#Part 1 Of 2

[dunmeshistash]

How do you feel about Milsiril? Like what do you think of her interactions between the canaries, her goals, her intentions and morality? I keep seeing people with mixed feelings about her, some saying she's just toxic or morally grey or doing bad but with good intentions or that she's just a mentally ill and literally so much more, also with the comic about Otta calling Milsiril love for her children/Kabru as just love for a pet, I always saw people take it at face value and say yes, Milsiril did love them more as pets instead of children, did she take up raising/adopting non-elf children because she felt like none of them could ridicule her like the elves did because they didn't know what an elf was supposed to be like (and also because they were children) or did she inherently view them as less? I mean the canaries and I'm pretty sure almost all of the cast in dungeon meshi have some sort perspective on different races especially because how they were taught about them, i just think it was interesting to finally see someone interpret it as Otta just misinterpreting Milsiril, I'm just really interested in her, i think shes neat, sorry for the rant!

Ooh, well to preface this, I hadn't really realized Milsiril was such a controversial character before my last post, I kinda live under a rock. She's really not a character I had given much thought besides what I wrote there before it, but I can do my best to express what I have thought since, with sources for it. I'm not sure what order to go thru so I'll just go by manga appearances and then extras, this will probably be quite a long post

This is the first time she shows up in the manga (ch55) Kabru is wondering about what future they might have if the elves take them into custody because of the ancient magic, he thinks about Milsiril as a get out of jail card, and mentions "There's a chance they would make us become permanent resident of the elven lands." with the image of Milsiril holding him. I don't think that means she would be the one to not let them leave, since this would probably be an legal issue, and the fact Milsiril lives away from other Elves. It does set up that Milsiril is quite overprotective tho, with Kabru's reaction to her teary hug. (rest is under a cut)

The next time she shows up is in ch61 right after Kabru falls down the dungeon along with Mithrun, he faints and has this flashback

She's being her overbearing self treating Kabru's small injury as if its something you need to be in bed for, hand feeding him like he's a toddler, and when he insists he wants to learn how to fight and be strong like her, she hugs him revealing to us for the first time her arm scars, she's cleary in distress too, so you wonder "what has happened to her?"

It continues in the next pages, as she tells him to stay there, where it's safe and there's cake, and describes the bad things he might encounter. Until he tells her he will go with or without her help

Honestly this is a Kabru we don't see often, this is the version of him that is usually in thought bubbles, he's blowing out in frustation over being smothered and demanding straight up what he wants, instead of trying to manipulate Milsiril, very blunt for him. Milsiril seems to flip a switch into battle mode, when she decides to train him for real.

I really thought this was funny, the visual of these cuddly toys and this Mom that was being so soft just a second ago completely flipping into something menacing is very amusing to me. She says "I'll give you an exhaustive, thorough training in how to use a sword... until you finally decide that you're ready to give up." although it sounds cruel, it seems she really trained him as best she could to make sure he would survive the dungeon. If he couldn't take the training with her there was no way he would be able to take on the dungeon, but he could, so much so that he managed to make her let him go. I can see this being seen as her trying to prevent him from going but to me it seems more like some tough love from a traumatized war veteran in this case.

The last thoughts he has is admitting his Mom was right, "Not only were there plenty of traps, monsters, and malice... but there were times when I felt so hungry and cold that I couldn't stand it."

And he concludes with "I never once thought that I wanted to go back there. That room where I could eat all the cake that I wanted..." While I can understand the interpretation that he means he would rather go thru all this than go back, perhaps cause he hated it there, I think it's rather a statement to how committed he is to defeating the dungeon, the visuals show him in rubble vs him in a soft big bed, the rough reality he fought to be able to face and the comfyness of what his life could be. Plus is mirroring exactly what Milsiril said to him. Admitting she was right about the bad things but that he won't give up for the safe easy life he had.

After that visuals of Milsiril are used while Kabru tries to sus out Mithrun but she shows up again in Mithrun's backstory.

Here she's straight up called Gloomy, which wasn't really the version of her we saw so far, gotta remember this is also how Mithrun saw her and that she was called gloomy as a way of bullying. Kabru mostly cuts off her part in the story until the end, when she's the one to find Mithrun after he was eaten by the demon

She doesn't really care much for Mithrun as we see in some extras, and she was ready to mercy kill him, but she is also the one to spare his life. This could be seen as her thinking he can still be of use, and it's how it sounds with how Kabru tells the story, but I do think this was also a merciful act, Mithrun was in rehabilitation for 20 years after being saved, by the time he was actually useful for anything Milsiril had already left the canaries and adopted Kabru.

Now for extras... About Mithrun/The Canaries, Milsiril was cleary someone that hated the people around her. This is her extra in the Adventurer's Bible

Milsiril seems to be the type that hates "popular kids" so to say, her description says she was bullied by other elves for being so introverted so I believe she holds a grudge against people like Mithrun that seem to have succeeded where she failed. But realizing he was a twisted person like her seemed to make her feel more sympathetic towards him, that's why I think she really did act with mercy when she saves Mithrun, he's now someone she sees as similar to her, she sees he also suffered like her

Her decription also mentions she left the canaries specifically because she was disgusted with how the Utaya situation was dealt with. Yet it seems like she came back to help Mithrun with his rehabilitation once she quits.

There's an interpretation to be made that she did this only to get "revenge" on the demon since she just saw the destruction of Utaya, and that she's using him. On the other hand maybe she wants to help him find a motivation to live, she's no longer a canary and she has time to actually help him now. I don't know which one is the truth but it's not obviously something self-serving if you ask me. Especially in the context that right before this scene Milsiril admits she wishes they could have talked before.

My interpretation of her relationship with the canaries and other elves is that she's someone depressed that was mistreat for her 'quirky' side, the dolls are clearly one of the ways she used to cope with anxiety/depression but it only caused her to be bullied by her own kin, she's the daughter of an important family and it's shown in other extras, including one about Mithrun, that nobles often send out the kids they don't want around to become canaries. It's an easy way to get rid of someone undesirable and I think it was the case for Milsiril. (Pattadol even assumes her parents love her less than her sisters for sending her to join the canaries).

No wonder than that now that she's finally free from the canaries she chose to seek her own happiness away from the society she felt she could never fit into, she clearly likes to take care of children too, I think it's mean to assume she only likes them because she feels superior to them when there's no indication that this is the case.

And I don't think it's a coincidence she's so overprotective of Kabru after Utaya, it's literally the tragedy that was the breaking point for her, and he's a surviving small child from that tragedy, Milsiril cares about Kabru and wanted him to have a comfortable safe life after everything he went thru...

This ended up getting way too long so I'll make second part tomorrow about the rest of the extras and Kabru, and some other things I've seen said about Milsiril, but to answer the questions...

I don't think she treats her children as pets, Otta is just salty she was called out for dating like Leo Dicaprio.

Every single dungeon meshi character can be called morally grey because they all have flaws that in our world can be considered unforgivable, but they don't live in our world. To me Milsiril is doing her best in the context she lives in.

Who even is neurotypical in dungeon meshi, Milsiril is yet another flavour of a neurodivergent traumatized character among so many.

I believe she thought of the other canaries, especially Mithrun, as the same type of people that were cruel to her, probably because some of them really were, but that she generalized it to the point she thinks of all of them as bad by default. You can only get hurt so many times before you assume everyone will hurt you.

Part 2

[kulai]

DAY 8: Cuddling 1/2

based on Chaos for the Fly ch.23 !!! check it out on twitter :3

if its not obvious i really love fanfics lol theyre the entire reason I'm still at the level of obsessed to be drawing wenclair so often.... so go give ao3 a read and comment on every fanfic u love pls !! cus im too much of a pussy and would rather just make art to show how much i love it

[dragonmasteraltais]

Godzilla revealed in the new trailer for Godzilla X Kong: The New Empire.

[goodobservationshirley]

We're still here, Emily. We are stronger than anyone– anyone gives us credit for.

[rocals]

post ray toro autism smile

[noelements-setempty]

Hot take but my imaginary part is 0.

[pdfbabe]

Do you still eat sheet metal

duhhhh i'm a lesbian

[etherealily]

ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ // ​ɴ.ᴊ [1]

Hey, guys. This is one of those Nate drafts I was talking about. Hope you like it. This is a two-part fic.

Nate Jacobs x fem!reader. SFW, but discretion advised. Masochism(?), violence, delusion.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : He recognizes you.

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It's not like Nate didn't know what the fuck he was doing. 90% of the time, he was on top of shit. But then he drank. And then, shit went down.

And unfortunately, the shit that went down was the bouncer of the elite club a couple towns away from East Highland - the one that was known for being freqented by A-listers and the who's who of who's disgustingly wealthy.

Of course, he didn't stay down for long or he'd have been a shitty bouncer, but the element of surprise had really worked out in Nate's favour. No one expects a tipsy high school kid to be able to take down the absolutely ripped bouncer - who was probably the most dedicated to their job because of the celebrities inside - but they really should expect it.

Because Nate Jacobs with alcohol in him was a fucking force to be reckoned with.

With every punch to the face, with every sharp taste of his own blood that touched his tastebuds, he'd never felt more alive. He laughed, reveled in it, even.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, kid?"

