#(when she's not on the job she threatens people who won't give her the entire shelf of starburst gummies)

[starlitfunkster]

LMAO

I have no respect to children who thinks Gifs = Criticism! This isn't critique! Actually, I'd like critique on my FNF OC's to help them look better without having to use references as practice.

On other news, I got a new Gif I can use. :3

For reference, this was the character they were criticizing:

Her name is Skye Blue, which is based on my middle name (Skye). Not the FNF Character of the same name. Shocker, people can base a character on middle names and concepts and make them look different from each other! :O And it's also a play on words, and her name isn't actually Skye Blue! Her first name is Skye, with her last name actually being Mizuiro.

Yes I traced over an image of GF, but for the record.. it was for practice. I don't even sell my art unless it's my Magicia's!

The one below is her recent form after being killed by a client for disobeying orders. And then she killed the client after getting her new body, and that digital lock removed. There are no laws in the FNF verse. Only death and Starburst Gummies matter to her!

[strawb3rrystar]

You have Helluva casts with Luci's sis but what about them with Charlie's sis!?!

Like imagine Charlie's sis who's an opposite of her. She's quiet,reserved,but love her sister and father dearly. She support her sis idea for tee hotel but decided to look for another job and let her be. What if the helluva casts meet her?? Or heck even have a relationship with each of them and introduce them to her sis and dad and them react to the reader being the twins sis of the princess of hell??

(Bonus platonic uncle-auntie relationship with the 3 Sins since i see them like that to Charlie-)

With Blitz,M&M,Loona,Stolas,Striker and Fizz

Twins with the golden hooves.

Pairing: Blitzø, Poly! Millie & Moxxie, Loona, Stolas, Striker, Fizzarolli x Fem! Princess of Hell! Reader

Warnings: None!

Word count: 444

✰Masterlist

Blitzø will internally freak out when meeting your dad. But on the outside, he's cool and calm. Is literally so shocked when you tell him you're the Princess of Hell. Especially because you never really use your powers to threaten people. He knows that if it were him, he would definitely threaten people. Sweating buckets talking to your dad and sister, lets out a sigh of relief when you leave Lucifer's castle.

Millie will be super excited to meet your father and sister. While Moxxie is extremely nervous and awkward when meeting them. He'll do a ton of research beforehand about Lucifer. Yet, he still somehow makes a fool out of himself. Luckily, Charlie finds it to be very endearing, so Luci can't get upset. Not that he would, but still, he scares Moxxie to death.

Loona is really chill about you being the Princess of Hell. She won't make a big deal about it or anything. It actually quite happy to meet your dad, she's just glad it isn't her's. So, you can imagine her surprise meeting Lucifer. She thinks Charlie is chill, though. Agrees when Charlie wants to give you guys a tour of her hotel. And she's actually really fascinated about it! Honestly, you love when her dorky side comes out.

Stolas is quite surprised that you're also a royal. And an even more powerful one than him! He actually gets really excited when you talk about your family. Appreciates that you don't use your status as a way for you to get attention. He's in awe the entire time he's meeting Lucifer and bombards him with questions. I don't think he'll treat you any differently however, despite being the Princess of Hell.

Striker is very amused that you're the Princess of Hell. His sweet, little girlfriend being a powerful demon? He thinks that will be very useful to him. Of course, he has much disdain for the fact that you're a royal. But he'll pretend and put on a fake smile when meeting your father. He has natural charms, but nothing gets past your sister and her ways.

Fizzarolli gets super nervous when meeting your father. The poor guy is sweating buckets. He's so afraid of making a bad impression, or his jokes not landing. However, your father is a sweetheart who will laugh at almost everyone's jokes. This would be a huge ego boost for him, and he'll kiss your face as you walk home. He'll actually do monthly performances at the hotel when it starts getting more people at it. Of course it will take a lot to convince him, but you're really good at sweet talking Mammon.

Star's notes -> Such a cute concept anon! Also, I'm almost finished all the Harry Potter movies, so I might start writing some fics! ;3

(Thank you, sweet anon, for requesting!) (Requests are open!)

Taglist -> @sunshines-bright @saints-wrapped-in-plastic @sweetadonisbutbetter @little-miss-chaoss @sunr1s3-strab3rr1

@naathanuwu @solicitedfreakiness @f4gg0t-4-0b3y-m3 @samohxt2-0 @astrolovedy

@facelessfionna @elementwind91 | Join the taglist

[toggle1-mrfipp]

CSM 167: Yo, What the Fuck?

So, that chapter, huh?

To just get it out of the way, Yoru gave Denji a handjob and he came on her hand, and despite how crude that sounds I find this whole chapter fascinating. Normally I like to think these kinds of posts out but right now my mind is racing trying to organize everything, so I'm going write whatever pops into my mind.

So first thing, there's the issue of consent, and I'll start with Asa, because she didn't show up until the very end, but we have to remember that Asa has shown the ability to push Yoru out of the driver's seat in moments where she is particularly having strong emotions, and someone using your hand to jack someone off would get some kind of strong emotion out of her. Yoru seems to act as Asa's unfiltered, unrestrained thoughts and desires, the version of Asa that acts without the worry of what other people think or say about her, so that means if Yoru was allowed to do this, then that means on some subconscious level that Asa was okay with this happening. I'm certain she'll scream and yell about it later, but that won't change the fact she let this happen. Then there's Denji, who at this point I think we'll just have to accept that even if all parties involved give consent I doubt he'll ever have a really "normal" sexual experience, and the fact that Yoru seemed to be getting into this along with him, instead of her just using it to manipulate him like literally every other girl he's been with unironically maybe puts it at the top of the list for him.

Which brings me to Yoru! back when the had the apartment date, she kissed Denji and when she pulled away she was blushing, she felt something for him at that moment, and as we saw here the returning memory of that date had her act on that feeling again. We know that Asa's emotions leak into Yoru, and considering Asa's own feelings on Denji that means that to some extent Yoru feels them too, but unlike Asa, Yoru has no inhibitions to stop her from acting on her desires.

EDIT: I decided to add another bit on Yoru

The thing I'm most interested in seeing is how this will affect Yoru's relationship with her own powers. Her weapons are powered up by the guilt associated in making them, but between having no real moral compass and not ever becoming emotionally attached to anything she's never had any sense of guilt, meaning she can't make the most of her own powers. What will happen if she tries to make weapon out of Denji? She's feeling attracted to him, she knows she likes him, meaning she'll get a strong weapon out of him, but what if she goes for it and she can't do it because guilt is such a foreign concept for her despite how important it is to her skill set and having to actually confront her own guilt terrifies her?

Overall, this chapter left me with two major thoughts on what I think/want to happen.

The first being is that this is what causes Denji to snap, that he'll have some post-nut clarity and call Asa out on how she's been acting, because from his point of view she's been an unstable, schizophrenic psychopath this whole day. Denji asks her about her arm, she kicks him in the balls, she says she wants to help him, but she threatens to fight him, she tries to castrate him, and she gives him a hand job and makes out with him! What is he supposed to reasonably think about her in this situation when she's just been nothing but an inconsistent mess? I want them to start getting mad and start yelling, with Asa arguing with both him and Yoru which only makes her look more insane to him. I really feel like if they get angry, then Denji can actually start beginning to take some control of his life back instead of letting everyone push him around, and Asa will be forced to confront her flaws and mistakes, that she can only be in denial for so long while Denji is screaming in her face about it. It would be ugly and messy, but I think it might actually be good for them in the end.

Also, I'm not entirely joking when I say if those two(three?) end up having intense hate sex in that alleyway in the rain, then I think it would be insane in the best kind of ways.

And second, I think it would be unhinged is Asaden was a red herring, and Yoruden was the real end game pairing. It might legit be the start to Asa's villain origin story. She goes out and does all these things just so Denji can feel strong affections for her, to give her something to latch her self-worth and the attempts to validate her life, oly for Denji to fall in love with Yoru instead. It would be both hilarious and tragic.

Another thing! Up until this point I thought Denji and Asa's relationship would be a tragedy or What Ifs and Could Have Beens, but instead I want them to be unhinged as possible, spiraling down while they blaze the candle at both ends. Just let their relationship become everyone's problem from now on.

Overall, the last few months have left me nervous and apprehensive about what each new chapter of Chainsaw Man will bring, but as of this chapter I find myself more excited than ever because I feel like this might end up taking the story is some insane places.

ONE MORE EDIT: I wrote a one-shot regarding my interpretation of this mess: Back Alley Screaming Match.

[sailorblossoms-snowbaz]

In romances that have action elements, "the love interest of the action hero/protagonist is used to hurt him" (because that's how you target "his heart") is typically a thing...

What’s interesting here is that Agatha was constantly kidnapped as part of playing this role (she was likely constantly kidnapped because she's by far the easier mark; this is also part of the design of the damsel role)... while Simon takes danger very seriously, at some point this becomes practically routine for Penny and him (Penny talks about rescuing Agatha as early as 2nd year, so they likely arrived at this point pretty early on). This is something they do so many times that they sort of don't take it seriously anymore. Not seriously enough, at least. The total confidence that they will save the day is, after all, rooted in "experience" – I mean, why fear for the girl when you have saved her a bazillion times before? When she's always "fine at the end," even if she's pissed?

As much as she was kidnapped, it's never once "Agatha is targeted to hurt me" – it doesn't hurt Simon at all. He never even expresses any worry about it (I'm getting back here). I mean, think about it: Agatha is thinking "I'm always saying that living like this is going to get us all killed but nobody listens to me" when just a little while back Simon was like "I don't need help to rescue Agatha, I've done this hundreds of times before," in the middle of losing his entire goddamn mind for Baz-related reasons, as Simon often does (likely how it played out for years in Watford in a nutshell). Agatha being targeted only truly hurts Agatha... her very serious and valid grievances are met with dismissively confident grins and "don't worry, I'll always save you" as opposed to "how can we prevent this from happening again?” Nobody ever cares to address how she doesn't want to be a target in the first place.

So it really picks my attention how differently Simon behaves when the target is Baz. It doesn't mean Simon doesn't give a shit about Agatha – she's loved like a friend, like someone he grew up with, like one of the very few people in the world who are close to him. She notes that Simon enters the battle looking like he won't leave her behind. But when she's in danger, she's playing a role (even if it's against her will) which gives Simon security (even when it causes the opposite in her).

Agatha being targeted is treated more like part of a job, and in a way, that's what it is. It's Simon's "job" as a hero to protect. During his time in Watford, it's what makes him feel useful. According to the script they're following, the hero always saves the girl... So it makes sense for Simon to never worry about Agatha: worrying contemplates a scenario in which he fails to save her (only Penny and Baz worry, and it comes with the awareness that she could be dead). That's something Simon simply can't do. It's the sort of thinking that goes against the script, which he actively avoids to survive. It would threaten everything that gives him worth and purpose and security; again, heroes always save the girl! He has always saved her before. Anything else is unthinkable.

When Baz doesn't show up, that goes against all roles and scripts they have been following all along... and if you do look at the script, disrupting rival/antagonistic roles tend to go down a path that ends in their destruction. So of course Simon would lose his mind with worry, even if he focuses on "he must be plotting" scenarios. Of course Simon goes restless whenever Baz is out of his sight, even if he doesn't fully get why. After all, Simon's "job" isn't to protect Baz according to their roles, but to fight him. The structure that makes him feel like Agatha's safety is guaranteed at the end would also make him fear that Baz is the opposite.

Ultimately, "the protagonist's love is used to hurt him" is applicable, but not in the way it's usually done (fucking with the female character to further a man's story). Agatha has a voice. It does nothing for Simon's development when she's targeted – on the contrary: his character is stuck in a routine. It highlights her hurt and his flaws. (Perhaps it even creates a contrast, a "before and after Baz," a "Simon who follows a script vs a Simon who finds himself" that shows how Simon struggles with certain thoughtfulness and caring before he's learning by following Baz's cues. He was a neglected child and so he doesn't know how.)

We see this applied when Baz is targeted, and Simon notes, upset, that "Baz was used to hurt him." He has never before made that kind of observation. Baz is a man, and a rival, and a vampire (a "monstrous villain") who's expected to be hurt, but this is no longer follows the script. This follows nothing, so the stakes feel more "real." If Simon doesn't know where Baz is, he grows restless. If there's even the possibility of Baz being in danger or hurt, Simon loses it. This is not about a job, there isn't a (false) sense of security backed up by roles and the precedent set by them. Simon shows us again how much the roles didn't fit Agatha and him toward the end, when the mage is ready to attack Baz, but Simon grabs the mage's wand and redirects it toward his own heart. Baz is his heart. It was never the damsel. You hurt Simon the most when you hurt Baz.

