#i love a guy that just puts off everyone around him on purpose. that ploy works the opposite on me. let me in. LET ME INNNN

[echthr0s]

you know why Durance is the worst character? he's the one guy in RPG history that won't let me exhaust his dialogue trees. LET ME BOTHER YOU

#durance is actually one of my faves. i love a curmudgeonly priest with layers #i love a guy that just puts off everyone around him on purpose. that ploy works the opposite on me. let me in. LET ME INNNN #also the shit he says when he DOES let you bug him for a short period of time always has me like 🤔🤔🤔 #and then he's like ''alright fuck off watcher that's enough yapping'' and i SCREAM 😭 #pillars of eternity

[officialscaramouche]

Hellooo!!! Maybe a part 2 for the traitor fic? Thank you!!!!

Ahhhhhhhh!!!! Yes of course!!!!!!! I liked writing this one now that I have little mister kazuha in my clutches ehehehe

pairing: Scaramouche x gn!reader / kazuha x gn!reader

tw: the usual “fuck” here and there

wc: 1,534

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“Why did you ask me to be your girlfriend, then?”

The question hit him like a truck. It was one he had been avoiding for the longest time, but since it was finally asked, he had to find an answer. To him, the term “girlfriend” was very loosely described. Is it someone who you spend everyday with? Or someone that you sleep with? Or someone that you kiss, and love, and cherish? Then at least everyone in his life fit the bill for “girlfriend,” or “boyfriend.”

He spends everyday with his coworkers in the Fatui, but they’re not his partners. He’s fucked many other women before her, so were they also girlfriends? And what a joke, there’s nobody he loves or cherishes outside of himself. The question was stupid.

He chose not to answer and continue to give his undivided attention to the report in front of him. “Hello?! I’m talking to you!” She pushed everything off the desk. The paperwork, the ink pot, the flowers, everything.

Scaramouche pushed his chair back and stood, holding his arms out to look at the ink staining his clothes. “I honestly don’t know, because you’re the biggest bitch I’ve ever met!”

“Don’t you dare call me that!” She yelled, grabbing his shirt and pulling him to her.

He pushed her arms off of him and shoved her aside into the bookshelf. “Don’t put your fucking hands on me. Just because I allow you to spend your time with me doesn’t mean you can run your bitchy little mouth.” She looked at him in disbelief, the throbbing pain in the back of her head sending stars around her head. “All that mouth is good for is sucking my dick, so shut the fuck up.”

“It’s cold outside,” your boyfriend called out to you, running over and slipping your arms through the jacket.

“Thank you, honey,” you said, pursing your lips to welcome a kiss.

He smiles and kisses you, cupping your face. He leans into the kiss until your back finds the wall, his hand running down your face, to your neck, and to your waist. He squeezes the skin there and pulls your pelvis to him, pressing his back into yours.

You feel his tongue slide into your mouth, the kiss turning wetter and sloppier. “Kazuha!” You whine in his mouth, pushing him off of you. “We’re gonna be late!”

He desperately pulls you back in, unable to control his desire, and finds purchase back on your lips. “I’m sorry, you just look so good,” he pouts, reaching behind to grab a handful of your ass.

“Yeah well, I’m hungry!”

It was your one year anniversary with Kazuha and he got the two of you private seating at Third-Round Knockout. You had been wanting to go for a while, but Scaramouche never took you. “It’s a waste of money,” he’d say as he turned down the suggestion. So when you told Kazuha, he was more than willing to go.

It was his favorite restaurant seeing as he and Beidou went all the time. Except this time he wouldn’t be dragging anyone out of drunk fights and single handedly pack up everyone’s dishes. He especially liked their desserts, and promised he’d buy you one, even if you said you didn’t want it.

Kazuha was immediately so different from your ex. He was kinder, gentler, more respectful, and most of all he loved you. It was weird dating your ex’s best friend and you felt bad about it, especially since you ruined their long-time friendship. But from the day he met you, Kazuha was enamored. Every day that went by, he thought about you. He wanted to take you out, show you off, love you, make love to you, and for you to call him yours. He wanted to make you proud to have him, wanted you to love him the way he loved you. And when it came down to it, he was right there beside you to comfort you when Scaramouche finally said goodbye.

He knew his best friend like the back of his hand. Scaramouche got tired of things very quickly, and he never had a problem finding something new to entertain him. For someone with a terrible attitude and a vulgar mouth, Scaramouche was always breaking hearts.

Kazuha didn’t have many partners. In his experience, women were greedy and petty. Men were controlling and abrasive. Overtime he had come to give up on finding love. But then he met you— you were so kindhearted and patient. You always said yes to Scaramouche and you would defend him until you passed out (figuratively.) Kazuha felt that his best friend didn’t appreciate you. He didn’t see your worth. But Kazuha did. And now that he had you he wasn’t going to let you go.

Kazuha watched as you clapped excitedly as the waitress brought your cake dessert. “Be careful,” he chuckled, his heart warm with love. “It’s not a sweet cake.”

“What kind of cake isn’t sweet?” You joke, swiping cake onto your spoon and funneling it into your mouth. The bitterness hit your tongue after a delay. You open your mouth and spit it out, making a grossed out face.

Laughing, Kazuha takes a napkin to your cheek. “I told you it was bitter, silly.”

“No!” You whined, pushing the plate away. “You said it wasn’t sweet!”

“Oh, I’m sorry honey,” he snickered, pulling the plate to him and taking a bite. “Mmm!”

Scaramouche sat at his private table with a scowl on his face. He didn’t want to be here, and he definitely didn’t want Mona to come. “Can you at least try to look happy for him?” She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she clapped in celebration.

Up at the front with a medal on his shawl, Tartaglia gave a thank you speech for the Tsaritsa and his fellow harbingers. This event was a celebration for Tartaglia and Singora’s success in retrieving Morax’s gnosis. It was funny seeing him up there as he had no clue of his role in the ploy.

Scaramouche was never one for shindigs and he especially wasn’t one for the eleventh harbinger. He was too friendly, he’d say if you asked. “People who are too friendly are hiding something.”

One thing he didn’t like about the harbinger was how kind and loving he was to you while you were together. He saw it as a ploy to get you, take you from him. He thought he was going to be the one there for you when he left, but the harbinger was nowhere to be found. Instead, he saw his best friend stab him in the back.

He watched the young harbinger walk from the front to hug and chat with people. What a load of bullshit, he thought. “If I take a gnosis, kill me before they throw a party, okay?”

Mona rested her elbows on the table, leaning into it and looking around awkwardly. “Don’t worry, I’ll kill you before you can even take a gnosis.”

He watched on at Tartaglia’s seemingly genuine cheer as he excused himself from the people he was stuck with, practically running over to more people to stroke his ego. “Hey,” Mona sort of laughed. “Isn’t that…”

Tartaglia ran up to two very familiar people. “[Y/N],” he breathed, slamming his hands on the table and standing to his feet. What the hell were you doing here? You were no longer tied to the Fatui, you shouldn’t have even been let inside! But there you were, embracing the harbinger and pulling him closer to you to look at the medal. And right beside you, smiling and shaking his hand, was none other than his best friend, and your new boyfriend, Kazuha.

Scaramouche took off, stalking over to the three of you looking for answers. Kazuha noticed first, raising his hands to reassure that he wasn’t there to insult your ex. Tartaglia noticed next, after your boyfriend’s sudden stance of defense. You only picked up on it when suddenly nobody was listening to you. Kazuha forced a smile and greeted the harbinger. “Hello, Scaram—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he bit, pushing the samurai aside. “What the hell are you doing here?” He asked, shoving a finger into your chest.

“I invited them,” Tartaglia cut in, putting an arm between you and Scaramouche, removing his hand from your chest. “And I purposely reserved a table for them far away from you. Besides, where’s your girl, huh? Just leave her behind?”

Scaramouche clicked his tongue in annoyance and eyed you up and down. You looked…nice tonight. It wouldn’t have been the outfit he would’ve chosen, but you wore it well nonetheless. Kazuha placed his hand on Scaramouche’s shoulder, turning him around to face him. “Not even going to say hello to your friend?”

“We aren’t friends,” he hissed, pushing him away once more before stomping off to his table.

“Ah, geez, sorry guys!” Tartaglia groaned, shaking Kazuha’s hand once more. “I was hoping he wouldn’t be an ass tonight. Anyway, it was very nice to meet you Mr. Kadehara. We should all hang out sometime! I gotta go find a bathroom, so I’ll see you later!”

#writing #genshin #genshin impact #Scaramouche x reader #Kazuha x reader #Kazuha kadehara #why are the paragraph breaks so big >.> #part two: traitor

[darlington-v]

I know different interpretations of a work are generally enriching and cool... but c!dream villan interpretations is like how to tell me you only watch Tommy without saying you only watch tommy.... which would be fine but its not a great place to be making statements about the whole nature of the dsmp lol

Wild speculation, but sometimes I wonder if like, because the dsmp didn't really start as a narrative, and a lot of fans don't nessecarily enter it expecting a narrative, but then there is one and the fandom is really discourse heavy and everyone is sort of excpeted to have an opinion while maybe not expecting to form one from the begining or not having a ton of experience with narrative in a way that would "expect" them to have an opinion or not take things at face value??, I don't know if I explained that well at all... and I don't really even think thats right nessecarily... but like wow sometimes some of the takes about power and government and villany...

Honestly, it makes sense!!!

I think something interesting is like.... looking at how animatics have shaped the like tone and culture of the fandom essentially. Like, an interesting fact that I didn't really fully grasp until SUPER recently is like...

c!Wilbur out the gate admits he is manipulating c!Tommy. Like his first youtube video on the Dream SMP he admits his goal is to manipulate c!Tommy and people like c!Tommy into helping him achieve a potion ("drug") empire to monopolize on potions because there were a lot of people on the server who like to min-max, which is to put all of your effort into this one specific skill essentially. so like... i know minecraft doesnt have a skill tree but if it did, it would be putting all your points into that one specific branch of a skill tree. So he wanted to exploit the labor of all the TommyInnits to.... maintain a Potion Empire.

THIS IS A LONG POST BC I GOT CARRIED AWAY SO BUCKLE UP

And I don't think a lot of the fandom who joined later on knows this. I certainly didn't until like a week or so ago? Like... I knew c!Wilbur had been manipulative from the start because I'm a mod of (shameless self promo incoming) @dsmpanalysis and we have a lot of different POVs in that mod team and discord and we talk about it really frequently. I joined the fandom as someone who was really big on L'manburg ESPECIALLY crimeboys, and have turned into.... *gestures vaguely to my blog*

And ngl I owe a lot of it to @1-michibiki-1 in terms of c!Dream "Apologism" but all of the mods there have expanded my thoughts and views on the storylines of this narrative.

My application consisted of like largely essays about like... how I think Dream was the villain but he was meant to be the villain because you don't get any insight into his character WHICH.... IS A FAIR ASSUMPTION AT FIRST GLANCE. People are easily villainized when you cannot get a glimpse into their thought process. It's easy to dwindle someone down into this flat character and starting out I knew Dream didn't stream the SMP on purpose.

And I personally came to the conclusion of "Oh! So Dream is supposed to be the villain." However as the story continued and I learned more about what Dream went through I began to realize that... it's more than likely a form of a red herring. My opinions on this were immediately solidified when I watched Ranboo's 2 MIL stream because both Ranboo AND Dream agree on enjoying red herrings.

There have been MANY times were Dream has said that c!Dream is a complex character and he's not a wholly evil guy and there have been times where the narrative has honestly just proved that.

Anyways, what's important though was that... I learned most of this from other people who were more focused on c!Dream rather than myself. Eventually I shifted from c!Tommy to c!Ranboo and c!Techno after c!Tommy betrayed c!Techno and I began to realize.... everything I learned before hopping in wasn't exactly what it seemed.

Part of this is because I'm older, I heavily identify with c!Techno's sense of loyalty and philosophies on government, but I especially identify with the anguish c!Techno voiced in... a lot of lore but especially the lore around Doomsday.

I'm not 16 anymore. I don't always feel wronged by adults, or older people in my case, whenever they absolutely have done something wrong by me, but I do feel wronged by my close friends. I also felt like c!Tommy's sense of loyalty didn't line up with mine after what felt like him constantly flip-flopping and refusing to understand c!Techno's morals on government didn't line up with his.

In short, it was easier to identify with Tommy in these animatics versus in the actual stream content because c!Tommy is played by a 16 year old. I'm not a teenager and my line of thinking doesn't entirely line up with people that age anymore. It's harder to place myself in the same shoes of someone's OC who is played closer to their actual age, because I'm not that age.

Regardless, I was still on the c!Dream is a villain train. I wasn't ever like... c!Dream is repulsive I hate him, but I was like omg hot villain lad go brrr.

Even when the first like... mellohi, panic room, Ranboo lore stream popped up I thought "Oh! c!Ranboo corruption arc?"

And I was excited because I really wanted this shy, nervous character to turn into villain buddies with his good pal c!Dream. I'm a total sucker for villains and corruption arcs and all that good shit.

SO I STARTED GETTING REALLY INTERESTED IN ENDERSMILE. I'VE BEEN ON ENDERSMILE SQUAD OUT THE GATE. NOT THE SAME WAY I AM NOW, BUT I'VE ALWAYS WANTED THEM TO TEAM UP.

So... upon not really keeping up with c!Dream and being relatively??? indifferent? I don't think I started arguments on c!Dream back then, but I might have. But I remember like... starting to participate more whenever c!Dream came up and looking more into Dream's character BUT ESPECIALLY TALKING WITH OUR SERVER'S C!DREAM SPECIALIST MICHI ABOUT DREAM A LOT MORE.

And because Michi has been a watcher since day one and was a DTeam fan rather than a SBI fan, she was able to provide me with more information on how the server worked pre-Tommy but especially pre-Wilbur.

Now, you could definitely argue well Michi probably has clear bias but it made sense to me when I looked back on how the storyline had been constructed and was going along, and everyone in the server talks a lot about our own biases and how we want people to maybe not lean so hard on them. Michi would also provide like anecdotes on what had happened and I'm sure links were probably provided at one point but the point was I felt like Michi had no reason to lie or manipulate how the story was told and if she did, eventually someone would have pointed it out because... Group of like... right now it's around 20 or more analysts but I don't remember how many at the time there were. POINT BEING, WE'VE ALL GOT POINTS TO PROVE AND IN MY EXPERIENCE NOT MANY OF US HAVE BEEN SHY TO PROVE THEM.

So if anyone ever had any differing opinions they would be talked about and we literally had and still have discussions.

REGARDLESS.... I DIDN'T FACT CHECK IN DEPTH BECAUSE I THOUGHT PEER REVIEW WAS ENOUGH WHEN YOU HAVE LIKE HOURS UPON HOURS OF STREAMS TO WATCH.

Anyways. Eventually I started paying closer attention and looking more into c!Dream lore but only recently have I started to triple check before speaking about c!Wilbur lore because I know everyone has biases and while I did trust everyone's thoughts and analysis in the discord, whenever I make essays I typically like it to be largely air tight and if theres a mistake, I want it to be because I forgot not because I just trusted what was said. Plus, I wanted to get down to the specifics of how Wilbur had always started with manipulation on the mind.

SO I WATCHED HIS FIRST VIDEO ON THE DREAM SMP.

AND WHAT I WAS NOT BY ANY MEANS EXPECTING WAS WILBUR TO SAY WORD FOR WORD, VERBATIM,

"SO WHY DON'T I START AN INDUSTRY WHERE I USE THE TOMMYINNITS OF THE WORLD TO WORK FOR ME, TO CREATE THINGS THAT THE MIN-MAXERS OF THE WORLD WILL WANT."

Like... this is in no way an attempt to like hardcore villainize c!Wilbur like everyone does Dream, it's just more so to like REALLY outline how far off a lot of fandom interpretation of c!Wilbur is....

Because of SBI focused animatics.

Now, when I joined I watched A LOT of animatics that really highlighted like... Wilbur being this self-loathing JD-esque, "I destroyed it because I had to because the world was against me because no one loved us, Tommy" type of character. At least... that's what it came across as.

And it definitely highlighted the fact that Tommy was a victim, which he is. He is undoubtedly a victim and no not even any dream apologist can change my mind otherwise. Tommy, despite being an instigator sometimes, didn't deserve the abuse he received.

But these animatics never shown the fact that c!Wilbur started L'manburg as a shady ploy to exploit people like c!Tommy and vilify c!Dream so he could have power.

And that was easy because Dream and Tommy had wars before. They had spars and pranks and here's the plan to take back my disks and here's the plan to out smart the thieving little child etc etc.

And all of the animatics I watched never mentioned this. Neither did the recaps though. The recaps gave the events flat out, there didn't sound like there was bias, and honestly I don't really know if there was rather than like... a lack of nuance. And it's hard to provide a recap with that much nuance in a short period of time for a youtube video, to be perfectly fair.

However, this creates a perfect formula for entirely rewriting the history of a server. c!Wilbur quite literally fucking succeeded TO A META LEVEL. He slandered and ran smear campaigns against Dream and like he even does that with Sapnap in the beginning. But what's crazy is that it transferred over into the meta! Most of this fandom understands Wilbur as a victim of mental illness, and yeah maybe? He definitely wasn't mentally well by the end of pogtopia, but he never started out with honorable intentions. L'manburg was never a victim, only its citizens. The TommyInnits of the world.

I just think it's like... such an interesting case study. Because this is like... an opinion like shared by at least half of the fandom, but the vilifying of c!Dream is shared by MOST of the fandom I would argue. Which is like even more crazy for me because that was c!Wilbur's goal!!!

LIKE I GO INSANE WHEN I THINK OF THIS BECAUSE HIS REACH IS JUST TOO POWERFUL. HE'S NOT EVEN ENTIRELY REAL, JUST A MANIPULATIVE PERSONA OF SOME BRITISH GUY.

And I mean... maybe people who have watched Wilbur's video on the SMP still maintain this idea that Wilbur wasn't always the bad guy, but honestly... I wouldn't be surprised if their introduction was still an animatic. Like bias is hard to check and I'm not going to lie I could have sworn I watched both Wilbur's AND Tommy's video on the SMP in the beginning and yet I STILL was a ride or die for tragic yet on some level still honorable Wilbur and a resilient Tommy.

Like... upon watching Wilbur's first video... possibly again I was surprised because I thought I did watch it like right before I even started watching the streams and yet I was still so invested in c!Wilbur as this tortured anti-hero.

It took 6 months of... not being in an echo chamber, full of multiple different people of different ages, different stream POVS, and people who joined the fandom at different points in time.

IDK IF THIS WAS EVEN ENTIRELY RELEVANT IT JUST FELT TANGENTIALLY RELEVANT AND THIS WAS SOMETHING I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT FOR A HOT MINUTE AFTER LIKE WATCHING WILBUR'S FIRST VIDEO AGAIN.

TLDR;

SBI CENTRIC ANIMATICS HAD A LASTING AFFECT ON THIS FANDOM AS IT'S HARD TO GO BACK AND ACTUALLY CHECK THE NARRATIVE FOR SOLID FACTS FOR YOUR OWN INTERPRETATION BASED ON THE FACT THAT THIS NARRATIVE SPANS OVER HUNDREDS OF HOURS WORTH OF TWITCH STREAMS.

#asks #anon #dream smp #dsmp #dsmp analysis #dream smp analysis #dsmp meta #dream smp meta #my analysis #long post

[storiesforallfandoms]

don’t go ~ mark;midsommar

word count: 1919

request?: yes!

“Mark from Midsommar imagine where reader is Pelle's sister and convinces Mark not to go on the trip with everyone else because she knows what will happen. So she stay there with him?”

description: in which she tries to stop her boyfriend from going to the midsommar festival because she knows the truth of the festival

pairing: mark x female!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of death

masterlist

“New table for you,” my co-worker told me as I tightened the strings on my apron. Usually, I wouldn’t be too happy about having a table right after my break, but when I looked over to see where it was I saw that it was my boyfriend, Mark, my brother, Pelle, and their friends. So I couldn't exactly be too mad about it.

I practically skipped over to their table and bent over Mark to give him a kiss. The three other boys chorused “Get a room!” at the same time.

“The service is so friendly here,” Mark joked, causing me to giggle.

“What are you guys up to?” I asked, positioning my pen to make it look as though I was actually taking their order.

“Just grabbing some food,” Josh responded. “Celebrating the trip we’re taking to Sweden in a few days!”

I raised an eyebrow at them before looking to Pelle. “Trip to Sweden?”

“Pelle invited us to some sort of festival held in your hometown,” Mark responded. “He said it’s super exclusive or something, only happens once every so often.”

I was so shocked that I almost dropped my pen and pad. I tried to keep a smile on my face as I turned to my brother and asked, “Can I talk to you...alone?”

I took the boys’ drink orders so I could make it look as though I was actually doing something while I talked to Pelle.

“How could you invite them to that awful festival?!” I hissed. “Why are you even going?! I thought you were getting out of that place!”

“Not all of us hate it there, (Y/N),” Pelle responded, keeping his voice low so my co-workers didn’t hear him.

“How could you not?!” I snapped. “Pelle, that place is evil! They kill people! How could you ask Mark to go there? He’s my boyfriend!”

“It’s tradition,” Pelle snapped under his breath. “And what was I supposed to do? Ask everyone else but him? He’d want to go anyways. Besides, he might not be a sacrifice.”

“But if he isn’t that means he’s stuck there! He won’t be able to come home!”

“So maybe you should come with us.”

I glared at Pelle. This was a usual argument. My brother and I were much different when it came to our opinions of our home village.

Pelle and I were born in a village called Hårga. We were raised there for most our lives. I was the first of the two of us to leave, moving to America when I was only 18 years old. At that age, I realized that where we lived wasn’t a village, it was a cult. A nasty cult that I had to get out of. I wanted nothing to do with them, with the place, the people, not even my own parents. I wanted to forget that place ever existed.

Pelle, on the other hand, was very devoted to our home. He followed all the rules, did everything that was asked of him. He moved to America to go to school, but to also possibly persuade me into returning home, at least for our Midsommar festival. Of course, it didn’t work. I’d never go back there, not in a million years.

Why did he have to become friends with my boyfriend? Was it on purpose? Was this just another one of his ploys to get me to come home? See, that is what the cult did to people, they stripped them of their emotions and made them manipulative and evil. I had hoped Pelle might’ve been different.

I placed their drinks on a tray and waved Pelle away. He glared at me as he returned to the table. I put on my best fake smile and walked over, carefully placing each drink in front of the boys. I began taking their orders when Mark wrapped an arm around my waist.

“Are you coming with us, baby?” he asked.

I could feel Pelle’s expectant gaze on me. He was waiting for me to respond, knowing he would get what he wanted no matter what I said. If I said yes, I’d have to stick to my word and go. If I said no, the boys would try to convince me to come with them, which would probably result in me going. There was no way around it. Unless...

“I don’t know,” I responded. “I might. Can we talk about it after work, babe?”