Hell if he knew. Right now, though, seeing how frustrated this jacked, violent, adult man was getting when he didn't respond to his punches was making him feel like a god. He must look both pathetic and badass, his head hitting the pavement with an oomph continuously.

The crowd forming around them did jackshit for him, just like in the movies. They just watched the blood. They just observed the bruises form. The door to the club was visible to him each time the guy pulled back and the crowd shifted slightly - until it opened.

"Jesus Christ, Ray, what the hell is going on here?"

"Ma'am, this kid jumped me."

"So?"

"I- ma'am, so I gave him a taste of his own medicine." His fingers still gripped Nate's collar, bloodthirstiness pooling in his eyes. But Nate's eyes were nowhere near his - they were on you. God, in this drunken haze, his mind couldn't seem to place a name to your lovely face, but it definitely knew it.

"Not in front of the club, Ray, God, you're so fucking dense!", you scolded him, your fingers gesturing at the side of your head, clearly absolutely ticked off.

The dazzling gold of your dress shimmered in the bright lights of the street outside the club, almost blinding him. Her name, her name?

Look at me, look at me, look at me, his brain pleaded, but it seemed you were not a mind reader.

"Sorry, ma'am, I was just-"

"Who the hell is he, anyway?", you asked, eyes finally torn away from Ray and trained on Nate.

He was dirt. He was mud. He was a rotting apple. He was nothing under your gaze, and he fucking loved it.

"Dunno.", scoffed Ray, as he pulled off him, standing up. Nate remained on the floor. "Some booze-filled moron."

"The fuck did you just say?", sputtered Nate, coughing up blood in the process.

"Ray, are you fucking insane? You beat up some random kid enough to make him cough out blood?"

"These high schoolers from the neighbouring towns are the insane ones, ma'am. Absolute psychos. They show up shitfaced and ask to come in, picking fights if they can't. This one is worse, he just up and jumped me."

You stared down at Nate as you listened, and he couldn't fight the feeling that slowly, an opinion was forming in your head. An opinion of him. And one that wasn't just him as dirt, insignificant and extremely forgettable. It was one of him as a manic alcoholic.

"Fucking lunatics out here.", you mumbled, patting Ray on the shoulder, sympathetically. "Make sure he gets home."

"I don't even know which town he's from, ma'am."

"Find out."

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The interrogation was fruitless.

Nate was too busy blacking out to even be declared conscious , let alone give any idea of his origins.

So, out there, he sat. Next to Ray, fading in and out, being given water, both to drink, and sprinkled on his face, until the last of the guests had arrived, and the super-elite party had seemed to begin, finally.

And the door opened again, behind them. Ray stood up. Nate thought he stood up too, but he was still just sitting there, pathetic, bloody, and beaten up. Every sound felt muffled to him, your voice from behind him, Ray's voice from in front of him.

"Why is he still out here?" The angel. You.

"He isn't telling me shit, ma'am. Except that he was trying to get in because he lost some bet."

"Get him in, we'll get some food in him.", you sighed, gazing back down at him. Dirt. Mud. Inconsequential. Useless. Nothing. Manic, nothing alcoholic.

Ray scooped him up from under his arm, leaning him against his shoulder. "There we go, kid, c'mon."

Nate groaned, his eyes trying desperately to stay open as they fell on the luminous sign above the establishment : The Golden.

God, the amount of times he and his friends had tried to get in, since they were thirteen was absolutely insane. If only he'd have known all it took was being shitfaced and stupid to get in, he'd have done that a long time ago.

After all, shitfaced and stupid was his default state.

The sounds that were barely murmurs from the pavement outside were devastating roars from inside. A song everyone was screeching along to boomed overhead, overshadowing every thought in his head, the lack of lighting was accounted for by fluorescent wristbands that every celebrity in there wore, and they moved around as people danced, so fast he almost got whiplash.

Basically, the club was doing nothing for his hangover but exacerbation.

"Booth. There."

Ray deposited him in the booth, which he slid into quite pathetically, though now, his consciousness was more in his grasp. The crimson still streaked his face.

"What's your name, dude?"

"WHAT?", he yelled, over the screams of a particularly annoying group of models.

"Name.", you mouthed, waving Ray off before sipping your drink. Vodka spritz, he noted. Classy.

"Nate. Nate Jacobs."

"Nate Jacobs, you're an absolute dumbass, you know that?"

"Yes, ma'am."

You chuckled, looking away from him to the DJ, to the hordes of people having the time of their lives. Nate did, too. He wasn't sure if he saw what you saw, because to his eyes, it was spoiled assholes acting like they couldn't do the same shit in a normal club.

You seemed to see something else, though. He needed to know what.

"What was the bet?"

Nate's eyes tore away from the assholes and ran back to you. "Make out with a guy or fuck a celebrity."

"What?"

"Yeah, of course I didn't choose the first one."

"Which celebrity were you planning to fuck?"

"Oh, 100% Mia Thomas."

"She's a cunt."

"So? Hit and quit."

"Trust me, not with her, you can't."

Noted.

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Hangovers and high school do not mix well. Case in point : Nate Jacobs. Sleeping it off as soon as he got home should have helped, but it did not. He sat there in the back of the class, clutching onto the sides of his desk till his knuckles became white. "Ugh." His teacher droning on about the fucking World War didn't help, it just set his teeth on edge.

"The fuck is he? Where the fuck is he?"

Nate's head lifted up painfully - he felt like he was being stabbed from the inside. His eyes narrowed as they tried to handle the amount of light coming in, adjusting to the unnecessarily, obnoxiously bright classroom around him.

Every single pair of eyes in there seemed to be on him, and for a moment he wondered whether his eyes were actually bleeding.

But then, the eyes all simultaneously turned to the doorway. An angel.

Stood there with a cigarette between your fingers and your piercing gaze running wildly across the room in search for someone, you were terrifyingly ethereal. He was actually 90% sure you were a hangover hallucination.

Phones were whipped out, recording, and boys wolf-whistled. "Nate, there you are, the fuck are you doing in here?" Uh, school?

He couldn't speak. The most he could do was sit up, slightly, but even that caused his head to bludgeon him.

"C'mon.", you called, pointing a thumb at the door. "Let's go, big guy. Now."

"Excuse me, you can't just come into class and-"

"Kindly shut the fuck up. I'm so fucking pissed right now I would actually burn you."

A psychotic angel.

As the door slammed behind him, something told him this wasn't going to be like one of those movies where you tell him you want to fuck the shit out of him.

"I'm going to ask you this once, and once only. You lie to me, I will put a hit on you."

Did you know how much you were turning him on right now? You had to, right?

"Did you, or did you not, talk to the press after you left The Golden?"

"The press? No. I didn't talk to the press." He almost laughed. He'd remember a bunch of mics and cameras in his face.

"Did you talk to anyone?"

He shrugged. "I talked to my friend McKay, my dad, my broth-"

"A skeevy short guy with glasses and a power suit?"

He closed his eyes, willing away the pounding in his head and trying to conjure up some memory. Yes. Yes, he vaguely recalled one such character waddling by him, asking him unnecessary amounts of questions, before he could slump into the cab you'd called for him.

"Yeah, but-"

"But?"

"I dunno, he was just a guy, he didn't have a camera or anything!"

"Rule number one of being a celebrity-adjacent, Nate?", you spat, and he grimaced. "Shut. The. FUCK. Up about us. Okay?"

He wanted to argue he wasn't a celebrity-adjacent, but he was pretty sure you weren't done.

"You know what the press is saying, now? Because of you? Apparently I fucked you and then had you beat up."

Whoa.

"What? But I didn't even talk about sex to him!", he whined. He didn't want you to look at him like he was an idiot! He didn't want you to be mad. He wanted to be dirt under your gaze, not fucking... shit!

"Doesn't matter! HOW FUCKING IDIO-", you cut yourself off, and Nate wanted to believe it was because you were being considerate about his hangover, but you were probably just trying not to waste energy on him. "Okay. You're lucky that there were cameras to disprove that shit, Nate, but I swear to god, stay away, okay?"

From... you? The angel? No, no, no.

"What?" His voice was the least masculine he'd ever heard it to be, but you know what? If you wanted him pathetic, he was already doing what you wanted.

"Stay away from The Golden. You don't belong there. It's not your world."

That should've offended him more than it actually did.

The fact that you were looking, sorry, glaring at him did soften the blow, though.

══════════════════ ⋆⋅🥂⋅⋆ ══════════════════

TWO MONTHS LATER

"It's a birthday, Nate, c'mon."

"Look, she's a fucking whore, Maddy, you know it. She's rich, yeah, but-"

Nate almost banged her head into the table when she began to laugh.

Nate couldn't wrap his head around that stupid thing in his life called his luck - probably because it was non-existent - because what the fuck? Who knew Maddy's stupid ass babysitting job would somehow lead him back to the memory he'd been wanting to bury deep within him?

Fate's a bitch. And so were you.

"Her being rich has something to do with this because...?", she mused, gently wrapping some hair in her flat iron while glancing at him through the mirror.

"Because?", he sputtered, ready to actually write it down in case her slow brain still didn't get it. "She's also, as I said, a whore! She'll invite every rich boy in the country to her birthday party!"