[dovithedarklord]

Age of Monsters

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

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Summary:

50 years ago, the world was turned upside down by the appearance of a virus, and monsters destroyed most of the known civilization. For safety, humanity has retreated to colonies all around the world, where life is lived according to strict rules and in fear of monsters. Fortunately, the virus caused something other than just the emergence of mutant monsters, it also awakened the Hunters, who have been heroically protecting the colonies ever since. Leona Woods spends her days in Colony 17 hiding from her duties as a Healer, but her carefree life soon ends when one of her evenings doesn't go as planned. And when karma finally catches up, she is forced to join Liquidation Unit 141 to fulfill her duties.

Or

Life in Unit 141 isn't nearly all sunshine and rainbows, especially when a certain masked Hunter tries to make it even harder. However, the excitement only increases when a new danger appears, which threatens not only the life of the unit but the safety of the entire world. And Leona must decide whether to choose her own interests or the survival of her new team and the world.

The world in the story is inspired by the Guideverse.

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Authors note:

Leona ends up in a nice mess after eating her dinner too carelessly. She has no idea how quickly fate will catch up with her.

The story moves quite slowly, so please be patient! 141 boys won't appear in the first chapter just yet, but they will;) I have pretty much covered all the characters in the tags, but the list could expand in the future. (I proofread myself before posting, so sorry if there are mistakes! I write the story in my language first, and I translate it after. English is not my first language, so help is welcomed! Just be nice, please! )

I'll post more chapters, but if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter One

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I lazily stir my cocktail with the small wooden stick in it, as an absentminded distraction, my eyes run through the room enveloped in a flood of colorful, flashing lights. The bass of the music vibrates through my every muscle and bone, and I can almost feel the rhythm in my stomach, sending pleasant shivers through me. This is the thrill of the hunt, to be exact.

The people crammed into the small hall are pressed together like herrings, and the air smells of sweat, cheap perfume, and alcohol. My gaze wanders through the blissfully ignorant dancers from the force of habit, since I've done this a thousand times, I know exactly what I'm looking for. I’m searching for an exact type, a fool who seems lively enough to have just enough energy for a busy weeknight fun, and just as easily swayed by a seductive smile. I'm lucky because it seems like everyone wants to celebrate today, and that might be the reason behind today’s unusual crowd in this club, which is located in a hidden corner of the city. Usually, I would have to choose from a much smaller selection, but today on The Day of the Great Escape, everyone felt the need to paint the town red. Even if someone doesn’t give a damn about the important holiday, this day is still one of the few occasions when even those doing the most menial jobs are given a day off to be able to honor the memory of the first great Hunters who appeared fifty years ago. What an idiotic habit. If they knew the easy lives of those publicly funded mercenaries and executioners… they wouldn't be so grateful that they occasionally venture outside the green zone to kill a mutant monster or two.

Raising my glass to my mouth, I take a generous sip of my sweet cocktail and enjoy the way the alcohol sold at the price of gold pleasantly burns my throat. Like any other luxury item, alcohol is also a treasure, of course, only if you don't want to go blind from the crap concocted at someone’s shady basement. I feel my frustration awaken in the back of my head when I think about the near fortune I spent on the cocktail, but I push the annoying thought away, thinking that in worst case scenario I will not only get my usual snack from tonight's victim, but also the content of their wallet. If I'm lucky, the unfortunate bastard will have a few credits on them. Almost on cue, I catch a glimpse of a guy on the edge of the dance floor who stands out from the ring of people around him like a scarecrow on a cornfield. Judging by his movements, he's not the least bit thirsty, and as I watch him almost tripping over his own feet during his clumsy dance moves, a satisfied grin crosses my lips. Got you.

I down the last remnants of my nauseating drink, and I jump off the bar stool with light movements and throw myself into the crowd of dancers. I make my way toward the cutie I've chosen, not taking my eyes off of him for even a moment, and I feel my heart beating excitedly as I get closer and closer. As the adrenaline spreads through my body, all my senses sharpen, like a wild animal waiting to pounce on its victim. Tonight I'm bubbling with anticipation and impatience more than usual because it's been a week and a half since I caught the last sweet little boy for some private fun… and my appetite is coming back fast. With dull, but steady force.

As I finally arrive behind the boy, my fingers twine on his arms with a butterfly-light touch and travel sensually up to his shoulders. Despite his apparent drunkenness, the guy visibly flinches in fright, and this one tiny movement makes my mouth dry with anticipation. He looks puzzled and surprised as he turns towards me, and as he glances down at me, all my nerves and senses are attuned to him. And as the inviting warmth of his body travels from his hot skin through my fingertips, I can already see the intricate network that weaves through his body in my mind's eye, with his pulsing heart in the middle beating to a fierce rhythm. I don't need to use my ability to know that I don’t have to try hard, because as soon as the first shock wears off in a fraction of a second, he arranges his features on his sweet boyish face and pulls his mouth into a lazy grin. Bingo.

"Hi. " I shout over the music blaring around us, and I conjure up the flirtatious smile that I have perfected over the years, which I know will immediately sweep such simple-minded fools off their feet. Obviously, it also helps a lot that even if the higher powers that supposedly exist have already cursed me with my fucking abilities, they at least put conventionally attractive features on me. It would be foolish to deny that I am charming, and I am neither modest nor delusional enough to try to lie to myself about it. It would certainly be a more attractive quality to blush and protest against such facts in order to score good points in the eyes of other people, but if there is one thing I have learned it is that in this new order, you won’t get far with modesty and goodness. That fair world has been gone since the first mutant monsters slaughtered an entire city, or maybe it never even existed.

"Hello... " The guy greets me too, and as he turns towards me welcomingly, ready to flirt, my hands clasp around his neck with a swift movement, and I snuggle up to him with my whole body, promising salacious adventures. It doesn't escape my attention how his pupils dilate almost on command, as my breasts press against his chest and my nails run through the back of his neck teasingly. I can almost feel it in my mouth how the heat of his desire starts to build and a tingle fueled by lust travels through him. It's ridiculously easy for me to turn him on, but he’s exactly the type of easy target I usually hunt for. He's just drunk enough to not be able to think clearly but be up for action when a pretty girl approaches him. He's just healthy enough to withstand my snacking but weak enough to not be able to resist. Not that he'd stand a chance against me.

I’m not wasting time on talking anymore, because I can tell from his heated gaze and his fast-beating heart that I could climb on him even here if I wanted to. But I was always shy when it came to my private life. I like it better when we enjoy these intimate moments together without any pesky interruptions.

I remove the presence of my naughty little body from the guy, and as his dark eyes fill with disappointment, I hold back the laughter that threatens to burst out of me with all my might. I grab him by the arm, and I just give him a teasing smile over my shoulder as I point towards to the exit with my head, and his quick to understand what I’m implying. He follows me without a question as I lead him out of the dance floor with purposeful steps towards the back entrance of the club. He stumbles along like the fool he is, with a distinct look of puppy-like longing spread on his face. And I send tiny sparks of my energy into his body through his skin, which boosts the already present alcoholic stupor in him even more, because I never leave anything up for luck. We should look like just a simple, carefree young couple who after finding each other in the heat of the night, are heading somewhere, anywhere, to relieve their needs. Which is true. But I suspect that this little cutie and I are not thinking about the same needs as we are galloping towards the exit.

And as the back door opens and the cool fresh air of the night hits me, the all too known impatience that usually comes at this time takes over me. I've been feeling that painful tension in my stomach for days now, which indicates that I can't wait any longer and I have to find someone to help my little problem. I hate the feeling when I squirm in bed with a heated body, trying to fall asleep, but every part of me aches and pleads for me to just finally satisfy my hunger.

As the guy finally exits the club behind me the door closes behind us with a loud bang. The dim light filtering in from the street only vaguely paints his features, but I can make out enough to know that by now my machinations got him ready for the finale. I don't like what I am, but I love my abilities. If the members of my species weren’t treated like objects or animals for slaughter, I wouldn't be frustrated by all of this shit.

I drag the now completely dazed guy towards one of the corners filled with cardboard boxes, forcing him to back up against the hard concrete, trapping him with my arms over his shoulders. The sight could look quite comical, a girl who is at least half a head shorter, pinning a grown man to the wall with a gesture taken from a romantic movie, but I know that out of the two of us, I am not the prey. But he is.

"I like girls who take initiative. " He says, his words smeared by alcohol and from my little tricks echo in the darkness of the alley. I pull a lazy little smile on my face as I kneel down in front of him, and I’m quick to unfasten his belt and unbutton his pants with my hands. I can almost hear how the air catches in his throat, and when I look up at him and see the stunned look that blooms on his face, I release my laughter. My God. It gets me every time.

"Then it's your lucky day. " I answer, and I feel my voice deepen and get filled with the longing caused by my hunger. He swallows his Adam's apple bobbing as my hands start to pull down the rough fabric of his pants from his narrow hips with excruciating slowness. Goosebumps rise on his skin when I grip the lean muscles of his thighs and I involuntarily lick my lips as the pulsating veins appear before my eyes. I nudge his legs apart and he obediently spreads them wider, and I lean forward to smooth my lips on his now-exposed skin. A shiver runs through him as I follow the line of blood vessels branching under his skin with my tongue, and I mark the place where I plan to eat my meal with a small seductive kiss. I give him another boost with my energy so that he gets even more stunned, and he tilts his head back with his eyes closed, his breathing speeds up desperately, and all the while he doesn't even notice how I make a small incision on his thigh with the small blade I dug out of my pocket. The first drops of blood emerge from under the pale skin, and I, like a thirsty pilgrim left in the desert, throw myself on the small pearls that surface. I press my mouth tightly to the wound, and my teeth tingle painfully as I swallow the first sips, but I know, that even if a stupid bastard like him would discover a bite mark, he could easily put the pieces together and get me caught. So I’m momentarily satisfied with the way the metallic taste of blood fills my taste buds, and my whole body trembles as the familiar heat sweeps along my spine. I sigh with relief, as the hunger gnawing at my insides begins to ease, and the torturous feeling that has been twisting my stomach for days is replaced by the euphoria, which is hard to put into words, that rears its head in my body with each meal. My energy begins to throb excitedly in my veins, and my head is taken over by a daze similar to alcoholic intoxication, which makes my limbs quite light and weightless. Despite this, my fingers grip the thighs of my victim even harder, who stiffens under my hands, groaning in confusion. It must not be a pleasant feeling, but none of them have died yet from the tiny little blood loss I caused. The next day, they are as good as new, and they easily mistake the minute sickness that I cause for the evil aftereffect of a hangover. After all, who doesn't feel like shit after drinking through the night before?

I get lost in my meal, and the intoxicating taste of blood obscures my senses and leads me to a fleeting state of ecstasy, and I know that it is almost time to stop because there is a level of blood loss that can’t be attributed to the fatigue of a hangover. However, before the thought can ripen in my foggy mind, searing pain shoots through my scalp, and I hiss as the unknown force grabs my hair and pulls me away from the subject of my feast. My brain can't get out of its stupor right away, so it is not particularly difficult for me to lose my balance. I arrive on the damp concrete of the alley with a loud thump, and I blink wide-eyed at my assailant from the sudden surprise. The unknown man walks over to the guy slumped on the floor with a worried look, who just as all my victims do, passed out after my little dinner.

"Roy! Roy!" Tries the stranger as he talks to the knocked-out guy, and I pull myself up to my feet. I wipe my mouth glistening with blood with the back of my hand as I watch the potential friend of my dinner trying to breathe some life into the poor kid. When he doesn't succeed, he turns towards me and steps in front of me menacingly, grabbing the collar of my sweater. "What the fuck did you do to him, you bitch?"

"We played a little." I declare easily, and as my eyes focus on the boy sprawled out on the dirty ground, an evil little grin curls on my lips. "And it seems I literally blew his mind with my professional technique."

"Don’t fuck with me! " The guy snarls at me dangerously and shakes me by my clothes, which makes my funny mood disappear almost immediately. Based on how his face gets contorted in anger, it becomes clear that my lip service won’t get me out of this situation, and I'm cursing to myself as I assess the possibilities. Although there are no cameras in this alley, I can guarantee that this bastard will be able to give an accurate description of me if I just let him slip out of here. If I don't do something now, he's going to call the enforcers, which is a literal death sentence for me. Because, even if I lie that I indulged in little more perverted pleasures than necessary, they will immediately suspect that something is wrong. And if they find out what I am... that can't happen.