“Of course.” Mark smiled his dazzling smile at me. I smiled back at him, but inside I was hoping I’d be able to convince him not to go to Hårga.

~~~~~~

Mark was waiting for me in his car when I got off work, something I was grateful for as I usually had to take the bus to and from work.

I got into the car with the intentions of immediately asking Mark not to go on the trip, but was distracted when he took hold of my face and began to kiss me deeply. I couldn’t help but melt into the kiss, leaning into him and deepening it when he tried to slide his tongue into my mouth.

I was willing to take my uniform off then and there and let him have me, until I remembered the reason why I had asked to speak with him after work. I managed to push Mark away and breathe, “We have to talk.”

His face fell and worry crossed his face. “Those words are never good.”

“No, no, not like that. I’m not breaking up with you, silly.”

Mark breathed out a sigh of relief. “Good, I don't know what I’d do without you.”

I smiled, feeling the blush creep up around my neck. A little over a year with him, and he still made every day feel like the first.

“What do you want to talk about then?” he asked.

“It’s...about the Midsommar festival...about Hårga,” I told him.

“Sounds pretty awesome. You should totally come, babe, it is your hometown after all.”

I shook my head quickly. “No, Mark, I’m not going. And that's what I wanted to talk to you about, you can’t go either.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “What? Why can’t I go? It’s just a festival, isn’t it? Like drinking, partying, excitement?”

“No, no it’s nothing like that. It’s far worse. It’s not a happy festival, and you can’t go. You can’t even be friends with Pelle anymore if he comes back, you have to cut him off all together.”

“Baby, baby, calm down,” Mark said, taking hold of my face. I realized in that moment that I was starting to hyperventilate and tears were running down my face. I looked into his eyes, the ones that I loved so much, as he said softly, “Breathe, that’s it, just breathe. It’s okay.”

He gave me a moment to compose myself, which I appreciated. Just thinking about Hårga always got me so worked up to the point of tears. I hated that place. I really hated it. Why did Pelle have to be friends with Mark? Why did he have to ask Mark to go? Why couldn’t he just fuck off?!

I breathed deeply as I felt myself getting worked up again. I rested my head against the head rest, looking up at the sky through Mark’s windshield.

“Why don’t you try again?” Mark asked. “Tell me what’s wrong. Why don’t you want me to go?”

I took one last deep breath, holding it for a few counts before letting it out.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” I told him.

“I might, but I’ll believe you. Whatever has you so worked up, crazy or not, is definitely a real reason for me not to go. Tell me what it is, babe.”

I ran my hand through my hair and decided to tell Mark everything. I told him all about Hårga, about the Midsommar festival, about how, by the end of it, nine people would be killed, some of them willingly and some murdered, for the sake of “sacrifice”. I told him that Pelle was leading him into a trap that would result in him either dying or being stuck in Hårga for the rest of his life.

“That’s why I moved to America,” I told him. “I wanted to move as far away as possible from Sweden, as to never have to go back to there. I didn’t think anyone would ever find me here, but Pelle managed to track me down. I still think that he befriended you guys on purpose so he could use you as a reason to get me to go home. I don’t want you to go, please promise you won’t go Mark.”

Tears were starting to form in my eyes again and I had to wipe them and hope Mark didn’t see. I knew it all sounded crazy, that if you weren’t from there you’d probably think I made it all up for some reason, and the crying certainly wasn’t helping that. I had to get him to see that I was being serious, to believe me. I had to convince him not to go.

Mark looked at me for a while, and I was sure he was going to tell me I was crazy. To my surprise, he picked up his phone and dialed a number. He sat, waiting, until whoever he called answered.

“Hey man. Yeah, I’m calling about the trip. Listen, something just came up, personal shit, I can’t go.” On the other end, I could hear my brother’s muffled voice questioning why. “It’s just personal, I can’t go. Maybe some other time. See you later, man.”

I heard my brother cursing at Mark, hearing my name slip out of his mouth once before Mark hung up. Then, he just looked at me.

“I can’t promise the guys will believe me,” he said, “but I can try to convince them not to go. That just means doing it at a time that Pelle isn’t with them, so he can’t refute my claims. Which will be hard since all the four of us do is hang out together.”

“You - you believe me?” I breathed.

“Of course I do. Sure, it sounds insane, but even talking about it has you so worked up, I would be so stupid to think it wasn’t true. Would I like to see the place you were born? Fuck yeah! But not if you don’t want to go, and not if it’s a horrible place. We can go somewhere else, somewhere less...murder-y. Just the two of us.”

I smiled and wrapped my arms around Mark, hugging him so tightly he almost had to pry me off of him so I didn’t suffocate him.

“Can I stay over to your place tonight?” I asked when I sat back in my seat. "I don’t feel comfortable to be home. I’m afraid Pelle might show up.”

Mark smirked. “I thought you were coming over anyways so we could finish what we started when you got in the car.”

I giggled and fastened my seatbelt as Mark turned the car on and we started towards his place. I felt a weight being lifted off my shoulder, and thus decided to reach over and take hold of Mark’s hand.

He wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was I. I wouldn’t have to worry about having to go home, or having to lose Mark. All felt right in the world once again.

@maryhuffxoxo​

#mark #mark imagine #will poulter #will poulter imagine #will poulter x reader #midsommar #midsommar imagine #one shot #imagine #request

[write-like-you-mean-it]

Cards and Heartbeats

Being deep within the spider’s pit was an understatement. I was deep within a group of spiders that would consume my very flesh if given the opportunity. My heart raced faster and faster like a speeding train. Each and every moment felt surreal. Too surreal to even fathom. Is this what Illumi feels every time he’s in a terrifying situation? If so, it’s intoxicating. Control is what they want and I can give it to them. 

Chrollo sat on his throne of old, messed up boxes like a king who ruled his castle. Everything belonged to him. The outwardly feeling that Illumi refused to give off. His power was all-consuming and ever present. I had forgotten that Machi was there until her arm brushed against mine as she leaned in to say “watch out for Chrollo. He’s a good guy but he’s like us.” The pink-haired girl was as cryptic as ever; however, I knew what she meant. 

“How about I show you around,” she stated a little louder. Her voice gained attention from the rest of the troupe. Blank expressions mixed with sickly-sweet smiles ran across the group’s faces. 

“No,” interrupted the man on the throne. “I’ll do it. It’s only appropriate for a guest to be introduced by me.” My eyes flickered to Machi’s. She did this on purpose. It was a ploy to get me closer to him, and it seemed like it worked. 

The boss mumbled a few things to one of the people sitting next to him and stood up again. Boxes creaked with the lack of his weight. He walked up to me once again. All the breath in my lungs tightened in a fearful clutch. My heartbeat was pulsing so fast that I could feel it within my ears. 

“In case Machi didn’t say, I am Chrollo Lucilfer.” Rather than holding out a hand, he flashed another of his smiles. “I am the leader of this team. We’re called the Phantom Troupe.”

“I-I know,” I stuttered out. “I saw your wanted posters in York New.” 

The flashing smile left his lips for a second. “You must live in York New. Our pictures weren’t up long before I had the troupe take them down. You didn’t come here to hunt us right?”

The powerful Nen could be felt from a mile away. He was becoming angry with a hint of bloodlust mixed within. York New was a touchy subject with him. I took note of his distine for my home. ‘No,” I respond. “I’m not here for that reason. I’m here for Machi.” I lied. A simple lie mixed with a hint of truth. 

Chrollo softened his Nen. “Good,” he said. Even in anger or fear, he was in control over everything. He started walking towards a corner of the room where a group was gathered playing cards. My eyes looked towards Machi as she had turned toward another group of her co-workers. I was left alone. 

Alone was the wrong word. I still had the gaze of a quiet Kalluto who stayed deep within a corner. He rarely interacted with any of the members from what I could see. He pointed towards the boss as if it was a warning. My head turned to see the boss was waiting on me. I followed quickly behind him. 

“This is Shalnark, Bonolenov, Franklin, and Phinks,” said Chrollo. Each member either raised or nodded their head in agreement when their name was called. Only one actually said “hi.” It was the blonde boy named Shalnark. His happy smile seemed out of place compared to the rest of the somber team. “This is Y/N,” he finished while putting his hand on the small of my back and pushing me forward.

My balance was thrown off by the quick touch. Shivers ran up my spine as I felt the cold, calculating fingers touched me. I hadn’t been touched in so long since Illumi rarely used physical contact as a way of showing affection. “Uhm..” I said with a little fear. “Yeah that's who I am. Nice to meet you all.”

“Is she here to replace-?” asked the man wrapped in mummy-like cloth. 

“No!” added the blonde boy. “she‘s much too weak to even try and join. Her Nen isn’t even visible.”

“I have Nen,” I say, a little defensive. While I knew it wasn’t strong, I could still fight. “I’m just inexperienced.” Again, I could feel the boss’s eyes look over me once again. Did I have bloodlust? I know I’m not using Nen but was my anger too much to control? No. He’s just eyeing me up like a prize. 

“Maybe we can spar later on,” suggested the collared man as he came out of the shadows. His voice was more montoned and breathy than Illumi’s. I think Machi mentioned that his name was Feiten. His short stature didn’t deter me from refusing to fight. I knew I’d lose even if I tried. I would take one step and he’d be three ahead. 

“No, no,” I said while backing away. Fear made me run into Chrollo. I turned back to apologize but he was already moving onto the next group. “Feiten, don’t scare my guest. She’ll fight you if she pleases. I, on the other hand, would love to see your power in action.”

My eyes flickered once again to my friend. This time, she was watching from afar. Machi shook her head as a sign of refusal. I should not show Chrollo my power. As we walked to the next group, I wondered more about this man. Why was he so powerful that even Machi wouldn’t let me show my weak power? What was up with this man?

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

It was becoming late when I could slip away to talk to Kalluto alone. Most of the members joined in a large game of B.S. The only ones that were not playing were Chrollo, Feiten, Kalluto and I. After Chrollo introduced me to everyone, he apologized for leaving because he had a lot of work to do. 

“Hey,” I said while sinking into the shadows. “Is this where you’ve been?”

Kalluto, the man of little words, looked up to me. “I have been here. Illumi told me of your goal. Interesting that he would allow you to come here.”

“I didn’t want to come here.”

“I know.”

“You’re the one that told Illumi about Machi coming to find me. That’s why I got to see her.”

Kalluto sighed while taking another step back. He knew that our conversation was not for the troupe to hear. I followed suit but I knew I couldn’t be gone for long. Ever since I arrived at the mansion, I knew when eyes were watching me. I knew even more that Chrollo wanted to have me wrapped tightly around his finger. For what purpose had yet to be decided. 

“You’re right. Machi said your name, and it would become too complicated at that moment for us to be looking for you.” Kalluto took out his fan in hopes of blocking some mouth movement. He must know that the members would be gossiping if they saw us. Or worse, hear us. 

“I’m going to finish my mission. I did want to say that it was nice to see you. You were the first friendly face I found at that place.” I paused for a moment. “Also, I met Killua and your sister. They seemed nice. If anything, a little worried about my safety.”

“Killua took Alluka?” asked Kalluto. He seemed almost shocked by that statement. I must’ve said something wrong. There was so much tension within the Zoldyck family that it was hard to come up with each members’ feelings about the other on the spot. 

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled while silking out of the darkness. I joined the card game as if nothing had happened. I became a spectator of the group in hopes to gain some sort of pact or alliance. This game was going to go late into the night and stakes were getting higher and higher every second. 

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

The ground isn’t the best place to sleep. The nights were starting to get colder due to the weather changing once again. Machi let me use one of the blankets that was stored within a box. All other members had small cots or sleeping bags. None let me borrow them. My old warmth was the body heat stored deep within. 

A few hours of little sleep and tossing and turning made me decide to take a walk around the building. I wanted to get fresh air for the first time in a long time. Kalluto was fast asleep so I knew there would be no black eyes watching me. I wiped some crusted over sleep from my eyes and went for a midnight stroll. 

As I was climbing an old fire escape outside the building, a familiar voice called out to me. “You should be getting sleep.” The voice made me stop in my tracks. It was Chrollo. I turn to look at him. Instead of wearing the same clothes as before, he changed into what looked like sweatpants and a basic black shirt. Grease was scrubbed clean from his hair. Instead of looking like a boss, he looked normal, almost handsome. 

“Uhm - yeah. I couldn’t sleep.” My heart sped up with every word and my feet carried me the rest of the way. Chrollo followed behind. Instead of talking, we looked out across the desolate land called Meteor City. We both leaned on the creaky fire escape landing. The fear of falling hadn’t crossed my mind until a massive sound rang from the old metal. 

“Sleeping in a new location is always tough. Especially with the likes of us.” His lips spoke a joke in its purest form. There was no awkwardness behind it or malice. The feeling of laughter was almost foreign to me. 

“It’s alright. I’ve had to sleep with worse company.” The thought escaped my lips before my brain had time to register the meaning. No. Illumi wasn’t bad company. He was good and kinda my boyfriend… or husband. Even my mind couldn’t comprehend our relationship.

Everything was too much. Rather than talk, I decide to watch the stars. “They’re beautiful out tonight.”

“Yes,” he said. “You are.” His statement caught me off guard. I turn to look and see that he wasn’t even looking at the stars. Instead, his eyes were locked on mine. I opened my mouth to say something yet nothing would come out. 

I looked down at the chipped red color landing while brushing my hair behind my ears. “Oh, thanks.” I felt compelled to say something back. It was my job to get an in with him. Maybe this is what Illumi meant when he asked me on this mission. No. He didn’t ask. He forced me on this mission. There was no asking in Illumi’s mind. 

“You seem conflicted,” said Chrollo. “If you don’t want to talk, I don’t mind just watching the stars.”

“I-I’m not conflicted,” I said while looking back at him. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind at the moment.”

“You could tell me. I don’t bite much.” Again, I looked to be prey rather than a person. It was so much different than Illumi’s look. Chrollo was like a lone shark looking for the opportunity to sink its teeth into its prey. Illumi’s was possessive and manipulative. 

“I really can’t,” I say while taking my mind back to the stars. “I might be able to later. But, for now, I want to get to know these people first. I’ll save my query for another day.” A smile crossed my face as I threw his words back at him. 

“Okay,” said Chrollo as he started down the stairs. “I thought I should check up on my guest. Come down when ready. I’ll find you a bed tomorrow to make up for the trouble.”

With that, he was gone. I wanted to beg for him to stay. Unlike Illumi, Chrollo actually wanted to talk. He wanted to discuss things. He wanted to listen to me. He appreciated me. I could still feel my heartbeat pulsing throughout my body. It was stronger and more vibrant than it’s been in many years. 

I gazed back at the beautiful stars with a smile painted deeply across my face that refused to go away. Even if I wanted it to disappear, the smile would stay as long as my heart beat too fast to count and my cheeks felt hot to my touch.

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#illumi x reader #illumi zoldyck #hunterxhunter #hxh #A Hunter's Prey #Chapter 20 #phantom troupe #Chrollo

[blissfulalchemist]

A 😍 👀 for Miss Cat from Cooper! Can he get an 💕? Perhaps?

Lydia I am sorry for the delay in this answer I have however written a little something for it so I do hope you enjoy it and that I did your Cooper some justice.

A kiss in greeting and a deep passionate kiss

Being in a new town sucks, more so when you’ve been too heavily associated with the local problem family. The only upside was that the bar seemed to be a neutral ground, didn’t matter who or what you are, everyone deserves to enjoy a good drink. Cat was learning that having finally taken the time to get over her fear of leaving the ranch. Joseph kept trying to tell her how dangerous it was for her beyond those walls, but she was tired of listening and being cooped up.

The music of this town, Falls End was it, was far from her taste but less of the headache of hymns she’d been hearing for, well how long has it been again, as she sipped on the vodka seven in front of her. It was loosening her up as she looked around for someone that she might be able to talk to as a slightly familiar song played over the speakers. Love Will Keep Us Together, a decent song to dance too, she thought as she quickly finished her drink making her way to the dance floor filled with a few other patrons. She wasn’t much of a dancer but the beat was easy and she had very little care, the amount she drank finally hitting her.

She closed her eyes letting the music dictate her moves, swaying and turning, her hands keeping close to her. She was having fun, lost herself until she felt hands on her hips, her eyes opening wide, turning to face their owner. His hair dark, less bulky than the other men here but at five foot Catlina was never going to stand a chance against him. “Can I help you,” she asked, trying to keep a smile on her face, her hands starting to tremble. She wasn’t afraid to fight but it may have been in her best interests to placate him hoping he’d leave her alone.

“Just trying to dance, sweetheart,” he put his hands on her again, she pushed them away quickly, taking a step back moving her body to the side. “Come on it’s just one dance.”

“I think I’m good,” Cat said trying to put more force in her voice. Her eyes glanced around trying to look for someone to help. She was right in that she didn’t stand much of a chance against him as he managed to grab her. She hit her fists against him to no avail, “Let me go,” she kept repeating just loud enough to get others to hear but not loud enough to make a big scene. She was about ready to start screaming as the stranger’s hands moved their way around her curves, when a hand landed on the man’s shoulder, their grip tight.

“I believe she asked you to let her go,” Cat glanced up to her, at minimum, six foot blonde haired savior. His blue eyes met hers giving a wink. Part of her knew the dangers of this type of ploy but with him there was nothing giving off the idea he expected more than just a thank you when this was all said and done. “I thought I told you to wait for me at the bar, honey,” he jerked the other man back away from her.

He stumbled back a few steps, his eyes narrowing. “I think you got it wrong man we were just dancin’,” the other guy played off, trying to push his way back to Cat.

Catlina’s shoulders were enveloped by the blonde’s arm and she stepped into it putting an arm around his waist, “Yeah trying to dance with my girl,” his drawl was enticing and easy enough to show her affection for. He looked down to Cat’s brown eyes smiling, “I’ve missed you sweetie,” he gave her a kiss on the lips that she met standing on her tiptoes. Even in the heels she had on she couldn’t meet his height for him to bend down comfortably. It was a quick kiss that allowed him to finally pull her away from the dance floor back to the bar, keeping their backs to the patron, who went back to his friends having “struck out”.

“Thank you for saving me,” she said softly her nerves calming as he loosened his arm around her, “Can I buy you a drink uhm,” she knitted her eyebrows, “...what’s your name?”

He laughed his blue eyes shining back down to hers, “Name’s Cooper,” he gestured to Mary May getting them their drinks quickly. “What about you?” He helped her onto the bar stool before sitting down himself across from her.

Cat smiled, her thoughts getting lost in his voice, “What about it?”

Cooper took a sip of his beer, “Your name,” he chuckled giving a slight shake of his head, curls threatening to fall in his face.

“Oh,” she looked down, hiding the blush running up her neck, “right. My name’s Cat.” She pushed some loose strands of hair behind her ear before holding her hand out, “It’s nice to meet you Cooper.”

“Could say the same to you,” he shook it, giving her a lopsided smile. His hands were soft and warm against her skin, “You don’t look too familiar for this establishment. You new in town?”

Catlina took a sip of her drink humming, “Sort of. Been here a few months,” she flipped her hair, “I just don’t get out much.” She raised an eyebrow at him, “What about you cowboy? Your accent doesn’t fit this neck of the woods.”

“I’ve been here a while,” he gave a slight tilt of his head, eyes glancing quickly, “Looks like our friend over there wasn’t happy with our little performance on the dance floor.”

She tried her best to not be obvious in looking, “Guess we need to sell it again,” she gave a mischievous smile with the idea coming quickly in her tipsy mind.

“What do you purpose we do?” God that drawl of his can do wonders on a girl.

She leaned closer to his ear, her hand running up his arm, “This.” She brought his lips down to hers, his arms wrapping around her. She opened his mouth massaging his tongue with hers. This was something she could get behind if he wanted too. The feel of his arms around her, the way his hands sent shivers down her body as they danced along her exposed skin. She found her own hands running up his shoulders and neck, fingers looking to entangle themselves in his hair. As quickly as she got invested in their act both finally opened their eyes enough to see that the man from the dance floor gave a look of disgust, turning away. She pulled back biting his lower lip lightly hoping to cement their little act, a smile on her lips. Once fully away from him Catlina’s eyes widened, feeling her cheeks become red, “Sorry. I should have asked first. Was that too much?”

He waved her off with a laugh, “I think it fulfilled our end game,” Cooper pointed the bottle towards Cat, “Besides you did buy me a drink first at least.”

#catlina rojas oc #deputy ragnacoop #x: cat in a cowboy hat

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Rumor Has It {5}**

Chris Evans x Famous Reader Uriah “Riah” Tyler

Warning: MODERATE SMUTTY SMUT SMUT, Partially NSFW Cursing

Word Count: 4.9K

Summary: You and Chris have been married for four years after a whirlwind romance. You are both happy and trying to navigate marriage in the public eye while balancing your successful careers. In the entertainment industry, not everything is as it seems, the flash of a camera lens impairs vision. As scandal and flashing lights put a strain on your once fairytale marriage is it possible your Hollywood marriage can stand the test of the rumor mill?

**Inspired by a video seen of Chris and his co-star Ana De Armas on their press tour for Knives Out at TIFF where she kept touching his chest and face standing about five inches apart.

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️  ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you scared to go inside?”

   Scott’s voice shook you out of your haze. “Huh?”

   “Are you scared to go inside? You’ve been sitting here for a good ten minutes now.”

   He was right. It was almost one in the morning, and you were still sitting in Scott’s car in front of Chris’ house. Scott offered to drive you back when Chris made it clear he intended to stay at his mom’s house a little longer to catch up with everyone. You didn’t object. You knew he wasn’t in there, but still, your heart was pounding.

 “I’m not scared.” Scott nodded and looked out the window and to the three-floor townhouse and allowed the silence in the car to stretch.

 “Wanna talk about it?” Taking yet another deep breath, you dropped your head back against the headrest and closed your eyes.

   “No thanks, Scott. Thank you for driving me.” You gathered your things and opened the door when Scott’s voice stopped you.

   “Every marriage has it’s hiccups Riah. The important thing is to not give up on your marriage.  When you do that, the little stuff become mountains and mountains divide, remember that.”

   You looked back to him and knew he and Chris had talked, he was close to all his siblings, but Scott was another man. You knew they talked about a lot. You leaned in the car and kissed Scott’s cheek; he was a sweetheart. “Thank you, Scott.” You scurried up the steps into the townhouse and looked around the foyer. All was quiet and dark. After flipping on the light, you walked around each of the rooms on the first floor assessing each of them like you’d never seen them before.

   When you’d first been here, it was so very masculine and obvious there hadn’t been a woman in the space in a long, long time--if ever. He'd told you he'd never brought anyone there before that he’d never felt like any of his relationships were headed here, until you. That was three weeks before your wedding, well your American wedding. You and Chris had eloped and gotten married in the French countryside after four months of knowing each other.

   You smiled to yourself touching the frame of a picture of the two of you covered in paint and kissing. It was from your joint bachelor and bachelorette party when the two of you made body art. You looked up to a replica of the painted canvas you’d made that night. You’d had a lot of good times and even better times. There really weren’t that many bad times. This was probably your worst argument. You walked into the kitchen and decided to push your worries to the side for now and get your hands dirty. Whenever you were stressed you baked, so that is what you did. You took out pots, pans, utensils and a slew of ingredients and got to work.

   You probably looked like a madwoman, it was probably almost two in the morning, and you were listening to classical music and baking up a storm. After you’d finished an apple pie, one of Chris’ favorites you’d moved on to muffins, then a pineapple cake and ended on coconut sugar cookies. By the time you’d finished the entire island was filled with your treats, and you had no idea what you’d do with all of it. You glanced at the clock and saw it was close to four in the morning and still Chris was MIA. Sighing, you went upstairs for a shower.