"You haven't even fucking met her. She's, like, a celebrity. She has to keep up appearances.", informed Maddy, dilligently, like it was her job or something. Poor, gullible, starstruck Maddy. "She's only inviting rich boys because she has to. She told me herself that sh-"

"This ain't a fucking Disney movie, Maddy. You can't be the quirky normal girl who's BFFs with a public figure. It doesn't work like that."

"Normal? Normal?" She turned, raising a brow, almost daring him to repeat himself.

"No, Maddy, don't fucking lose it over a word. I can't do that shit today, I got fucking finals coming up."

"Why do you even hate her so much?"

"She's rich. And a whore."

And I totally embarrassed myself in front of her and I want to kill myself every time I see her on TV.

"You said that already. You don't even know her. You haven't even met her. She doesn't even know I have a boyfriend.", she said, before correcting herself in response to his incredulous glare. "I mean, she doesn't know we're back together."

"Exactly. How close are you guys if you don't find her trustworthy enough to tell her you're with someone?"

"I just don't want to burden her with-"

"Bullshit , Maddy, bull-fucking-shit. She has no burdens. You could tell her you have cancer, it'll just bounce right off her empty head."

"She has so much shit on her plate, and she's constantly stressed out, Nate. So don't even go there.", she warned, checking her lipstick one last time before she began to slip into the 'outfit'.

"You know what she has on her plate? Fucking filet mignon and wagyu steak."

She chuckled, shaking her head as he zipped her up. "You could come, you know? Not like you care about studying anyway."

"I'm not coming to a fucking twee party with wealthy twinks dressed in Balenciaga or something."

"Twinks never wear Balenciaga. That's for strippers."

Now it was his turn to chuckle. "Yeah, sure whatever. I'll buy you anything you want, Maddy, okay? Don't fuck some hot rich twink who's still in the ridiculously expensive closet.", he cautioned, turning her around to face him.

She rolled her eyes. "If I do?"

"I'll fuck your rich whore friend." The fact that his thumb rubbed against her cheek actually meant that he was being serious.

"Y/N wouldn't fuck you if her fortune depended on it.", scoffed Maddy, kissing him on the cheek before throwing him the keys that sat next to his wallet, on her dresser. "Let's go, chauffeur."

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"Maddy! You're here! You look amazing!", you exclaimed, as Maddy ran up to you to hug you. "God, I missed you."

"Happy birthday.", she whispered, squeezing you once before letting go. "Maybe now you can....", she teased, nudging your elbow.

"Oh, come on, Maddy, I'm not going to go sleep with Chris Evans, now, for fuck's sake."

"Why?", she whined. "You know him, and it's finally legal."

You rolled your eyes. "Not everyone finds the same guys as you hot, okay?"

"You're fucking blind if you don't think Chris Evans is hot."

You leaned down, slightly, to whisper. "Why's your chauffeur getting out?"

"Oh, oh, yeah, yeah, yeah.", she giggled excitedly, tugging you along to meet him. "This is my boyfriend."

You almost fucking banged her head on the pavement. "No, Maddy, not the toxic guy again.", you muttered, so only she could hear. She waved you off. Poor, gullible, lovestruck Maddy.

"Hey. Y/N, right? Happy birthday, I guess."

FUCK. Fuck, this guy? The one who bloodied up your best bouncer? The one who almost cost you your career? That dumbass?

You could have sworn he glared. "Yeah, thanks.", you nodded, extending your hand out. He looked at it, then up at you in amusement for a fraction of a second, before taking it. "Nice to meet you, your highness. I'm Nate."

Not another fucking jokester.

"Funny.", you replied, dryly. turning to Maddy. "Your boyfriend coming in?"

Please say no.

"I'm right here, just fucking talk to me. Or do you need fucking butlers to do that for you?"

Based on what Maddy had told you about him, you'd expected that.

"Nate, shut the fuck up.", snapped Maddy, through clenched teeth. "Sorry, babe, he's stressed 'cause of finals."

"I'm sorry, sir, do you have a problem with me?"

"You won't give me the fucking decency of talking to me like a human being, but then, when I call you out on it, you get all polite and all 'Sir', on me, like a cowardly fucking cunt !"

"NATE!"

Maddy's voice cut through the air like the knife that Nate guessed you were fantasizing slitting his throat with right about then.

The music continued to blare from inside the house, but the silence was louder. "I will...", you began, but what the fuck does one say after that? "I will... get you guys drinks."

"No, I'm not fucking staying, you kidding me?"

"Nate.", hissed Maddy, threateningly.

Fine. What-fucking-ever.

══════════════════ ⋆⋅🥂⋅⋆ ══════════════════

"This food sucks ass, Maddy."

"Ooh, you see that guy over there? The one Y/N's talking to?"

"Looks gay."

"He's not. Apparently, he's one of the most eligible bachelors in the world. Super rich. And he has a thing for Y/N."

"I wonder why.", he sneered, rolling his eyes, trying his best not to imagine what it would be like to break the stupid fucking chandelier above his head.

"He's super rich, Nate. He doesn't need her money."

"I was talking about her tits."

"Nate, if you're jealous, just say so.", sighed Maddy, though the amusement was quite clear in her voice.

"Jealous ?", he muttered, rolling his eyes. Maddy was amazing, but she was also unbelievably perceptive. "Of what?"

"Her life."

Maddy was really pissing him off. When the fuck did she become so smart?

"Okay, so she's rich. Big whoop. It's all Daddy's money."

"First off, she's got a career of her own, y'know? And second off- so? Daddy's money or not, it's more money than you'll ever have. Than we'll ever have."

"How do you even breathe normally around these people without sounding too poor?", he scoffed, downing his drink as he glared at you, giggling away while wearing your Dior bullshit.

"Fake it till you make it, I guess.", shrugged Maddy, not at all answering his question.

She didn't get it.

She was wearing something ethereal. He was in his fucking jeans and a tank top.

Your words echoed in his head, "it's not your world."

"Do you even know anyone else besides the birthday girl?"

"I don't, actually, no."

"So Y/N ditched you.", scoffed Nate, rolling his eyes as he sipped his drink. Holy fucking shit, the liquor was bomb. "Typical."

"You don't even fucking know her, okay?"

"Hey, Mads, all okay over here?", you asked, smiling as you went around your rounds of checking up on your huge guest list.

She nodded, before her eyes travelled back to Harry. She tipped her glass slightly in his direction. "So, how's it going with you and pretty boy over there?"

"Oh my god, was it obvious?"

"Just look at his fuck-me-till-I-die-eyes, girl! Yes, it was obvious!"

Nate hoped he was good at hiding his eye-roll.

"Yeah, well, you know, whatever. He's just-"

"If you say 'just a friend', I'm pouring this champagne on your head.", warned Maddy.

"He's just... sexy. And that's all he has going for him. No... sparks, you know? No... flair. Just a dick and abs.", you laughed, and Maddy joined in, watching you sip your drink.

"And guys are the 'objectifiers'? Good to know."

"Okay, seriously dude, what the fuck is your proble-"

Maddy shook her head, snapping her fingers in your face. "Sh. Let it go."

"No, I'm not fucking letting it go, Maddy, he can't just come to my birthday, and comment on every fucking thing I do!"

"Well, then, maybe I should leave! This isn't my world, anyway!"

The fuck was your problem? It's like you got offended at every single thing anyone said, and they had to bend over backwards apologizing because you were rich? No fucking way.

"Yeah, you should!"

"Come on, Maddy, let's go.", grumbled Nate, clenching his jaw as he grabbed Maddy's arm.

"Maddy, you're staying!", you ordered, glaring.

"The hell you are.", he growled, tugging her along.

"Maddy, stay !"

The party watched him and suddenly, he was getting beat up in front of the club all over again, but this time, he was the aggressor.

Fine. Whatever. Nate had at least an iota of self respect.

"See you at school, Mads.", he scoffed.

The glass in his hand made contact with the floor, shattering into a million little pieces.

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SIX MONTHS LATER

"Fuuuck.", he groaned, fistfuls of his hair spewing out from the gaps between his fingers.

"She's not fucking dead. Just pay her."

McKay better have fucking life insurance, because he was about to stab him.

"I shouldn't have fucking drank, I shouldn't have fucking drank...', he muttered, slamming his hand down on the steering wheel as he fixed his eyes in front of him, at the car he'd almost run off the cliff.

He heard the distinct sound of a car door slam, and out you walked, indignant - and rightfully so.

"Dude, dude, it's that Y/N chick, the actress girl.", hissed McKay, nudging him in the elbow. "She'll fuck us up in court, dude."

"Yes, I fucking realise that. Act cool, act cool."

YOU? YOU? Why the FUCK did it have to be YOU? Was karma real? Or was the universe just trying to fuck him up?

"I'm always cool, man."

Nate's eyes flicked from your car to your approaching figure. Why the fuck were you in East Highland?

You threw your hands up in frustration as he lowered his window, and, in a drunken haze, his eyes. You, thankfully, didn't notice. "What the FUCK was that, dude, huh?"

"Sorry, I just... lost control."

"Wait-Nate? UN-believable.", you scoffed, running your hands through your hair in frustration. HIM? HIM? Why the FUCK did you have to deal with HIM tonight? And then you saw his face. "Are you wasted?"