But before I could create a concrete plan in my mind, the guy loses his patience and raises his hand, preparing to put some sense in me. However, before he could hit me, I target his knee with a firm kick causing it to dislocate with a loud crack, and as he loses his balance, his grip on my clothes loosens too. The roar that erupts from the guy is muffled by my hand fast on his mouth, and taking advantage of the situation, I throw myself at him and knock him off his feet. His head hits the ground with a sickening sound, but that’s not nearly enough to make him unable to attack. It seems that the adrenaline is starting to work in him too, because his hands suddenly slam down on my neck and wrap around it with a vise-like grip. A stifled cough breaks out of me as the pressure of his fingers slowly squeezes my trachea, and then it becomes completely clear what I have to do to get out of the hot water I got myself into.

I press my hands firmly on his head and, while struggling with shortness of breath, I concentrate the energy bubbling in me towards the man. Tears well up in my eyes from the effort, but I can still feel the blood vessels in his brain, and I clench my teeth as I begin to increase the pressure in them. I almost see the image of the tiny, spider web-like system swelling up and getting dangerously close to bursting like an overinflated balloon. The man's grip around my neck loosens, he grabs my wrists now and tries to pry my hands off of him, but he has no chance. Pure desperation takes over his features, his eyes widen and his body begins to jerk wildly underneath me, but that doesn't deter me from finishing what I started. Because if I show even an ounce of mercy, I'll get the short end of the stick. If I don't kill him, I'll be exposed and dragged off to be used like fucking battery for the rest of my life. I’ll lose everything I have, but most of all, my freedom. If I don't end it now, I'll suffer the same fate as the other Healers and I’ll be used by some Hunter until I die. I can't let that happen. I WON’T let it happen.

Rage and anger fill my consciousness, and suddenly a red mist swallows everything in my sight, which makes me focus only on the suffering of the man below me fighting for his life. My fingers claw into his skin, and for a moment the thought runs through my mind about how it would feel to crack his skull and see his bones break under my grip. A painful snoring sound leaves the man's mouth, his mouth fills with bloody foam, red liquid begins to flow from the corner of his eyes drawing vivid lines on his deathly pale skin, and I tensely observe his death throe. A few minutes stretch into an eternity as I watch the last sparks of life disappear from his eyes, and the vague emptiness of death takes their place. Suddenly the man freezes, his limbs going limp under me in surrender, and as a last soft gurgling moan leaves his lips, I know it's over. The frantic rush of his blood ceases under my fingers, and his heart, which until now was hammering restlessly under his ribs, is now silent.

I kneel over the dead body below me panting, and I pause for a moment to look at my "creation". I'm not surprised that I don't feel any remorse, because I left the guilt and shame behind me a long time ago, in that dark little corner of my mind, where there might still be a drop of tenderness left. I can still vaguely remember the panic that came over me the first time I accidentally killed someone. I will never forget the young guy’s face, the freckles dotting his nose, which shone almost sickeningly dark on his skin pale from blood loss. The frightened whimper that left those lips that slowly turned blue forever embedded itself in the tangled webs of my memory. But everyone else who stood in my way looms as vague, unrecognizable spots in the depths of my brain, and it doesn't bother me one bit. A normal person might be affected by so many lives lost in vain, but I learned a long time ago that these are all luxuries that the likes of me cannot afford. That's why I still feel nothing but pure frustration and anger for making such a simple mistake. I didn't pay attention to the friends. You should never target a victim with friends, because after a while they always show up worried. It's understandable, of course, but it's just an unnecessary problem for me.

A strained sigh leaves my lips as I stand up, dusting off my clothes, and I step over the body lying motionless on the ground. My night didn't turn out exactly as I wanted, and as a sharp, migraine-like pain rips through my head, I'm already sure that my dinner tonight was wasted. Small snacks like this are just enough to satiate my hunger, but not enough to pump me up enough to stop me from being cranky after using my powers to such an extent. I should have eaten a lot more for this. Fuck. In a few days, I'll be able to play this whole little charade again to find a fool to drink from. And I can throw away a bunch of credits again to go to one of the clubs and have an alibi drink.

I pull the corner of my mouth in distaste as I remember the poor state of my wallet, and if possible my mood becomes even more gloomy as I realize that unfortunately robbing my victims will not be an option tonight. That way, if I'm lucky, enforcers will see this as nothing more than a tragic consequence of a night out where one of the unfortunate dudes had fun with the wrong stuff, and the other drank just a little bit too much. But if I take their credits now, then robbery and murder will also enter the picture, which would be true, but I have no need for any unnecessary excitement.

So I take one last look at the two guys, straightening my sweater, and I head towards the exit of the alley to enter the street swimming in flickering lights, making my way home. Every muscle in my body screams for sleep, and as the knife-like pain in my head increases, I want nothing more than to rest and forget this miserable night.

⃰

My fingers drum nervously on the table, adding a fast and restless rhythm to the background noise of the machines humming softly in the lab, the whole thing resulting in a symphony that slowly drives me crazy. My eyes are fixed on the radio lying on the counter next to me, and although now the monotonous female voice from the other side is talking about general news affecting the entire colony, I still keep replaying a scrap of information that barely reached two minutes over and over again, as if an old and broke record player had stuck in my head, on which the needle keeps jumping on the same tune.

The previous night, I threw myself into bed with the firm belief that everything was fine and that I had no reason to worry about anyone paying enough attention to the deaths of two insignificant civilians in a party district. One would think that the enforcers have their hands full with monitoring smugglers and petty criminals selling illegal drugs, or supervising food distribution units, but no. Of course, in a city where it is common for someone to disappear or die, where the law-keeping organizations are struggling with a shortage of people, the biggest news is that two random young dudes were found in an alley under questionable circumstances. Out of thousands of similar cases, the wretched news providers just had to pick this one, which was described exactly as desperate and terrifying as it should be to get some clout. But it couldn’t be further from the truth. Similar atrocities happen daily, it's enough if someone doesn't buy from a good dealer and stuffs themself with goods made from all kinds of crap in a basement. Or it's enough if someone has more food stamps than the others, and if someone feels even a tad bit jealous of this, then the unlucky fool will be found on the street the next day knocked out because of those few pieces of paper. And I make one mistake and these hyenas immediately feel the need to overanalyze it under a magnifying glass.

A thousand thoughts run through my head, and in every one of them, I try to figure out why the officials believe that this case is different from the others they encountered until now. Why did the interviewed spokesman emphasize the fact that this case shows such an unusual pattern that they are forced to carry out a thorough investigation? I can theorize a thousand possible mistakes, and I could find a solution to all of them almost immediately, but the doubt that crawls into my brain just can’t seem to leave and I can’t help but feel that this time I really was careless.

There were no cameras in the alley, nor in that shithole of a club, so there was nothing that could have recorded my face. Due to the holiday, there were too many people in the club to give a good personal description of any of us. And my dinner last night was far too drunk and dazed to remember anything substantial about me. They won’t go far with the information that a pretty little girl dragged him away. There are thousands of cases like that in this cursed city. They could have found my DNA or my fingerprints on one of the bodies, and they can find me based on that, but I can bluff that I just wanted a nice little threesome with the guys, and when they offered me some weird substance, I walked away. There is no way to prove that this is the case, nor is there any evidence to the contrary. And they can't bring me in without solid proof. And anyway. Who would believe that a short, weak young woman could knock out two grown men?

Almost instinctively, my tongue wanders to the line of my teeth, and as it runs along the plastic, I clench my fists nervously. They can't possibly suspect anything about who I am. There's no way in hell they'll find out I'm an Extreme. They won't test DNA because it's an expensive procedure, and they won't do any further research for a simple murder case where NOTHING points to an Extreme. They won’t be able to reveal my identity, even if they end up linking me to the case somehow.

I have been hiding my identity since I was thirteen years old, and no one has a chance to see through my disguise, which I have perfected over the years. Although an Extreme would be easy to recognize, because who the hell wouldn't be able to see when a person has vertical pupils and razor-sharp canines? But I have this under control. Cheap contact lenses, and even cheaper removable veneers, and the problem is solved. And the scent of my energy could only be smelled by a professional, high-ranking Hunter, especially what is left of it now. Everything seems ideal, the realistic part of me knows that the chances of me being exposed are small, but the stress hormones working inside me plant the doubt that small enough is still not zero. It will never be zero.

The sudden window that pops up on the computer screen jolts me out of my thoughts, which were moving strongly towards gloomy suspicion and tense fixation, and for the first time in my life, I turn quickly toward a finished result. It's not like I'm careless in my work, after all, to maintain a normal life, you have to be thorough and a good worker bee. But suddenly anything seems like a good distraction, and I honestly thank the fact that I still have six hours of work left, because it may distract me from the chaos raging in my head.

I take one last anxious glance at the radio, which is already playing some melodious song by an unknown band, and then I turn to my computer instead. I don't have to worry. Like all sensations, this will pass in no time. Everything will be fine. Nothing will happen. NOTHING.

⃰

But when I get home a few days later, two strange men are waiting in front of the door of my small apartment, and I already know that nothing will be fine. I quickly assess the two figures, and it immediately becomes obvious that although they are not wearing uniforms, they are clearly enforcers. They turn their heads towards me in unison, and the neon light of the lamp on the ceiling paints the dark expression gliding across their faces in an eery glow. Only two words flash in my mind; They know.

Still, I force a mask of honest surprise on myself, and as I move towards them with slow and deliberate steps, I try to take on the role of a meek, defenseless, and more importantly naive young woman with every movement. It's ridiculously easy because I've been forced to play it all my life, but now I'm analyzing almost every fiber of myself with tense attention, as the two men silently size me up.

"Leona Woods?" Says one of the enforcers, and his hoarse voice echoes hauntingly off the dirty walls. "We hoped we were in the right place."

At first glance, it may seem like the situation about to unfold is completely harmless, but as the taller man pulls his hands out of his pockets, but it does not escape my attention how a metallic glint appears for a fleeting moment under his jacket. They came with weapons, and from that, I can immediately conclude that they did not show up for a simple chit-chat. They won’t be playing a pleasant game of question-and-answer with me as witnesses, but as a suspect, and the recognition creates an unpleasant pressure in my stomach. Calm down. Take it easy. They may be suspicious, but they don't have anything in their hands.

"What can I help you with?" I ask innocently, and I mix just enough incomprehension into my voice to make my little play look authentic. I arrive in front of them with a faint little smile on my lips, every cell radiating I am indeed just a simple civilian. Someone who may have been involved in a very sad misunderstanding, but is in no way capable of killing or even injuring someone.

"We’d like to ask you a few questions." Says one of the men, and as he flashes his official ID card, my eyebrows rise in feigned surprise. "If possible, we'd rather not talk to you here. Could you let us in?" My new guest points towards my front door with his head, and I fish out my keys from my bag accompanied by a cooperative nod. I concentrate on keeping my fingers from shaking with every fiber of my being, as I insert the key into the lock because nothing would give me away faster than them seeing me upset. And it's a difficult task, because with every second the tension raging inside me increases.

"After you." I open the door, and as soon as I turn on the light, the two men march into my small apartment after a quiet "thank you". I hesitate for a minute, but finally, the door closes behind me with a soft click, and after slowly kicking off my shoes, I follow the two enforcers into my modest little living room. The faces of the two strangers do not reveal anything, as they peer into the living room and take a quick, but rather detailed look at the room. And I follow their every movement, like a startled stray dog surrounded by dogcatchers. What an apt analogy.

"Take a seat." I gesture towards the thousand-year-old sofa in the middle of the room, and after giving one last look at the furniture of my modest apartment in search of some kind of clue, they silently take the seat offered to them. I follow their example with measured calmness, and I try to sit down in the armchair opposite them as carelessly as possible, smoothing out the creases in my pants with my hands, so that at least I can reduce the growing restlessness inside me. "What did you want to ask me about? " I ask with sincere curiosity, and I consciously try to banish any doubt, anger, or malice from my voice. It is quite obvious that these two men are not simple enforcement officers, because they behaved like two hounds on a hot scent just waiting for the opportunity to pounce from the get-go.

"Three days ago, two men were found in one of the nightclubs in sector H. Thankfully, one of them only lost consciousness, but unfortunately the other victim was already dead by the time they were found." Begins one of the enforcers, who seems to be the older of the two with his graying hair and crow's feet around his eyes. "We have reason to assume that you might be able to provide us with useful information." He states pointedly, and before I can even think about opening my mouth to speak, his companion pulls out a couple of black and white pictures from his jacket’s pocket.