   Once the hot water hit your body, you felt all your stress melt. Your shoulders instantly lowered from their upright position, your lower back relaxed, and you felt like you could take your first deep breath. After twenty minutes, you were once again your relaxed self or a semblance of her. You found yourself getting lost in the delectable scents of your body wash and the essential oil diffuser. You didn’t know how much time had passed with you enjoying the steady hot stream of water on your skin and the classical music playing throughout the bathroom. When you opened your eyes there he was all six feet of fine white chocolate. Just like that, your heart raced, and your mouth went dry. Still he elicited this reaction from you, even through your anger and hurt.

He didn’t speak all he did was watch you and sip from his beer bottle. You wondered how many he’d had tonight and hoped he hadn’t driven himself home. You nearly scoffed at your worry for his wellbeing. The brown peacoat like jacket was gone, as was the tan sweater. He only wore his undershirt and it showed just how good a shape he was in. Thank you, Marvel, you thought to yourself. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, and just like that, you wanted him. Deciding to test his level of anger you slowly turned around allowing the water to act as a sheer seductive curtain for your body.

   With your back turned to him you rolled your neck around and angled it to the side while you massaged it. When you turned around, he was still there; he rose his eyes from your ass up to your breasts. You lowered the hand fastened to your neck slowly trailing to your breast, but before it got there you saw him shake his head, then roll his eyes before he walked out the bathroom. You stood there shocked he’d just shot you down and seen right through your little ploy. “Fuck,” you mumbled.

   When you walked into the master bedroom, you expected to see him, but it was empty. You were beginning to get pissed because you knew he was fucking with you. He knew you hated one thing and it was limbo and false ideals of happiness or anything fake. He was purposely forcing this limbo with him under the same roof and giving off the ideal like everything was cool when you knew it was far from cool. You took your time with your after shower face and body routine, then put on your robe and decided to just get the looming fight over with.

   As you walked through your home trying to gauge where he would be, you tried to reign in your anger and come up with a way to start things calmly and rationally. You were a bit of a hothead and knew it; you really wanted to come to some resolution, one that didn’t mean the end of your marriage or some crap for shit compromise of you having to grin and bear it. If that were the case you would set this whole place on fire.

   When you stepped into the kitchen there he was sitting at the island eating the apple pie you’d made. So he wasn’t angry enough to not eat anything you made, that was good news you thought. You walked around to the fridge and took out the milk and poured yourself a glass. Nothing went better with pineapple cake then milk.

   “So is this stress baking or worried baking?” You didn’t know if it pissed you off more that he knew you that well he could deduce it or that he knew you that well and still managed to fuck up by not using his fucking brain. Rolling your eyes, you ignored him and took a slice of the cake.

   “How was Miami? Had a good time?” After a bite of cake, you glared at him. “How was Toronto? Had a good time?” The two of you faced off, neither of you backing down or looking away. He was just as stubborn and hot-headed as you. Sometimes you didn’t know how you’d lasted this long. Maybe it was the fact that for the last four years thanks to your busy careers you’d probably spent twelve months total actually together.

   “I don’t do passive-aggressive Chris. The floor is yours.” He took a deep breath and another bite of the pie, but he didn’t speak. You saw the vein at the side of his temple poking out and knew he was furious. That vein only popped out when he was seriously about to go off. You braced yourself for the venom that was about to pour from his mouth.

   “I have spent three days trying to figure out what to say to you. The first day was more how was I going to apologize for my actions, the second was how do I talk to you about your disappearing acts, and then yesterday was more on how do I even talk to you period.” Chris raked his fingers through his hair then brought them down over his eyes. When he dropped his hands, his eyes were red. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.

   “So you don’t get what you want, and you disappear and go to him?”

   There it was you thought. You’d wondered what he was going to come at you with first and more than half of you felt it was going to be that. He not only sounded angry, in total disbelief but also hurt. You knew it would hurt him. He knew your history with Christiano, and he knew before you’d met him that day in Paris you’d been with him two nights prior in Spain. You closed your eyes and sighed out.

   “You make a huge fucking deal over a conversation I had, and you go off the first chance you get to him and let him put his hands on you!”

   “Bullshit! One, it was not just a conversation Christopher. It was more than that. You stood there and allowed her to he-he-ha-ha all in your face and touch your body. You didn’t step back; you didn’t put her in her place, you smiled and allowed it. Shit, why were you so fucking close in the first place? Two, he didn’t have his hands on me like that. It was a dance, I put him in his place, and it was done. Why do you always downplay the shit you do and try to exaggerate with me?”

   “A dance? Uriah, it’s not okay for a friend to talk to me and casually touch me, but it’s okay for your ex who you know is still in love with you to touch you and put you in a car the next morning? How?!”

   You stood there silent. He was right with that one. None of it was okay. “Then you get caught not wearing your wedding ring. Was that to get at me like being with him was? Was this whole Miami trip just a huge fuck you to your husband?!” He was fuming now; his voice was booming off the walls.

   “Oh, why would I have to say a huge fuck you to my husband? Oh, wait, maybe my husband deserved it. If he were acting like he was a married man instead of some thirty-something-year-old bachelor going through a midlife crisis maybe I wouldn’t have to scream fuck you!” Your screams were equally loud. You both stood there panting from the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You were so hot.

   “What the fuck do you want from me, Uriah? I have given you everything you’ve ever wanted. Luxury cars, a nice house, vacations to exotic places, I’ve been nothing but good to you I don’t disrespect you, I don’t call you out your name, I am there for you when you need me, I support your dreams and goals better than anyone ever has, I love you with every fiber of my entire being. What the fuck more do you want?” His words stung. It was like he’d been keeping tally of your relationship and for the first time, you felt like this marriage was a transaction rather than a heartfelt decision.

   “I never asked you for luxury cars, or nice houses or exotic vacations, I can get all of that shit myself, and I have. I don’t need you throwing your money at me Chris, I never have. You met me on of the hottest in the game, and that has not changed, I am still hot. I was hot before you. I don’t need you spending on me. What I need is my husband who says he loves me with every fiber of his being using his brain in his head and not the one in his pants. If it’s not okay for me to be around my ex like we’re friends then it’s not okay for you to disrespect me and our marriage in the same way.”

   “She’s not my ex Uriah. I haven’t fucked her!”

   “Are you sure? Cause TMZ seems to think your interactions scream you’d fucked and are still fucking!” Saying that out loud brought the tears to your eyes, tears you’d been fighting since you saw him in the bathroom. Chris’ expression softened, and he closed his eyes. You both took the time to gather your thoughts, so the next words weren’t angry ones.

   “Is that what you think? You think I’m having an affair?” There it was, the deep down ugly fear that was fueling all of your actions. You hadn’t admitted it to Zo or Kizzy yet, and you sure as hell hadn’t admitted it to yourself. As much as you knew you were that bitch and a sure as hell boss and he would never find another to leave you for, you also knew men left class and went for trash all the time, and it didn’t matter if you thought you had it going on. Kizzy always said point out a fine ass woman, and somewhere there is a man tired of her shit. What if Chris was tired of you? Your emotions betrayed you, and the tears streamed down your face.

   “Fuck!” You turned your back and wiped your eyes, but no matter how you wiped the tears kept coming. You hated crying.

   “Uriah,” Chris began with gentleness in his voice, he sounded as if he were closer, but you didn’t dare look to find out.

   “Don’t you dare say it.” Still, he spoke. “I would never do that to you. Ever. There is no desire in my body to hurt you like that—ever!”

   “So, it’s not because you’re not attracted to her?” Chris sighed out, but he didn’t answer right away. The knot in your belly tightened, and you thought you were going to be sick.

   “Can you look at me, please.” His words weren’t laced with anything but sadness. You turned around and saw he stood a few feet away. You dried the remainder of the tears from your cheeks and leaned against the custom fridge. “I didn’t know this is where all of this was coming from. I didn’t think this was where it was coming from. I thought we were good; I thought you knew where you stood with me, where we stood. I didn’t--.” Chris walked from you across the room with his hands dug into his hair.

   The silence in the room stretched for long minutes. It seemed neither of you knew what to say, or maybe you knew what to say and didn’t know how to say it. You could tell he was still angry, but you could also tell he felt like an ass. You could have just come out and told him your fears and eliminated this whole song and dance, but marital communication was not your strong suit.

   “I’m sorry.” The words were unexpected and said so softly that you almost missed them, but the sixth sense in you that picked up the words “sorry” caught it. Your head snapped to him. He sat on the long counter on the right side of the kitchen, the one that you remembered you’d had sex on the last time you were in Boston together. Shaking your head, you tried to focus on what he’d said instead of the memory. Chris’ eyes met yours, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry Riah. I didn’t listen to you; I didn’t hear you, I didn’t see you. I promised I’d always see you and I didn’t.” The tears welled again, and you looked away hoping to keep them in—fail.  

   “I do respect you, and I respect our marriage, and I see how it looked otherwise. You were right, and I’m sorry for being a dick.” You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t expect an apology, you wanted one but didn’t expect him to cave and give in. You walked to him and stopped a few feet before him. You felt vulnerable, and all you wanted was his arms wrapped around you. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have taken off my rings, and I shouldn’t have been with him.” Chris clenched his jaw, and you saw his nose flare before he dipped his head down. You knew being around Christiano hurt him bad especially after their altercation those years ago. Stepping closer to him you decided to offer an olive branch. Your hand touched just above his knee, but you left it there. “I’m sorry,” you whispered again.

   Chris’ eyes bored into yours, and you felt horrible for resorting to this. “You fight dirty Uriah.” It was true and had always been true. “I don’t want to want to fight.” You meant it; you missed him. You were probably more in love with your husband than any of the other entertainment industry wives, most of them looked like they’d gotten married for reasons other than being head over heels, crazily, stupidly, passionately in love. You moved your hand to rest on his, he looked at your hands and then back to you.

   “It’ll never happen again.” You searched his eyes, hoping he was sincere and really meant it. As you did you couldn’t find any hint of a lie. You took a deep breath and slowly let it out. The tightness in your chest and belly loosened and your heart slowed. Lacing your fingers with his you closed the space between your bodies and hugged him. Chris audibly sighed as if this one piece of intimacy was what he’d been starved of. For you, you knew every time you touched it gave you a sense of peace, and harmony like everything in the world may be falling apart, but everything in your world was right as rain. His touch always worked miracles.

   With your fingers dug into his hair and holding him close enough that your heartbeat synced you felt the love between you as evident as the moon shining in through the window behind him. Chris’ hands that were wrapped around your waist slowly moved lower to your backside. You sighed again. It had been almost a month since you’d felt his hands on you like this, all because of your careers. Chris forcefully squeezed your flesh forcing a low moan from your lips. You pulled his head back so he looked at you. Using the moment to reconnect with him nonverbally, you tried to send him the vibes of your love for him.

   You slowly kissed him once, then twice and a third time then looked at him again. It was then Chris took control and kissed you more forcefully and passionately. His tongue delved into your mouth and danced with yours in a heated song of urgency and desire. He pulled you closer to him as he expertly kissed you, reminding you why no other man in the world could come close to him. Your heart sang and your belly heated with the pent-up desires you’d been holding at bay for weeks.

   Quickly you peeled his shirt off him and dug your nails into his back trailing a path down to his waist. Chris hissed, tearing his lips from yours only to bury his mouth onto your neck and at the exact spot he knew you loved. Another moan echoed in the kitchen and the urgency you felt increased exponentially. Chris quickly undid the knot of your kimono robe and pushed the silken material from your body. His eyes raked across your figure before meeting your eyes again. What you saw there lit you on fire.

   You crashed your lips to his and took charge of the kiss adding nibbles and flicks of your tongue. You knew how weak it made him. The response to your teasing was a guttural groan from him. Chris stood from the counter, and your hands dropped to his waist where his hands were already busy undoing his belt. Moving your mouth from his you kissed down to his jaw and trailed to his ear where you slowly licked the shell and bit the lobe. “Fuck!” Smiling, you knew he was holding on by a thread. You moved to his chest and kissed both defined pectoral muscle and slinked your tongue around his taunt nipple. “Jesus Christ, kitten.” You smiled, you’d missed the nickname, and it sounded far better than in your dreams.

   As your mouth went across each of his ab muscles, he watched every move you made, there was a slight clench in his jaw, and for a moment you wondered if he were still angry with you. When you felt the nudge of his hardened length against your chin the thought dashed from your mind. You pulled down his pants, and his thickness flopped out and bobbed before you. The protruding veins that decorated it told you how much he truly desired. “Don’t just look at it, say hello properly.” You smiled before you placed a chaste kiss at the tip. Chris sucked in a breath and held it as he waited for your next move. You kissed all along his length down to the patch of neatly groomed hair where you kissed his pelvis. “Always a tease.”

   You trailed your tongue from base to top before you swirled around his swollen tip and placed it into your mouth for a moment then pulled back. Chris groaned and sighed, but when you took your mouth away he groaned. “What else am I supposed to be? You love when I tease.” The look in his eyes said to keep the teasing to a minimum, and you were inclined to listen. Slowly you sank your mouth onto his need stretching your lips to accommodate his impressive girth. All those years ago when you’d first seen him in all his glory your jaw hit the floor. You hadn’t expected him to be blessed. When God was blessing little boys with dicks Chris must have snuck in the line three times because lord have mercy.

   Chris’ hands connected at the back of your head and directed you. He eased your head all the way to his base, and you opened your throat, giving him the extra inch or two then swallowed to tighten your throat around him. He grunted and gripped your hair tightly. It didn’t hurt; it was just enough motivation to remind him just who you were and why none of these other women could ever come close. You bobbed on his length each time slinking him deep into your throat before you pulled your lips to his tip to suck. After a minute or two your spit was dripping from your chin, and you used it as lubrication to massage the most sensitive part of him. Once your hands connected with the two things that made up his manhood he threw his head back and grunted loudly. “Fuck, kitten!”

   Before you could drop your head back down, Chris was pulling you up to him. You quickly wiped your mouth knowing he was going to kiss you. As he did he began to stand to turn you. You pushed him back to sitting and clumsily began to climb on top of him. Sensing your intention, Chris lifted you the rest of the way, so you straddled him. Slowly you sheathed him in the depths of your heat. Both of you threw your head back, Chris groaned loudly while you released a breathy gasp. He held you still once he was nestled deep. His eyes met yours, and there was need for words. You rocked back and forth first slowly then more forcefully until you added little swivels of your hips. Every time you changed direction and pace Chris squeezed the flesh at your hip and directed you just how he needed. The veins in his neck told you everything you needed to know. He was close.

   Without warning, Chris scooted off the countertop and stood holding you securely in place as he plowed into your needy canal. Every snap of his hips to connect your wanton bodies made you screech out and cling to him. The waves of pleasure that rippled through you peppered goosebumps across your skin and made your need for him reach unseen levels. “Yes, baby.” You clenched around him, and his grunt was so loud it echoed off the walls. He lowered you and pushed you forward over the countertop, so you were peering out the window up to the beautiful iridescent full moon. In the same breath he was slamming into your core again pulling your head back. Chris didn’t go slow, and you were fine with it, you needed as much as he did. You felt his large hand come down on your backside sending pain tendrils across your ass, he did it two more times and slammed into you. “Mmm, you’re so wet, kitten, so damn wet.”

   You grabbed onto the edges of the counter and began pushing back onto him. As you did Chris stopped moving and allowed you to do your thing. Every time you moved your back in a wave he groaned, and soon you were rhythmically grinding on him until he grabbed your hips and continued his welcomed assault on your body. Every move he made stroked the fire in you until it was a blazing inferno that began to consume you letting you know your orgasm was quickly approaching. Chris’s strokes became sloppy as they staggered along. Without warning the warmth burst through you at such a rapid pace that it stole your breath and all strength you possessed. You felt as if you’d run a marathon in the span of ten minutes. Your grip on the countertop slipped, but Chris was right there to hold you steady as he snapped his hips forward once, twice and a third time before he emptied his seed deep within you.

   The two of you remained connected riding the wave of your shared release, a release both of you needed. A release that stole your breath. The feel of him still buried inside you made you want more, and by the feel of his still hard member appendage, you knew he wanted more too. Slowly you regained strength in your legs, and you were able to hold your own weight again. Chris pulled from you with a hiss and a groan and then his body was gone. You felt something was wrong. Standing you steadied yourself and leaned against the counter. Chris had managed to pull his pants and underwear up, but you could see he was still hard. Before you could speak he beat you to it.

   “I have a question.” Fanning yourself you walked to the fridge to take out a beer. As you took a few gulps you motioned for him to go ahead. “I’m so glad I decided to hold off on kids. What does that mean?” You paused your drinking and gulped down the mouthful you had. Oh shit, you thought. You knew he would bring this up, but you thought you’d escaped it—or you hoped. Dread filled you, and you knew this could very well be the end of your marriage.

   “I’m waiting Uriah.”

   You finished the beer and put the empty bottle on the island, then took a deep breath. “It’s nothing, forget it.” You heard the click of Chris’ tongue. You’d learned over the years that was an angry tick he had that always came out. It was now your indicator as to how mad you’d made him and when you’d made him mad.

   “Funny, because when you spat those words at me a few days ago, you said them with conviction as if you meant it with everything in you.” He walked close to the island and took a seat looking at you. His eyes stayed on your face, but you saw the slight way they danced as he tried to not look over your naked body. Somehow you knew you weren’t getting out of this. You walked back over to your robe and put it on all the while remaining quiet.

   “Does it have something to do with me finding these in your bag?” You looked to him and saw that he was holding up a packet that looked very familiar to you. Your heart began to beat erratically, and you literally had a vision of him putting divorce papers in front of you. Shit, you thought again.

   “Silence, interesting the times you choose to be quiet.” His voice was again venomous and filled with sarcasm. “Why do you have one finished and another half-used pack of birth control Uriah, especially since we’ve been trying for a baby?

   Boom, there it was. You could hear the actual sound of your marriage imploding.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TagList:

@chaneajoyyy @firedolphin04 @sonjashuterbugjohnson @caramara3 @vannahvannahhh @academic-glowup @lorainnebabyy @patzammit @yourwonderbelle  @pennywisesmistress @theblulife @kelbabyblue @bugngiz @disneysdarlingdiva @toniilaney @areubeingserved  @thinkxlovexloud  @cocothewriter @periodtcevans @southerngracela @bellaamor88 @mack-jay @titty-teetee @pananegra @wellthirsted @Sup3rn0va13 @ nova3312 @ hello-therree @valkyriesnymph @squeackygee @ab-baybay

#rumor has it fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #Chris Evans X black reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #angst fanfic

[bnhabadass]

Standing on the Edge of the World: A Bakugo Fan Fiction - part 1

(A/n): I hope you guys enjoy part 1 of this multi-chapter fanfic

Pairing: Bakugo x reader Warnings: Swearing, angst, usage of drugs and alcohol

“Eviction notice!?” Your friends were crowding around you as you clutched the envelope with sweaty palms. You were backed up against the arm of the sofa, cowering in fetal position.

“How is that even possible?” Iida asked. He and Midoriya came home later that day. You waited until everyone was back to break the news. You were being kicked out of the housing the school provided. You had a rough idea as to why. The letter you received stated it was due to financial corruption.

“I think it’s because of my grandfather,” you said with a cautious tone in your voice. “He’s on the board of trustees in the school and he’s the only reason I’m enrolled here to begin with.” Your friends knew that already, but what came next was a surprise to them. “A couple days ago he had a pretty nasty fall and he’s in the hospital right now. The doctors said he’d be alright, but I guess because of that my room and board payments are frozen for the time being.”

“(Y/n) why didn’t you tell us?” Uraraka sat next to you and placed a comforting hand on your knee.

“I’ve been going to the hospital to visit him and he’s doing better. I didn’t want to worry you guys.” You played with the corner of the envelope, sticking it under your finger nail and pulling it away to reveal some of the dirt that was trapped underneath.

“You don’t have to worry about that!” Midoriya threw his arms over you, giving you a tight hug. “We’ll always be here for you when you need it. You know that, right?”

You nodded and gave a half-hearted smile. There was too much on your mind right now. You couldn’t even think about the pile of homework weighing down on you. “Thank you,” you said.

“If it’s financial trouble I’m sure my family wouldn’t mind helping you out until your grandfather’s assets are no longer frozen.” Iida smiled at his own idea.

You shouldn’t have been surprised. His family was rich after all. “That’s alright, Iida. Thank you, but I don’t want to put that much trouble on your family.”

“Please, (Y/n) it’s no trouble at all.”

Leave it to your friends to make you feel shitty about your own financial instability. You know they mean well, but it’s hard not to feel inadequate when half the time you hear Iida, Momo, and Mina talking about their families’ vacations to the Bahamas or their massive trust funds that you couldn’t even dream of. “I’m visiting my grandfather later today to work this all out. Please, guys. Don’t worry about me.”

“Do you want one of us to come with you?” Uraraka squeezed your hand.

“It’s alright. It’s probably best if I go alone.” You squeezed her hand back lazily. You were so tired, but you had to deal with this now. It was Friday night. You could sleep in Saturday morning.

“If you need us to bring anything over just let us know.”

You nodded at Iida. Midoriya was still hugging you. When he finally let go he smiled down at you. “Just give us a quick call and we’ll be over in a jiffy.”

You smiled at your friends. They were too kind for this world. You really didn’t deserve them. “I should probably get going,” you said. You broke free from the couch’s warm embrace and grabbed your coat off of the peg rack.

Your friends watched as you wrapped your scarf around your neck and slung your backpack over your shoulder. “I’ll text you guys when I’m done.” You smiled at them and went out the door.

“Text us if you need anything,” you heard Uraraka call as you closed the door. She really was too good for you. They all were.

You could feel the knot in your stomach tighten as you made your way down the stairs. You visited your grandfather the second you got the call from the hospital. A fractured wrist. It’s wan’t too bad, but they wanted to keep him a few days for observation because of his age. You were worried, that much was obvious. And you were confident that he would pull through this time, but what if he falls again. He’s a stubborn man. Forty years on the board of trustees and the man refused to retire. There would undoubtedly be another fall from the infamous Gran Torino, as his colleagues like to call him. What would you do then?

“Hey watch it!” You were so caught up in your thoughts you didn’t realize you had bumped into someone. You looked up and saw it was the blonde guy from earlier. The guy who shoved that wretched eviction notice in your hands earlier that day. “Do you ever watch where you’re going?”

“Look dude.” You were not about this shit right now. “I’m having a pretty shitty day so leave me the fuck alone.” You turned around and went out the door. If that bastard had anything else to say you didn’t hear it. You looked around outside before letting out a soft “shit” as you remembered how far away you needed to park.

—

“It was their fault, I tell you. They did it on purpose, having me lying helplessly in this hospital room like I’m dying. I ain’t dying any time soon!”