No, no, he was supposed to be good at hiding this shit. But he figured you'd be good at seeing through bullshit, seeing as bullshitting was your entire career.

"No, what? Two respectable citizens like us?", he asked, trying his best to look offended, but it's hard when you're staring into the eyes of someone who could fuck up your life with a signature.

"Bullshit. You're fucking wasted, aren't you?"

"What are you, a cop?" He restrained himself from adding a lewd comment about you putting him in handcuffs.

"I loved that movie you made recently- Starshine Valley.", declared McKay, matter-of-factly. "It was fucking fantastic."

Oh, yeah, Nate had watched it with him. The fact that you'd also directed it was news to him. Your 'country girl' outfit in that was, in Nate's head at least, equivalent to Leia in the fucking gold bikini.

Okay, whatever, not like Nate gave a shit. Right now, he was focused on McKay. McKay and his slur. His fucking slur. No, no, no!

You ran your hand over your face, palpably exhausted. "Okay, here's what we're going to do.", you began, trying your best to not show how much you wanted to tip their car over the bridge right now. "We're going to call the police-"

"No, we're not! Please, I'll make it up to you."

"You'll make it up to me? You almost drove my $500K car off a cliff!"

Jesus Christ. "Please, please, not the cops, we just... I've got a clean record so far, I don't wanna... please."

It came as a huge surprise that Nate's record was clean, but whatever.

"You should've thought of that before you-"

"Please, I have college to think of, my family-"

"FUCK! Okay. No cops."

"Thank you, thank you."

"Just don't fucking drive if you're drunk, ok? Where are you guys even going?"

"Back into town."

"East Highland?"

Nate almost laughed. What other fucking town was in that direction?

"Yeah, yeah, we are. You're going there?"

Please let this be a Disney movie. Please let her come back and join high school after a life of spoilt stardom. Please let me get to 'accidentally' throw a football at her pretty little head during practice. Please.

"Yeah, visiting my folks before I go out to Scotland to shoot.", you mumbled, running your hands through your hair again. For some reason, this drove him absolutely crazy. In a good or bad way, he didn't know. "Need a ride?"

Oh, yeah. In that car? Fuck yeah.

"What about our car?", asked McKay, stupidly. When asked whether you need a ride in a $500K car, you accept. You don't think about your shitty ass car.

"I'll come back and get it for you guys, I guess."

"You would? You'd do that for us, Emily?"

Why the fuck did McKay make a reference to Starshine Valley? What a fucking nerd. Not to say Nate wasn't about to make the exact same one.

"Shut up and get out."

-------

"Thanks again for not getting us busted."

"Don't fucking drink and drive, guys, okay? Get in your houses. Your car'll be back here by morning."

"And where will you be?", asks Nate, tilting his head.

"Oh, no, no, this isn't a fucking rom-com. This wasn't a meet-cute."

"I'm just saying, if we wanna settle things about the damage to your car..."

"There's no way to settle things without the law getting involved, and, for the sake of your criminal record, I think you should just leave it at that.", you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you pull out of his driveway.

"Fuck, dude.", muttered McKay after they watch you leave. "Fuck."

"She's such a knockout."

"Total smokeshow.", nodded McKay, in agreement. "But you know she was lying, right?"

"What? About our car?"

"Nah, about where she was going. She isn't from here. This ain't her hometown. If it was, we'd have seen her growing up, yeah?"

Nate almost killed himself right there. How drunk do you have to be to miss that?

"You're saying she's not meeting her folks?"

"I'm saying she ain't even staying in East Highland."

"Then where the fuck is she going?"

McKay groaned, as if Nate was the slowest fucking guy in the world. "You know that super-elite superstar club a few towns away?"

The one he'd tried getting into when he was shitfaced a couple months ago.

"The Golden? You think she's going there?"

"You saw what she was wearing? Who the fuck meets their parents wearing that ? Who's that stupid?"

Evidently, Nate, because he'd actually believed you.

And now, he felt the urge to get even more shitfaced and stupid.

He wanted to follow you back into The Golden.

The question was , would he?

[t.b.c]

[wehangout]

Day 4

Kinktober 2024

Day 4 Prompts: Cream Pie/ "You're so messy"/"Turn over, baby."

Summary: Cream Pie is an euphemism. There is no dessert in this fic. You have been warned.

Read on AO3

@gallavichthings

[shady-swan-jones]

Haladriel Week 2024 | Day 4: Binding

All It Takes To Bind You

Men needed rings and ceremony, officiants and family. Did elves marry through mere consummation? Even though there was nothing mere about their– “Are we binded to each other?”

One shot | M | 1.2k

Read on Ao3

_

Day 1: Seawater. Day 2: One Corrupts, Two Bind. Day 3: Unsired

[shiorimakibawrites]

Cat Man Do - Part I (Daredevil Fan Fic)

This started out as a one-shot but has just kept growing. It will be at least two parts long now.

Cat Man Do

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Secondary Pairings: Foggy Nelson x Marci Stahl, implied Karen Page x Frank Castle Word Count: 9600 Summary: Matt Murdock is having a bad night. He has been turned into a cat with a blizzard is coming in. Lucky for him, you came walking by. And you love cats. Warnings: Animal transformation, idiots in love, unresolved sexual tension, spicy dream (voyeurism kink, office sex, fingering, dirty talk), referenced sexual acts (female receiving oral sex, , fingering, female masturbation, hand-job, PIV sex, office sex) General Masterlist Matt Murdock Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer , @beezusvreeland , @indestructeible , @what-i-call-men , @reblog-reblog666 , @flynnethenerd , @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment , @yarrystyleeza , @bellaxgiornata Also posted on AO3

June 8: Attempting to fix the tags along with tagging those I missed after temporarily misplacing my tag list.

Part 1

Nothing about the situation seemed all that unusual. Man putting his hands where they were very much not wanted. Victim’s tearful pleading only being met with a slap and a harshly whispered demand to shut up. Sour odor of fear. Coopery scent of blood through it didn’t smell like human blood. Herbs, both familiar ones used in cooking but a few that he didn’t recognize. The only peculiarity was the scent of ozone clinging to the man.

Matt yanked the man away from his victim who, rather sensibly, took the opportunity to flee. At first, he thought that the fight would be short. Very short. The man obviously didn’t know how to fight. He heard the distinctive cracking of bone, then the man desperately shouted something. The smell of ozone increased and suddenly there was . . . something between him and the man. Something he didn’t recognized – hitting it felt like the oddest combination of a pillow, cling film and static electricity. Whatever it was softened his punches to the point that he doubted the man was even feeling them.

Before he could puzzle that mystery out, the man began to speak again. Matt didn’t recognize the language but he recognized the cadence of a chant, the anticipatory menace. The sharp scent of ozone began to rise again. Pressure not unlike the air right before a lightning strike raised the hair on his body. Instinct screamed danger, threat. He couldn’t say why but he just knew that he couldn’t let this man finish whatever he was saying . . .

The man’s inexperience with fighting came back to bit him. Whatever he was doing to protect his torso, it didn’t extend down to his legs. Matt dropped down to use a low kick to sweep his legs out from under him. The follow-up throw kick to his head showed that he was also too stupid to protect his head. The man hit the ground hard and didn’t move.

Matt listened, then nodded to himself. Unconscious. Good. He opened a pouch on his belt and removed some zip ties. He secured the man, then send off a quick call to 911. He scaled the fire escape of the closest building and started putting some distance between himself and those approaching sirens.

He decided to call it a night. It was after one in the morning. He had work tomorrow. Besides there had been very little crime tonight. Probably too cold. And a big snowstorm had been predicted. When they closed up the office, Foggy said sky was completely covered with heavy dark clouds that made the twilight almost as dark as nighttime. Which matched with the shifts in pressure that he associated with oncoming storms. The smell of snow had been building all night. It hadn’t started snowing yet but it would any minute now.

But before he turned in, he would do a loop to make sure his people were safe and sound. One by one, he checked off the list. Maggie and the others at St. Agnes, Brett, Foggy and Marci, Jessica, and Karen. All good. Last but certainly not least was you, the assistant that he and Foggy had hired so Karen could concentrate on law school, by the virtue that your apartment being rather close to his own.

Matt had almost forgotten about the oddities of his last encounter when he started feeling . . . off. Lightheaded, dizzy, like he had gotten clocked in the head without his helmet on. Except he hadn’t, not tonight. Or other time recently. At first the feeling was mild, easily shrugged off. But soon it could no longer be ignored. When his world on fire dangerously flickered and he misjudged the distance between two buildings, he decided that maybe walking on the ground would be safer.

It was in the sense that he was no longer at risk of falling six or more stories. But he was so dizzy, it felt like the ground was swaying under his feet. It was nauseating. Worse, his world on fire was flickering dangerously. It was hard to tell where he was, where the buildings were, where the sidewalk ended . . . He took out his billy clubs, extended and snapped them together. It was too short to really substitute for his cane but it would do until he could get somewhere safer.

It took far longer than he was comfortable with but he managed to orient himself. He knew where he is. It was the faint odor of old smoke that helped clue him in. That building that was torched this summer. Not far from his apartment but another wave of dizziness warned him that he wouldn’t make it that far. But your apartment was very close. There was only one building between his location and your building. He would probably make it before he passed out.