My gaze lingers on the older man for a moment, so it doesn't become clear to them that I want to look at those pictures so much that every muscle in me goes rigid with desperation. And when I finally turn my eyes to the photos resting on the table, I feel my blood run cold. Until now, I was sure that there is no chance of them connecting me to the case, but even I don't have any ridiculous objections to the way I recognize myself in those goddamn pictures. While there may not have been a security camera in the alley, I must have forgotten that the fucking motel across the street must have one installed for the safety of its clients. And this camera isn't the kind that captures people as blurry, smudged blobs. No, this fucking camera recorded me pulling my pretty little ass out of that dark hole in such sharp detail that it occurs to me for a moment that this coincidence could only have happened in my honor.

"I was there on that night." I confirm the facts shown in the prints, it would be completely unnecessary to deny what is in the photos lying on the worn surface of the table because it's clear as day that I’m the one unlucky idiot on them. "But I'm afraid I can't help you with anything more." I smile faintly, just enough to not seem obviously unfriendly, despite the fact that a burning lump is forming in my throat and the gears in my head are immediately starting to turn, wondering what chances I have to get out of the shit in which I seem to be sinking up to my neck.

"I'm not so sure about that, unfortunately. " Answers the older enforcer, and fishes out his communicator from the pocket inside of his jacket, on which a very interesting hologram image appears after he presses a few buttons. I recognize almost immediately what is written on the investigation document, and I have to hold back the small disgusting smile that wishes to appear on my face with all my might. As I expected, they apparently found my DNA on one of the victims, and thanks to that the lab result which proves the sample found matches my DNA is staring at me in a faint blue light. Calm down, you expected this.

"I met a handsome boy that night, but flirting and having sex is hardly illegal." I remark innocently, and as my eyes fall on the two men, I allow a small, light superiority to creep onto my face. But as the man flicks the hologram lightly with his finger, all my joy disappears like a speck of dust in the wind and is replaced by shock, and I can no longer control my face where genuine terror settles in.

"It isn't, indeed. But hiding a Healer, or rather an Extreme Healer status, and killing people are." The enforcer gets to the point, and his eyebrows furrow grimly on his forehead, as his gaze wanders meaningfully from the hologram to me. A nerve-racking silence settles in the room for a moment, as I try to comprehend the data presented to me, and every brain cell fights against the denial of reality. Because the inscription "Status: EXTREME" appearing in all capital letters on the last page of the lab result cannot be a figment of the imagination. Because all of this would have to be a nightmare, and this situation is clearly real, because my pulse pounding in my ears, the gnawing, visceral dread creeping into my stomach can't just be the work of a dream. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come with us to the headquarters."

This one sentence is enough to make the future immediately appear in my head. They’ll drag me, brand me, and put me on the market like a horse so that whoever is the fastest can take me. I will join some unit with Hunters, and every single day I will charge and heal a different stupid bastard each time until one day I inevitably become useless and they get rid of me. And then, if I'm lucky, I won't vegetate as a houseplant in a research institute, but maybe someone will take me in and turn me into a whore. This is the fate that awaits most Healers, and I am not so delusional as to believe that I will be lucky enough to be one of those rare cases where the Hunter will not treat me like an object. Especially as an Extreme. I'll be the real gourmet meal. They will be able to use me for a long time. If they don't take away my blood supply, like the opportunity to recharge from ordinary Healers, they will be able to leech off me for years and decades. No fucking way.

As if I had suddenly found enlightenment, the fear of death disappears from my face with disturbing speed, and I nod with a careful movement. Standing up, I obediently walk toward them, raising my hands in front of me, and it doesn't escape my attention as their eyes glide over my figure cautiously. It doesn't matter that they are suspicious, they are not prepared for what comes next.

The older man orders his companion with just a silent gesture, and I patiently wait for the guy to stand up and step in front of me with the handcuffs unfastened from his belt. But before my new trendy bracelet could snap on me, I grab the man's arm emerging from under his jacket and send a significant amount of energy into his body, causing him to suddenly sprawl on the carpet with widened eyes and a loud thump. It takes the other enforcer a moment to realize what's happening, but he reaches for his gun too late, because I'm already there in front of him, and my nails are digging into his skin with force as I press my palm into his face, causing his head to drop back, and his body to fall on the cream-colored fabric of the sofa unconsciously.

I don't waste any time, I tear open the door of my apartment and I bolt out almost immediately in desperation. I run along the corridor with the agility of a chased wild animal, and when I reach the staircase, I take the steps two at a time. There's only one thing in my head, that I don't care how, but I'm going to escape from here because there's no way I let myself get caught. I'll break out of this fucking city myself if I have to, and wind my way through the monster-infested red zone until I get to the nearest colony. They won't catch me. NEVER.

The small shards of glass scattered on the pavement sink painfully into my bare feet, as I throw myself onto the street and continue running without any consideration. The pain appears only as a distant, dull pang in the hidden corner of my brain, because now even I have bigger problems at hand than how much damage I'm doing to my leg. The biting night air burns my lungs as I sprint breathlessly through the unusually desolate neighborhood, but I don't waste precious energy trying to figure out why the street is so empty on a weekday evening.

And I don't even have time to think about this any longer, because before I can turn into the side street behind one of the blocks, a sharp, shooting pain rips through my back, and whatever hit me, the force of the impact is enough to make me stagger with a startled squeal, and I fall to the ground like a rag doll. My hands ache excruciatingly as they get stuck under me in an attempt to cushion my landing, and my nose is hit by the familiar smell of blood as the concrete scrapes the skin from my palms. Despite the burning sensation, the narrow object sticking out of my back worries me more as I touch it. It dawns on me that it might be some kind of tranquilizer dart, but by the time I can congratulate myself on my foresight, I can already feel my limbs turning heavy like stones. The image of the street swimming in colorful lights blurs in front of my eyes, and no matter how hard I struggle, I can only whimper softly, as I try to fight with my last strength against the temptation of the darkness that falls on me.

"Forgive me, sweetheart. But you're not goin’ anywhere from here." Someone speaks up not far from me, but I hear the voice muffled as if my head has been submerged under water, and it only travels to my ears as dull and distorted fragments. Halfway to losing consciousness, I catch the sight of booted feet swimming into my field of vision. I want to come up with some kind of witty remark, but before even a sound can leave my mouth, the darkness engulfs me. Fuck.

[d1ana-m0nd]

╭─► ❝Hey Lover!❞

Tao × Gender Neutral! Reader || Written by Diana (d1ana-m0nd) || Inspired by Hey Lover

➢ Fluff && Not Proofread , Headcanons && Word Count 1,734

➢ You were suffering under the weight of financial struggles until a maga came along and held your family hostage. Who would have thought the person you would be double crossing is someone who you'd gain interest for.

➢ NOTE : The scene of you trying to sacrifice the troubleshooters is inspired by CSM and if ever I refer to the reader with She/Her pronouns please let me know so I can edit it out, thanks!

HOW YOU GUYS MET:

Tao met you in the streets, you both happened to walk past each other that fateful day she didn't have work.

You were neither a sex worker nor a homeless person but she knew you needed help. She could tell from your eyes that you were living in fear with every step you took.

Despite being strangers, she approached you and asked if you needed help. You turned her offer down but then she ended up giving you the troubleshooters business card, to which you reluctantly accepted.

Ever since your encounter with her, you found yourself in a conundrum. She was right on the money that you needed help but, her help was something you didn't need… you weren't even sure if her help could be of use to your situation.

In the end, you gave in and decided to use her help but knowing people like her (To you, at the time she seemed like a loan shark of sorts who are preying after people with financial issues) you'll instead play her at their own game.

You hired the troubleshooters to help kill the maga who was threatening to kill your entire family. When in reality, you planned to use them as an offering to the maga in exchange for your family.

What you didn't expect was for her partner, Alma, to catch on to your lie through his sense of smell.

Out of guilt, you admitted to them everything. Both of them seemed used to being double crossed yet, they still gave you a second chance. Once they were done with the job, Tao didn't ask for a fee but she did ask you to work for Auntie instead.

"Why'd you offer them to work for Auntie's? They tried to kill us! How'd you know they won't do it again?" Alma interrogated his stoic female partner but she seemed indifferent to his questions.

"They won't." Tao reassured though, she isn't even sure about that herself, maybe she just wanted to see you again…

"Their cooking will probably kill us!" Alma screamed, though it sounded more like it was his problem rather than everyone else's.

ㅤ

HOW YOU GUYS ENDED UP FALLING IN LOVE:

Once you began working for Auntie, you were overwhelmed by their friendliness, everyone was so nice to you… The guilt of almost killing their friends was making it difficult to concentrate.

It didn't help that Tao and Alma went to the restaurant everyday, it was becoming more and more difficult to avoid them.

Until one day, Yaya had to take a sick leave, so you and Alma were forced to work together to cater to every customer. Unfortunately, you had to cater to someone you have been avoiding… Tao.

Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of you but quickly covered it up with a small cough. "I'll have the usual."

"I don't know your usual… this is my first time serving you." You said with a sheepish smile.

"Oh, right." She internally cursed, realizing she forgot that you have been avoiding her for months.

After that awkward interaction, Alma then began to go out of his way to make you and Tao talk more, because he was fortunate enough to witness you and Tao being awkward with each other.

Ever since he began working with you, he finally understood why Tao wanted to keep you around. You were hard working and you cared a lot about your family, you probably just stumbled upon the troubleshooters at the wrong place and wrong time, if you guys met in different circumstances. You three probably would have gotten along on the fly.

Since then whenever he was with Tao, he'd quickly ask for you to serve them before you could run off. If he's on shift, he'd tell you that Tao's table hasn't been catered to yet.

It was a slow process but you two managed to slowly become comfortable with each other - though it was mostly on your end because you were the one running away from Tao out of guilt and shame. Whilst Tao was trying her best to not make you feel more guilty than you already did.

Slowly but surely you began to gain interest in Tao. Even Auntie and Yaya noticed - only because you always did something stupid like stumbling upon your words or tripping when you see Tao walk in - though it took Alma a while to notice this. Well, he more or less found out about your infatuation for Tao because he asked you why you did those things around Tao specifically and you accidentally blurted out how you felt around Tao.

"[...] So yeah, she catches me off guard sometimes, y'know? Maybe I still feel guilty for what I did…" You rambled fidgeting with the rim of your apron, trying to figure out your feelings for Tao.

"I think I remember Yaya saying that's what you're supposed to feel when you are in love!" Alma happily exclaimed, which triggered a cold shiver to go down your spine.

You covered your face as you groaned. "That's even worse than I thought!"

Killing your crush on your first encounter? You sure made quite an impression.

After discovering your feelings, you made an effort to actively avoid Tao despite Alma and Yaya's efforts in trying to help you confess or get closer with Tao. Eventually, this did not go unnoticed by Tao, she wasn't bothered by your active evasion - she was irritated - which is why she ended up asking Auntie, Yaya, and Alma but they wouldn't budge. In the end, she ended up cornering you at the end of your shift.

You heaved a heavy sigh, tired from your shift obviously looking forward to falling face first onto the mattress.

"Long day, huh?" A familiar voice questioned, the very same voice that made your legs weak as noodles in hot water.

"Woah-" You jumped but quickly stiffened yourself. "Hey Tao! Didn't see you there."

"I don't plan on revealing myself to begin with, especially to my prey." Tao teased but you didn't catch onto it.

You cringed, recalling how you confessed to them that you planned to use them as offering to the maga in exchange for your family.

"I'm sorry…"

The female troubleshooter sighed then voiced her concern. "Have you been avoiding me because you still feel guilty about what happened in the past?"

"What happened in the past, stays there. We're in the present now. So let go of what's already out of reach."

Alarmed by her words, you began to ramble. "It's not that- I MEAN THAT'S PARTIALLY THE REASON! But, it's something else…"

"Is it because you like me?" Tao said with a smirk, which froze you on the spot. "If you thought you were slick, you weren't. And no, Alma didn't snitch on you."

"WELL THEN!" You shouted then began stiffly walking away. "I'm heading home now, I have other things to tend to!"

"Y/N, stop running away from your problems. I understand it's natural human instinct but, how would you know how I feel about you? Just because you expect the worst out of everything doesn't mean it'll happen." Her words punched you in the gut, you hated how she was right…

"Now, are you going to confess to me or not?" You could tell from her voice that found your predicament quite amusing and it irked you.