You nodded lazily, head resting in the palm of your hand as you listened to your grandfather go on about how him ending up in the hospital was just a ploy. “I’m sure that you ending up here was not their fault, grandpa,” you said for what seemed like the thousandth time that night. “You just have to face the fact that you’re getting older and accidents like this are likely to happen a lot more now.”

“Ugh you sound just like your mother.” Your grandfather rolled his eyes and looked back at you. “So tell me, why are you here now instead of studying for the upcoming finals?”

Oh Gran Torino, always overtly prepared. Finals weren’t for another month. “I have a big problem,” you said. Better out with it now. “Because you’re in the hospital they’ve frozen your assets. You’re not technically paying for my room and board, and now I’m being evicted from the apartments.”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t heard anything about this.” He looked surprised at the envelope you held in front of him. His eyes widened at the bright red letters stating 'Eviction Notice’.

“I got this in the mail today. It says I’m being evicted because of financial corruption.” You played with the hem of your sweatshirt and swiped away the few strands of hair in your face that clouded your vision.

“It was Hakamata! That bastard has always hated me. He’s the reason I’m in here now and the reason why you’re being kicked outta your apartment.”

You buried your face in your hands and let out a muffled cry. “Why can’t you take this seriously?” You asked. “I’m being kicked out of my apartment in a week and I don’t know where I’m going to stay or what I’m going to do.”

Your grandfather frowned. He could tell that this was really weighing on you. “Get some sleep,” he said. “We’ll figure this one out tomorrow. But go to sleep. You look exhausted.”

He wasn’t wrong. You checked the time on your phone and saw how late it actually was. “Okay.” You stood up and threw on your coat, not bothering to tie your scarf into a knot. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll bring you some taiyaki.”

He laughed and laid down in the hospital bed. “I’m holding you to that,” he said as you made your way out the door.

“Love you,” you said while smirking. You could hear the muffled little recognition that your grandfather gave to what you just said. He never was one for a lot of emotion, but that never really bothered you. You left the hospital only to be hit with the slap of cold air outside. It wasn’t ideal weather to be walking in that’s for sure. You walked through the windy parking lot before making it to the safety of your car. The wind had messed up your hair but that was the least of your worries at the moment. You were about to start your car when you heard a ding coming from your phone signifying a text. You smiled as you saw Mina’s name, followed by a slew of pink emojis, pop up on your lock screen.

Party at my place 2nite. No need to pay. Just bring that cute lil booty of yours over here!

A party. You were so tired, but at the same time you really could use a beer to help forget about everything that’s happened that day. You turned your keys in the ignition and made your way to the nearest gas station for a coffee.

—

“There’s my girl!” Mina embraced you in a wide armed hug. The pop punk playing from the speakers was insanely loud. You could hear it walking up the stairs to her front door. “It’s been so long!”

“It really has been,” you laughed.

Your friends all made their rounds giving you hugs and complimenting your outfit. Before you went upstairs to the suite you went back to your apartment and changed into a dark red sweatshirt with the U.A. University logo on it and black skinny jeans. It was a very casual outfit, but one you could lounge back in.

“What have you been up to?” Momo asked.

“Well I–"

“You’re going to the concert with us next Thursday right?” Jiro interrupted.

“Yeah of course, I–"

“What did you get on your quiz last Friday? I thought it was kind of hard but then again I didn’t do the reading.” You didn’t mind that your friends kept interrupting you. It just meant that they miss you is all. You thought of telling them about what came in the mail and how you were being evicted, but you supposed there would be another time and place for that. You came here to party after all.

“Alright, babe,” Mina said. “What will you be drinking tonight?”

“I could use a beer,” you said. “Unless that punch bowl is mostly vodka. Hey do you just have any vodka?” Your friends laughed; you always were the funny one in your little friend group.

Momo cleared her throat. “I think I know what you need.” She moved swiftly to the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a bottle with a clear liquid in it. Next she pulled out five shot glasses. “We usually charge everyone a dollar for shots since the booze can get pricey, but you’re our little exception.”

In any other circumstance you would have groaned at the mention of money, but in a weird way you almost felt like royalty getting free liquor. You watched as Momo poured each shot delicately, not spilling a drop on the counter the five of you were situated at. You grabbed the shot glass and tipped it back along with your other friends. The five of you let out a howl, almost as if you were a pack of wolves. You looked over at the creak of light coming from the front door as it had opened. Your (e/c) eyes met crimson as you were suddenly staring at the blonde boy from earlier that day. You had never met the boy up until now and all of a sudden it was as if he was everywhere.

“Hey Kiri! Hey Bakugo!” You heard Mina yell.

The blonde stopped glaring at you and turned to your best friend. “Sup raccoon eyes,” he said. What a dick!

“Ugh how can you stand that guy?” You asked, popping open the beer that Toru handed you.

“Who, Bakugo?” Mina laughed. “Why, have you met him?"

“Yeah he was a total dick to me earlier today,” you said, taking a sip from the beer.

“Oh that’s just how he is. He can be a little rough around the edges but he’s actually a real sweetheart once you get to know him. He’s a good guy, just don’t tell him I told you that.” She giggled before taking a swig of her own beer.

“Huh.” Your eyes wandered to your sneakers and then back up to Mina, but she was already talking to someone else. You looked around to find anyone else you might know. Midoriya and Uraraka were around here somewhere, and Iida was also at the party earlier, but he left after seeing a few minors because he didn’t want to be associated with underage drinking.

Midoriya was over in the corner of the living room talking with Todoroki and some other guy with purple hair. You’ve seen him around campus before.

You averted your gaze to Uraraka who was hanging out with Tsuyu and Tokoyami, two people you aren’t very close with. You were brought out of your thoughts when you heard the familiar voice of Toru screaming your name. “Huh?” Some eyes were now on you and you felt your face grow hot from all the attention.

“Come over here!” She gestured for you to join the rather large group of people on the floor. “Come smoke with us.”

You smiled and sat down between Toru and one of her friends. The guy waved at you.

“I’m Kaminari,” he said.

“(Y/n).” You aren’t really a big smoker. You prefer a good drink, but when you’re offered a hit on the bong there’s a better chance you’ll say yes than no.

The guy packing the bowl looked up at you, a look of realization coming across his face. “You’re in my behavioral psyche class,” he said. “I copied off of your exam during midterms."

“I’m sorry?” You asked. You didn’t really care about the fact that he cheated, just that he trusted some girl he’d never met to have the right answers.

“Here.” He stopped packing the bowl and fiddled with whatever contents were in the brown leather bag at his side. He pulled something out and tossed it at you. “A thank you gift. I’m Sero, by the way.”

You looked at what he tossed you to see a small plastic baggy with about a gram of weed inside. “Thank you, Sero,” you said, a little weirded out by the drug lord in front of you.

“Don’t mention it.” He went back to packing the bowl. “Alright. Who wants the first hit?”

Those around you were eager to get their lips on the glass pipe, but you held back, waiting for it to come to you. When it finally did come to you there wasn’t much left. Really just enough for you and Toru to each have a hit. You thanked Kaminari as you took the lighter and pipe from him and put the flame up to the bowl. You sucked in for four seconds and held held it for another three before letting the smoke escape your nose. You handed the pipe and lighter off to your friend.

“That was beautiful,” Sero said.

Kaminari nodded slowly in agreement and you couldn’t help but laugh. You really were surrounded by stoners. It was a vibe you weren’t used to, but you kind of liked it.

“Do you want another hit?” You shook you head at the question, not even knowing who asked it. You were already starting to feel a little buzz.

Sero’s weed was really strong. It hadn’t even been a minute and you were already smiling like an idiot and laughing at the smallest things. “Hey Bakugo,” you heard Sero call over. You mentally groaned as you watched the angry blonde making his way towards the little cohort you were now a part of.

“What?” He asked. You noted the IPA in his hand and began longing for your own drink, which you had set down somewhere in the suite. You looked around for it but gave up after a few seconds.

“Wanna hit?” Sero asked, holding up the pipe.

“God damnit,” Bakugo said. “You’re gonna kill your lungs with how often you smoke.” You had a dumb open-mouth look on your face as you listened in on their conversation shifting your head to look at each of them as they spoke in a way too obvious manner.

“Relax, man.” Sero was a smiling mess. Then again, you can’t remember ever seeing him not like this in class. “It comes from nature so it can’t be bad for you.”

“Do you know what else comes from nature? Syphilis.”

You lost it. That was too funny. You were literally rolling on the floor laughing.

“The hell?”

You couldn’t stop the loud bouts of laughter escaping your mouth.

“See this is what happens when you smoke too much.” Bakugo widely gestured to you, spilling part of his beer in the process. “You turn into fucking laughter McGee over here.”

“Heh, I like this one,” Sero said. “She’s cute and because of her I ended up getting a C minus last block.”

“Wow a C minus,” Bakugo said, rolling his eyes. “You really caught yourself a winner here.”

You knew he was insulting you but you still couldn’t help but laugh. You spent the rest of the night drinking, dancing, and drinking some more. You weren’t sure what time it was when you started feeling ill. Momo told you to sit down, which you were about to do, when you felt your body collapse on the floor. You were out cold, and in the distance that was the blackness of your mind you could hear faint whispers and screams of people, your friends, not knowing what to do.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #katsuki bakugou #bakugo x reader #mha bakugou #angst #college au

[preraphaelitepunk]

Fictober19 Day 18: The Tea Is Hellishly Hot

Prompt #18: Secrets? I love secrets.

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley, Eric the Disposable Demon

Rating: Teen (a little bit of cursing, mention of canoodling, mention of enjoying being smacked around a bit)

Warnings: None

On AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/20843936/chapters/50149631

After all that bother with the failed assassinations, Heaven and Hell had promised to leave them alone. However, Aziraphale had been an angel for a long time — since before time technically began, in fact — and he knew exactly how trustworthy Upper Management could be over the long run. Sensible as always, he’d rigged the bookshop with sensors that would alert him to any other celestial or occult being who breached their perimeter. Forewarned is forearmed, and Aziraphale was sure it was only a matter of time.

The alarms were ringing in his head now.

“That’s far enough,” Aziraphale commanded, tossing his curls dramatically and brandishing his spray bottle. If Hell thought they could hurt Crowley on his watch, they were in for a nasty surprise: under all his outer softness was a fierce, blazing protectiveness, and messing with Crowley was just the way to rouse him. It was all a little thrilling, and part of him regretted that Crowley was in the back room and not able to witness his derring-do. “This bottle is filled with holy water. Hands in the air where I can see them, and no funny business.”

The demon widened his already big, extravagantly lashed eyes and backed against the door, raising his hands. “Hey, I come in peace. Just here to ask you guys to lunch.”

“I beg your pardon?” Not what Aziraphale had expected, but perhaps it was a cunning ploy to lower his guard.

“Lunch. You know, get together, have a curry, a few pints, have a bit of a natter. Catch up.”

“I know what lunch is, you fiend. It’s why you’re here asking me to it that’s confusing me. I had rather been under the impression Hell would leave Crowley and me alone.”

“Well, yeah, Hell, sure. But I’m not Hell, I’m just Eric. I work there, ‘course, but you know how it is. Me and Crowley go way back. The invite’s for both of you.” Eric gave a shaky grin. “Can I put my hands down now?”

Frankly, the demon did not seem particularly threatening, but Aziraphale did not lower the spray bottle. “Oh, very well, just keep them where I can see them,” he said testily. “Crowley?”

“What is it, angel?” Crowley’s voice came from the back room of the shop, where he’d been messing about with his computer phone or something.

“There is a horned gentleman here inviting us to lunch.”

“Wut?” After a few seconds Crowley emerged, and his face lit up in a smile. It even seemed genuine. “Hey, Eric, my dude, my compadre, my droog. How’s it going?”

“Frankly, it’s been better.” Eric batted his remarkable lashes at the spray bottle.

Crowley seemed to notice the deadly weapon for the first time, and leapt forward. “It’s okay, angel. Put it away. Eric’s not one of them.”

“Are you quite sure? He certainly seems to be a demon.”

“Oh, he’s a demon all right, but that’s not his fault. He was just born that way.”

Aziraphale noted the fact that demons apparently could be born as well as Fall, but filed this aside as a discussion for another time. “So you trust him?”

Crowley shrugged. “As much as I’d trust anyone who isn’t you. He’s one of the good ones.”

“Oi!”

“Sorry. One of the likable ones,” Crowley amended.

“That’s better. Er, worse. Whatever — that’s more like it, ’swhat I mean.”

Crowley turned his lopsided grin back to Aziraphale. “Blaming him for all of Hell’s doing would be like, dunno, blaming the Amazon warehouse worker for Jeff Bezos’ policies. He just works there, ordinary demon, gets by the best he can. Not his fault Lower Management are pricks. And he’s not a threat.”

“To you guys? Nah. And even if you weren’t invincible, I’d, like, never go up against you, Crowlers. If they told me to, I’d botch the job on purpose. You’re cool. Never discorporated me even once, all the years we’ve known each other.”

“Well, if you’re sure, dear.” Reluctantly, Aziraphale lowered the spray bottle and returned it to storage its pocket dimension; if Crowley was wrong about this demon, at least the holy water was no farther away than a snap.

Eric relaxed, his shoulders dropping. “Thanks. I really just came by to ask you guys to lunch. Wanted to catch you up on all the hot goss. Got some top-secret stuff.”

“Secrets? I love secrets.” Crowley’s eyes flashed just a smidge yellower, and he smirked. “Let me grab my coat. Angel, you coming?”

There was no way Aziraphale was leaving him alone with this demon, no matter how confident Crowley seemed. “Most definitely, darling.”

*** ***

Now that Aziraphale could examine Eric more calmly, he realized the horns were actually hair sculpted into twin points. His corporation looked young, almost anime-like with his luminous eyes, flashing grin, and heart-shaped face. As yet, he had entirely failed to attack either him or Crowley, but that could just be some clever demonic ruse.

“So what’s the tea?” Crowley said through a mouthful of veggie samosa. Evidently the trick to getting him to eat was to offer him fried savory cakes with potatoes in.

Aziraphale shot him a puzzled look. “We don’t have tea, darling. It’s lager.”

“Means gossip, angel.”

“Oh. I expect they’re all wondering how you survived the holy water, dear,” Aziraphale said tartly, dabbing at his chicken makhani sauce with a roti. He was slightly put out about how nice the food was; he’d prided himself on knowing all the best restaurants in Soho, and here he was, being shown up by a whippersnapper of a demon.

Eric rolled his eyes. “Oh, that gossip is so fourteenth century. Nobody even cares about that any more.”

“Mmmrrph?” Mouth too full now to even try talking, Crowley shot a perplexed glance at Aziraphale.

“No, what everyone is talking about is,” Eric put down his spoon and leaned forward conspiratorially, “Lord Beelzebub and Gabriel.”

There was a long, confused moment of silence. “What about them, exactly?” Aziraphale finally asked, not sure he wanted to know.

Eric looked smug around his spoonful of chole chawal, letting the tension build until he swallowed. “They’ve been spotted sneaking around together. On Earth. Being all furtive-like.”

“Well.” Aziraphale shook his head, trying to resettle his brain. “Perhaps Heaven and Hell have simply decided to open diplomatic relations?”

“Relations, maybe, but definitely not diplomatic,” Eric smirked, dark eyes sparkling. “Word is, they’ve been seen holding hands.”

Crowley choked, bits of peas flying. “What?”

“And canoodling. Earth Observation was passing around photos, and there’s one where Lord Beelzebub is swatting Gabriel over the head with a newspaper.”

“That’s practically foreplay for them.” Crowley looked a bit ill. “Are you sure? Was it really a newspaper? Maybe it was a lead pipe, just magicked to look like a newspaper. That would be more their style.”

“Definitely a newspaper. And,” Eric dropped his voice again, “rumor has it that there’s one of them kissing.”

Suddenly Aziraphale was no longer hungry. He pushed his plate away, half eaten. “That is, er, remarkable news. Isn’t it, Crowley?”

“Er, yeah. Remarkable.” Crowley’s eyes were unfocused, and he was chewing his lip. “They were kissing?”

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

Crowley tilted his head thoughtfully. “That’s quite a height difference they’ve got there. Was Beelzebub standing on a box or something?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale admonished, giving his demon’s hand a light swat. “Such speculation is entirely improper.” And even worse, he now had that image in his own head.

“Were there tongues involved? Hands? Over or under —” Crowley jumped as Aziraphale kicked him under the table. “Sorry, angel. It’s just, it’s like a train wreck: you can’t stop looking at it in your head.”

“Indeed. But kindly knock it off, darling.”

“Ooh, slang from within living human memory! I’m impressed, angel.”

Eric seemed to be enjoying their exchange immensely. “See, I knew you guys would want to hear this.”

They spent the rest of their meal analyzing the potential reasons behind Beelzebub and Gabriel’s assignations. Aziraphale, who’d recovered his appetite once kissing was off the conversational menu, was sure it was a ruse of some sort, possibly to lure him and Crowley into a confrontation. Crowley thought Gabriel just had a bit of a kink and enjoyed being smacked around by a short, cranky demon. “Nothing wrong with that, and I bet Beelzie wields a mean rolled-up newspaper.” Eric, surprisingly, voted for love. Grudging and embarrassed and slightly weirded-out love, but love nonetheless.

After Eric paid the tab (“I insist; I invited you. Just because I’m a demon doesn’t mean I can’t have manners”), after the shuffle of putting coats back on, Eric said, “So, Aziraphale, is it okay if I come back sometimes to see you guys?”

Aziraphale blinked. “Why ask me?”

“Well, I know you don’t really trust me. That’s cool and all, and I don’t really blame you. I don’t trust most demons, either. But it’s been cool hanging out with people who haven’t tried to discorporate me at all for an entire meal. I’d like to do it again. Not too often, don’t want to get all up in your hair or anything.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and staring at his shoes as if they were the most fascinating things in existence.

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, hesitating. Crowley nodded and leaned in to whisper, “He’s lonely, poor sod.”

Eric had been true to his word about not attacking them; he’d been lively company, funny, thoughtful, nice. And what kind of treatment was he accustomed to, when his standard for a good meal was not being discorporated?

“That would be lovely, Eric,” Aziraphale said gently. “Perhaps next month, first Saturday? But I must insist you let us pick up the tab next time.”

#fictober19 #good omens #good omens fanfic #ineffable spouses #ineffable husbands #my fanfic #fluff #aziraphale/crowley #disposable demon #eric the disposable demon

[pfenniged]

3, 7, 9, 15, 18

booknet ask game (Apologies for the delay!):

3. what was the last book you rated 1/5? 

Probably this horrific and justifiably priced 0.25 cent paperback I got from the library book sale. I care so little about the title I’m not even going to bother getting up to look at it, but basically it was somehow involving a mystery on a liner heading to New York, and The Kennedys circa 1941 when Joe (’God what a terrible person’) Kennedy was ambassador to England (And casual Nazi supporter/isolationist, lovely).

But the book promises you that it will mostly talk about Rosemary Kennedy as a character. Which I liked, because in case you don’t know, Rosemary Kennedy was JFK’s sister who was considered the ‘prettiest’ of all the Kennedy girls, but also constantly was on a diet because she ‘put on weight easily’ (Poor girl), and because she was seen as ‘simple.’ Supposedly when she was in her early twenties, she had the mental capacities or a naive thirteen year old/ writing level of an eight year old. They kept basically shoving her into boarding schools to try to push her forward in terms of education, but obviously when she most likely had something like a severe case of autism, there weren’t exactly many programs that directly addressed those who were learning disabled, and being a Kennedy, they most likely were like PUSH HER THROUGH IT AND SHE’LL BE FINE (Great, thanks guys).

All this being said, there is proof in terms of letters that basically everyone was afraid, because once she became a teenager, she started running away from these schools or sneaking out late at night, and they were literally worried because of how ‘naive’ she was, that she’d end up getting pregnant by some weirdo guy forcing himself on her/ convincing her to have sex. What most normal people/historians think now, is that she saw her brother being John F. Kennedy, El Primo Playboy of the World 1941, dating movie stars and having a buttload of friends (As my older brother used to say), and she obviously wanted to be involved in this glamorous, fun life with the rest of her family, rather than shoved away at some crappy boarding school with nuns the age of time immemorial (Understandable). (Also, for what it’s worth, JFK basically WAS a great older brother, for what I’ve heard, and wanted his parents to loosen up on her. He involved her in his social groups if she was around and never pushed her into anything that someone with her ‘limitations’ might be hurt by).

So of course the natural thing would be to do is to give her a lobotomy so she doesn’t run away, and of course, it had some horrific side effects and basically killed her personality entirely from all accounts, making her basically a human vegetable with only a shadow of the person she’d been before. After that Joe ‘I’m the Worst’ Kennedy carted his daughter off, and debatably, depending on who you ask, she was basically ignored by most of the family for 60+ years of her living in a care home, or embraced in private (The Kennedy message/propaganda/nice try guys). There’s really only consistent public photos of Ted Kennedy visiting her, because besides the whole ‘I accidentally murdered a woman I was having an affair with’ thing, Ted was the baby and seemed actually like ironically the most ‘Christian’ in the most broadest sense of the word besides Bobby Kennedy (Yes, I know they’re Catholic, it’s an analogy).

So bringing this back to this awful book, the ‘mystery’ on the cruise liner shit basically seemingly revolves around Rosemary pre-lobotomy and how she wants to get married to a ‘coloured jazz man.’ BUT THIS NEVER FACTORS INTO THE PLOT. NONE OF THE HISTORICAL FIGURES ABOARD DO EVEN THOUGH THEY HAVE ‘POV’ CHAPTERS ASIDE ORIGINAL CHARACTERS.

You heard me right. xD I KNOW IT’S THE 1940S IN THE BOOKS AND THERE’S FAR WORSE THAT COULD HAVE BEEN DONE AND THE JAZZ MAN IS NICE AND ALL BUT DAMN IT’S SORT OF THE WORST, BECAUSE THEY BASICALLY MAKE THIS THE ENTIRE REASON FOR HER LOBOTOMY AND WHILE THEORETICALLY IT WOULD FIT IN WITH JOE’S MOTIVATIONS HISTORICALLY, IT JUST CAME OFF AS SUPER SKEEZY AND UGH. Mostly the book A) Actually did a considerable job giving Rosemary a sweet and loving personality that you like, but considering what you know if you’re probably reading this book and how they’re just dropping bread crumbs the entire way through, it’s just incredibly morbid and bleh. 

If you’re going to write historical characters and fiction well, at least have something more to back it up than ‘Racism was more (outwardly) prevalent back then so she was going to be in an interracial relationship so lobotomy.” It just came off as conflating two important issues (The rights of the learning disabled to date and have families of their own, and interracial romances versus status in society), and just came out to justify it for a lobotomy we never even see. (Trust me, I’m making it sound far more interesting than it is).

Plus the mystery on the liner is the main aspect of the story, and I think that’s what makes it the worst: This author just chose to have these random historical figures on BECAUSE, and considering Rosemary’s background and what we know happened to her, it just seemed like a pretty desperate ploy to reel people in (like myself), and have them go, “Wait, this is just a sub-par mystery book, not a historical mystery book: She used that whole actual living person who existed and who was screwed over by her own family as ‘shock value’ and a ‘hook’ for the audience.” Double EW.

7. what was the last book that made you cry? 

Indian Horse by Richard Wagamese, who is unfortunately no longer with us but a BEACON of Canadian Literature, and I'm SO sad he didn’t get to write more books, because his writing style is BEAUTIFUL and poetic.

“Saul Indian Horse is an alcoholic Ojibway man who finds himself the reluctant resident of an alcohol treatment centre after his latest binge. To come to peace with himself, he must tell his story. Richard Wagamese takes readers on the often difficult journey through Saul's life, from his painful forced separation from his family and land when he's sent to a residential school to the brief salvation he finds in playing hockey. The novel is an unflinching portrayal of the harsh reality of life in 1960s Canada, where racism reigns and Saul's spirit is destroyed by the alienating effects of cultural displacement.”

What you also don’t get about the book from this review, is the role hockey plays as being central to the narrative. In that moment, and when Saul is young, inside his own head, he is just what we as the reader see him as: A young boy who loves a sport and finds it freeing. A PERSON. A kid who loves hockey. 

He’s so good that he has a chance to make it to the NHL. He’s good enough to play on the ‘white teams,’ but when he starts beating white players, grown men and women throw things at him, like plastic ‘Indians’ from a ‘Cowboy and Indian’ set. 