This was not at all how he wanted to tell you about Daredevil but there was nothing he could do about that.

Placing his hand on the burnt building to help keep him oriented, he walked toward. He had just reached the corner when a new sensation arose. Sudden, burning pain. He bit down on his lip, trying not to scream. He collapsed, letting out a scream as he felt his bones start to bent and twist like he was doll being pulled apart by an angry child. Then everything went still and silent . . .

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You were walking home. It was later than you preferred to be out. Much later. Especially when you had to work the next day. But your best friend’s boyfriend had broken up with her. Via Twitter. So she needed someone to bring over the ice cream and the booze. So you ignored the weather reports of the big snowstorm and headed out. First to the store, then to her place.

You held her while she cried. You listened and nodded while she vented and swore off men. You both ate way too much ice cream. You didn’t ended up drinking much. Mostly because you’d rather not be hangover at work. But also because the store hadn’t much selection in the booze department – apparently the delivery truck hadn’t shown up. So said booze was limited to one six-pack of wine coolers and a good-sized bottle of peppermint schnapps.

Which wasn’t ideal. Especially since your bestie didn’t really like peppermint schnapps. Said it always tasted too much like mouthwash for her. Which was fair. But after downing three of the wine coolers to your one, she decided to give the schnapps another chance . . . it might be the wine coolers and the wine she finished earlier talking but she said it wasn’t half bad.

You had a little but found peppermint too strong of a flavor all on its own. The mint-chocolate chip ice cream was more your speed.

You loved your bestie but you were glad that she had finally fallen asleep. She had offered to let you stay at her place. But she snoozed like a chainsaw when she was drunk. Also you had tried sleeping on that couch before. It had been uncomfortable. There was a broken something or other in the middle that had poked you in the kidneys all night. So you appreciated the offer but no thank you.

You were walking as fast as you could. Which wasn’t very fast. The sidewalk was rather precarious right now. It had snowed last week. Almost all of the snow had turned into gray slush but it was cold enough that several patches had frozen into near-invisible puddles. Puddles that were very slick.

You had slipped and fallen several times this week. You had started carrying clean, dry clothes in your work bag so you didn’t have to sit in wet clothes all day. Your poor butt had more than one bruise. It would have more bruises but if your boss was nearby when you slipped, he caught you.

Your very hot boss Matt. Not that your other boss, Foggy, wasn’t pretty. He was. Just in a totally different way. But the big factor was that Foggy was engaged, to someone he very obviously loved dearly. You weren’t that kind of girl. But Matt was single. Therefore you were free to admire his good looks and daydream about him all you wanted.

Which you did. Often. Maybe too much. You were pretty sure, with the exception of Matt himself, that everyone who frequented the office had caught you checking out his ass. It wasn’t your fault. He had the best looking ass in the tri-state area. Every suit he wore flattered that ass. He also, quite unfairly, bought shirts that were a size too small. The buttons strained to contain those big muscles . . .

‘Stop it,’ you scolded yourself. Walking at one in the morning was not the time to start daydreaming about your boss and speculating that he could hold you up against the wall while he . . .

You shook your head, feeling yourself flush despite the cold pinching your cheeks. You needed to keep your mind on the here and now, eyes and ears alert for any signs of trouble. You might be only a short distance from home. This might be Hell’s Kitchen where the Devil prowled nighttime streets for nefarious characters but . . . that didn’t mean you should act recklessly. Something could still happen. And while being saved by Daredevil sounded very exciting, it also sounded really scary.

A cry pierced the night air. It sent your heart racing, hands gripping the strap of your backpack while your eyes frantically darted around trying to locate the source of the cry. You couldn’t see anything. The street was eerily deserted for Manhattan, even for this time of night. Maybe it was too cold. The whistling wind was biting, even in your thick winter coat. Even when the air was still, it was beyond frigid. If it was above freezing, you’d eat your hat. Without mustard.

You kept looking but it was so dark. There had been some kind of problem with the streetlights on your block this week. The news said something about a short. You hadn’t really been listening. But the end result was that at least half the streetlights weren’t working. The building that had gutted by a fire was black and silent, looming over the street like giant gargoyle. Many of the windows in the surrounding buildings were dark. The few that were lit did very little to illuminate the darkness.

Then you heard it again. But this time you recognized the noise. It was cat making that distressed yowl. And it sounded like it was coming from the side of that burned building. While the building gave you all of the creeps, you loved animals. Better than you liked most people. You couldn’t just leave it here. Out here in the freezing cold with a blizzard on the way at best. Hurt or trapped at worst.

But to find that poor animal, you needed more light.

You reached into your bag and took out your phone. Dead. The battery was so low that the phone didn’t even try to turn on. You had forgotten to charge it. Again. What were you going to do . . . then you remembered the little flashlight on your key-chain. Something your mom had gotten you when she learn you were moving to big, scary New York City. It was a nice gesture but the cheap thing wasn’t very bright. But some light was better than no light. You pulled your keys out of your pocket and gripped the flashlight in your hand. With a soft click, it turned on.

As expected, it didn’t do much to pierce the gloom. But you walked toward the building anyway. The building looked even creepier and emptier up close. The crack-crunch of your boots on the thin sheets of ice and salt felt inordinately loud to you. Which only made your heart beat faster. You were starting to feel like you were in a horror movie. One of the dumb girls who ignores all the obvious signs of danger and gets chopped into pieces with an ax or something. Or one of the those people in the cold opening in an episode of Supernatural, going into creepy building blithely unaware that they just made themselves dinner . . .

Something crashed to the ground with a loud metal clang. You shrieked, wildly swinging around your flashlight. What . . . then you saw it. A rat messing with a can below a window with a row of similar cans on the still . . . You squinted, cans of food. The kind that wasn’t particularly tasty but cheap and filling. Both of which was more important than flavor if you didn’t have much money. And infinitely better than no food at all.

“It’s just a rat,” you told yourself. “Calm down.”

As if in answer, the cat meowed again. It sounded close. You looked around . . . garbage bags that had been torn open and their contents scattered, piled up frozen slush, a dumpster. Wait, there was a flicker of movement on the other side of the dumpster. Giving a silent prayer that it wasn’t another rat (or something worse), you walked over. As you got closer, your nose wrinkled. The smell wasn’t nearly as ripe as it would be during the summer but it was by no means a pleasant aroma.

By your efforts were rewarded. On the other side and slightly behind the dumpster was a cat. You crouched down, not wanting to loom over the animal and scare it. It didn’t look very frightened right now – it wasn’t puffed up, it’s ears were perked up, or hissing at you. But you’d like to keep it that way. In your experience, a scared cat was a biting cat.

You looked over the cat as best you could. It didn’t look hurt. Just cold and a little wet. Probably wouldn’t need a vet tonight. Beautiful cat, it looked a lot like a Havana Brown with a thick-looking coat of brown fur and that muscular little body. Smaller ears through you were used to seeing. All the Havanas you had seen had those adorably large ears like a Siamese.

The cat remained calm during this inspection, just sitting on something leathery and dark red lying on the ground.

“Hello there,” you said, your voice soft and low. Animals might not understand words but they did understand tone. You carefully extended your hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have to scratch me.”

The cat meowed but allowed you to touch it. You ran your hands over the cat. It didn’t react like your searching hands had found anything tender. Still you frowned.

This cat looked cared for. Had obviously been socialized from a young age. Healthy coat and well-fed all added up to beloved pet. If it . . . he, you corrected after another look, was a stray, he hadn’t been one for very long.

“Did you get lost?” you asked the cat. “Or did someone abandon you out here in the cold?”

Despite your best efforts to avoid, you couldn’t keep the anger out of your voice at that second possibility. Nights this cold could easily be fatal, even more so with that blizzard rolling in. especially for a pet that was used to warm shelter during harsh weather. You just couldn’t understand the sheer cruelty of doing something like that. If someone didn’t want a cat anymore, fine. There were far more humane options than abandoning them to die in the winter streets.

Well lost or abandoned, you weren’t leaving this little beauty out here to freeze. “It’s awfully cold out here, kitty cat. Did you want to come home with me? At least for the night?”

Of course, your only answer was more meows. But they sounded positive so you decided to take them as a yes. You didn’t have a carrier with you. But your backpack would work as substitute. You opened up your coat just enough to remove your scarf which you piled into the bottom. Your previous fur babies liked something soft to snuggle into when transported like this. It would get your scarf dirty but it was washable.

But when you placed the cat in the backpack and tried to zip it, the cat jumped out. It didn’t run away. Just went over and sat on the red thing. After this happened two more times, you let out an exasperated sigh. Looking down at the cat, looking up at you from its apparently beloved red thing. Maybe you should purrito him . . . then you did a double-take. Blinked. Rubbed your eyes. But it didn’t change.

You had only ever seen it in grainy photos on the news or in the papers. But you still recognized it. The red leather armor of Daredevil. You supposed it could be a replica. Every hero in this city had fans who did cosplay. Daredevil was no different. But if this was a costume, someone had spent a lot of time and money making it.