"WHY DO I HAVE TO CONFESS!? Why don't you do it yourself since it seems like you already have everything figured out." You huffed out of irritation, you faced her crossing your arms.

"Fine." Tao said, which caught you off guard. As she took slow strides towards you, it felt like a scene out of a documentary, a snake stalking its prey.

"I like you too. Now, do you want me to walk you home?"

ㅤ

HOW YOU GUYS SHOW AFFECTION TO EACH OTHER:

Words of affirmation

Most of the time you are too shy to compliment Tao but when you are in a dazed state, you tend to slip out a compliment or two.

Also, you don't really feel the need to share words of affirmation with her since she seems the type to be confident in herself and stands strong.

You, on the other hand, need a lot of words of affirmation, which Tao can cater to. She's oddly good at it. Most likely because she's had to deal with Alma and Nei, who always look forward to her compliments or words of affirmation.

Quality time

You and Tao neither have the time to spend together, including space since you both live with someone else.

Though not having quality time as much doesn't bother you guys but, you do check in on her from time to time including Alma in case they need something despite your financial problems.

Tao doesn't have the time to check on you but you guys try to cherish your time together at the Chinese restaurant you work in but Auntie always cuts it short, not wanting you to slack off during work hours, which Tao respects.

Physical touch

Believe it or not, you and Tao both suck at showing affection. Every time you try to kiss or hold her hand you either chicken out or Tao doesn't reciprocate your actions.

While Tao, on the other hand, is not comfortable with PDA. It's a different story when you guys are alone, she tries her best to be affectionate but there are times she withdraws due to her past.

Acts of service

You weren't the best cook, everyone knew that. But, what they didn't know was that you were determined, you tried to hone that skill everyday, just so you can prevent Tao and Alma wasting a lot of money on food.

Which is why they always find your food in their office, no matter how bad it is (though most of the time it's a hit or miss) Tao eats it because she knows you'll do better with your next dish.

Receiving gifts

Due to your financial situation, you mostly make handmade gifts for Tao since that's what you are mostly good at.

Tao gifts you things that you mostly need since you never tell her what you want, just what you need to keep your family afloat. But, when you do manage to slip up, she won't hesitate to buy it on the spot.

➢ "Reblog to support your favorite writer" belongs to @/benkeibear

[daybreakrising]

AN EYE FOR AN EYE - A VAUTRIN DRABBLE

i hope you guys are ready for 4,000 words of pure suffering-

CONTENT WARNING: as this focuses solely upon the crime he committed, there will be depictions of death and violence, mentions of blood and other grisly details (but nothing overly graphic!), and there will be references to carole's 'self-sacrifice' (again, in no great detail). if any of these things make you uncomfortable, either proceed with caution or give this one a skip entirely. your choice. (as anything potentially triggering is going to be under the cut and therefore requires your decision to view it, i won't automatically be tagging this post with content warnings - particularly as i've already given a warning above. but, if you need me to tag something, please just say the word and it'll be done!)

He has always been a man of resolve.

Once he sets his mind to something, he cannot be persuaded otherwise. There is no chance, however slim, to sway him from that which he has committed himself to. In the past this has been both a blessing and a curse – it has earned him praise and acknowledgment, situated him in a position of great privilege and respect, but it has also stripped him of his family, soured what were once fond memories and joyful hobbies. Tonight, he cannot tell which way the scales tip. Perhaps, he muses, it is an even balance of both.

It has been a long time coming, he thinks. Perhaps he has simply been doing this job for too long, but he has become increasingly disillusioned with the system he has stood for his entire adult life. He has grown weary of the injustice running rampant in the courts; embittered by the prejudices of the people around him. They will never learn, he tells himself, until they are given a lesson they cannot forget.

He had hoped – oh, he had hoped – that he would be proven wrong. That his endless pessimism, as Carole had called it, would be thwarted. That he had dared to dream at all is telling enough of her influence upon him. She gave him that hope, and it nearly died with her. But he is nothing if not resolute, and there is but one small spark of hope left within him. A singular light in the dark.

If there is anyone who could threaten his unshakeable resolve, it is the Iudex of Fontaine.

Already he can visualise the man's face as he looks down on him from his seat of power – a seat that represents justice – and the expression that will likely sit upon that striking visage. Stoic, unreadable, to the common eye, but he will know better. He will see so much more in those otherworldly eyes, in the slightest furrow of his brow. Will it be anger? Grief? Betrayal?

Disappointing Neuvillette is the price he must pay, and it is a heavy price indeed. His chest aches with the thought of losing his last remaining connection on this earth. He is not simply cutting the ties that bind them – he is burning them. There is no going back after this. They can never go back. It is a loss that sears him from the inside, a loss that melds with the grief still raw and agonising in his heart. He would go mad with it, were it not for the purpose he has still to serve. The purpose that puts one foot in front of the other, that carries him along his path even when the weight of everything he must do threatens to bury him.

The list of names sits within the inner pocket of his jacket, but it is merely for evidence – those names are burned upon his memory like a brand. Many of them are already familiar to him, subjects of interest in the increasing protests against Melusine cohabitation. He has personally arrested some of them before for disturbance of the peace, for vandalism, for threats of violence. Yet here they are, free to continue their crusade of hatred.

It has to end.

He finds the first exactly where he expects to: a quiet side street commonly used as a cut-through by drunkards staggering home after last orders. The man leans against the stonework, fumbling with the buttons of his breeches, predictably about to commit a minor offence that would likely earn him nothing more than a fine and a slap on the wrist. His muttered curses drift through the still and silent night as Vautrin approaches like a ghost. If the man hears the soft whisper as a blade is drawn from its sheath, he is too late to react – Vautrin's hand clamps over his vile mouth to quell the choked gasp of breath as steel punctures through cloth and flesh alike.

The man is tossed to the ground like the trash he belongs amongst. Dark eyes watch as a single hand gropes across the now slick pavement, reaching for – what? Help? Pitiful. There is no one to help him here. It only takes a firm nudge with the toe of his boot to roll the man onto his back, to force him to look at his assailant. Vautrin wants him to know who did this to him. He wants him to know why. But there is no recognition in eyes now wide with fear, and there is no time to enlighten this worthless bag of bones.

The tainted steel of his blade catches the glow of the streetlamp at the end of the street as he raises it a second time. There's no need to muffle his dying gasps this time. He no longer has the vocal cords to utter them. The captain crouches to watch the light leave those frantic eyes, to be certain of the end. He reaches into his pocket, withdraws the list so neatly folded within. A single swipe upon the page and a name is crossed out.

Then he stands, sheathes his blade. He still has work to do.

His second name is an equally easy target. Sprawled upon a bench, halfway to unconsciousness, it is almost an insult that he leaves himself so vulnerable. It disgusts him. These people – these people – are seen as fit to dictate who should be allowed to live peacefully in Fontaine's walls? Men who reek of sour alcohol, who foul in the streets, who stain humanity with their existence? Brutes and thugs who are free to live their lives when someone so pure and gentle had theirs cut so cruelly short? Where is the justice in that?

Something bursts deep within his chest, erupting with a fire that embraces him like an old friend. He remembers this feeling. He remembers the haze of red that clouded his vision, the primal instinct to rip and tear, to savage. At his sides, one hand balls into a fist; the other reaches for the faithful weapon at his hip. This one gets no opportunity to know who steers him to his end. The blade slices him from throat to groin before he can even open his eyes.

It isn't fair. The words ricochet around his head, stoke the flames in his heart. He conjures a vision of Carole's face, vibrant and full of life, laughing at something – him, no doubt, for she was forever teasing him. He hears her cheerful voice, chiding him for being so stubborn. But there is a second voice, underneath Carole's. A soft, musical voice. The voice of a child, because she would never be anything else.

'Don't be so stubborn, Vautrin!'

His chest tightens, squeezes the air from his lungs. His teeth grit together first in pain, and then in fury. No, it isn't fair. Nothing is fair. Not yet – but he will set things right. He knows this will work. This has to work. If there is to be any hope for Fontaine, it has to work. But in order for it to work, he must first finish what he has started. And so he soothes the flames down to a simmer and crosses another name from his list.

To find the next names, he must descend into the bowels of the Court. Not all who reside in the Fleuve Cendre are of the unsavoury kind, but they are outnumbered by those whose morals are somewhat to be desired. Life down here is never black and white, rather more of a murky grey. Under normal circumstances, the presence of a garde amidst the grime would be widespread news in mere moments. But these are not normal circumstances, and Vautrin knows how not to be seen. He did not rise to captain so young for nothing.

The irony of his situation does not escape him: that to right this wrong, he must become the very thing he has fought against all these years. That, too, is a price he must pay – but this one he pays willingly. He will tarnish his name, his reputation, everything he has stood for. He will strip away every scrap of the identity he has forged for himself. He will become the monster of this story. He will do it all, for her. For him.

Names three and four huddle together beneath the rusting struts of the ramshackle building Vautrin knows this group has been using for their meetings. Tendrils of smoke rise between the grates that make up the walkway that surrounds it, harsh laughter echoing as it bounces around the metal walls of this seedy underbelly. These two, he knows, are the watch. His eyes and ears within the undercity keep him well informed of the comings and goings from this particular den. He knows he only has to wait but a few minutes before opportunity walks his way.

Or shuffles, in this case.

The men part ways with a clap on the shoulder, each stalking in an opposite direction, casting their gazes subtly about them. There will be a signal, a code, that will alert each other to any threat and summon the other to their side. Vautrin knows these, too. He waits amongst the shadows as the shuffling steps inch closer, counts down slowly to ensure his timing is precise.

He cannot tell in the gloom if this is Three or Four, but it matters not. His blade will sink just as easily into either one of them.

And it does: he buries his sword to the hilt into the man's stomach in less time than it takes for the fool to acknowledge he is not alone in this dark corner. The man's mouth falls open, a groaning gurgle bubbling in this throat, threatening to escalate into something that could draw attention. Well, that won't do. He's not finished yet. There is an elegance to the way Vautrin shifts his weight to his back foot, whips his blade free and executes a perfect pirouette. There is nothing elegant about the way the man crumples to the floor, hands pawing at the new red smile of his throat.

As the man twitches at his feet, Vautrin lifts his fingers to his lips and gives a soft yet piercing whistle – two short breaths followed by one longer. Danger. The answering sound of rapidly approaching steps is music to his ears. He steps back amongst the shadows, blade angled behind him. There is little light down here to begin with, but the glint of steel is unmistakable, and he doesn't want to give away his position.

"What the-,"

The hulking shape looms over the corpse on the ground, posture tense, braced to fight. Vautrin sees him cast his gaze about frantically, seeking the source of such violence. Faced with this brutal assault, the man has a choice to make: sound the alarm, summon aid from those within the den, or tackle the problem alone. His broad and muscular figure is suggestive of a brawler, his attitude one of anger rather than fear. Vautrin knows that both Three and Four are former residents of the Meropide with colourful histories of bar fights and violent assaults.

He knows his targets. This man won't call for help. He believes he is untouchable. No doubt his friend thought that, too. There will be another lesson taught here in the Fleuve Cendre: no one is untouchable.

This one he carves into three. The first strike disables his right arm – both Three and Four, according to records, favour the right – and cuts deep into his side. The second opens up his guts. There is a pause before he delivers the third, a pause in which the man's eyes flicker with recognition and his expression twists into something caught between disbelief and horror.

"You… you're the one who worked with that Melusine-"

How dare you speak of her?!

The third strike slashes across the man's face, cleaves open his jaw and severs the tongue from his mouth. Fingers grasp the man's throat as he gasps and gurgles, drowning on his own blood. Fury burns in cold, dark eyes and venom drips from every word as he snarls into the man's face. "Her name was Carole."

He releases his grip, watches the brute sprawl uselessly atop his companion. He pauses in the silence that follows, listening for any sign that more might follow in his steps, but there is nothing. Scuffles are a frequent occurrence down here – the sounds of violence are as commonplace as the steady drip of water and the creaking and groaning of metal.

He crosses two more names from his list.

The air outside feels fresher when he emerges again from the undercity, though anything would seem a vast improvement after the damp, dank squalor that lurks beneath the beauty and splendour of the Court. It is, he muses, an apt reflection of Fontaine's people – beneath the pleasantries, beneath the finery, there is nothing but stink and grime. It is but a façade meant to disguise the filth inside. And he has found, over time, that those with the finest exteriors often harbour the vilest hearts.