He is a skilled player. He has raw talent. But to make it to the next level, and because they won’t let him be on the team in any other role, because a Native man can’t become a skilled star in 1960s Canada, he has to become a ‘goon.’ There’s actually a moment in the book where he snaps, and it’s so well written and heartbreaking, where it’s like this Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde dynamic inside of him, where he literally just goes, “Okay? You want me to be a bloodthirsty ‘Indian’? Then I’ll be that for you.”

There’s also a movie I haven’t had the guts to watch all the way through, because I tried watching it on a plane ride from Australia to Canada without actually having read the book first, and having no idea what the movie was about aside from hockey and Indigenous culture, and Jesus Christ IT KILLED ME. I’m terrible at flying, had been throwing up and thoroughly miserable for about three hours at that point on the plane, tried to turn on a movie to distract myself, and within ten minutes, I was like “No, I think sticking to the vomiting is justified.” (To give you an idea of the directing style, it’s bizarrely produced by uber-Republican yet ‘weirdly-obsessed with Indigenous people’ movie star Clint Eastwood. If you’ve seen his other films and how sparse and depressing they can be, you can only IMAGINE what this material lends itself to. So I’d really stick to reading the book first. Because Wagamese’s voice is so much stronger within the book, and the pain and horror poor Saul is exposed to serves a purpose within the larger narrative much more clearly, and even when he is an alcoholic, he still is able to find hope within himself and returning to his people, and that’s a beautiful thing that I think was lost in the portions of the film I was able to catch.) Check it out: It was only written in 2012, but it’s already being heralded as a ‘classic’ in Canadian Indigenous Literature.

9. do you actually check out books that have been recommended for you?

I do. I might not actually READ them, but I’ll at least check out a snippet on Amazon to see if it’s my cup of tea. So if anyone has any recommendations, go right on ahead <3

15. how do you feel about reading buddies?  

I would love a reading buddy! <3 Feel free to message me if you’re keen. <3

18. what was your favourite book when you were 10?

Probably something by Roald Dahl or The Hobbit, if we’re talking sheer escapism or enjoyment (Or the original run of Harry Potter). My Dad is an English teacher, so I was always reading older books than were probably age-appropriate (I was placed at a college-reading level at twelve on an assessment test), so other than that, a lot of classic literature: Just name it, I’ve probably read it. 

I also was a nerd who decided to read the entire dictionary back to front somewhere around this time and copy down all the words I actually didn’t know on a list, so that was a hobby. xD I guess I could count that as a ‘favourite book.’ (-Insert Homer Simpson “NEEeeeRRRddddd” gif here-).

#asteriah #sorry this took too long bb! <3 #answers #personal #literature

[markswoman]

competition | hrj

there were three things that needed to change. first, huang renjun needed shitty vision again. two, he needed to go back to being shorter than you. three, he needed to stop trying so hard to compete.

pairing | slytherin!renjun x ravenclaw!reader | enemies to lovers!au | 5.1k

warning: profanity, sex jokes, mild violence

an: happy birthday @renjunite i hope all your wishes come true!! i love you so much and would give you the world ♡

At the age of fourteen, you met Huang Renjun as the boy tripped and fell in the aisle of the train as he accidentally got hit with the trolley. Not that it was your problem, however. You weren’t the one that had been run flat, so you minded your own business and went to show off the new magical watch your father had gotten you over the summer. The last thing on his mind was some petty boy who couldn’t see what was in front of him. An imbecile, he was, and that’s how you saw him. To your surprise, however, you found that Renjun was a transfer from another school for magical beings located in Scotland. Then, after he placed in Slytherin, he left you to wonder if the hat had caught mad cow disease or anything of the sort that might’ve caused its judgment to go awry. But then you shrugged. It wasn’t any of your business at all to even pay attention to an insignificant boy, who he later found out was a halfblood, son of two well-known professors in the magical arts. That must have also been a mistake, too. The kid didn’t seem like the type to be born into an intellectual family—according to you. – Things changed gradually over the years to a point where you were tossing and turning late at night because of him. Who the hell gave Huang Renjun permission to get praised? It was always you who were praised for your work, but now the latter was stealing it like he was stealing the eyes of everyone around them! You would sometimes mutter to yourself, cursing the bastard who fixed Renjun’s vision, ridding the boy of his thick black rimmed glasses. And then you’d curse the witch who was responsible for his polishing looks, because now, Huang Renjun looked like some super model out of a muggle mag.

Being in Ravenclaw, you took pride in being smart, top wizard in all your classes, but by the time seventh year came, your throne of glory was being threatened by the very kid who was once almost crushed by a trolley. – “You all should’ve studied harder, because it seems like Renjun was the only one who spent time doing so.” It was so tempting for you to flick your wand and have your fat eighty-nine marks gone from your sight. Almost willingly, you wished that Renjun would turn around and look back at you. For what reason? You didn't know. You just wanted a reason to hate the guy even more than you already did because that’s how the nature of things were. After class ended, you put all your things in your bag and stood behind the crowd with your arms crossed, waiting for everyone to get out. Not much to your surprise, Renjun was right behind you. “So, what’d you get?” “None of your business,” you dismissed quickly, chin raised in the air. Noticing how a few kids turned their heads towards them, you scowled, frightening them and their attention away. “I did ask if you wanted help studying,” Renjun said, shrugging off the cold attitude he was being given. “You told me no. If I remember correctly, you said, ‘Go to hell, like I’d ever want your help!’ and I don’t forget things very easily.” “Amazing! Then you’ll remember this!” You exclaimed as you finally reached the exit. Then you spun around flipping your middle finger in front of Renjun’s face before quickly merging in the busy hall. “Bye.” Admiring eyes were on you as you walked past several students. Grinning, you flipped your hair casually, running your slim fingers through it for effect. As much as you liked being above everyone in intellect, you also lathered yourself in their admiration. In fact, it was so— Then he heard the Slytherin’s name. Stopping in his track, you flipped his head around and saw the Slytherin shyly wave at the girls that were just admiring him. Oh, those wenches were never loyal anyway. Huffing, you took a left, heading to the library. – There were three things that needed to change. First, Huang Renjun needed shitty vision again. Two, he needed to go back to being shorter than you. Three, he needed to stop trying so hard to compete. At first, you didn’t think too much about it. So what if the Slytherin got a few higher marks than you? It was just luck anyways. Not everyone in Slytherin was that smart; this you knew from your experience of beating them time and time again on exams. Renjun shouldn’t have been an exception. But he was. And the minute he started appearing on your radar, it was clear to the Ravenclaw that the latter had an ulterior motive, and that was to dethrone you of your reputation. – “Baneberry Potion. Consists of ten Baneberry berries…fifteen drops of snake venom…a drop of…Fuck.” Resting your head on your book, you groaned. What time was it? It seemed like it was past midnight already, but you knew that wasn’t possible unless the librarian closed the establishment with you still inside. If that were ever the case, you could just file a claim against the woman and have the ministry fire her. Easy. Simple. Nothing like studying. Lazily lifting your head again, you flipped the page and closed your eyes, trying to recall the formulas and the history behind it all. You were almost sure you were muttering sluggishly through it. However, it was even difficult for you to hear yourself. “Drought of Living Death… Worm wood…a root of a…as…aspho—” “Asphodel.” Would you feel anything if you just inflicted the Avada Kedavra curse on yourself? Curiosity did kill the cat, but you weren’t about to die just yet. That would’ve meant letting Renjun win the silent war. Inhaling sharply to yourself, you mustered the strength to smile very coldly at the Slytherin who was leaning against the shelf with his arms crossed and head cocked at you. Having him stand in that position made you slightly irritated. What gave him the right to look like that? Or to look at you like that? It almost looked like he was staring at you with some type of admiration sparkling in his eyes… Disgusting. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, Huang?” “Maybe. Isn’t it past yours?” “Yes, but let’s just say, like my house’s mascot, I’m slightly nocturnal.” Ruffling your hair, you asked, “What’re you doing here?” “Studying. Jaemin and Jisung wouldn’t keep quiet in the common room, so I had to come here.” "Then how unfortunate of you to randomly stumble in my corner. Now, do you mind?” Frowning, Renjun made no move to take the hint and leave. Instead, he stayed as he was. “If you’re studying for the Potions exam next Friday, I can help.” “I’m fine, Slytherin. You can disappear like your snaggletooth.” Unamused, Renjun walked over and closed the book in front of the Ravenclaw, taking it into his possession and placing it aside. “I can almost feel the love from here,” he said, smiling almost sarcastically as he leaned in, bursting your comfort bubble. Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. “You don’t even have that snaggletooth. Since you fixed it with those things called…called, you know. Braces, or something. Now your mouth looks fine.” “Doesn’t it? I could’ve gotten it fixed through magic, but mother insisted I do it the muggle way so our neighbors wouldn’t be so suspicious. And for your information, braces fix teeth not mouths” For the love of all things good, why were they talking about teeth? Specifically Renjun’s? Disregarding the fact that they were perfect—as stated—and they did make him more attractive than you would’ve liked… “You’re annoying me, Huang,” you said, rising from your head and surprising the Slytherin. “I guess I’ll go study back in the Ravenclaw common room.” “Why don’t you ever accept my help?” The Slytherin said, both hands on the table.

“Simple.” Shrugging, you picked up your book. “I see you as competition, not as a friend. Why would I accept help from an enemy.” “But I’m not your enemy.” Rubbing his forehead, Renjun groaned. “Is this because I get higher marks than you?” “Did it really just hit you right now?” “Okay, I admit it that I do like beating you—” Ha! So you weren’t crazy and overly paranoid! You were internally celebrating the fact that you were right when all your friends told you that you were just an overly obsessive— “It’s really not hard to score higher than you either.” Okay. The victory celebration died a little bit. What? “And sometimes, I purposely do bad because you make that face when you think you do good and you look so cu—” Scratch everything. You were about to thrust your book out the castle, shattering historic windows while at it. You wanted to know when those times were—the times when Renjun let you score higher. Then you wanted to strangle the Slytherin for pitying so much that he’d ever do such a thing! But was it pity? Of course it was pity! What the hell were you? A charity case? For heaven's sake, someone might accuse you of cheating, and like hell you’d let that happen. You exploded, but because they were in the library, you only exploded a little bit, which meant you settled to gripping your book and smacking the Slytherin on the head. “No,” you said sternly. “The next time you let me score higher than you on purpose and I find out about it, I’ll kill you. I mean it.” “That hurt.” Touching his head, Renjun winced. “Christ, you hit hard.” “You’re lucky that wasn’t my fist.” “Oh, no. Your tiny fists. Ahhh….” Snorting, Renjun broke out into a chuckle. “Honestly, you’re very funny and cute even when you don’t try.” The only time when you wanted to burst into flames was when someone you liked when you were twelve rejected you in front of your friends. But here was Renjun saying weird things, and oddly enough, you wanted to be engulfed in flames again. “If this is some ploy to get me off track for my exams, you’re wasting your time,” you said confidently, tucking your book under your arm again, still warm with the heat of Renjun’s head. “I’m leaving. Go entertain Jaemin or something.”

You walked down the aisle, heading to the main exit, but was positive the latter was following after. “Hey.” Don’t answer him. It’s not worth it— “Go out with me.” Turning around wasn’t the best idea you ever had. Renjun with his hands in his front pockets was a sight that a lot of students fell for, and it was to no surprise why. “Nice joke. Why don’t you go share it with that elf friend of yours and his stubby dwarf.” “First of all, that’s not nice,” Renjun replied, brows raised. “Sicheng and his girlfriend are a lovely pair. Second, it wasn’t a joke.” “Third, I think you must’ve been mistaken. See here, I don’t like you,” you said slowly, enunciating each word. “You’re a cocky, pity giving, insulting transfer who seems to enjoy making me mad every step of the way.” Groaning, Renjun threw his head back. “I transferred here three years ago, and ever since then, you’ve been more of a villain than what you’re trying to make me sound like. And while we’re on the subject, I wanted to ask you—” Putting a hand up in the air, you signaled him to stop. “Goodnight, Huang.” “I mean it. Will you—” “No, I will not.” However, before you could turn around, Renjun stepped quickly towards you, rendering you dazed with a kiss on the lips. Shocked, you stumbled back, almost dropping your book, but the latter followed. “I did not give you permission to do that!” God, were you stuttering? You couldn’t tell and that was a freakishly bad sign. Did you even sound like yourself? “Why do you hate me?” Focus. What’d he just say? Fuck, your head was still scrambling. “I hate you because you’re you,” you sputtered without a second thought. “You steal the spotlight from me, like what the hell! I used to be every teacher’s favorite, and you just come from…from wherever and—” “Scotland.” “Yeah, okay, Scotland and ever since then it hasn’t been the same. Then you just flaunt your scores in front of me like oh-ha-ha and all I want to do is hit you, but I can’t because I’ve already gotten like ten detentions this year and I’m tired of spending my weekends with crusty professors instead of going to Hogsmeade!” Sighing, Renjun put his hands on his hips, displacing his robes. “Well, you know what I’m tired of? I’m kind of tired of spending hours and hours just studying so I can do better than you when all I’ve been wanting lately is just you in particular, you know that?” “No, and I’d rather not, thanks.” “But it gets you to notice me.” Oh, there were a lot of other things that made you notice him, but you weren’t about to admit anything. “Let’s make a bet.” Interested, you smiled. If there was anything your father taught you, it was to how to gamble, and you were very confident in your betting skills. “I’m listening.” “Score higher than me on two out of three exams. Potions, Herbology, Alchemy. If I mark higher on two, maybe even all three, you have to take me seriously and think about dating me. If you get higher marks, then I’ll leave you alone and we can pretend I never said anything. ” “That’s not fair. You’re number one in Potions.” “But you’re pretty good at Alchemy.” Drawing your lips together, you frowned. “Change Herbology to Arithmancy. It’s unpredictable in that class between you and I. The test is two weeks from now.” “You want me to wait two weeks for you?” “You waited three years, Slytherin. You can wait for two more weeks.” Realizing what you just said, you became flustered. “Not to say that once you’re done waiting, you’ll have me! I’m just saying, you have to wait and see, but fat chance you’ll ever see at all since–” “I understood you the first time, baby.” Who the hell was he calling baby? And why the fuck did you suddenly feel hot in the face. “Okay, well, I’m done talking to you. Bye.” As you walked away, you heard Renjun call out, “No cheating.” “Like I’d ever.” –

You lied but was that really surprising? Ravenclaws were clever, but not always in the most honest way. Shrugging, you walked up the spiraling stairs and stood in front of Slytherin’s door, turning the knob, only to be surprised by a deep, rumbling voice asking you a riddle. “What lies between two planes of existence?” Blinking, you frowned at the knob. Airplanes? Geometric planes? What the fuck was the door talking about? Stepping back, you crossed your arms, looking around to see if anyone was creeping up behind you. Two planes…Two planes… Rubbing your eyes, you groaned. You had no time to think too hard or much about it. Any minute, some Slytherin could make an appearance despite the fact that it was time for their afternoon meal. Thinking hard, you bit your lip as you went through all the possible answers, then suddenly, you remembered Montague, long gone and graduated, but hadn’t he been the poor fellow shoved inside the Vanishing Cabinet and was sent to— “Nothing… There’s nothing there, but limbo. A plane between two planes is where nothing exists, so nothing lies there…At all.” To your ego and pride, you were ecstatic to see that the door opened. Grinning, you quickly let yourself in and was surprised at how airy the common room was. And, of course, there was a bookshelf. There had to be books in a wizardry school. Snorting, you decided to take a fifty-fifty chance and turn to the right, heading to what you hoped was the boys’ dormitory. – Finding Renjun’s bed seemed more of a trouble than you thought it’d be considering everyone’s space seemed to look the same with all the notes and books lying around. Quickly, you flipped through a few books on each bed, checking the names. Eventually, you found the Slytherin’s little corner after finding his books neatly stacked near a perfectly made bed. Carefully placing one book after another off to the side, you stopped when you found the Potions textbook you were looking for. Quickly turning to a bookmarked page, you were pleasantly surprised to find all the notes jotted down on the side, some even on key details you haven’t  even thought of. For a moment, you felt jealous, but then decided to take advantage of the opportunity. Hastily, you scanned the page, reading over the notes a few times until you were satisfied with your memory. Then, taking a step back, you pointed your wand at the book and unmercilessly said, “Incendio.” – Renjun's notes were far more useful than you primarily thought. The Potions test was something you could've done with a hand tied behind your back. Really. And when you looked up, you smirked at the struggling Slytherin who became so frustrated that he pulled his tie to become more loose. There were people distracted by the sight, but you who didn’t look at him with attraction like the others did. You had a bet to win, despite your unfair start, but that didn’t matter. Your head needed to be in the game and eyes off the Slytherin’s collarbones. Off. When time was up and the only people who actually finished successfully were you and a few others (though you liked to think that you executed the concoction more perfectly than they), other students stared at them in awe and jealousy and you drank in all their attention, smirking at everyone, intensifying your stare when your eyes met with Renjun’s.

Not to go on without any consequences, you walked a little slower, expecting to be drawn to the side and you were right. Hand on your arm, you were pulled from behind and, without resistance, you scoffed as Renjun walked them to an isolated corner and pressed you against the harsh wall. “What happened to my textbook?” “Hell if I know whatever happened to your stupid book,” you responded, batting your eyelashes. “Maybe you lost it?” “I never lose anything.” “Never say never.” Grinning, you patted the latter on your right cheek. “Because you might just have to get used to it.” Laughing, Renjun rolled his eyes before returning the gesture all the same, patting you on the cheek as well as it being accompanied by a smirk. “We’ll see. What’s next?” Turning your head, you rejected the touch five seconds in. Renjun’s hand was warm. Ew. “Alchemy.” “Then study up.” “No, you.” It was a childish thing to say, but you couldn’t think of anything better to say. “God damn it. I’m leaving.” Pushing against Renjun (it was quite the experience touching him), you smiled before immediately dropping your lips the minute you turned around. The only thing that should be on your mind are numbers and signs, and lots of it. At least, enough to maybe, somehow, predict something in the future. But you felt a little cocky since you ultimately had a feeling on what the future was already. – You cheated the first time, felt some satisfaction, but was confident enough to take the Alchemy exam without sabotaging Renjun’s belongings. However, you soon came to the realization, that, perhaps, you should’ve burned the Slytherin’s alchemy books and other belongings as well. For the second time in two weeks, you felt your face burning with your back against yet another wall in an isolated hall. “Thanks for not burning my textbooks this time.” Renjun grinned, cocking his head. “I really appreciate that you didn’t cheat on this exam.” Letting out a shrill laugh, you put a hand on your waist. “I didn’t burn your stupid book, Huang.” “Mhm.” Wiggling his finger in front of the Ravenclaw’s face, Renjun showed him that perfect row of teeth, making you kind of angry at the fact that he didn’t need those stupid braces anymore. “One and one. Last one’s the tie breaker. Study your numbers, love. Arithmancy is mine and then, you.” Smiling platonically, you raised your brows. “I think you’re confusing your pathetic dreams with reality.” Snorting, Renjun put a hand on the wall, closing in on the unfrightened (just a little bit) Ravenclaw. “Really? We’ll see.” “Huang Renjun, your face is uncomfortable to be in front of.” “Then just close your eyes.” Unamused, you ducked under the Slytherin’s arm and sidestepped him. “I’d rather not let myself be left unguarded for any lip attack, thanks. Bye.” Then you were off, thinking about things other than lips. – There was too much riding on the Arithmancy test to leave it all up to chance and fate. Going back to the Slytherin dormitory, you answered the same riddle and strode systematically with a purpose as you entered the boys’ dormitory. It seemed, however, that Renjun had learned his lesson the first time and hid his textbooks and notes. Even when you pulled out your wand and repeatedly said, “Accio Arithmancy book” or “Accio Huang Renjun’s notes”, nothing came about and it almost made you want to snap your wand in two. Just as you gave up, you spun around on your heel only to see Renjun leaning against the dorm’s door frame. “I don’t think you’re allowed in here, baby.” “Whatever.” You weren’t in the mood. It didn’t even bother you anymore that you were caught since you didn’t have the chance to find and destroy your objectives which were the books and notes taken. Walking over, you pushed Renjun aside and started to make your way out the Slytherin house. “Nice charm. What’d you use…” From behind you, Renjun answered, “I’m surprised you don’t know. Aren't you supposed to be smart?" "I am. So I guess I'll have to beat you the old fashion way." "Hold on, angel. Stop walking." Shockingly, you did stop, surprised at the way your knees buckled. "What?" You said, turning your head. "Since you cheated the first time, don't you think we shouldn't count that particular exam?" There he went. Trying to pry yet another win from your hands, but you weren’t about to uncoil just yet. “Let’s not play stupid, Renjun. You studied off one of your friends, right?” Renjun said nothing. “So regardless, you let me have it the first time, and it still would’ve been the same result regardless of whether or not I came in here to burn a book or two.” Hands on waist, Renjun let out a sigh. “Fine. Okay, I gave you the advantage but only because I knew you’d do well in Alchemy without batting an eye, so I spent most of my time studying that. But for Arithmancy, you and I have to do this exam fair and square.” “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you replied, grinning. “What’s sweeter than a fair victory?” “Us being together, obviously,” Renjun said without missing a beat. Before you could stutter out anything incoherent, the Slytherin stepped up and put his hand on your back, guiding you to the entrance door. “You have four days. Use them wisely.”

– “Jaemin!” Jumping, the Slytherin looked up and saw the menacing grin on your face. “Yes?” “You have access to Professor Kim’s potions supply closet, right?” Nodding, Jaemin confirmed. “I do. Why?” “I’m going to need you to get me some things.” “Why do you need these things?” As the two pressed around multiple bottles and jars, you shrugged. “I’m trying to save my ass in the most literal sense.” – There were so many books upon books that it looked like a book orgy, but you had no time to think about orgies or sex or anything in particular that had to do with the naughty things in life. You needed to focus, and you were about to go crazy after turning down an invite to roam the castle and cause some trouble with your friends. “I think you were sorted in the wrong house.” “Maybe, deep inside, you’re a Slytherin with all that ambition to beat Renjun.” They were all wrong and it made you mad as you scrawled your notes heavily in your books. If you didn’t study, then you’d have a Slytherin in you, and purely by consent because what moron wouldn’t open up their chamber of secrets if Renjun wanted to slide his Basilisk in there somewhere? Fuck.

You just scribbled nonsense about Basilisks in a book about numerology. Groaning, you flicked your wand, undoing the mistake. Then you grabbed your quill and continued jotting down notes on the theory of numerology before looking over past homework parchments. After studying for an hour, you gave yourself a break, taking the ingredients you stole from Professor Kim’s supply closet and made your way up the prefects’ bathroom, rarely used and often barren. Then, in a stall, you began mixing and stirring your backup plan to ensure that you’d win; the Befuddlement Draught. – Game day, game face. You put a defector charm on yourself so the Befuddlement Draught wouldn’t affect you. The potion made whoever took it confused and reckless, and that was exactly what you wanted to do to Huang Renjun just minutes before the test. Of course, you couldn’t offer him a tainted drink. That’d seem suspicious, but from experience, you did know that the Slytherin wasn’t so opposed to kissing, so you decided to take one for the team, which basically consisted of yourself, so you were essentially doing it for yourself. Taking a sip of the potion, you made sure to hold just enough of it on your tongue to last while you made your way over to Renjun’s desk. Looking up at you, the Slytherin raised his brow. “This is a surprise.” You held the urge to roll your eyes as you leaned down and kissed the boy on the lips. The second phase of the mission was to get the latter to open his mouth, but Renjun had done so willingly. In fact, his tongue entered the your mouth without you having to do anything. It wasn’t going as you had planned, but it wasn’t bad either. Unconsciously, however, in the midst of taking one for the “team”, you started to kiss back until you realized you were in a classroom and kids were beginning to pour in and the teacher was about to come through her office door and– Separating, you took a step back, flustered and red. Renjun, however, cocked his head, showcasing a wide and proud grin. “Anything else you got for me?” A kick in the balls? A slap on the face? You didn’t know what to do because you were so stalled that you just turned around, consoling yourself that it’d all be worth it when the potion kicked in. –

