don't want to cede what they see as too much ground to hostile takes. (They're not the only ones doing this but this is today's topic and I don't want to digress as much as I usually do.) That plus - the bane of my own existence in so many fandoms tbh - if you're into something enough to identify/be seen as "a shipper" of it then you probably favour fluffier takes on that ship. Which is valid of course, etc etc, but it means there's not many fic people around who are willing to spend the necessary time and effort on Dark Lokius. I mean, I'm fairly into the idea and I still haven't (really) made any fic of it so I am Part Of The Problem myself (I do have a couple of in-theory-WIPs but I have a lot of half-written fics and they won't all get finished). With me that's partly because I fear the reader glancing at the rest of my fic in that fandom and going "oh well OF COURSE she doesn't like lokius and wants it to be Wrong and Fucked Up," even though I fuck up a lot of pairings that I am very into.

Of course with me not being into fluff generally the dominance of that genre here means I read less lokius than I otherwise would and so the problem sort of self-perpetuates.

(Side-note on Ravonna, the comics canon (such as it has been relayed to me) seems to have massively influenced fandom's takes on her because I don't think she was even all that evil on the show? You could take her "brb off to find Free Will" as her having rejected the system and planning to bring it down some other way - which indeed I did until I was told no she's just a baddy. As Mobius's superior she's presumably more awful but what we see doesn't necessarily prove that. (Also there's only 22 - 22!!! - Mobius/Ravonna fics on AO3 and I have to ask HOW THE FUCK?? because I definitely detected a vibe there and refuse to accept that nobody else did. They had a vibe!!!))

BUT I DID DIGRESS LIKE I SAID I WOULDN'T. Added to all that is that the sylki and lokius shippers have become set against each other so again nobody wants to give anyone any extra ammunition for "actually your ship sucks" takes on tumblr by spending "too much" time on the nastier subtexts.

Um... well, the tl;dr is just that varying strands of The Discourse tend to push people away from spending much or any time on the darker lokius readings and that's a damn shame because as of this moment the pairing is tagged in 3,426 fics on AO3 and I feel like that means it could easily cope with a few more stories where it's to some degree fucked up. Bring on the Stockholm Syndrome, damn it, there's more than enough fluff to make it all better with afterwards :D

#replies #mobius #dark lokius #there i have a tag for it now so i should finish one of the fics #once again a fandom is failing to cater to MY needs and frankly that's very inconsiderate of it #i do get the appeal of the hugging and such but honestly the torture aspect was more interesting to me because WTF #i can get Tender Boyfriends Kiss Each Other Tenderly almost anywhere u kno? #the unique selling point is that oh my godddddd he has so much power over those variants literally life or death this could go SO BADLY #also LBR we all know at least one Loki variant has at some point just openly offered Mobius sex in exchange for their freedom #whether he accepted the offer is another step of course but the temptation is there #“oh yeah sure i can get you a meeting with the time-keepers... but first you have to help *me* with something...” D: D: D: #also can we talk about how Mobius died and woke up in a world populated entirely by Lokis and i'm not saying he thought he was in heaven bu