His last two names are a prime example.

His path takes him now into old ground. Here, Fontaine's upper class can separate themselves from far more common folk. The houses here are grand, beautiful, reeking of wealth and privilege. The people behind these doors do not have to fight for scraps of food like they do in Fleuve Cendre. They don't have to work themselves to the bone to support their families. They do not have to worry about crime on these streets. They are safe, protected by the gardes that patrol their haven.

No one is safe. A lesson he himself learned long ago, back when he was counted amongst them. No one can escape the cruelty of people. He is living proof of that: his sister is not.

He knows these streets, remembers every shortcut and secret. He slips past the garden he once played in as a child and spares a fleeting thought for the older couple tucked up in their bed inside. Look, Mama. Look what your boy has become. Aren't you proud? He thinks of the shame that will consume them when the news hits the papers. Neither of them will take to the stage again, he is certain. Their names, alongside his, will be tainted forever. Good, a bitter voice hisses in the night, but he knows they do not deserve the storm that awaits them, for all their faults. They were not bad parents – not good ones either, but grieving ones. Perhaps, one day, he can find it in him to forgive them.

But now his target is ahead, and all thoughts of forgiveness are pushed from his mind. There is no forgiveness to be found here – only vengeance. Names One and Two, the instigators of injustice, the key figures responsible for Carole's self-sacrifice. The only names on his list who don't have criminal records, who are, to the untrained eye, model citizens of Fontaine. Mora can buy a great many things to those with a surplus of it – silence included.

He has thought a lot about how he would approach this last act. He debated putting on a performance, using his uniform and his name to get in the door - terribly sorry to disturb you, but there's been an incident in the area – but ultimately decided against it. If they recognised him too soon, it would complicate things. Risk upsetting everything. He couldn't chance it.

So, instead, he does what any monster would do: he breaks in.

During his experience as a garde, he has seen all sorts of things. He has apprehended pickpockets, thieves, scammers and murderers alike. In working those cases he has learned many things, too. And he has come prepared. It is surprisingly easy to muffle the noise of a window breaking if you know how, and easier still to reach through and unlatch the lock. But it is his experience upon the stage that aids him once he is inside – he has always been light of step, quick on his feet. His colleagues have always assumed it was learned on the job, but it was merely honed. Years of practice, day after day, under the critical gaze of his parents, have trained him to move like air.

It would be chilling to realise how easily one can infiltrate a seemingly safe and secure home, how easy it is to stand over sleeping bodies blissfully unaware of your presence, if he were observing this moment from the outside. Horrifying, in fact, to acknowledge how truly vulnerable a person is while they sleep, how much trust they put in the locks on their doors.

Were they anyone else, he might feel uncomfortable butchering them in their beds, but they do not deserve a fair chance. They gave up that right when they framed an innocent soul for murder simply because she was different. There is no hesitation in his heart as he quietly slides the sword from its sheath, now tacky with the congealing blood of the four others who came before. There is no hesitation in his hand as he stabs downward, again, and again, and again, until the white silks turn black with blood and Suavegothe jolts awake with a scream that pierces the silence like a klaxon.

Later, some unfortunate garde will be forced to count the wounds inflicted upon this noble lady of Fontaine. He will get to thirty before he cannot go on. His colleague will marvel at the strength and stamina required to stab someone thirty times and still go on to commit further atrocities. The newspapers will refer to it as a 'frenzy'. Others will claim that madness fuelled this savage attack.

Not madness, but rage. Rage, white hot and ferocious, that tore through him like wildfire at the sight of her sleeping face, peaceful and content, no trace of guilt for what she'd done. Rage that consumed his mind, conjured a red haze that descended over his vision. Rage that whispered in the back of his mind to make her pay, give her what she deserves, deliver her the rightful sentence for her crime.

An eye for an eye.

Thibert, far more sensible than the Fleuve Cendre thug, chose to flee rather than fight upon waking to find his partner being savaged by a demon in the night. Unfortunately for him, this would no sooner save him than fighting saved the thug. Vautrin followed his frantic, panicked scrambling with careful, measured steps, accompanied by the steady drip, drip of blood from the tip of his sword, leaving a gruesome breadcrumb trail that the gardes would soon follow to the horror left in his wake.

To his credit, despite his panic, the man managed to make it to the front door. Vautrin heard him scrabbling at the latch, felt the sudden draught of cold air rush in as the door swung open. But Thibert made the fatal mistake of hesitating, of looking behind him. He opened his mouth, sucked in breath to scream for help-

A wrong for a wrong.

-and was seized by a hand with an iron grip and dragged – sobbing and pleading – back into the gloom of the house.

-

He gazes down at the ruin he had created, chest heaving with every breath dragged through his lips, and exhales a long, slow sigh of relief. It was done. There were no more names to cross from the list once more tucked securely into his pocket. This part of his plan was complete – but there was still more yet to do. The evidence he had left at each scene should be enough to tie everything together, but he had to be sure.

He bends amidst the gore, swipes a hand through the spreading lake of blood slowly seeping into the rug. They'll never get that out. He straightens, turns to the expanse of wall above the hearth – the perfect blank canvas. The rage within him is subsiding, the flames reduced to embers, but it lingers long enough to guide his hand across the wallpaper. The fury that had given him the strength to do what was necessary has been sapped – he can feel the weariness creeping into his bones, his body aching with the effort. But he cannot rest yet.

Suavegothe's screams will have alerted someone. Violence may be commonplace in Fleuve Cendre, but here in the height of society, it is unheard of. Someone will have woken, called for the gardes. A patrol may have heard the screams themselves and raised the alarm. His time is limited.

He sinks into an armchair, rests a boot atop the savaged body on the rug. He lays his sword across his lap, withdraws a rag from another pocket. Reclining, he begins to slowly, methodically, clean the blood from his blade.

Now that his rage has burned cold, he has time to think, and he thinks of Neuvillette. He cannot imagine the shock, the horror, that the Iudex will feel upon learning of his crimes – and that will just be the beginning. A familiar ache settles in the captain's chest as he thinks about what he must do, of the worst betrayal that is yet to come. In the gloom of this house of horror, a choked sob breaks the silence.

He cares nothing for his name, his reputation. He can give up his freedom. He can brand himself a murderer, a monster, for all of history. A great cost, for sure, but a necessary one – one he knows will be worth it when his plan succeeds. He would give all of these things and more without question. But the one thing that pains him the most, the greatest price he must pay for Carole's dream, is losing the last person who means anything to him in this cursed, hateful world – for if Neuvillette can be seen to be undeniably impartial, for there to be no doubts about his position, for him to become the icon of justice in Fontaine, then he must sentence his best friend, in a public court, to a lifetime within metal walls.

And Vautrin must hate him for it.

His hand clutches at his chest as if to quell the ache within. He ought to compose himself – the gardes could be here any moment. Yet he allows himself this moment of weakness, this moment of truth, because he knows he has an act to play that cannot waver, not for a second. If he is to be believed, then he must hate Neuvillette with the same ferocity that he loves him.

So he weeps for the truth he understood too late. He weeps for the bond to be shattered and never repaired. He weeps for a future that will never be – of him, working at Neuvillette's side until retirement, of being his friend until his last breath. He weeps for the future that will be – of going to the grave knowing Neuvillette will never know the truth. And he weeps for the little sister that will never grow old, who set him on the path of justice to begin with. He weeps for the Melusine who wormed her way into his heart only to leave a gaping wound behind – whose voice he now hears, chiding him yet again:

'Come on, blockhead. It's not over yet!'

Then he gathers himself, wipes the tearstains from his cheeks. He summons that resolve once more, schools his features into that of a man who holds no regrets, who feels no guilt. And when the gardes at last arrive, they find him exactly as he is: reclined in an armchair, boot atop his last victim, methodically cleaning his blade beneath a statement painted in blood upon the wall:

HER NAME WAS CAROLE

And as they gape at him in horror, recognising both his uniform and his face, he utters four words – the same four words he left at each crime scene, painted in the blood of his victims.

"They had it coming."

[this-acuteneurosis]

so funny thing with your dont look back thing, nearly all the political allies of Leia and folks, generally like VERY few that we know are actually directly democratic. like Padme former job could count sorta, but how democratic MONARCHY would work.... although Darsana could be a mostly democratic on via his Senatorship. found it funny cause Bail is like assigned by the queen and padme is hers as well, which fair, Senator is a really bad term for what they are, diplomat would be the better term.

I mean, I've thought a lot about how the Senate is ostensibly a democratic body when actually there is no planetary regulation to how they "elect" their senators.

I've ultimately decided to not go down this specific route for the fic, but arguably, the Republic is...not a government. They don't have anyone to enforce their "laws." The GFFA is huge. Like, I cannot stress this enough, taking the loose shapes of government for countries and slapping it down as a framework for how tens of thousands of planets are "ruled" by a "democracy" was always, at its core, bullshit. The Empire, with it's huge military and aggressive enforcement couldn't prevent the Alliance from camping out on abandoned planets, which, we know as residents of this good earth, is more than enough space to develop multiple entire civilizations. Frankly, as horrifying as it was, the Death Star was about the only logical conclusion space fascists could come to for a total control endgame. (That or implanting chips like the clones had but whoops, the past won't exist until 15 years after the future, so...)

That isn't to say that the Republic, or something like it, wouldn't exist and serve a purpose. Having a forum where people in disparate governments agree to things like trade rules and enforce them by, say, refusing to trade with people not in the group, or at worse rates, could definitely explain a Republic sized coalition of planets/planetary systems. They could even develop things like anti-slavery agreements, taxes dues, a group of negotiators loyal to the "Republic" instead of to individual planets or systems for theoretically unbiased diplomacy.

But yeah, if you notice that Leia's views on democracy don't match Padmé's assertions from AotC and RotS(released post 9/11 guys, Anakin's character was not the only casualty of that time), it is 100% because she was going to be the hereditary ruler of a planet and had no problem with that.

Keep in mind that democracy, in many ways, is more effective the more direct it is, because even self-interested politicians have to give you what you as a majority want if they have to win each of your individual votes. But that is incredibly hard to organize and maintain. Especially because the elected officials figure out really quickly they don't want to be beholden to so many contradictory interests.

And the more indirect a democracy becomes, the more your welfare relies on the innate charity/sense of responsibility of your representatives. Yes, as people who weren't voted into office, Padmé and Bail don't actually answer directly to their people. Padmé's on a bit thinner of ice because she's appointed by a directly elected queen, so Jamillia has motive to oust Padmé if she threatens Jamillia's re-election. But Bail? Our favorite, made it through most of the Empire, stuck to his guns, initiated the Rebellion, raised his baby girl right? Yeah, no, he's a nepotism boy, and everyone would have been screwed if he didn't have the moral and ethical fortitude of mountains.

[artzychic27]

Morning! And I love Mom!Bustier. But consider this; Caline is Nathanial’s mom, but in the SB&IB AU.

Got any ideas or scenarios for that?

Let's see...

We're not killing off the lesbian and pansexual, because there have been enough queer deaths in this lifetime.

Let's make Nathaniel a bullying target at school

Here, Caline Kurtzberg-Bustier is trying her hardest to help her son, but with that asshole in office threatening to get her fired and blacklisted through Damocles, she can't do much because she loves teaching

And it's her only job experience

Nathaniel's been Chloé's bullying target since they were three because she saw him as easier to mess with than Marinette

And because of his antisocial nature, this makes him bait for other bullies, mainly the kids with influential parents who threaten his mother's job by complaining to Damocles about her physically abusing them in class

To them, it's easy to pick on someone who won't/can't do or say anything... Bastard cowards.

His classmates don't do anything because they don't feel like fighting with those students and he assures them that it's okay, and they believe him.