But it never did. At least, it didn’t look like it twenty minutes into the test, which made you worried that you probably kissed Renjun (and liked it) for no purpose at all. Regardless, you focused on the text in front of you. If it didn’t work, then fine. You’d have to rely on your own skill even if your lips were still tingling, which was annoying. Really annoying. God damn it. – The time of judgement came the next day when their grades were posted on the classroom wall for all to see, and you had to push your way to the front. “Are you kidding me!?” Stomping from the rest of the students, you made a beeline to Renjun, who hadn’t bothered to look at the paper because all he needed to do was look at your face and just know that he scored higher. “Okay, you cheated!” It was a fair accusation. Kind of hypocritical, but you didn’t care. “How did I cheat, baby?” Renjun challenged. You cheated when you didn’t react to the potion I gave you? Could you say that? Technically, not falling into one’s scheme of cheating doesn’t make the almost -victim a cheater… “I don’t know, but you did somehow.” “Says the person who tried giving me Befuddlement Draught through a kiss?” Laughing, Renjun stood up. “Not to say I didn’t enjoy that one.” “You’re unbelievable!” How the hell did he know that? You frowned. “Stop accusing me of things, Slytherin.” “So, what? You kissed me just to kiss me? Cause I’ll take that excuse any day.” Fuck. You crossed your arms. “It doesn’t matter. None of these exams were fair so the bet’s off.” “You can’t just call something off because it didn’t go your way, love.” Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. “Whatever. I lost. There, boohoo for me. Yay for you. Haha.” “Actually, no.” Gently, Renjun turned your face up towards him. “See, if you look at it this way, you already won me from the start.” “I don’t want you.” The frown on your face started wobbling and all you could wonder about was what the hell was wrong with your body functions. “Are you sure about that?” Renjun’s face was getting closer and gravity seemed to think it was opposite day because you felt compelled to move up instead of down to dodge him. “I’m pretty sure, Huang, now can you just–” “Absolutely positive?” Was your mouth getting super chapped? You licked your lips, but they were dry again. What the fuck. “Yes, yes, I’m positive! I swear to god, I–” How many times have they kissed before? You didn’t know. You lost count, which was ironic because they were kissing in a room that was all about numbers and had ten pairs of eyes watching them. It wasn’t as though Renjun had you gripped so you couldn’t move away, too. For one reason or another, you couldn’t move anything but your mouth, and for once, that was a good thing. – “Alright. How’d you know about the Draught.” “I saw Jaemin with you one night. Got a little jealous so I cornered him nicely somewhere and asked some questions.” “Well, for all you know, we really could’ve been doing something that night. A little action in a closet never hurt anyone.” “I’d like to test that out for myself.” “Test it? Fine. Whatever. When and where.” “Now.” And then they ditched a fifty-five minute lecture on numerology because, after discussing it over several kisses in the library, you both agreed you didn’t give a rat’s ass about numbers except that one plus one equals two, and two was a perfectly fair and even number.

[worddevdealswithml]

Side Effects Include: Empathy

Chapter 25:

It felt like she’d stood up and immediately taken a baseball bat to the face.

She’d had proof.  Everyone had seen it.  Adrien had seen it.

So why had he looked genuinely happy in the pictures?  Why was Lila here!?

Cursing the nap she’d taken, Marinette tried to focus her mind.

“Oh, did I interrupt you while you were sleeping?  I’m so sorry!”

Marinette tried to simultaneously keep her eyes on Lila and blink away sleep.

“No, you’re not.”

Lila leaned forward. Marinette vaguely registered the gesture as an attempt to check her phone’s screen.

It was still open to Adrien’s feed.

She smiled, suddenly. “You’re right.  I’m not sorry.”

There was a long silence as Lila casually took a seat on the stairs up to Marinette’s bed.

“So how do you like the pictures?”

“Fake, I assume?”

She snorted.  “Of course not, Marinette.  Oh, but I forgot; you made the mistake of taking your eyes off me.”

“And, what, you managed to weasel your way out of confessing on tape?”

“Of course!” said Lila, with a smug grin that Marinette would have liked to wipe off her face.  “You see…”  She sighed.  “I’ll be honest.  You got close.  Anyone else, you might have had.  Not me.”

Marinette pursed her lips. “What if I just throw you out the window?”

Lila laughed.  “And explain to your mother that you just tried to kill the girl you framed?”

“Framed?”  Marinette stood up.

She shrugged.  “Like I said.  You took your eyes off of me.  And do you remember what else I said?”

Marinette was barely willing to restrain herself, but she cocked her head as if to ask.

“I said that people want to believe me.  You put me in a room with anyone for long enough, and they’ll want to believe whatever I tell them.  The further you get from the thing that made them so sure…  The more they doubt their own memory.  And I…  I speed that process up immeasurably.  So… Adrien… Let’s just say he’s proof.  The woman they had investigating what happened, call her proof.  Gabriel Agreste…  Well, he likes to look into things for himself, and when I said my mother had to go to Italy, and I didn’t feel safe to stay with any of my other classmates…”

“You really think I’ll believe that you convinced Adrien less than a week after he said we should expose you?”

“Did you already forget what you saw?  Does that face look like a boy who has anything less than absolute trust in the girl he’s with?”

Marinette resisted the urge to look down.  She knew the answer.

“It wasn’t even hard. He’s so desperate to have someone to spend time with, he spent time with you.”

Marinette’s hand was clenched so hard around her phone that if she wasn’t careful, she’d crack it.

“Adrien’s my friend.”

Lila laughed.  “Oh, he’s polite, and, like I said, desperate, but if you think he wouldn’t drop you like a sack of potatoes the instant he found someone worthwhile, you haven’t been paying attention.”

Marinette grimaced.  “You’re just trying to get inside my head.”

“Then why was it so easy to…”  Lila looked at her, and laughed.  “Oh, I see. He hasn’t gotten around to it yet.”

It felt like her blood was running cold at this point.

“Gotten around to what yet.”

“Well, I was trying to help him be tactful about it, make it so clear that he only thought you were friends because he didn’t know what it was like to have friends. Oh… something about how sometimes you’re missing something when you think you’re friends with someone.”

Marinette didn’t want to show a reaction, but she couldn’t help the blood draining from her face.

Just before the dream had hit, Adrien…

“There it is,” said Lila, and from the gleam in her eyes, Marinette knew she was taking some vicious pleasure from this.

“Well, you know what else you told me last time?”

“Mm?”

“Never tell someone your plans until it’s too late.”

“And I haven’t.  Tomorrow, there’s going to be an announcement that all suspicious leveled at me were the result of falsified evidence.  Anyone who doubts it will be quickly convinced otherwise by… Well, me.”

“Faslified evidence!?”

“Hawkmoth doesn’t always go in for flashy villains, Marinette, and he doesn’t always need them to go straight for Ladybug and Chat Noir.  I’ll admit, I should have been able to fight off his nefarious ploy to get me Akumatized again, but when I walked into the bathroom to the sight of you, doing both voices in a conversation clearly meant to implicate me?  Why, I couldn’t take it!”

She shrugged.  “I have enough deniability to drive a wedge into you, and from there, it’s all about who they believe, and you already know what I can do with Adrien.  And if Ladybug herself told him I was lying about being her friend…  what can I say?  Sometimes we do crazy things for love.”

Marinette wasn’t sure her heart was even beating, anymore.

Lila stood up, grinning. “Mhm...  I don’t think I mentioned that yet, but it’s one of my favorite parts. Actually… I don’t know whether that’s my favorite part…” she leaned in close to Marinette’s face, and the smile dropped.  “…or whether it’s seeing you look just like I did.”

She pulled back, and the smile was back again.

“Well,” she said, brightly, “If you come up with some miracle, you know where I’ll be tomorrow… And who I’ll be with.”

She made for the door to the downstairs.

“And if you get a text in a minute or two…  Well, I’ll just have to remind Adrien he forgot to say it to you directly.”

And just like that, she was gone.

She wanted to stand up, lock the door, keep her definitively out of her room.

She could barely even consider standing up.

With what presence of mind she had, Marinette forced herself to breathe, trying to regain control of her mind.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Slowly…  Slowly, minute by minute, the rhythm brought her back to herself.

If she lost her mind, Lila had already won.

She’d shown up to gloat. She had shown up for the sole purpose of telling Marinette how bad her circumstances were.

She’d somehow managed to claw her way back up, and then she’d come here, just to tell Marinette that she’d done it.

That meant…

That meant she’d done it out of spite.  She hadn’t been thinking.

There might be an opening.

Marinette could…

She could…

What?

Tell Alya and Nino not to trust what they heard tomorrow?

Send a text to the whole class?

‘Hey guys, it’s Marinette.  If someone comes in tomorrow saying that Lila’s actually innocent, it’s because she’s so good at lying she convinced her without any actual evidence.’

That was… It was the truth, but it sounded ridiculous.

And Adrien…

She looked down at her phone.

‘Nothing like a friend coming to visit to make you feel better.’

She had to be lying.

She’d been… She’d been listening in when Marinette and Adrien had been talking, fabricated it from that, or…

And the pictures… Maybe she’d just… She’d…

What she should do is ask Tikki for advice.  Tikki had thousands of years of knowledge to draw from, and somewhere in there, surely—

Her phone buzzed.

Marinette’s heart, so recently restored to her chest, seemed to drop out of it again.

She looked down.

Adrien had sent her a message.

She clicked it.

“Hey.  Marinette.  I know this is kind of an awkward text to send, but I’ve really been thinking it over, and I’m not sure we should be friends…”

No.  No!

“I honestly thought we could be, and I’m really sorry that I have to send this, but I just can’t do it.  I should have known that a girl who would judge me before she’d even had a chance to speak to speak to me wouldn’t make a good friend.  Then, there was the way you had all those pictures of me up on your wall, and that stutter of yours that I thought I could stand, but I just can’t!  And, honestly, if it was just that, I might still be able to at least pretend, but—”

Lila…  Lila could have convinced him that they couldn’t be friends.

Maybe.

But…

She scrolled down, and felt herself dripping away.

She couldn’t have told him to say all of this, which meant…

Which…

Her vision blurred over, but… At least that meant she couldn’t read the words on her screen.

The phone dropped from her hand.

Lila hadn’t been Akumatized. She couldn’t have faked this, and the pictures, and still been in town without having been Akumatized, which meant…

It was true.  What she’d said…

She wanted to fight it, or, think a way out of it, but her mind was dripping away, unable to find purchase…

Her thoughts went blank…

…

And then there was the strangest sensation, like…

Like time slowing down.

“Phoenix, I am Hawkmoth.  The world can be so cruel, can’t it.  It always pushes you down, so far.  I would like to offer you the opportunity to rise.”

#ML #Miraculous Ladybug #ML Fanfic #Miraculous Fanfic #Side Effects Include Empathy #Lila Rossi #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Marinette has a bad time

[lesbian-ashe]

hey guys... I wrote a fanfic... baby’s first... it’s about a Velafitine’s Day celebration

title: Velafitine’s Day 2: Rehashing words: 1693 rating/warnings: T for some bad words and mentions of alcohol and mildly suggestive moments maybe? pairing/summary: none but Markus kisses a lot of people like the himbo he is

It was the morning of the 14th day of 2nd month. A normal, mundane day to any other, but to a certain Markus Velafi, it meant so much more. It was another of his surely made-up holidays that he forced all of his friends to participate in, one he dubs Velafitine's Day, and he had a grand plan for it. As they walk into the bar, our party notices Markus setting up a peculiar booth. Curious, a little suspicious, Ashe says "Hey Markus... Whatcha doing there?"

"Don't you remember Ashe? Why, today is Velafitine's Day!" he says, spinning around to face her.

"Oh gods..." she sighs, remembering last year. "Please don't sing another song. Not like the last one, please."

"Oh no, not a song this time. I have a new idea!" Markus, with coy expression, twirls his sign in his hands, faced away from the party. Ashe eyes the sign suspiciously. He places it gingerly atop his stand, revealing the bright, glittery (too glittery) pink writing, reading '♡Kissing Booth♡'

In unison, Ashe and Thog’s faces contort with exasperated expressions. Kyr and Gregor, however, both gleam with excitement.

Markus steps behind his booth, placing a smaller sign on the counter, ‘♡1 gold = 1 kiss♡’ “Step right on up!” he cheers, seeming all too pleased with himself. Gregor excitedly steps up to the booth, placing a single gold piece into the jar (covered in glitter and paper hearts) on the counter. “One of your finest kisses please!” he beams. Ashe looks a little worried at this, but sighs a breath of relief as Markus gingerly grabs Gregor’s face and gives a chaste peck on his cheek. Gregor twirls around with an exaggeratedly dizzy motion. “Wowza!” he chimes, fixing an imaginary hat and tie. Markus and Ashe, despite herself, chuckle at this.

“Okay…” Thog sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What are you hoping to accomplish with this, Markus?” Markus puts on his best innocent face, offset by his horns and gently swaying tail. Batting his eyelashes, he says “Why Thog, I’m merely trying to spread the cheer of the holidays!” “The holiday you made up.” Thog interrupts. “Because,” Markus scoffs. “I just have so much love and appreciation for my friends, and I want to share that! Is that so wrong?” Thog rolls his eyes. “And! It also serves the purpose of raising money for Nine Shrines Adventures and Dines bar!” Thog grimaces at the terrible name, frown deepening further as Markus scribbles ‘♡Booze Money♡’ on the coin jar.

“Me next! Me next!” Kyr shouts, bouncing excitedly and shoving Thog to the side. He slams a handful of gold pieces onto the counter, sitting up on it and peppering Markus’ face with about a dozen kisses. Both are smiling like fools as Kyr hops down. “See Thog? I think this was a great idea.” boasts Markus.

Other patrons begin to flock to the bar. Many familiar faces, acquaintances and friends. Their home is livelier than usual. “Friends! Good to see you got my invitations! So happy to see you all!” beams Markus. Thog grumbles. Of course he invited everyone again, just like last year. Kyr and Gregor are busy excitedly greeting all of their friends, (and Rat… gods, why did he invite Rat? Thog’s gun hand twitches as his shrill giggles fill the room.) while he and Ashe are dreading the rest of their day. They look around and take notice of garish pink and red decorations, and glitter, so much glitter, positively everywhere, as is typical Markus fashion. Thog groans yet more knowing it would take forever to de-glitter the bar. In addition to the ostentatious decor, the bar itself is lined with various drinks (fruity liquors, and bottles of sparkling juice for Gregor) and carefully crafted treats, a sign in front reading “♡My Treat♡” Ashe smiles. She supposed she did feel appreciated, and perhaps this wasn’t actually just another of Markus’ ploys to irritate the hell out of them. Was Markus up late preparing this? She nudges Thog to join her at the bar for a pink beer. He seems to perk up, or at least stop scowling.

Several guests make their way over to Markus’ booth, greeting him and giddily offering coins, accepting chaste kisses on noses, cheeks, foreheads. Dont, Kyl’il, Moren, Horaven, even some random bargoers pay their homage. Markus is grinning contentedly. He’s alerted by a small tapping on the side of his stand. He looks down to see Charoth offering him a handful of dry beans and some pebbles. He laughs, picking up Charoth and setting him to sit on the counter. Markus sticks his offering in the jar, and gives him a little “kiss” of rubbing his nose against Charoth’s beak. He seems delighted, and raises his hand at Markus, who very excitedly high-fives it. Charoth hops down and scampers off. “Ashe! ASHE! Charoth high-fived me again!” Ashe gives a non-committal hum and ignores him, sipping her beverage. Markus pouts in her direction, but his pouting is interrupted by a curly-haired and bandaged individual approaching him.

"Colvin! What a pleasure to see you today, on this day of friendship and romance!" greets Markus.

"Day of friendship and romance? Is today something special? Is that why you invited us here?" asks Colvin.

"I'm so glad you asked, my dear! Today is Velafitine's Day, a day to celebrate love in all its forms! I've decided to celebrate with my humble booth here, and you're more than welcome to partake." he says, looking at Colvin with a flirtatious expression.

"Hmmmm... your sign says one kiss is one gold, what will twenty gold get me? It's all I have on me." he inquires, holding up a twenty gold piece. Markus' eyes light up.

"How about you hop on over here and I'll say when?" says Markus, waggling his eyebrows.

Colvin, taking the word 'hop' as literally as he takes everything, leaps over the counter, tackling Markus. He would have complained about his now sore ass, but his mouth is crushed against Colvin's, in a rapid flurry of rough and passionate kisses. Markus is caught off-guard. How is Colvin such a good kisser? Colvin? Of all people? He wouldn't have even thought the man had kissed anyone before! But here he was, caught in this assault of passion, lips, and just the right amount of tongue and teeth, Colvin's body pressed against his on the floor. My gods! He was in heaven! From the front of the booth, Markus' legs could be seen flailing, tail swaying excitedly, and his muffled noises filled the bar. Ashe and Thog look over a bit disturbed. Thog takes a swig from his drink. Kyr is flashing a big smile and two thumbs up.

Just as quickly as Colvin’s attack started, however, it was over. Colvin withdrew and stood up. Markus shakily stood and gripped the booth, a dazed and very pleased expression plastered on his face. “Well,” starts Colvin, “I think I got my money’s worth, but I don’t have anything else on me.” He turns, starting to leave. “Wait!” Markus shouts. As Colvin exits the bar, he shouts back “I have to find some more gold!” “We’re running a buy-one-get-one-free special right now!” Markus calls after Colvin, but he’s already gone. Markus slumps disappointed onto his counter.

Thog walks over. “Hey, cheer up Markus. Y’know, I think I’ll donate to your cause too.” he says, flipping the coin he took from the booth while Markus was distracted by Colvin in his palm. Ashe noticed, but hides a chuckle and says nothing. Perking up a bit, Markus leans over and waits for Thog to kiss him. But to his irritation, Thog simply pecks him lightly on the lips and withdraws. A smirk on his face, Thog says "Unsatisfactory. I want my money back."

But before Thog can pocket the coin, Markus grabs him up by the collar, pulling him forward.

"I said buy-one-get-one special!" Markus kisses Thog hard and deep. Surprised, Thog can’t bite back his moans. The kiss shifts into a tender one, passionate and wanting. Thog, shuddering, places his hands on Markus’ hips, but to his dismay, Markus pulls back, grinning smugly, knowing he’s gained the upper hand on Thog. “Thanks for your patronage.” goads Markus, taking the gold from Thog’s limp hand. He can only stare back at him red-faced and dazed. He doesn’t register Ashe cackling in the background. Without a word, he places a five gold coin tip in the jar and walks away. “Come again sometime!” Markus calls to him, waggling his fingers in a taunting wave.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ 

Time passes. The day goes on, chatter filling the bar. Its’ patrons seem happy, talking amongst each other. Markus chats with his guests and his friends, drinking with them and generally having a good time, but soon he sighs as he notices people ignoring his booth in favor of mingling with each other and sampling his pink-dyed liquors and red wines. Then, the metaphorical lightbulb (or perhaps not so metaphorical, as a small flame flickers to life above him) goes off over Markus’ head.

“Attention!” Markus announces, marching over to his booth and tipping over the ‘♡1 gold = 1 kiss♡’ sign. “It is now free kiss happy hour!” Markus darts off after his friends, one by one, most of them laughing and running off, like playing a game of tag. Ashe and Thog tried to act irritated with him, but couldn’t help laughing and smiling as Markus peppered their cheeks. After all of his friends have been sufficiently smooched, he settles down to drink and talk, all of them smiling. Today was a good Velafitine’s Day after all, they decide. 

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ 

Unexpectedly, someone kicks the door to the bar open, startling the patrons. It's Ballast McGee.

"So what's this I'm hearing about a kissing booth?" he says with his usual sleaze, eyes half-lidded and brows waggling.

Markus grabs his money jar, sets the booth on fire, runs through the bar, pushes Ballast over, jumps through the window and runs.

#thrilling intent #markus velafi #diana's rad art #writing #fics #pleasa lemme know what you think I'm VERY shy about my writing

[wellthatwasaletdown]

A Rant That Nobody Asked For

I read a comment on here the other day that said that Harry Styles career can’t die unless he does something outrageously heinous or controversial, and unless he’s publicly hated more than he’s liked, I actually disagree with that. I don’t know why it bothered me enough to write this whole thing but here we go.

The entire Kardashian brand is built on feeding off of public outrage. People seem to not understand that they want you to hate them. They know that a large portion of their audience dislike them, but follow and pay attention, just to see what thing they do next that they can hate on. Brands are doing that as well. Where they are intentionally putting out overtly racist clothing, slogans, advertising, obviously offensive products, because really and truly, consumers want to be apart of the outrage, consumers enjoy dragging shit. A European makeup brand made a lipstick color called the n-word, and after the outrage on twitter, the lipstick sold out in less then ten hours. I think there are people who think that they’re being helpful or effective by hating the Kardashians, but in actuality by hating them you’re feeding into their machine, you’re putting money in their pockets.

So people always tweet things like  how is James Charles still getting millions of views despite his gross behaviour, how is Camilla Cabello still able to headline tours after calling Normani the n-word repeatedly, how is Kodak Black still making music even though there’s several rape accusations against him? The last one I’d argue is because the volume on rape allegations drops significantly when the accusation comes from black women, and we don’t listen to them or give black women’s voices the validity we should. But overall the reason these people still have careers is BECAUSE some people hate them. (I don't think Camilla is publicly hated but hear me out) That’s what they want. By calling out people who fuel they’re careers off of outrage, you’re fighting a fruitless battle because you’re appealing to the sympathy of people who actually don’t give a fuck. They know what they’re doing, they don’t care who’s hurt, they don’t care the real world affect of their words, they don’t care about learning or growing from their actions, but they bank on the fact that you care about those things and will take time out of your day to try and break it down for them. They exist to antagonize their audience and then get the label “controversial”. I’m 100% positive that Kylie Jenner knew that people were going to mad about Kylie Skin, but she let them be mad, she let them hate on her loudly, she let that hate act as free promo, and then her skincare line sold out. If Kim Kardashian put her hair in braids, and no one said anything but instead she lost a shit ton of followers, if all the people who disagreed with that unfollowed her, she would’ve never done that shit again. But because the outrage actually gained her followers and traction, she continues to do it. Everyone knows what cultural appropriation is. Everybody does. Maybe not everyone understands why it can be so damaging but everyone knows what it is. So famous women right now who are posting pictures of themselves in cornrows or bindis or in Native headdresses, they know better. They know people are going to be mad, they know people are going to be hurt, they know this. But they profit off of it. They are dependant on your outrage, for a surge in media attention. I’m not saying that these girls are heinous human beings, but I’m saying it’s 100% intentional. It’s intentional. You’re wasting your energy in the comments trying to educate them, trying to get them to see why people are upset, they don’t care. They don’t care why you’re upset, they just want you angry, and then once you’re angry they’ll flip it on you and play the victim and talk about how intense and evil social media has been to them. These girls posting incredibly photoshopped pictures of themselves, and pictures with their ribs jutting out from their bodies, not disclosing all of the surgery they’ve had to impressionable young girls, they are literally profiting off of their viewers insecurity.  It’s business. It’s a game. 

(This is a side note but with all of the PR relationships Harry’s been in, really and truly him having a girlfriend might have a really negative impact on the girls linked to him, but they have positive affects for Harry. Because when he has a girlfriend, his fans feel insecure, they compare themselves to this model girlfriend, they wonder if this is the kind of woman he wants and I don’t look like that, what’s wrong with me? They hurt, they get uncomfortable, and often respond with intense hate, but really that hate comes from a place of insecurity and pain. But see, when they’re hurting, he can turn around and ask you to pay him to tell him that he loves you.)

This is getting longwinded but what I’m getting to is that the opposite of love isn’t hate, it never has been, the opposite of love is INDIFFERENCE. Being publicly hated doesn’t always end careers, in fact public outrage can be manufactured to gain traction and attention for a person or brand. The only answer to truly get rid of those kind of people is to respond with silence and indifference and the removal of your attention. This is why I think that honestly, Harry has every possibility of his career dwindling away. I don’t know that he’ll ever be “unsuccessful” because he has his core audience but I think we’re seeing more and more that we live in a world where everyone is really ready to jump on a hatred bandwagon, that the careers that really die, are not the people who you’re angry at. The careers that die are the people that you are entirely indifferent to.