Your earlier frown returned. No fan who had gone to all that effort would leave this by a dumpster to get ruined. And if it wasn’t a replica but the real thing . . . you couldn’t think of why Daredevil would leave his suit by a dumpster either. Like the costume, leaving it outside in this wet weather could severely damage it.

“Curious and curiousier,” you murmured to yourself. A look uncovered the horned helmet, gloves, and armed boots nearby. Not the sticks, however. There was a holster on leg where they ought to be. You cast your flashlight around and spied something red laying a short distant away. You went there and discovered the missing sticks.

Or rather a staff since it seemed to be be only one. It looked rather long for that thigh holster and you could have sworn there was supposed to be two . . . but maybe you were wrong. You never actually seen him. Just pictures. And Daredevil didn’t exactly stand still in excellent lighting to be photographed with a high-quality camera.

You picked it up and frowned. The staff seemed rather heavy. It wasn’t so heavy that you couldn’t swing it around easily but it was weighty. A person could do some real damage with this. It was not a prop. It was a real weapon.

“Holy shit,” you said, staring at the staff with more than a little awe. Because as crazy as it sounded, you were starting to think this was really Daredevil’s staff and that was really his suit back there. But you had little time to bask in that wonder. Because a big flake of snow landed on the stick. Followed by another and another. You looked up.

It had started snowing. You hurried back over to the suit, carrying the staff. You pulled your scarf out of your backpack, looping it around your neck for the moment. You picked up the suit and started getting into your pack. Assuming he didn’t leave it here in purpose, Daredevil was going to want this back and probably would appreciate not having it damaged by the wet weather.

How you were going to get to him was a problem for Future You.

Also it seemed like the cat wasn’t coming without the suit. Why he was so obsessed with it was another mystery for Future You to untangle. When you weren’t outside in a blizzard. You managed to fit most of it into your pack, which was a little tricky since you couldn’t put down the flashlight but you managed. You zipped it closed, glad that you had grabbed your hiking pack earlier. You’d never be able to fit this much of the suit in your regular pack. The staff didn’t fit. You’d have to carry it. Hopefully you wouldn’t run into anyone before reaching your apartment.

You propped the stick against the side of the dumpster before swing the pack onto your shoulders. You left the hip belt undone. Daredevil’s suit wasn’t anywhere near as heavy as the full pack for a long hike.

“Okay, Trouble,” you said, reaching for the cat. “Let’s go.”

The cat meowed but allowed you to pick him up and place him against your chest. His front paws rested on your shoulder while you supported his body with your arm. The hand was still holding your key-chain flashlight. Which would make holding onto him if he got squirmy difficult. You gave him a stern look. “No jumping out of my arms or being a wiggle worm, Trouble. Or I will purrito you with my scarf.”

He meowed again. It sounded like an objection.

“Don’t meow me, mister. You are clearly trouble, trouble, trouble,” you said, almost singing those last words. You blamed your best friend. I Knew You Were Trouble was one of her favorite songs. Therefore you had heard it several times tonight and the lyrics were kinda stuck in your head.

Carried in your arms, Matt suppressed an irritated huff. He wasn’t upset with you. He was upset about the situation.

The cat made a grumpy noise but stayed where he was and didn’t scratch. So you just laughed as you collected the staff and headed toward home.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

He wasn’t entirely sure how he had been turned into cat. He had an idea. That scumbag he left knocked out and left tied up for the police. Even if the only explanation for that thing that shielded the man from his blows and turning him into a cat was magic. Danny had sworn up and down that magic was real. His heart had been steady as drum but Matt hadn’t entirely believed him.

Or rather he didn’t want to believe him. People developing random powers – sometimes from exposure to chemicals or radiation – and aliens was enough weirdness for one planet. Earth didn’t need magic to be real too.

But Matt tried not ignore reality when it smacked him in the face. Someone had spoke some words and now he was cat. Magic was real. He would accept that and hope that other stuff straight out of a fantasy or horror novels weren’t also real. The last thing he needed running around his city was vampires. Or dinosaurs. Or something equally ridiculous.

He also had no idea how he was going to get himself back to being a human. His only working theory was that maybe, just maybe, Danny could do something. Or would know someone who could do something about it. It was long shot but he was the only one that Matt knew who knew anything about magic.

Assuming he could get in contact with Danny in the first place. Rather big assumption there. Until and unless he could, his only other option was wait and see if the spell wore off on its own. Matt didn’t like this plan. For one, he had absolutely no idea if the spell would wear off at all. Or if does, how long that would take.

A few hours would be ideal but when was Matt ever that lucky?

No, it was much more likely that he would be stuck like this for days. If not longer. Foggy was going to worry. And when he couldn’t find or contact Matt, he was going to get scared. And when he checked Matt’s apartment and found the suit gone along with Matt, he was going to assume the worst.

He hated the thought of putting Foggy through that. But there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t turn himself back. He couldn’t talk. These paws couldn’t hold a paw. He might be able to type but unless you had a braille keyboard or a refreshable braille display, he couldn’t tell what keys he was pushing. Randomly hitting keys was unlikely to produce a coherent message that would clue you into the fact he wasn’t a cat.

The only semi-positive he could find about this situation was that you had been walking near enough to the dumpster he had collapsed behind to hear his meowing. Through Matt couldn’t say he was thrilled that you were out this late. It was dangerous. Granted, most criminals had seemingly opted not to be out in the freezing cold but not all.

His heart had lodged in his throat when you had shrieked. His mind racing how he had missed someone beside you being outside and nearby. What was he going to do, he couldn’t protect you like this . . .

It was immense relief to discover it was just a rat.

But despite his desire to get yourself somewhere warmer and safer, he was unwilling to leave his suit behind. One person impersonating him and slaughtering innocent people was already one too many for his tastes.

Furthermore replacing it would be a headache. Jacobson wouldn’t be happy to learn the suit he had designed and made for Matt had been left behind a dumpster. Which was fair. He wouldn’t like someone treating his work in such a chevalier matter either. He might fix or replace it but in the meantime, Matt would be back to the black suit.

Which tended to make Claire and Foggy unhappy. They preferred he fight crime wearing something more protective. Which Matt couldn’t really argue with. Nor that the red suit was warmer than the black. Which was nice this time of year but not so nice in August.

He had felt a little silly hopping in and out of your backpack like that but it accomplished his goal. The suit hadn’t been left behind.

You had recognized the suit, of course. And seemed to realize that it was the real thing, not one of the costumes his fans made. Well, Foggy claimed he had fans who dressed up like him for something called Super Con. He hadn’t been lying but . . . why? Didn’t people find him scary? Too violent? Why not someone nicer? Like Spider-Man? Sure, he was snarky and a smartass kid but otherwise he oozed friendliness . . .

Warm air hitting his fur startled him but not as much as realizing that he was coated in snow. He hadn’t even noticed. Had he really been that much in his head? Apparently.

“No jumping down yet, Trouble,” you said to him, the arm holding him shifting a little. “We’re not quite home yet. I will still purrito you.”

Purrito? That was second time you had said that word. He didn’t know what it meant and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Closing and locking your door behind you was a relief. Besides the fact that you were carrying was likely the real Daredevil suit (which was probably illegal in some fashion), the snow was really coming down. Even the distance between the dumpster and your building was very short, it was getting close to whiteout conditions by the time you arrived.

You propped the staff against the wall before kneeling down to let the cat go. He didn’t go far. Curious. Cats often hide when in unfamiliar places with unfamiliar people. Despite the fact he left you carry him without any trouble, you still kinda expected the cat to make a beeline for under your couch. Or your bed. But nope, just sat at the edge of entrance way, in a growing puddle of melting snow.

You quickly took off your pack and winter gear. The pack, the coat, and gloves were both waterproof so they were more or less fine. But your scarf and hat were just as wet as the cat. You’d have to hang them up in the bathroom to drip dry. Later. First, you needed to get the cat dry. Then get both of you warm.

After taking off your boots, you went and grabbed a towel from the stack still sitting on the coffee table. You had been in the middle of putting away your laundry – something along with folding it that you often procrastinated – when your best friend had called crying. You checked but the cat still hadn’t moved from his spot. You walked over to him and knelt down.

“Let’s get you dry,” you said and started towel-drying him. He was remarkably tolerate of this process. Marshmallow (may she rest in peace) would have been singing you the song of her people. Despite the fact, as a Persian, she had been groomed literally her entire life. Pumpkin or Oreo (may they rest in peace) would have tried to fight with the towel.

You had long ago developed the habit of talking to your cats. It made your apartment feel less lonely. So you didn’t think anything of telling him how much better behaved he was compared to those three of your previous fur babies.

“Trying to prove you aren’t trouble, trouble, trouble?” you asked. The cat meowed as if in answer. You laughed and checked on his coat. It was as dry as you could get it without using a blow dryer. But with the exception of Marshmallow, you had yet to meet a cat who didn’t try to run away from the thing making the scary, painfully loud noise.

And that was because Marshmallow couldn’t hear the scary noise. To her, it just warm air blowing on her which she had seemed to find wonderful.

Despite all that drama, you missed Marshmallow, Pumpkin and Oreo. Maybe it was time for new furry friend. Maybe this one, you thought, petting the cat’s fur. It was soft as velvet. In the better light of your apartment, you could see the reddish tones to the over dark brown color.