They don't feel like terrible, horrible people every time he comes in looking like hell because he didn't get enough sleep because some asshole jock forced him to do his math homework

And Alix and Marinette aren't there to help out because Chloé pulled some strings to get them sent to a dormitory school for troubled teenagers after they assaulted her for pouring juice on Nathaniel when they were ten

Now no one has the courage to stand up for Nathaniel, not even going so far as to talk to him. He just blends into the back drawing, and when he gets home, he cries into his pillow

Then one weekend, he's out shopping for art supplies when he spies two things in the display window of a thrift store. They are simple brooches. Still, he buys them

He puts them on, Nooroo and Duusu appear and gives the run-down once Nathaniel has stopped panicking

Nathaniel is thrilled because finally, something good in his life has happened, now he has friends to talk to, and he has powers... However, good things don't last

On Monday, Mme. Bustier, sleep deprived and stressed admonishes Chloé in front of the entire school for having Sabrina do her homework, and in turn, Chloé has Damocles fire her. However, many of the teachers threaten to quit, so Damocles suspends her for a month without pay

And to make matters worse, some assholes post bad reviews about Aya's diner and it causes a health inspector to come. It's going to take a while before people can trust the food again

Finally having enough, Nathaniel snaps and disregards the Kwamis words about how the Miraculous is not to be used for evil. Nathaniel, still angry, forces them to stay silent as he transforms into Blue Emperor

Nathaniel is quick to create a senticreature to destroy the home of one of his tormentors, and when the deed is done, he can't bare the thought of destroying his creation, so he stores it in his fan

The sentimonster catches the attention of one Wang Fu, so he passes the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous along to... Let's say... Reshma and Ismael, cuz why not? Plus, no love square.

Blue Emperor only becomes more brutal with his attacks when Spotted Threat and Catra make their appearance. Also, he needs to take his anger from school out on something

Keep in mind, Blue Emperor doesn't hurt anyone younger than him (15)

And while his mothers are still temporarily out of work, Nathaniel decides to be of some assistance and has his senticreatures rob Chloé. He tells his moms the money came from art commissions, and he just loves how that put smiles on their faces. But he's only just getting started

He sends his previous senticreatures and an Akuma to storm city hall (I know, poor choice of words) and gives the mayor an ultimatum. Resign, or he will burn the building to the ground

Spotted Threat and Catra arrive on the scene and purify his Akuma, but in the process of Blue Emperor getting his senticreaures to safety, they purify one in the process, basically killing it in his eyes

So, now it's personal

Ever since the death of his senticreature, Nathaniel's been more withdrawn than usual, worrying his mothers. At school, his mood becomes worse when one of his bullies decides to take his anger out on him after he was targeted by a senticreature

And once again, Nathaniel snapped, gave the guy a verbal lashing that was like a psychological attack, and got detention. Little did he know, this got the attention of one impressed writer

So, after serving out his detention, Blue Emperor decides to have a sentimonster pay Damocles a visit. And if people are suspicious, he'll just put on a meek demeanor like, "But how could I have done that? I don't have powers or the money to pay anyone."

One day, when he hears Nathaniel didn't come to school today, Marc offers to drop off his homework. It'll give them a chance to talk, and maybe he can apologize for being a bystander for so many years

But when he walks into Nathaniel's room, he doesn't expect to find him talking to two colorful sprites about him being Blue Emperor!

Marc panics and is about to run and tell someone, but,

Nathaniel: Marc... I am nothing but a loving son trying to help his mothers while also teaching certain people a lesson or two. Besides, you know they deserve what I've done- The Mayor, Damocles, Chloé, all of them.

Marc: ... You're hurting people.

Nathaniel: It's best not to think of them as people. Besides, I make sure my Akumas and senticreatures don't hurt any civilians. They've done nothing to wrong me, so I have no reason to harm them. So... You can run out that door, tell people what I'm doing, and leave my mothers sobbing and wondering where they went wrong as the city treats them as pariahs. Or, we can make this our little secret. Besides, I could use some help taking care of my senticreatures... So?

Marc: ... Nobody needs to know.

It was close to the middle of the school year when Marc, Nooroo, and Duusu start to become more concerned about Nathaniel. The Kwamis explain that overuse of the Miraculous combined with Nathaniel's mental state has corrupted him

He becomes braver, fights back more, physically stronger, and even his appearance as Blue Emperor changes a bit. He uses his abilities to read people's emotions to his advantage and tortures his bullies so they're too scared to report him

Having seen enough, Marc resorts to taking the Kwamis and running but only manages to get Duusu before Nathaniel transforms, this time into his fully corrupted form and he proceeds to make an army of Akumas to ravage Paris

... Did I just make a whole-ass au?... I did.

[la-pheacienne]

So. I don't know how to break this to you, but not wearing make-up doesn't make you a better feminist. It really, really doesn't. It is literally completely irrelevant to your political ideology. I have met women who never ever put on lipstick in their entire lives and were the most vicious misogynists one could possibly hope to meet. The most hardcore feminist I have ever met never left her home without lipstick. I know a girl who got beaten by her father because she dared to wear lipstick and another who got called a whore by her classmates for wearing lipstick. I have been told in my job at a firm years ago that I should wear more make-up, but I didn't follow through because I was bored to do it in the morning and I didn't give a fuck about what they said. I have broken up with a guy because he insisted that I never wear make-up when we go out and I told him I prefer my lipstick than him. I have broken up with another because he wanted me to wax or shave certain parts of my body and I didn't want to. I wear make-up almost every time I go out at night, the whole lipstick eye-liner eye-shadow thing, and for the last month I have been going to the beach, every day, without shaving or waxing any part of my body for months. Am I enough of a threat to patriarchy for you guys? Who will be the judge of that? Seriously?

Also. The reason I don't wax or shave (for now, I have done it before and I probably will do it again), is because I don't want to. I'm too bored/tired/don't care to do it now. It is not because I'm a feminist. My feminist ideology gives me the necessary base to back up my decision and not give a shit when people stare at me but it is not the reason why I made that decision in the first place. I don't get to say to women who shave or wax that that makes them victims of patriarchy. It is fucking ridiculous. My feminist ideology gives me the necessary base to do exactly what I want to do at any given time, which is something that women have been and continue to be deprived of since the beginning of time. Sometimes, what I want will coincide with what the patriarchy wants. Sometimes it won't. Sometimes the patriarchal norms will oblige me to wear make-up and I won't, sometimes they will oblige me to not wear make-up and I will.

Also, something about privilege. For some women, not wearing make-up and not waxing is indeed extremely challenging and can get them marginalized or fired. For some women, it is extremely easy and non-threatening. If you live in any western capital and you don't have a job that forces you to wear make-up, going to the supermarket or for a drink without it is literally the easiest thing you can do, I'm sorry, it is. Worst case, you will not be considered conventionally hot, maybe. It is not some kind of a huge sacrifice that you should be celebrated for necessarily. For some women, wearing make-up equals getting slut-shamed or even asking to get raped or killed. Not everyone is as privileged as you. Not everyone has the same living conditions as you. You don't know every single one of the small steps towards empowerment that women take every day in their own lives and you cannot be the judge of that, especially when it's about their own bodies. It is fucking gross.

Shaming women who wear make-up needs to end. Now.

Yes, of course it is far easier to just gloat in your power-move to not wear make-up and fall into that trap of feeling superior and start giving lectures to other women about how they should do it, but nobody's going to give you a cookie for that. Feminism is not an aesthetic. Feminism is a political ideology. Learn the difference, it is a huge one. Criticizing women who wear make-up may not necessarily be a case of internalized misogyny per se (it may very well be though), but it does reveal your need to feel superior to other people and how extremely self-righteous and self-absorbed you are.

[shinydixon]

i know this will fall on deaf ears and i apologize if i sound aggressive but for the love of god and all that is holy STOP INTERACTING WITH VQS!!!!!!!!! JUST STOP! if you see something, mute, block and move on. stop engaging with the con account. they want money, they want their clients to always come back. if they notice their post is being boosted because of a ship war, they're gonna lean towards the one they announced in the first place. that way they win vqs and hc's trust and they, in turn, will consider the possibility of going to a con even if their faves aren't present. you know, because the con was so kind and supportive. it's marketing, it's money, it's greed. they don't fucking care about who's fucking who, all they want is someone willing to pay 170 bucks for a fucking photo that lasts 5 seconds. the vqs think they're winning but they're being manipulated and since they all share one brain cell, critical thinking is nonexistent. and now, seriously, speaking as a steddie---- we already get so much shit, we're constantly threatened, called names, sought out for no reason other than hatred----why, just why in the world are some of you calling out a con account for promoting two actors together...WHY??? they were just doing their job and the vqs were gloating but look how fast that shit escalated. if no one had asked why they were putting joe and grace together, this mess wouldn't have happened. and now the vqs are even more insufferable and we're suffering hate AGAIN for fuck's sake, leave them alone in their corner. like, nonnie, you're telling me you spent 4 hours checking the replies fanexpo was giving to vqs? why would you waste time like that? this is so repetitive and taxing. it's always the same thing. always. every single day someone complains about grace interacting with a vq and how she's feeding this shit into her fans, then there's a break and then someone else complains about the same thing. it already hurts so much that we won't ever get a con with joe k and joe q because joe k was simply so traumatized that he quit doing cons. it hurts even more knowing that if he were willing to attend a con, steddie would never be announced like that because most venues are homophobic as fuck. so why give vqs more ammo? why make it seem like we're falling apart here because two actors whose characters could've very well been a couple, were announced together? and honestly, there's literally nothing wrong with what they said in the very first post. this entire thing was ridiculous and everyone involved, including the steddies that decided to question the con post, are in the wrong. just stop interacting with them and by them i mean the vqs. stop reacting to their ridiculous posts, stop giving them attention. that's what they want. they want attention, they wanna be the winning team. they don't care about grace or joe. they just want to be right. (shiny, when i say 'you' i mean the nonnies and not you, ok?)

I've try to convince people to not interact or ignore but sometimes you have to vent 👁️

[the-firebird69]

Wthis stuff that's our job or tired of seen Trump is an ugly person. We don't want him in our face ever and yet here he is in our face so I'm going to tell you we're going to remove him from being in her face. We're going ahead with several programs one of them is going to address this obsessed animal is going to be removed and anyone holding him here are going to be removed and it will be the end of your stupid idiotic family and clan Trump has been found to be the one he's going to come in here and read you until you leave that's the first thing that I wanted to mention earlier it's only 20 minutes ago.

,-the second is you always trying to make him sick and you're dying for being sick luckily. There are about five generals of trump in the hospital and it's from radiation exposure and they couldn't handle it and they're getting sicker in the hospital cuz the hospital no longer filters for radiation and they said it too if you have radiation sickness we don't filter for radiation here and they said God awful why not you don't have enough money cuz you're all a bunch of cheap skates for the filters and it doesn't cost much and they can pay for a whole year without trouble but nobody would let them and he asks what about just my room and they said we can't do that the other patients would be envious and we'd have to do modifications this is I'll bring my own in I said we can't have you do that she said I'm leaving and they said not without formal discharge papers and he says give me the form and I'll write them so they came in the form and he was dead and the people know what's going on and they could hear the radiation is the cause and they're seeing what you do is nothing in our senses I haven't if iodine in me to kill the whole neighborhood and you're not laughing because they know that you have some in there it's not that much because it doesn't stay in for more than a few days but it is enough and the radiation doesn't stay long yeah but it's not really that much and people know where to get it at camping stores and they can treat it but they are not doing that here and they're not using salt so I asked you how the hell are you going to survive the answer is you're not five more generals were stricken ill today and they're going to be gone. The people who go out there into the woods get maximum exposure and it's cumulative and a lot of them are dying they've been running that battle from both sides it's very sad do things and you go out there and you're spoiled and you won't do anything for our son and you won't even use basic radiation kids and things like that and some sort of weird person you people are weird. Expect it to work cuz you're threatening yourself you're horribly stupid and that would be probably 20 generals to date but they'll be five more today and out in the field you're losing leadership rapidly and it'll probably be down to 18% tonight and like 22%, it is not helping you this radiation and as far as your numbers go in Florida because this is the place getting most of the exposure and some of it said Georgia and some Alabama but mostly at Florida about 10% of the population here are going to be gone from the last week of exposure and you're going to lose more during the week that's of the entire population and you're old and you're sick mostly and you walk around seeing your undercover and you're going to go down and not come up you are falling apart already many of you and it's only going to be a matter of time before it's over and we saw him gasping for air today John remillard you can handle the air. And we're watching her son overcome it and get healed by it I'm watching you die by it. And you're not treating it either and it is not a serious amount but it's enough to kill you and what you die from is the dose from when you're a very large or opened running around in the desert or other nukes went off Sarah Morgan law and there are no way able to handle that kind of radiation and you don't know why you think you are you're not from the family and he almost died and again and mutant body which I'm supposed to radiation in about a day and then you just sit in there and you get killed again over and over so that is another thing we're going to print now

Thor Freya

Olympus

This radiation kills people you're sitting there thinking it's going to hurt my husband see him riding around and you don't know what it does and you're all dying and you're riding around with him some of you. I know why you think that you can use drugs and chemicals and most of you don't

Hera

These people are wonders I'll tell you I meant exposed a little and I know what it happens and they are not the right people to be doing this and they're going to be gone and God bless them they should go and senlie

Ken

[localwebslingers]

| Headcanon Dump - Son of a Web Walker(Fantasy AU) |

These are just some basics to help get the ball rolling, and absolutely does not mean I won't make more posts about it later.