It’s been proven that Harry Styles is incredibly sensitive to the point where he and his fans cannot even stand constructive criticism. It is greatly important to him to be publicly upheld and adored, and I think that that proved itself with the TV show he produced that was based on him, because he couldn’t even allow the character that was meant to vaguely represent him to be a fully fleshed out character with flaws and negative attributes, instead the character ended up being a lot like what Harry presents to the world, a caricature of a great guy. Harry presents an image that is meant to be interpreted and digested in whatever way you like. If you want him to be a feminist he is, if you don’t want him to be he’s not, if you want him to be a bad boy? Gay? Straight? A sweetheart? A rich sugar daddy aesthetic? A true artist who only cares about the music? He’s a walking fan fiction on purpose, because it is of such high importance to him to be adored and to be accepted that he presents nothing, and allows his fans to do all the work in implanting their own vision on him, and then his fans sustain his fame for him out of personal obligation and emotional ties they have to the idea of him they created, right?

Harry isn’t designed to be someone that can be hated, he intentionally straddles every topic, and stays right in the middle and never says anything controversial, to the point where he really doesn’t share any actual opinions. He spews apolitical sweetness and kindness, and creates a pseudo-political activism aesthetic without actually giving opinions, because he doesn’t have to, he’s dependant on the fact that his fans will project their opinions onto him, and assume he’s on whichever side they’re on. He’s not sustaining a career based off of the music, because the people who listen to his music, listen to him as a byproduct of already loving him. The people who pay attention to his content, do so out of love for who they believe he is as a person. Harry Styles is really not a celebrity who has many casual fans. I think in terms of his looks, he does, casual fans who will comment on his look at the Met Gala, or comment on him being good-looking, but not many casual fans who would sit down and listen to an album of his, you know?

The emptiness fans are feeling now comes from the fact that Harry used to pander to maintaining his audience at an emotional level, and insinuate a relationship between he and his audience, that he no longer cares to feed, and all the Harries, whether they admit or not, are feeling the distance and feeling his withdrawal. I bring this up because, now we're seeing even some Harries are growing not hateful, not resentful, but indifferent towards him. They are getting exhausted of having to maintain their ideal of him, and having to fight themselves into liking something that's really not there. As someone who's still kind of in the Harry Styles bubble, I can't argue this 100% but I do feel that there is a level of indifference towards him from the general public.

(Another side note: One similarity between Harry and the Kardashians is what I call convenient stupidity. They claim smarts and being smart business people, Harry specifically is obsessed with putting out an aesthetic of intellect, but when it’s convenient for them, they want you to assume that they are stupid and/or not responsible for whatever your upset about and/or that they don’t understand what they’ve done. If you think they’re stupid you’ll underestimate them and you’ll never assume that you’re the one being played. By keeping you thinking that you’re mentally above them, they manipulate you, every time.)

Harry couldn’t even commit to the rock music aesthetic fully, because rock music, real rock music, has to come with commitment and controversy, and he’s so obsessed with being adored across the board. I highly doubt he’ll ever get involved in real controversy or that he’d use controversy as a marketing ploy, just because we’ve seen time and time again that he’s prioritized public adoration over the actual quality of his work. But like I said, as he pulls away, the manufactured love between him and his fans is getting harder for them to hold on to, it’s getting hard for them to rearrange information to make him the guy he was to them. I’m telling you, what’s going to kill Harry is not intense hatred, but indifference. As he tries to gear himself to an older audience, he's not going to be able to manufacture the same blind adoration that 1D fans were able to give him in the beginning. We're already beginning to see indifference towards him grow.

#anonymous #harry styles #submission

[scarlettlawyer]

Part 6 of my commentary/reaction of the fanfiction series Phantoms & Mirages by @renegadewangs And uh – there’s actually a small (but relevant) commentary on Turnabout to the Past in this post too… :P

Also looks like I’d better start organising the links to the previous posts more properly, so:

(Chasing Phantoms): Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 

(Haunted Specters): Part 4 | Part 5 |

So picking up with the same chapter, swiftly and subtly over the course of the fic, the phantom has been dramatically repositioned by the narrative. And now, all of a sudden, as the connections get made… Just after being shown Actual Child Phantom and having that sympathetic image fresh in our minds, the narrative suddenly goes “Haha! So anyway! Bobby and Simon parallel the phantom’s parents! :D” and throughout this chapter, because of the severity of the phantom’s injury and their weakened state, Bobby and Simon have been forced to make sure that he, well, doesn’t die. So now all of the sudden the phantom is kinda like… their child that they need to look after…

It’s almost as if… the narrative is equating the phantom with being a child… their child… And that alone is… really, really amusing. It was very funny to me. It was just about hilarious. It was the best thing. I couldn’t get enough of it. You actually managed to construct these parallels wherein the narrative positions the reader to see a direct parallel between, on some level, this fully grown man guilty of countless murders and a child. To see him as a kind of child that needs vital assistance from Bobby and Simon, rendered momentarily weak and helpless by circumstance.

Time and time again, the phantom has been built up by the series as extremely intimidating, scary, DANGEROUS, what have you, but in this moment, in one fell swoop, at least in terms of how I saw it, the narrative appears to dish out a kind of retribution. The phantom’s character is, to an extent, made fun of in the best possible way, amidst his transformation into protagonist and beginning to grab at the sympathies and concerns of the reader, Bobby and even Simon. Because however much our perspectives might have shifted somewhat at this point, no one is under any true illusion here: we all know that the phantom is a colossal jerk who has done terrible, terrible things. For the narrative to point at him, an adult, a criminal and a murderer, and say to the reader, “oh, just look at this poor little child” is on some level to outright mock him, and to strip away much of the character’s ability to intimidate in any real sense at this point. It is also a repositioning that mainly only the reader is privy to; he is not being made fun of directly in the story or being subjected to any true retribution directly over this outside of the karmic frustrations and indignities of being temporarily unable to properly fight back against Bobby and Simon’s assistance. But Bobby and Simon are not provided with the insight into the direct parental parallels. No, the “lol the phantom is a child” perspective namely resides with the reader, now, and its as if we are given every permission through it to dunk on him, as he should be dunked on, ‘cause he sucks and ruined lives lol.

The flashback to the phantom when he was a small child was nothing but angsty, make no mistake, but that does not make any narrative plays on his current adult self being a child any less amusing, and vice versa – it doesn’t in any way take away from the horror and awfulness of the child abuse flashback.

The phantom’s trauma is not funny, nor is his suffering – rather, the narrative positioning him as Bobby and Simon’s child is.

I also want to expand a little on how Simon assaulting the phantom was to an extent mirroring him as a small child being assaulted by his abusive father, although I touched on it briefly in my previous post.

In one situation, the phantom is an innocent, helpless, actual child, just doing his own thing… In the other, he is, well, the opposite of “innocent”, as well as actively baiting and anticipating the attack. And Simon striking out, naturally, is seen by the reader as being so much more justified. It is the same person – the phantom – being attacked in both situations, but different in the ways I’ve iterated. And the attacker could not be more different either, with such a very, very different connection and history with the phantom. And the reader sees the two situations as they occur in such different lights.

And yet still, there manages to be a handful of similarities between the two occurrences, such as the phantom not fighting back in either.

It’s so interesting to think about.

Not to mention that this series has been saying over and over again, he’s a monster, look at this monster, what a MONSTER… and then flips the script, everything over and puts that word into this new light.

Continuing on…

“Lex Luster… He was killed.”

Me reading this for the first time: “LOL nice try author, but I know he isn’t really dead. This is just one of your bait-and-switches, your red herrings isn’t it? Let’s see… wasn’t the phantom only just saying that this Lex Luster would take advantage of the break-in to garner sympathy and spread lies? Well, he probably had his sights set on an even greater plan. He must have faked his own death in some kind of clever elaborate ploy that will only serve to benefit him!”

The narrative as it continued to chug along, with no hints of a sudden He’s Alive reveal emerging: Uh, no he’s… he’s really dead, dude.

Me: “…What? But that makes literally no sense. I… I know that Lex Luster is supposed to be an important character. Isn’t he supposed to like, be a protagonist in future or something? I guess not, unless it’s through flashbacks, or maybe this really IS all we get of the character… So like, wait, that’s all we get of the “Lex Luster” character? Were… Were we supposed to care about that guy?! Because I’m sorry but… I really don’t see it. That guy who just got killed off, Lex Luster? I didn’t care about him. I’m sorry. (Maybe even though he wasn’t featured much, maybe he’s a bit of an Ensemble Darkhorse and/or the author had his character fleshed out behind the scenes in ways they didn’t get to showcase?? Hmm… Well either way… At least based on what I know about the guy… Don’t see why he was important tbqh).”

…WELL.

Also, I love the three of them just sitting down and playing a little blame-shifting game over a murder. Gosh I love this trio.

Haunted Specters, Chapter fourteen

“… I don’t… I…” The Phantom pressed his palm against the side of his head, leaning forward in his seat. “How is this possible? Who would dare impersonate me? Who would dare use that face?”

1. The phantom being at a loss for words – I love it

2. HE SOUNDS SO FULL OF HIMSELF… THIS MAN WHO CLAIMS TO HAVE NO SENSE OF SELF… So imperious… “WHO would DARE impersonate me?!” Get a load of this guy! :D

3. I honestly didn’t think you could do another kind of “Bobby impersonates the phantom” in terms of ironic phantom impersonation reversals on the same kind of level. I was wrong. “Someone impersonates the phantom using the phantom’s real face” is a scenario that had never, ever crossed my mind before. BUT IT’S SO GOOD. IT’S SO GOOD. Delicious. The phantom gets a nice big taste of his own medicine.

4. Also, this curveball felt Ghost Trick levels of mindscrewy when first revealed. XD

[…] the ones who’d been in the courtroom the moment the Phantom was attacked by a sniper […]

Oh you mean Bobby’s thera- okay I’ll shut up now. He just gets so many early references okay.

“I’ve lost track. However, there are two names that I’m sure you hope to hear. Calisto Yew and Shih-na.”

YES. YES. YES. CHEERING SOUND EFFECT Y’ALL, SHE MADE IT! SHE MADE IT TO THE NARRATIVE

It had almost felt like the narrative was really dancing around her… It felt like a “dropping-references-but-no-role-in-the-story” type deal but like, really pushing it, with maybe one too many references... And I’ve read more than one phantom fic where the phantom had links to her… But I just told myself “well, not everyone’s gonna go that route. Duh. And it makes sense in a realistic way. I mean, it’s highly unlikely that Calisto/Shih-Na and the phantom would know each other or have ever interacted with each other. So I certainly respect the author’s decision to not include her at all in the story and have it so the two don’t have any ties, after all it can be seen as a little cliché and the author may want to avoid that, as a decision it’s bold and respectab- WAIT NEVER MIND SHE’S HERE SHE’S ARRIVED SHE’S AWESOME THANK YOU”

And then I’m like… WAIT… SHE’S KNOWN AS MIRAGE IN THIS SERIES?!

SHE WAS THERE… THE WHOLE TIME… RIGHT IN THE TITLE.

Me, a FOOL, reading the series Phantoms and Mirages: It kind of sucks that she isn’t in this because she’s such a great and fun character, but I certainly respect the author’s decision

GOOOSH…

I swear I’m confident I would have been more inclined to check out this series prior to this year if I had actually known this little fact.

AND ALSO????

Okay, okay… and like… Teenage phantom flashback??? Was NOT expecting it. It was an even greater shift. The interaction with Mirage… the banter, the neutrality of it… & the fact that this fic actually gives him someone who had affection for him like this way back in his past, despite his emotionlessness? It’s ah, humanising? Fleshing him out? I was finding it hard to believe that the story was really treating the phantom’s character in this way… Because it felt way too good to be true. Because I probably just had my phantom bias goggles on. Because of the way the last fic had treated the phantom’s character, I also found it hard to believe. But more and more, I could not deny it… I was really starting to nod along and go, hey. It’s not just me. The author is pulling these strings on purpose, constructing the character and the narrative in this way, in this light…

“Agent Fulbright. Why does it strike me as if you’ve got a dead animal on your face?”

Aww man, this is harsher in hindsight given the later reveal that Bobby’s so self-conscious of it… But this exchange following this line/the line itself was super funny

“Of course. It’s a method that was perfected over fifteen years ago. I believe the Hotti Clinic is one of many locations around the world that specializes in facial reconstruction.”

NICE ONE.

Me: that sounds a little farfe- Oh wait nvm that has a very solid basis in actual ace attorney canon.

Haunted Specters, Chapter 15

Perhaps, in a way, the spy even meant to protect a gentle person like Sam from a gunshot wound.

Hmm, food for thought! Oh, protect from a gunshot wound like Simon's inclined to protect Sam from risk of electric shock later?

“A need to craft?” “It keeps the headaches at bay. Aside from that, this has always been my preferred pastime. If I were to have something of a hobby, this would be it.” A hobby… How peculiar. The Phantom had shown a tendency to adopt the hobbies of his personas, from fixing clocks to pursuing justice, yet here he was with a pastime of his own. A rather disturbing pastime, yet a pastime nonetheless.

And you gave?? The phantom a kind of hobby??? The stuff only starts pilin’ on after this, let me tell you.

And this whole scene too is just… Simon talking to the phantom neutrally. It’s…!

And it’s so cool that we basically get to see child phantom pull off the equivalent of his Dual Destinies jump in this chapter.

Haunted Specters, Chapter 16

“What a ridiculous question. It’s because I am male.” “Identifying yourself as male implies identity, Phantom.”

I HADN’T BEEN EXPECTING THE NARRATIVE TO ADDRESS THIS I HADN’T BEEN EXPECTING THE NARRATIVE TO ADDRESS THIS. This was SO great and refreshing to see, especially since it had been a tiny little thing bothering me somewhat from the very start. I’ve already brought it up more than once in these commentaries. You might have noticed, but although I use he/him for your version of the phantom, I tend to use they/them when talking about the phantom in general.

It wasn’t always like that with me, though! When I first finished Dual Destinies I was constantly using he/him. I mean, it’s what the phantom is referred to with consistently in-game, after all. And I never reconsidered it at all until I saw it brought up/discussed among other ace attorney fans as an issue. But even then, my perspective was pretty much the same as Pengychan’s – there’s, if I recall correctly, an author’s note in Turnabout to the Past addressing the pronouns issue, where it’s stated something like “well, the phantom lacks a sense of self to the extent that they don’t have the self-reflection required to challenge the notion + they don’t care/aren’t bothered by it. They just stick with he/him because it’s the default that gets applied and don’t have enough sense of self to even question it.” And I couldn’t have agreed more. And I still agree? It’s a completely reasonable and justified perspective/interpretation.

But over the years, I’ve just slipped more and more into the they/them habit to the extent that it started feeling more “correct” to me. I’ve read really really great fic where the phantom is afab and they/them is consistently used by the narrative the entire way through. All of a sudden, he/him phantom started feeling kind of jarring to read, even when it had felt like the most natural version to me in the past. It was almost like I started becoming more fond of they/them phantom hahaha. But both sets of pronouns have equal claim. (And I tend to use they/them for general, all-encompassing phantom because it includes everyone’s interpretations and still doesn’t exclude he/him interpretations. So it captures ‘em all!).

“Effort? In what way?” “Women need to watch their posture. Their nails. Their hair. Their appearance is always judged.[…]”

Okay honestly, looking back, I think this was another statement I looked way too much into at the time and misconstrued. The brevity, and therefore lack of specification, leaves something to be desired to me here…

For example: Nails…? That feels like it reaches straight into the realm of stereotypical for me. Obviously – I mean, obviously he’s making a comically HUGE generalisation here, that’s just a given. Maybe the “nails” comment is more about… “some women” idek but when I first read this, it kinda felt like he was sitting there going “being a woman is so difficult, always needing to maintain perfect, painted nails blah blah blah…” Like dude. It’s nails. Nobody cares. If a woman isn’t preoccupied/obsessed with manicures or whatever, there tends to be 0 difference between men and women when it comes to nails and how they are maintained. And hair, too, it’s like… myself and plenty of women I’m sure hardly give our hair much thought at ALL in day to day life, even if on average the focus may be a little bit more than it is for men.

I realise that I probably read this the wrong way though, and what he’s actually saying may be more akin to “regardless of how a woman personally feels about her appearance, and how little she personally cares about maintaining her appearance, that appearance is still going to be more heavily judged”??? But that still seems kinda… Like that doesn’t really impact much how difficult it is to portray a woman. That’s only a comment on how other people would treat them… Like there’s a greater risk involved if the disguise itself is more closely examined cause he doesn’t want to be discovered, but…

Another thing though is he’s probably making general comments that aren’t supposed to be particularly accurate and/or specific. I just look into things and make assumptions way too much. :P

Like the one thing I’ll give him is the whole posture aspect… to an extent. Societal influences/expectations DO go both ways and men have their own expectations to comply with, even in the realm of posture. But I guess the takeaway here is that for the most part, the scrutiny for men is less + the posture of “men” is often stuff that would come more naturally to anyone, men or women. It’s women who, when it comes to femininity, tend to be required to actually modify in ways that don’t come as naturally. And also a lot of “men’s posture” is seen as default and/or they have more claim to default posture.

Even if he has some kind of a point… What he’s saying sounded, to me, ridiculously exaggerated. At the time on the first readthrough I interpreted him as kind of saying “as a woman, like ALL women, you have to be constantly aware of yourself, carefully adhering to femininity in everything you do in unnatural, practised ways.” And like… HAHAHA… nah? Women tend to just live their lives and most of the time they are acting in ways that come naturally. But there are times when this kind of pressure comes into play but not to that extent. Not constantly. It obviously depends on a given woman’s circumstances though… Because I’m sure for some, life circumstances do require putting on a constant show of hyper-femininity. Which would tend to be… exhausting.

And yes, women’s appearance and behaviour is subject to scrutiny by society, and such scrutiny, and being aware you are under such scrutiny, can modify one’s behaviour to the extent that it is less natural. But at THE SAME TIME this also struck me as being kinda bogus. “Women need to watch their posture” uh… I guess? To an extent, in that society reckons there are certain “ladylike” ways to sit and conduct oneself, but those instances are still quite specific and are not necessarily a CONSTANT, FELT presence… pretty sure most women going about their day are just living their life. Well, you could also say that being “trained” by society into conducting yourself in a certain way and having a certain posture and what have you so that it becomes what comes naturally and is no longer noticeable is also a factor.

There are valid points in most of what he’s saying, exaggerated or no. For a variety of reasons, portraying a woman comes with difficulties.

But also…

In a way, that justification struck Simon as a rather weak excuse to cover any traces of true identity.

The whole thing is that there is something buried away. And this is one form of that something bleeding through. The text lampshades the flimsy nature of the excuses, hints at this.

So at the end of the day… There is actual narrative reason in this series for the phantom being he/him from the beginning. It also arguably allows for a smoother transition between “the phantom” and Lex later on. So yeah… I’m fully on board.

Also like… Just like how women are people with a huge variety and spectrum of personalities… Men are equally varied and, depending on the personality, can potentially be very difficult & demanding to portray (like you know… BOBBY – original Bobby). Hands down there are men way more difficult to portray than an “average” woman, no question. PLUS… the whole self-awareness demands don’t apply when the phantom kinda needs to always be self-aware of his every action when in a persona regardless. Especially the more difficult and demanding ones. SO THE TAKEAWAY HERE at least for me definitely is… The phantom is a big dummy in denial about having some kind of self and the fact that this self has a sense of “maleness” attached to it.

Or perhaps the Phantom truly was looking at the matter so objectively that he couldn’t grasp the difference between biological and psychological. The difference between sex and gender.

Simon, pulling up a helpful and informative tumblr post: “You see, there’s actually a difference between the two!”

“…Simon Blackquill. You’ve no need to lecture me on such things, as I have done far more research than you on matters such as these. I know what applies and does not apply to me, such as the simple fact that I am aroace.”

“Don’t. Odd as it is, it’s grown on me.” A moment’s pause, then Bobby snorted. “It’s grown on me too. Literally.”

xDDD

Haunted Specters, Chapter 18

The only thing he could take comfort in was the fact that Sam Specter looked far more exhausted than he felt. It had to do with the recent migraine attack, no doubt.

Using “Sam Specter” but meaning the phantom… Sam Specter is supposed to be an act. Sam Specter has been said to always look tired. Yet Simon is looking at him here, seeing the phantom underneath, but still using “Sam Specter”…!

Not that either of them could approach him to ask whether he was holding up alright

APPROACH WHO? ASK WHO? Simon is referring to “Sam” but he knows that Sam is an act, a facade and there is no point… This is just a hypothetical sentence though; it doesn’t say that he wants to check on him… And even if he does it could be rationalised away with “well he needs to remain intact for the plan to go off without a hitch” but…!

Bobby seemed genuinely concerned for Sam. Seemed to be genuinely interested in the words of someone who wasn’t even real. Perhaps, after two weeks, the line between the Phantom and Sam Specter was beginning to blur for him as well. Perhaps he was foolish enough to believe that due to the Phantom’s utter devotion to his personas, Sam was just as real as any other human. 

YOOOOOO

Same though. SAME. Because for so long I thought the author didn’t care too much about the phantom, I put way too much stock in Sam. “The narrative wants us to care about Sam, not the phantom. Because the other way around is too good to be true… right?” I also thought maybe Simon was still slightly underestimating the phantom’s level of self-deception at the time as well.

But guess what? Sam is a trap. You find yourself growing attached or caring about Sam in ANY way, you are in a roundabout way caring about the phantom. The person just behind the façade. And once you’re in too deep, all that’s left is for the façade to be yanked away. A sleight of hand wherein you realise oh, oh no…

Over the past few chapters, there’s been a sudden rush of information and situations that just, it all happens so fast, it seems.

“That’s why you need to remind Agent Fulbright not to get too attached to his new friend. You and I both know there’s only one acceptable ending to this sorry tale.” Only one acceptable ending… Execution. […] Either way, the Phantom’s fate was unavoidable. Unavoidable and of his own choosing. Death.

And when I read this, I grew very serious. I nodded to myself in complete agreement and internally said, in all seriousness… “yes.”

They were to head for Fulbright’s apartment, a location that was already known to the Phantom either way. He’d made it perfectly clear he didn’t want the spy knowing about his own apartment- Aura’s apartment- in order to have at least one safe location should things go awry.

Huh… I guess what it comes down to here is the phantom’s lack of memories… Because he should know about Simon’s apartment. But he wouldn’t now, due to the fall…

Haunted Specters, Chapter 19

“Nice beard!” she remarked, grinning so widely Simon wondered whether it might hurt her face. “Are you going for the middle-aged Obi Wan Kenobi look?”

THIS IS ATHENA’S SECOND STAR WARS REFERENCE IN THIS SERIES… what a tiny yet consistent running thread.

“Sam,” Bobby called, hoping to get his attention. In retrospect, that’d been a bad move. Sam started so badly that he accidentally shook the pocket watch, sending tiny gears and screws all over the floor. A few words of Cohdopian escaped him- perhaps curses that Simon couldn’t understand.

SDKBDSJBK HOW MUCH OF THIS REACTION IS GENUINE… PLEASE TELL ME AT LEAST SOME OF IT

He drew a steadying breath and turned to face them, eyes narrowing when his gaze fell on Athena. For a moment, there was nothing. Then his expression brightened to the point where Simon found it almost suspicious. Sam pushed himself to his feet with a flourish and approached her. He prattled something in Cohdopian and leaned forward in a bit of a bow. Then he took Athena’s hand with his own, pressing his lips against the back of it, causing her to giggle.