“If you don’t already have a home,” you said, thinking out loud. “Maybe I should call you Cinnamon. It matches with the color of your coat. But Trouble is so just perfect . . .”

The newly dubbed Trouble meowed. You laughed again. You couldn’t help it. He sounded so grumpy.

After another moment of consideration, you decided against the blow dryer. Thanks to the thickness of his coat, he hadn’t gotten wet down to the skin. He probably wouldn’t get matted if you let him air dry for the rest.

You mopped up the puddle on the floor with the same towel, then hung it up in the bathroom along with your hat and scarf. You walked deeper into the apartment, into your bedroom. There you retrieved your heating pad, the comforter from your bed, and one of the extra blankets from the top of the closet. It was time for part two – getting warmed up.

You carried the load out to the living room. The comforter was sat on one cushion but you made a little nest with the heating pad and blanket on the adjoining seat. Trouble seemed pretty comfortable being close to you but you couldn’t assume that he was a lap cat. You turned on the pad and went back to him

He still hadn’t moved very away from the entrance. Peculiar. You’d think a cat this confident would have started exploring. Cats are curious. Maybe he was more nervous than you thought. Through you’d think a nervous cat would be hiding somewhere. But Trouble wasn’t hiding and he didn’t run away from you. And you picked him up, his body wasn’t stiff. No tension in the muscles. He didn’t go limp like a Ragdoll but was still relaxed in your hands.

Hmmm . . . maybe his (previous) home was one where he regularly met strangers? Like he was a shop cat or something like that. Or his (previous) owner worked somewhere that allowed people to bring in their pets as long as they didn’t cause a disruption? Or traveled regularly like a show cat. He was pretty enough for a show cat. Any of those might explain why Trouble seemed so comfortable with a stranger in a strange place.

Or maybe he was just a people cat. Each cat was an individual after all.

You placed Trouble down in the nest. He didn’t immediately jump off. Which had been a possibility. Cats often didn’t like things that weren’t their idea. But this cat seemed willing to explore the nest instead of rejecting it outright. Giving everything a sniff, feeling the blanket under his paws. Not quite making biscuits but close.

Judging by the purring, Trouble seemed to be enjoying himself.

You would have loved to keep watching but you wanted something hot to drink. Normally you’d make coffee but it was already stupid late. Not the time to start drinking something with caffeine. So herbal tea it was. While the water heated, you remembered that you needed to charge your phone. But after that brief detour, you started shifting through your tin of herbal teas . . . what sounded good . . . you picked out the one calling itself Apple Spice.

You poured the water over the tea bag and enjoyed the rising aroma as the tea seeped. You couldn’t remember which spices were supposed to be in this tea. But it smelled like apple pie so you’d guess mostly cinnamon and nutmeg. Tasted more like apple cider than pie but you still enjoyed it. You carried your mug over the couch.

You sat the mug down on the coffee table for a moment so you could wrap yourself in the comforter and sit down. You pulled your legs up onto the couch under the comforter, shifting until you were sitting cross-legged. You leaned toward and grabbed the mug.

You had only taken a few sips before you felt paws on your leg. You looked down at Trouble. He was looking up at you beseechingly.

You smiled and lifted the edge of the comforter. “Come here, Trouble.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled onto your lap, circling a few times before settling down. The low purr only got louder when your hand couldn’t resist the urge to pet. And scratch him behind the ears and under the chin. Despite the name you had given him, Trouble really was such a sweetheart. How could anyone abandon him on the streets to die? You just couldn’t imagine it . . .

‘Maybe,’ you thought. ‘It wasn’t on purpose. Maybe something happened to his humans . . .’

You yawned. You still didn’t know how Daredevil tied into this abandoned (or lost) cat. It was possible that was just a coincidence. That both Trouble and the suit just happened to be in the same place. But maybe the suit smelled familiar to the cat . . . maybe this was Daredevil’s cat . . .

.

“What would Daredevil name a cat?” you murmured to yourself. “Lucy Fur? Holy Terror? The Lord of Felines? Hiss the Devil-Cat?

A soft meow jerked you back to alertness before you could spill tea on yourself. But if you were falling asleep sitting up, you should put that mug down. You had drunk most of it. It was fine. You sat down the mug, leaned your head against the back of the couch. You just needed to rest your eyes. In a few minutes you’d tidy up, start unraveling those mysteries . . .

Just a few minutes . . .

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Matt listened as you fell into a deep sleep and contemplated life’s little ironies. When he had pictured laying on your lap, this was not the scenario he had in mind. It had been more like using your lap as a pillow while your hands ran through his hair. Sometimes the fantasy was a lazy afternoon where you two were wearing comfortable clothes and simply enjoying each other’s company.

Sometimes the fantasy turned dirty. One where the only clothing you were wearing was a shirt and panties. And he was unable to resist being so close to your core. Kissing and touching until you were squirming and his nose was filled with the scent of your arousal. Then he’d slide off the couch, then peeled off those panties hiding his prize. He’d kneel between your spread thighs and . . .

He shook his head. He couldn’t think about that. It was never going to happen. Before, he would have had a chance. You were attracted to him. More over, he had once (unintentionally) overheard you telling your friends that you liked him. In more ways in one. One of those was the ‘I want him to fuck me on his desk’ way. Your words, not his. And Matt would be liar if he said he hadn’t thought about exactly the same thing. Imagined your soft skin under his hands and your pretty moans in his ear while he buried himself deep inside you . . .

‘Never going to happen,’ he reminded himself. Even through you had also made it clear in that talk with your friends that you always dreamed being with him like (again quoting) ‘one of those disgusting adorable couples who snuggle every chance they get and give each other forehead kisses.’

But in his experience, people either interested in Matt Murdock or the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Not both. Never both. He didn’t expect you to be any different. Not once you knew that mild-mannered blind attorney Matt Murdock was Daredevil.

You were going to find out. You were too intelligent not to figure out that something was going on with your boss. You probably already had some questions. He knew you hadn’t missed those days when he had injuries that couldn’t be hidden by his day suit. Even when his injuries were completely hidden, you had noticed that he was moving wrong and asked if he was alright. So far you hadn’t questioned his excuses but he didn’t think you entirely believed them either.

Sooner or later, you weren’t going to placated by those (he was told rather flimsy) excuses. You’d want the truth. Perhaps you would draw your own conclusions about what was going on with him. Become worried about addiction or abuse. Perhaps you would confronted him about it – you were rather shy but concern for others seemed to bring out your courage.

This incident would drop all kinds of clues into your hands. Especially if you got the chance to inspect his suit more closely. He didn’t have his name sewn into the collar or anything as obvious as that. But his burner phone was in one of the pouches. Finding Foggy and Karen in the contacts was going to give you all kinds of questions.

He doubted you would make the leap that the cat you had rescued was Daredevil, rather than his pet cat or something. Which was understandable. If he was in your shoes, it certainly wouldn’t be his first theory. Or his second. He was living it and he was having difficulty believing it.

At least this time he had time to prepare for the upcoming conversation. Judging from past history, it was going to be unpleasant – yelling, tears, suspicions that he was more or less faking his disability. Followed by new distrust warring with previous affection. If he was lucky, enough of that affection would survive. And if that luck continued, you would accept his nature and agree to remain friends.

If he was unlucky . . .

And if he was very lucky, you’d break the pattern. You’d accept him for who he was, man and devil. The discovery of his darkness wouldn’t kill your attraction to him. You’d say yes when he asked you out, the first date of many . . .

Through Foggy claimed he was already dating you. Which no, he wasn’t. He would know if he had asked you out and you had agreed. And you would have kissed, at least, by now if you were dating. Foggy had rolled his eyes and muttered something along the lines of ‘Oh great, both of them are idiots.’

That aside . . . Matt knew he would never be that lucky. It was a beautiful dream. But that’s all it was. A dream. It was far more likely that he was going to be stuck as a cat for the rest of his life.

‘Through,’ he thought as he started to fall asleep. ‘Being your cat wouldn’t be so bad . . .’

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You let out a frustrated whine.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear, his deep voice rich as honey. “You don’t want anyone to walk in and see you like this, do you?”

Like this meaning on your boss’s lap with your skirt hiked up around your waist, your legs splayed wide so anyone who walked in that door would get a good look at your panties. That wasn’t only thing they’d get an eyeful of. Your blouse was unbuttoned, the cups of your bra pushed down to expose your breasts. One of your boss’s large hands was fondling a breast, rolling the taut nipple between his fingers. His other hand was teasing your covered cunt, pressing far too gentle and fleeting touches to yourclit.

“Or is that exactly what you want? For someone to see you like this? Did you want everyone to know? That I’m touching you like this?”

You squirmed, feeling your face flush worse than it already was. The hand on your breast gave it one last squeeze before sliding down to grip your opposite hip.

“I think you do. You want someone to see how wet you are. For them to know how eager this pussy is for my cock.”

He pushed himself upward, a pale mimicryof thrusting you craved. But it did remind you of the hard, eager cock pressed tightly against your ass. It would be so easy. Just take off your underwear and let him get his pants off. Or at least enough of his pants off to free that cock. Your cunt clenched desperately. You didn’t care if he fucked you in this chair or on his desk. Just as long as he was inside you . . .