So here we go!

Peter has many of the abilities he would as "Spider-Man" but with some alterations. The webbing he makes is organic, being the largest difference, and he's still able to stick to anything and everything. Spider sense is also still present, and it can sense through a glamour of any strength if there is a threat being hidden by it. This can be traps or another individual. However, if it's harmless like another race projecting an appearace that is less likely to cause a stir, but they themselves aren't a threat, Peter won't pick up on it. Increased strength, durability, reflexes, balance, and flexibility are more traits that he has than actual powers.

Peter is constantly sticking to things. Especially once he's comfortable around a person. He's frequently sticking to walls or ceilings and moving across them with ease, and making webs. Not just trails, actual webs he builds and uses. Sometimes for lounging, sometimes for sleeping, sometimes just because he's bored.

Because he's naturally completely silent, or nearly so, walking around, Peter has a bad habit of accidentally sneaking up on and surprising people. Unintentionaly, but it does happen. A lot.

Traveling as a street performer has given Peter the freedom to come and go from home to explore around, and also gives him a chance to interact with people who don't immediately regard him with caution and unease. That is his source of income and while his Aunt May insists he keep his own money, he gives her portions to help maintain the apothecary

From living with May so long and seeing her work, Peter has picked up slightly more than basic, working knowledge for healing and medicine. To the point that he's helped people he comes across with it and now keeps basic remedies on him at all times.

Whenever he comes home from traveling out, he brings things back with him for his loved ones. May especially, as some herbs and resources are harder to come by in their area. If she's running low on something, Peter is probably just so happening to plan to travel out for a while again. However when he does come home, he usually stays for some time before leaving again, street performing and doing odd jobs around town to earn a wage instead.

In town, Peter is frequently referred to as "Web Walker", usually used in malice by those who dislike that he lives there among him. While it does sting to hear as a reminder that he's unwelcome by some, it's not entirely untrue and he brushes it off more often than not.

Peter jokes/teases more with people he knows, and is quick to throw a quip or sarcastic comment to those causing trouble. It often leads those who don't know him to assume he doesn't take things seriously when he's actually paying close attention.

It was actually Peter's mother who was the spider, a creature similar to the myth of the Jorogumo, that could fully take on a human form. This is why his webs are so strong and yes, he has a way of understanding other spiders(he frequently shoos them from his Aunt's shop).

Peter still has a vast hunger for knowledge and learning, gathering scrolls is one of the main things he does when traveling, especially ones about stories and magic. He has a collection of ones he was able to keep at home, along side his father's own scrolls from when the man was alive. Peter has also taught himself a few other languages to help him understand more, currently he can speak four.

Peter is venomous. The fangs retract unless he either actively intends to show them or in high stress moments where he feels threatened.

[headcanons-for-all]

Can you please do a headcannon for yandere Toga as a parent?

Yandere Parent Toga Headcanons

Toga is definitely not a perfect mother but she does love her child. Maybe a bit too much.

She tries her best to show how much she loves you by giving you plenty of hugs. She has more then once tackled hugged you to the ground.

She will pepper you with face kisses, nuzzle up against you and just be incredibly physically affectionate.

It is clear she is extremely overprotective. She tries to keep you by her side at all times and will often threaten people who come too close to you. Even other members of the LOV like Dabi and even Twice get warned.

She continues to be like this for your entire childhood, only leaving whenever she has some sort of job to do. Although, when she comes back, she isn't letting you out of her arms for even a nanosecond.

Toga will make sure you have no friends of your age. She has no problem killing children. Though you won't even know they're dead since Toga will take their blood, have Twice make two clones of her, then transform into three of your friends so you won't be none the wiser.

Toga thinks she's a great mother. All she's doing is protecting you, right? She's just being a good mother, right? You love her, right?!

If you ever want to become independent from her, she'll start getting violent. She won't do anything too extreme but she'll end up slicing your a bit with a knife as she's angrily crying.

You can't leave her. She won't let you leave her. You're her little baby and she'll protect you. Yes, she will.

[cinnamonblueberry22]

I'm done with Adrien Salters. I'll give you the reasons why people salt him and explain why some of them are quite stupid, to say the least.

1. Adrien's advice to Marinette about Lila in Chameleon

Fans are saying that he was guilt-tripping Marinette and wanted to look like the good guy with his advice towards Marinette. Even though that's not the case.

If I'm being honest here, what he said wasn't even that bad IF you focus on his pov, which what you're supposed to do when you wanna hold a character accountable.

He told Marinette to just keep letting her lie to a corner because those lies weren't that effective. And don't say it is effective towards everyone because a lie about meeting a manga publisher isn't going to affect Nathaniel's job life in the future. However yes those lies really were effective to Marinette, but you Salters can't expect him to be eavesdropping on what Lila did to Marinette in the bathroom. She threatened her, yes, but does Adrien know that? No! And I assure you, if Adrien ever knew about it, he wouldn't guilt trip Marinette and defend Lila. That's not him.

Oh and I don't know if you guys seem to forget, but he really tried to speak up about it by being really nice at the same time (Cause he was taught to not get into arguments or bad situations).

"Lila, I'm perfectly fine with being friends with you, and I'll gladly help you catch up on your schoolwork, but please don't lie to me like you did with Ladybug. "

"Ladybugs the liar!"

"I'm not judging you Lila, but instead of making friends, you're going to turn everyone against you! You can tell me if something is bothering you, I can help, but you need to be honest with me. "

"Are you trying to be some kind of superhero by lecturing me like Ladybug did? Well thanks, but no thanks!"

There you have it. That entire conversation. Adrien wanted to help but also wanted Lila to be honest and not make lies, however, that didn't work out. So obviously he thought it'd be best if she lied herself to a corner thinking it wouldn't affect anyone personally but herself. Even though the audience, which is us, knows that Lila has affected Marinette personally. But Adrien doesn't know that! So why salt him for that?

2. Him defending Chloe in Malediktator

I'm pretty sure if you don't know, but Chloe is his childhood friend. He only felt bad because his first friend who wasn't much but really appreciated it left to a whole different location. How would you feel if that happened to you? Plus he didn't even know that she always bullied other people. He started knowing that she always was mean to everyone once he was allowed to go to school. But he didn't condone her behavior in any way possible, in fact, he threatened their friendship if she doesn't start acting like a decent human being. But when he found out that she just won't change, he ignored it. And who wouldn't? Because I would. Just constantly being annoying to everyone and when you try doing something about it but they don't actually listen, who wouldn't ignore them? Also, I don't really think Adrien is that friends with Chloe anymore, if you're still stuck on season 2 while we're at season 4, a time when Adrien knows Chloe literally joined Hawkmoth and he is probably against that.. Then this reason for you salting him is invalid.

3. He sexually harasses Ladybug and is obsessed with her

Now, I actually agree with this statement. I hold him accountable for that. He has tried kissing her countless times, got mad at her for a rose, has a whole gallery of photos of Ladybug, flirts with her, and always does physical touch with her. However, there is a reason why he keeps on doing physical touch when clearly Ladybug is not interested (Even though from the audience's pov, that's not the case). He has experienced this kind of behavior. Lila kissed him on the cheek when he is clearly not interested. Chloe is pushy and keeps kissing Adrien when he's clearly not comfortable with her doing that. All of these are examples of sexual harassment. So it would make sense as to why he perpetuates this kind of behavior towards Ladybug. Am I saying this behavior is okay and should be excused for the reason I brought it up? No. There's always a reason for everything, and this time, it's actually valid why Adrien does this. However, we deserve to see Ladybug somewhat be annoyed or talk to someone about his behavior and she eventually talks to Cat noir about it. And since Cat noir listens to Ladybug all the time, he would listen and understand. He has always been that way when Ladybug was stressed, annoyed, or upset about something.

But if I am okay with this reason as to why you salt them, why did I include this reason? Well, some of these people who acknowledge Adrien's behavior as Cat noir and salt him for that reason are the same exact people who love and stan Marinette. I am not one of those people, but if you are reading this post and you're one of them, just know that you're being dumb. Because Marinette has also done crazy, illegal, and wild things just like Cat noir, but do they acknowledge her behavior? No! But they do for Cat noir? That doesn't make sense. You can't just pick and choose which character you wanna hold accountable for. Hold both of them accountable, it's not a game.

Although if you aren't one of these people, and actually hold both accountable, thanks. I personally don't slander or salt either of them cause I'm not into that, but if you guys do that I don't really mind. Glad to have you here tho.

Overall, some of the reasons why some fans dislike or even hate Adrien are really something else and are probably not watching the show anymore or they are but just decide to ignore Adrien's character in the new episodes.

[masterwords]

Above a Raging Sea

Summary: The quiet moments Hotch & Morgan spend alone in the room with Haley after Foyet. (Shorty for Day One of Whumptober 2021)

Warnings: death (Haley's), grief, blood

Pairings: None

Words: 775

“You have to let go,” Morgan says softly, whispering in Hotch's ear. He's been holding Haley's body in his arms so long, pressed tight against him, palms splayed huge over her small shoulders. No breath in her lungs, no life in her limbs. Morgan doesn't want to pull him away, he knows it's the last time Hotch will ever hold her, but she's gone and no amount of tears or love pressed into her can change that. The room stifles around them, the world has gone still but only for so long. He knows this calm has to end, he knows the chaos that follows. “C'mon, Hotch,” he says, glancing up only briefly to shoo an EMT out of the room, the same young man who has come twice to check on things, twice to see if he can help. It's all he can do to keep it to the two of them, people keep wandering in, waiting to do their jobs and he keeps saying to give them some time but how much time can he reasonably ask for? Hotch doesn't respond, his face is buried in her neck, skin cold and sticky against his. He doesn't seem to notice, not really, he's just holding on for dear life to the last good thing he knows.

“I can't...” Hotch whispers back, the first thing he's said in so long his voice feels wrong. Throat tight, painful, he can feel the bruising in his jaw as it spreads down into his neck. He's holding her so tight, too tight, a life preserver in a stormy sea and once he lets her go he's lost. The waves are already crashing hard against him, they're ruthless, vengeful and they pull him under every chance they get. He can't breathe and she's the only thing bringing him back to the surface gasping for air. What does he hold when he can no longer hold her?

It hurts, everything hurts, and he keeps her close another minute, a minute too long. It's selfish, he knows it, some part of him that is still thinking logically knows he has to put her down and let people do their jobs, this part of his life is over and no amount of time spent here will change it. Slowly, he lowers her to the ground, as gently as he can because she's still, even in death, the most precious thing. She's beautiful, he thinks, tucking her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers trail along the familiar line from her ear to her jaw. He lets out a sob, something that erupts from deep within, his entire body shudders under the pressure and he presses his palms to his eyes in order to stifle the burning of the tears that just won't stop. He's alone. He feels it now, the cold, the way he's suddenly exposed.

He's alone. He's been alone for a long time now but it had never felt like this, adrift in a squall, waves bashing at him from all sides and he's ready to give up. He sinks back into the carpet, drags his hands down his face and settles there for a moment with his arms wrapped tight around his knees like a frightened child, tries to catch his breath while lost in the dark recesses of his mind. Wondering what his next step is, where he turns now that his life preserver is gone. He's sinking fast. Morgan contemplates the scene from above, watches this man who is always a pillar of strength crumble to dust before his eyes. He can't let it happen, can't let him fall into the deep. His despair is palpable, it's crushing Morgan, threatens to turn his knees to jelly but he stands firm.

“Hotch,” Morgan says softly, and Hotch opens his eyes, drawn to the surface by the sound. Low, gravely, hardly above a whisper. In his anguish he'd forgotten he wasn't the only person in the room and he's startled, blinks stupidly against the harsh light. Instinct tells him who it is before his eyes focus, he would know Morgan anywhere on any plane of existence, but he's got blood in his lashes and everything is singed crimson and blurred. He squints up at this man who, for reasons not apparent to Hotch, has stayed behind, has stuck beside him while he fell apart. Extended before him is a hand, palm up and warm, teeming with life, waiting for him to grab hold. He reaches for it, presses his palm into Morgan's and feels fingers wrap tight around his, pulling him up for air. “C'mon. I got you.”