ASKJBADLBJADKLNADKNL?

OKAY THIS IS! HAHAHA, LET’S UNPACK THIS

I JUST… I

1- The phantom knows DAMN well who Athena is

2- The phantom ACTIVELY DECIDES to do this. Not only that, but he ACTIVELY DECIDES, on Sam’s behalf – a real person who used to be alive that he stole the identity of - that this is how Sam Specter would react to meeting Athena. That Sam would treat her like this and have this opinion of her. (Or, who knows… Maybe Sam just tends to be this way towards women in general and Athena isn’t getting singled out…?)

3- I JUST CAN’T BELIEVE HE DOES THIS OMG

4- HE KNOWS FULL WELL HOW MUCH THIS WOULD IRK SIMON AND BOBBY.

5- HE OBVIOUSLY HAS NO WAY OF KNOWING FOR CERTAIN THAT THIS IS HOW SAM WOULD REACT TO ATHENA, SO

6- THE PHANTOM IS A GODDAMN TROLL, ‘NUFF SAID

“What did he say?” “He uh… He said that she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen,” Bobby rolled his eyes, mouth drawn in bitter distaste. Words failed Simon completely. His mouth opened, then closed itself. He gave Sam’s shoulder one last squeeze in warning before releasing him. This time, not even Fulbright seemed entirely willing to overlook Sam’s behavior, as he was watching the man closely as well.

Haaahahah. You did it. You actually put in brief joke phantom/Athena.

You know what makes this better? Much later, way after this scene, prior to the end of Vanquishing Mirages, I messaged another one of my friends basically saying “Hey… So I haven’t finished it yet so I can’t say for absolute certain… But so far, this may just be one of the best fanfiction series I have ever read.”

He replied something akin to, “LOL, yeah, imagine if you kept reading on only for it to suddenly turn into romantic Athena/phantom? Bet you’d kinda regret saying that then.”

To which I was able to gleefully and jokingly reply, “…Oh, it’s been done.”

Haunted Specters, Chapter 20

He considered following anyway, allowing the Phantom to suffer for the sake of stopping Fulbright from doing something foolish, but then… It wouldn’t be the Phantom who would suffer. Most likely, it’d be Sam Specter, who had nothing to do with any of this.

BUT THE F

SAM ISN’T- THE PHANTOM IS-

Nevermind.

“If he can feel emotions now, maybe we can straighten them out! Maybe he can be rehabilitated to-”

Me: Bobby, no. Don’t.

Okay, so when I read this… the prospect of the emotions getting “straightened out” was something that piqued my interest. It was something I knew I would like to see. But to whatever extent they could be “straightened out”, although I figured it would be fascinating to see, I figured it would be very limited. Even something limited would be quite significant, but…

…I still agreed with Simon. It would ultimately change nothing in the grand scheme of things. That man – the phantom – would still have to die in the end. He needed to die. That’s the only way this could end.

I wouldn’t have denied wanting to see his emotions get straightened out before he meets his end though, however limited the results may be. I felt the same tug Bobby did – I wanted him to be helped. But helped prior to an inevitable death.

Let us return to this earlier segment that I commented on:

”[…] You and I both know there’s only one acceptable ending to this sorry tale.” Only one acceptable ending… Execution. […] Either way, the Phantom’s fate was unavoidable. Unavoidable and of his own choosing. Death.

And I’m going to expand a little more on what I essentially thought when I first read it beyond my simple “yes” that I supplied before:

“Absolutely. No way out of it. So narrative, make it so. He has to die. I’ll be waiting. I will hold you to your word. Everyone from Bobby to the narrative and the reader have been getting awfully familiar with and caring for the phantom with the new sympathetic slant the story’s been taking. Almost suspiciously so. But it changes nothing. He must die. It is the only acceptable ending to this story. Tragic? Sure. But there’s no real alternative. None.”

You might be a little like “whoa, whoa – hold up. Isn’t he your favourite character?! The whole reason you started this series?”

To which I’d reply: “Absolutely. And he needs to be executed and/or die, if this is the route the narrative ultimately seems to be heading in.”

“…By all means, allow Bobby and Simon to become unwittingly invested. Make the phantom sympathetic. Pile on the angst. But in the end…? Execution. Death”

Why? ...I’d been hurt before.

And to understand this oddly firm stance… Apologies, but I need to briefly talk a little bit about Turnabout to the Past. XD

Turnabout to the Past is a narrative that is constantly building up to the phantom’s inevitable execution – or rather, Robert LaRoche’s execution, by the end of it. We – the readers - grow to care. Simon grows to care. Athena grows to care. About him. This care, and LaRoche’s changes and regaining of identity, do not grant him full redemption. He is still required to pay for his crimes. This never changes.

From the way the story is set up and construed, Robert LaRoche’s redemption actually hinges upon his execution. In an odd kind of way, although he can make progress towards redemption, full redemption cannot be granted until he is dead – regaining his identity, changing his behaviour, and having other characters become invested in him on its own is not enough, even though they are all contributing factors towards redemption. Full redemption is still withheld from him until his execution can be carried out.

Like many people who read Turnabout to the Past, I bawled my eyes out. The “execution” scene left me a complete and utter mess. The whole ending – all of it – just ruined me.

In the end, he cheats death. In doing so, he cheats himself out of a full, complete and proper redemption. It is a huge act of betrayal. He betrays Simon, he betrays Athena, he fundamentally betrays himself. He is forced to leave the Robert LaRoche he struggled so hard to regain behind once more.

Simon wanted him to face death. That’s what he wanted him to do from the beginning. That’s the promise between them. But he doesn’t. The promise is broken.

I felt betrayed by LaRoche, too. I cried so hard and so much at his “execution”. And for what?

As much as the execution scene wrecked me, as much as it hurt, as painful as it was, however much I was crying, it felt right. He had to die. This was what the entire fic had been building towards. It was “the only acceptable ending to this story”.

But he cheats death. And I felt betrayed, and I felt angry towards the character for doing something like this to me, to Athena, to Blackquill, to himself.

Athena and Blackquill are grieving. They are grieving over him. And for what? For what?! How could he do this? How could I forgive him? How could he not only betray Athena and Blackquill but also cause them so much pain and suffering – grief – in the process?! Grief based on a false premise. Grief for… For nothing.

…Inevitably, I got the hell over myself, and came back to read the super cool sequel. :P We wouldn’t have gotten such a cool sequel if it wasn’t for that betrayal…!

Obviously, this fic is not that fic. This series is very different, so the exact same rules do not, cannot apply. But I still had some baggage lying around, and I was essentially (unfairly) taking it out on this fic’s version of the phantom. “Well, someone has to die. LaRoche didn’t die. He cheated death. So this phantom isn’t allowed to. So don’t let him get away.”

Well obviously, you already know that I’m happy with how things turn out, so… It’s a foregone conclusion that this perspective changes at some point as this series continues!

Simon hadn’t bothered to bid him farewell. He hadn’t truly gotten along with Sam either way.

!!!!

Bobby looked torn for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure what to say or how to even say it. “… But don’t hurt her, okay? There’s no real reason to injure her, so… Don’t. And try not to get hurt yourself.” “Yes, mother,” the Phantom droned. Bobby didn’t reply.

YOU JUST COULD NOT RESIST MAKING THIS JOKE COULD YOU, and I absolutely can’t blame you. I LOVE it.

ALSO I’M JUST SDJDSJLNLNDS? This is supposed to be a sarcastic quip right? But I’m NOT SURE HOW MUCH SELF-AWARENESS THE PHANTOM HAS WHEN MAKING THIS JOKE…

Haunted Specters, Chapter 21

The… The confrontation between Mirage & the phantom… The phantom was always the one in control during the flashbacks with Mirage. He was always the one who had power over her, both in the sense that he is the one teaching her new skills and is therefore “in charge” and kinda of a higher rank, and he also wields power over her – unintentionally so – in the fact that she holds affection for him.

And now that’s turned on its head. The phantom is on his knees, powerless, grasping, begging. Mirage has all the power. Mirage is the one in control. Probably for, well, the first time ever, she’s actually seeing the phantom losing control, powerless, weak, she is wielding power over him.

So on the one hand, part of me is kinda like “yeah, show him who’s boss, show him what’s what, it’s your turn to be in control now!” But on the other hand I was like. “NOO MIRAGE I THOUGHT YOU WERE COOL… WHY… I TRUSTED YOU… LOOK WHAT YOU’RE DOING TO MY FAVE… I THOUGHT YOU CARED?? HOW COULD YOU…” And ultimately, the second perspective won out.

Also, the casual way she talks about killing people coupled with how she treats the phantom towards the end of the scene is a reminder that, however much of a fun and exciting character she is, she is still a dangerous criminal involved in the facilitation of things like uh, HUMAN TRAFFICKING.

The Phantom had had another breakdown.

It started feeling like a running, constant occurrence at this point. Really felt like the characters could really start using one of these:

They’re definitely gonna have to reset it a few more times, too. :’D

SAM’S NOTE. SAM’S NOTE. OH NOOO. SAM’S NOTE. I AM FEELING KINDA SENTIMENTAL OVER A FICTIONAL FAKE PERSONA’S DEPARTURE FROM THE NARRATIVE GOD DAMMIT. How?!

Sam was a literary trap, aiding in dooming us all.

Towards the end, treating Sam Specter as a real person was no longer a knowing act of self-deception on Simon’s part, but had rather become a habit that he’d fallen into. A habit that comes awfully naturally now. One that he sometimes may not even be aware of, and sometimes may need to consciously wake himself up from.

The explanation that I’ve finally settled on… is that it was never about how “human” Sam is. Because Sam will always be artificial. He can never become 100% real or human. The real Sam is already dead and cannot be resurrected. It was never even about Sam. It had always been about the phantom. The phantom that was always hiding just underneath.

There’s something else, too, towards the end of this fic. Before, when the parents-and-their-child dynamic was set up, and the trio were all forced to live together in a temporary truce, I referred to it as a special liminal space wherein they were sectioned off from the rest of the characters and the rest of the world. In this strange little space, they and the reader had to ignore the extreme oddity of the circumstances to some degree in order to function properly and make sense of it. Simon and Bobby can tell themselves that this is only temporary, and that soon enough, everything can just go back to normal again once they abandon their little liminal space over in Cohdopia and everything wraps up. That is a false promise.

After an extended interval, their liminal space gets broken, intruded upon. First by Lang, who enters their odd little circle that is still being propped up. Then by Athena. And they return to America, too. They’re not in Cohdopia anymore in a secretive little apartment no one else knows about. The location changes. They’re not completely sectioned off from the other characters anymore. But things have changed. Things are changing. Bobby does not “snap out of it”. He only becomes more steadfast and entrenched in his support of the phantom.  Simon is clearly, well…! He’s being influenced. And the phantom is still able to interact neutrally with the other members of the cast. The new light and perspective shed on him by the fic does not suddenly vanish, he doesn’t suddenly “change back” to whatever he seemed to be before. Of course not. There’s a line of continuity here, and the dynamic changes between the cast cannot be boxed away, sectioned off, erased.

The phantom’s child abuse flashback is a sudden, powerful jab that disarms the reader, however momentarily. Then there is parent-child dynamic in the current cast revealed. With the reader distracted like this, a sudden onslaught is unleashed in the chapters following. An onslaught of flashbacks, a whole host of neutral interactions the phantom is shown having, both in past and present. Neutral interactions, which on its own is quite a feat. Considering how, well, despicable he can be, HAS been. How he has always been “the enemy” before. And yet we are given so many neutral interactions. Not positive per se. Just… neutral. But that alone is enough. And in Mirage in the teen flashbacks, we actually get to see someone from the phantom’s past who cares about him. As a person. There’s other little things too, like the aforementioned sort-of hobby revealed. The flow, the outpouring of all these little things just starts and it does not stop. It will not stop. At the end of this fic, heading into the next one, we are already teetering on the edge of… Something. And it’s only going to increase in volume, become more palpable, grow stronger from here on out.

There’s also little scattered things here as well, like the phantom looking out for Bobby in his own way. And the mask… the mask that is not like the others. I feel that there have been many, many narrative sleights of hand that have come into play, subtle enough that it makes them difficult to document. And I can’t document them all, because there’s just so many.

And then in the epilogue, the bone sliver gets revealed, and it’s like HMM… HMMMM… Food for thought, folks. Food for thought!

…Oh and I forgot to comment on this under the appropriate chapter’s banner, but uh, I absolutely loved Bobby’s whole “call him back in fifteen minutes” exchange with Simon xDDD.

So that looks like Haunted Specters pretty much wrapped up, I think. Vanquishing Mirages up next!

#long post

[mandiemegatron]

Best Birthday Ever!

A Yoosung Kim birthday oneshot ; 03/11/2019

Happy birthday to my best boy Yoosung Kim! You deserve nothing but the best. This is my very first Mystic Messenger oneshot and I am beyond thankful to @lumiolivierlithium for helping me by being my beta and my strength as I fight my nerves towards posting this! Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I hope you all enjoy! Feel free to like, reblog and/or comment! Thank you again ! ♡

This is rated G!

Words: 2,362

-

For the first time since Rika had passed away, Yoosung woke before his alarm went off. His eyes snapped open three whole minutes before the loud klaxon alarm bell rang, a slow grin washing over his face as he suddenly sat up, throwing his arms in the air with a shout of,

"Hell yeah, it's my birthday!"

The moment the words left his mouth, his phone vibrated and up popped MC's photo, indicating a phone call. He scrambled to grasp his phone before answering almost breathlessly, having nearly fallen off the bed and face planting into rough carpeting.

"Good morning MC!"

"Ah, good morning Yoosung! Happy birthday sweetie!"

Yoosung's face turned a dark red though his grin still remained. "Thank you so much! I can't believe you called me to wish me happy birthday,"

MC giggled on the other line, switching her phone to her other ear as she replied, "Of course honey, why wouldn't I? You're my best bud Yoosung, of course I'm going to call you..."

Yoosung went to reply but stopped as MC took only half a second to breathe before she started singing, the birthday melody falling into Yoosung's ears like a lullaby. Half way through, he began to tear up. He hadn't been sung Happy Birthday since he was a kid, and he didn't realize how much he actually loved it until now.

When she finished, her side of the line went quite for a while, unsure if her friend actually enjoyed it. Then, hearing what sounded like a sniffle, she exclaimed,

"Oh god, I made you cry! I didn't think my singing was that bad!"

Yoosung then laughed, wiping at his eyes as his grin returned. "Th-thank you MC... you're always so nice to me."

Though he couldn't see it, he could hear the smile in her voice when she softly replied, "...My pleasure, Yoosungie. Now, I have a feeling I woke you up with my phone call so-"

"Actually, you didn't!"

Silence.

"MC?"

More silence. And then,

"... so you can wake up whenever you want, you just decide to be a butt and sleep so much you miss classes on purpose! You sneaky boy."

Fumbling over his excuses, a soft giggle caused heat to rush to his face all over again as she teased, "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

After a few more moments of Yoosung yawning and humming from MC's line, she then asked,

"Hey, you wanna do breakfast with me and the twins? Saeran is begging for waffles and I can't say no to him anymore. Also I want to treat you... if that's okay."

There was no hiding that Yoosung had a serious crush on MC. He knew that, the twins knew that; Hell, the whole RFA probably knew, except for MC. As loving, wonderful, outgoing and perfect as Yoosung found MC, there was no denying that she was ridiculously oblivious. Either that or she had an incredible poker face... that she kept on at all times.

Yoosung had beliefs in both theories.

Before he could answer, his stomach did it for him and MC laughed, having heard the slight grumble through the phone.

"Alright, that's that then. Saeyoung left a few minutes ago so you've probably got about-"

/ding-dong/

"..."

"..."

"He's already there, isn't he."

"... Yeah. Yeah, he is."

/knock-knock-knock/

"... you better answer it before he breaks the door down."

After saying their goodbyes, Yoosung sighed and rubbed a slightly irritated hand over his face before stumbling out of bed and going to his apartment door. After opening it, he went to welcome his best friend only to be pulled into a hard chest that smelt of car oil, honey Buddha chips and strangely enough, MC's favourite perfume.

"Ahhh, my small child, so grown up! Stop it! Stop growing up this instant!"

Yoosung let Saeyoung ruffle his hair lovingly before pushing away from the slightly older male, fixing him with a tired look before letting him inside. Saeyoung whistled low, looking at the surprisingly clean apartment with proud eyes.

"You expecting some company, Yoo? The last time I saw your place looking this clean was when MC came - oh. Oh, hohoho, you sly boy!"

Yoosung groaned, embarrassed and blushing while managing to slip away before Saeyoung could wrangle him into a suffocating grip once more. "Shut up Saeyoung! You don't know shit!"

Saeyoung laughed hysterically, falling into the world's comfiest couch as Yoosung got changed, the birthday boy feeling proud that he'd showered the night before so he'd be ready to get his day on with right away.

"Oh Yoosung my boy, I know so much more than you think. MC's favourite colour, for instance."

Yoosung had been two seconds away from slipping his shirt on when he froze at Saeyoung's words, his head popping out of his room to stare his friend down until the older man elaborated.

With a smug smirk, Saeyoung spilt the beans with a terrible vocal mockery of who Yoosung assumed was MC.

"My favourite colour is purple, just like Yoosungie's eyes! They're such a pretty purple too! I'm almost jealous cause he gets to see them every day!"

Yoosung's face was almost a shade darker than Saeyoung's hair by the time his friend finished speaking, unable to really grasp that those words actually came from MC.

"She - she said that? About me?"

Yoosung flinched at how nervous his voice sounded. Saeyoung's grin faltered and he sighed softly, giving his best friend a gentle smile before nodding. "I swear Yoosung, that's what she said. I know how you feel about her bro, I wouldn't screw around with something like that."

Giving Saeyoung a grin, Yoosung then finished getting dressed and before long, both boys were out the door and driving back to the bunker. As Saeyoung parked, Yoosung finished off his coffee - courtesy of the hacker who was tired of hearing his blonde friend yawn every thirty seconds - before tossing the empty cup into the recycling bin, which only existed thanks to MC. Heading inside, Yoosung almost immediately noticed how dark it was and frowned, turning to question Saeyoung who had startlingly disappeared into thin air.

Whipping his head back and forth, Yoosung began to panic, slowly trying to make his way further into the bunker. "Saeyoung, this isn't funny," he started, following the wall the led into the living room.

Once in the room, he let out a shriek as the lights suddenly came on and the whole RFA appeared before him with a shout of,

"Happy birthday!"

He was so startled that he stumbled back, nearly falling to the ground if it hadn't been for MC who moved quickly enough to catch his hand and steady him. She tugged him to her and into a tight hug, trying to quiet her laughter as she pressed a kiss to his temple.

"Happy birthday Yoosung," she murmured to him, unfazed by how beet red his face was from his near death experience - at least that's what he would call it.

She moved away to let the rest of the members wish him birthday wishes, giving him their gifts and birthday cards, which he excitedly accepted with gracious thanks. Before long, everyone was digging into breakfast and lunch foods, thanks to some hookups MC had with her dearest friend Jumin who couldn't ever say no to her.

After food was eaten and presents were opened, everyone eventually said their goodbyes and made their ways home, leaving the twins, Yoosung and MC in the bunker. The rest of the day consisted of terrible scary movies (that somehow actually scared Yoosung), junk food and left over goodies from earlier.

It was nearing supper time now and MC found herself cleaning up the mess from the party and whatever leftovers remained, getting everything put away and tidy in less than an hour with Vanderwood's help. She threw the ex agent a grateful look who gave her a small smile and a nod in return before making his way to the garage. Smoke time, probably.

Saeyoung and Yoosung were head to head against each other in Smash Brothers, Saeran having retired to his room probably while she had been cleaning, which left open a perfect butt-shaped spot right beside Yoosung. Silently making her way over to them with her gift, she sat beside Yoosung who was too into the game to notice but she did catch the wink Saeyoung threw her way. Sneaky little bastard.

"Oh-oh Oh!! Yes!!"

Yoosung shot up like a bullet from the couch, hands raised in the air as if he'd won a gold metal, wearing the widest grin that either of the members had ever seen on him. He danced in his spot, causing MC to burst out laughing which caused him to freeze and slowly turn his head to look at her.

"... how long have you been there?" He'd asked the question so quietly she almost didn't hear him, giving him The Look before pulling him back down to the couch.

"Oh don't look so embarrassed! You kicked Saeyoung's ass, you're allowed to celebrate and be happy!"

Speaking of, Saeyoung rose from the couch with a yawn before gently tossing his controller down beside Yoosung on the couch. "Eh, sorry guys, I forgot I had some shit I wanted to finish - you're more than welcome to stay, the spare bedroom is all set up if you do stay." MC couldn't tell if this was a ploy or if the hacker was genuinely tired. Either way, she thanked him to high heavens and back for the chance to be with Yoosung for a bit.

Waving at the two, Saeyoung made his way to his computer room and shut the door, whistling a happy tune that caused both on the couch to roll their eyes. After a moment, MC took Yoosungs hands before placing a medium sized package in his palms, a card taped to the top that had his name written elegantly across it. He looked to her, surprised, but she simply shook her head, motioning for him to open the gift. She sat silently, almost nervously as he placed the card aside before ripping away at the wrapping, her thumbs twiddling in her own lap to keep her from bouncing her leg anxiously.

The moment the box was open, she knew she'd made the right choice. A rare LOLOL figure sat inside the box, along with a new pin for his sweater that held a phrase from the game, and a knitted scarf that matched the colour scheme of his avatar. His mouth dropped open in silent excitement and before she knew it, the box was placed beside the card and she was pulled into a surprisingly strong embrace, which she returned whole heartedly. He was shaking in her grasp, causing her to try and pull back to look at him but he only held her tighter, sniffling softly as he hid his face in the crook of her neck. She felt moisture and knew right away he was crying. She rubbed his back lovingly, a small smile on her lips as she gently asked,

"Why are you crying honey?"

For a while, there was only silence from him. The near-graduation student simply held tight, almost as if she'd disappear from him if he let go. Then, softly, he finally murmured to her,

"I'm crying because you listen to me... I'm crying because you always know what I'm looking for... I'm crying because my heart has so much love for you that I'm scared I'll lose you and I don't even have you."

MC's eyes widened, her hands stilling on his back as she took in the gravity of his words. He... loved her? Her? Of all people? She forced Yoosung to look at her, her eyes trying looking to his, though it was hard when he refused to make direct eye contact.

"Please look at me," she begged quietly, surprised when he immediately gave her all his attention, though his face was dark red. Searching his expression for any form of dishonesty, it only took a moment as she found none and couldn't stop the flow of tears that began.

"You- you really love me?"

Yoosungs brows furrowed worriedly. Why was she crying?! Was it bad that he had feelings for her? He then stopped and thought back to his apartment, his brows furrowing further as he remembered smelling MC on Saeyoung when he hugged him... no. Don't think like that, Saeyoung wouldn't do that to you, he's your best friend-

"I've been waiting so long to hear you say that."

Yoosungs brain froze as their eyes made contact once more. His expression was blank, almost hysterically so, as he slowly asked,

"... what?"

MC giggled under her breath, albeit a bit nervously, before gently grabbing his face and pulling him into the best kiss he'd ever gotten. And considering it was his first real kiss, he knew that it didn't matter how many times he'd kiss her, that first one changed his life forever. When she pulled back, he only gave her a moment before pulling her into his lap, one hand on her hip and the other in her hair as his lips found hers once more. A few moments passed before either pulled away this time, breathing a little heavy as their foreheads met one another's.

"MC,"

Her eyes met his vibrant purple ones and she smiled, the sight causing his heart to melt on the spot.

"Yes, my wonderful birthday man?"

He grinned in response and gave her another kiss, this one quicker but none less loving before he thanked her,

"Thank you for giving me the best birthday ever. I love you."

She gave a watery chuckle as tears began again, causing Yoosung to repeat the sound himself before they kissed once more, holding each other tightly like a puzzle fitting together. "I love you," she whispered into the kiss, pulling back only to dive in and give him kiss after kiss after kiss.

"Happy birthday Yoosung. I can't wait to see what next year will bring for you."

#mandiespeaks #mandiewrites #yoosung kim #mysme yoosung #mysme writings #oh my god i did it guys #i did the fucking thing #im going to try and put a readmore but since im on mobile it may not work #but i swear im tryin ! #whew oh god ok now to get my hands to stop shaking 😂😂😂 #my birthday booiiiiiii #happy birthday yoosung!!!