“Or even just my fingers.”

Fingers hooked around panties, pulled them away from your cunt. A single finger ran through your folds, coating itself in your slick. Tracing the entrance before the tip dipped inside. But rather than sinking deeper, it withdrew. Before you could protest, it dipped back in. Then back out. Again. And again. Always just the tip of his finger. Nothing more. You needed more. You tried to thrust up. But the muscular arm across your torso with its hand gripping your hip kept you pinned against him. All you could do was squirm . . .

“Matt,” you moaned, burying your burning face against his neck. “Please . . .”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You jolted upright. You were trying to get to your feet before what had woken you even registered. Unfortunately for your dignity, your comforter had gotten twisted around your legs so your attempt only resulted in you falling on the floor. More fortunate you managed to avoid smacking your head against the coffee table. As you tried to get yourself loose of your own comforter, you sleepily wondered why you were sleeping in the living room.

Then everything came flooding back. The visit . . . the cat . . . the suit . . . the dream . . . you felt your face flush. Then you realized what had woken you up. Your phone was ringing. As you got yourself to your feet, you muttered unkind things about the phone. It had shattered the dream just as it was getting really good. And the place between your legs throbbing with need. It was tempting to ignore your phone in favor of slipping your hand inside your underwear . . .

But in the end, responsibility won and you got your phone. It had gone to voice mail before you got to it. You unlocked it and checked the phone ID. Foggy. Why would Foggy be calling you . . . then the time registered.

Your heart almost stopped. The office had opened two hours ago. You were late! Your fingers frantically hit the call back, praying that you hadn’t just gotten fired. You needed this job . . .

Foggy’s cheerful hello was a promising start.

“Sorry, I know I’m late,” you started before Foggy interrupted you.

“No, you aren’t. The office is closed today.”

“Huh?” You said, trying to remember Foggy or Matt saying anything about that yesterday. You couldn’t remember . . . but your brain didn’t exactly work before its’ morning caffeine hit. And thinking about Matt only made you think about the dream. Which made the wet heat between your legs even worse. “Why?”

“Because there is roughly three feet of snow? With more still coming down? And high winds that have already knocked out power in parts of Manhattan and might do the same here any minute now?”

You immediately went to the window and peered out. You didn’t have the best view but it was as Foggy reported. Snow piled high on the streets below while more swirled across the window, day not looking not much brighter than twilight despite already being mid-morning . . . “Wow, you aren’t kidding about the weather.”

“I never kid about the weather,” Foggy said with mock seriousness. “The city powers that be don’t recommend going out in that mess. And even if they did, I’m not walking in that for anything less than a life or death emergency. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” you said.

“I called you earlier but you didn’t answer and didn’t call back. I just wanted to make sure that you knew not to come today. Probably tomorrow too. More depends on how long this storm last and how long it takes to get things running again.”

And to check that you were alright. Both of your bosses were worry-warts. Matt was worse than Foggy in that regard. Always got that worried furrow in his brow when you were going to be walking home alone, right before he offered to walk with you. Often you accepted. Mostly because it gave you an excuse to spent more time with him.

And he knew all these little hole-in-the-wall restaurants with the most amazing food . . . Through whenever you talked about those little side-trips, everyone – your friends, Foggy, Karen, your mom – always asked you if you were sure that Matt wasn’t your boyfriend . . .

Yes, you were sure. Those weren’t dates. If they had been, you would have been kissing Matt. And you definitely wouldn’t have been able to resist having sex with him this long if you were dating. So they were just a side-trip taken with your friend and employer.

“Okay,” you said, shuffling away from the window and toward your small kitchen. “Thanks for checking on me. Everyone else okay?”

“No problem,” he said. “Karen’s bunkered down with . . . er . . . a friend. Matt hasn’t call me back yet. I was just about to ring him again.”

You didn’t know Karen had a boyfriend. Odd that she had never brought him to Josie’s with the rest of the group . . . but then the second part of that statement caught your brain.

“Matt hasn’t called you back?”

“No,” Foggy said. “But I’m sure he’s fine. Probably just didn’t hear his phone ring. Matt sleeps like the dead sometimes.”

Not hearing something didn’t sound like the Matt you knew. Who seemed to hear everything. No matter how quietly you moved, he always knew you were there. But Foggy knew him better than you did. And he had lived Matt for years. If Foggy said Matt was a heavy sleeper, then he was a heavy sleeper.

Still his voice sounded odd. Like maybe he was worried but trying not to show it. But maybe you were just protecting your own worries onto Foggy.

“Okay. I’ll let you get back to that. Bye, Foggy,” you said, trying to keep those worries out of your voice. ‘They were unnecessary,’ you reminded yourself silently. Matt was blind but he was also a grown man. He could care of himself. He was fine.

“Bye.”

You tucked your phone in your pocket. Ugh . . . you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Your work clothes since you hadn’t changed before getting that tearful phone call. You had wanted to get that laundry finally put away before you found another excuse to avoid doing it. You needed a shower. Especially since the power might go out – who knows when you’d get the chance for another one?

You put on coffee and tried not to worry about Matt.

“Matt doesn’t need you fussing over him. Even if he does come in looking like he got into a bar fight sometimes,” you told yourself sternly. Like last Friday, he had been sporting a set of spectacular set of bruises across the right side of his face. Which he said was the result of missing a curb and tripping. Which sounded rather peculiar to you. Yes, he couldn’t see the curb but he seemed pretty skilled with that cane of his . . . and Matt moved with the cat-like elegance of a dancer.

Maybe even graceful blind men had trouble with two left feet sometimes.

Speaking of trouble . . . where was that cat? You hadn’t seen him since you woke up.

“Trouble,” you called out. “Where are you? Here kitty, kitty,”

You heard a meow. Not close by. But the coffee was on so you could look around. It took several minutes and more meows to find him. Trouble was in your bedroom closet, on the shelf above the clothing rod. You weren’t sure how he he managed to get up there but cats were like that. It was amazing the places they managed to climb up or squeeze themselves into. It seemed he had started exploring while you were sleeping.

Looking at Trouble, you frowned. Something was . . . off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what . . . no, wait. You raised up your phone. You had been using the flashlight app to look in shadowy places like under furniture. You ran the light across the cat’s face, watching closely. Once, then twice to make sure you were really seeing what you were seeing. But you were. His eyes weren’t reacting to the light.

You raised one finger, then moved it back and forth in front of Trouble’s face. He wasn’t tracking the motion through his whiskers tilted forward, his little nose twitching. He was paying attention, his ears were up and pointed toward you. But his eyes . . .

“Are you blind, Trouble?” you asked, reaching back up to pet the cat. It was impossible to resist that sinfully soft fur.

He gave a soft meow as if answering your question.

Well, Trouble being blind didn’t change your plans. You were still going to adopt him if he didn’t already have a home. You made a mental note to have the vet check your theory about his vision when you took him in to make sure he was healthy as he looked. You were tempted to get Trouble down from his perch. You were pretty sure that he could back down without hurting himself. Without making a mess by accidentally pulling something down with him . . . that was another kettle of fish. And while most of what on the shelf was soft, some wasn’t and that stuff could hurt Trouble if it got knocked off while he tried to get down.

On the other hand, getting a cat out of a hiding spot could be tricky. Trouble hadn’t been aggressive with his claws even once but he might make an exception for getting grabbed and pulled out of somewhere he was hiding. Normally you’d purrito him but that high shelf wasn’t the easiest location to purrito a cat . . . the beep of the coffee maker interrupted your train of thought.

You decided to have some coffee, then consider how to get Trouble down from there. But halfway through that first mug, you heard a thump. One that wasn’t, thankfully, followed by any crashing noises. Just Trouble strolling into the kitchen, very casual. He stopped a few feet away from you, head turned you – ears alert, upright tail curled into a question mark.

“Yes, Trouble?” you said. Then thought about it for a minute. “You hungry? Breakfast?”

Another answering meow. But then you had another problem. You didn’t have any cat food. You had given the last of Oreo’s special food to a friend whose cat had the same dietary restrictions. But you did have some baked chicken. That should work. Cats usually liked chicken. Fingers-crossed that it wouldn’t upset his tummy. Or make him very sick because he needed a special diet.

You cup up the chicken and put some of it into a small bowl. You sat it down in front of the cat along with a second dish with water. After giving both bowls a very thorough inspection with his nose, the cat seemed to accept the offering and started eating the chicken. You put the rest away and made a mental note to set up the litter box. You might not always have cat food on hand but you had encountered enough unexpected cat acquisition to keep cat litter in the house. Muddling through a night without cat food was one thing. Without cat litter was something else and not an experience that bears repeating.

You drank your coffee and considered your own breakfast. You didn’t really feel like making anything complicated right now. Maybe scrambled eggs? With toast? That would be quick and easy. You nodded and made yourself breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast didn’t take long and soon you were seated at your little kitchen table, listening to one of your regular podcasts while you ate and made plans.

First, your shower. Get yourself clean and put on some clean clothes. Something comfortable since you weren’t going anywhere and there wasn’t anyone to impress. At the very least, fresh underwear since your current pair was uncomfortably damp. Along with your thighs. You were alone but the thought still made your face feel warm. Maybe, while you were in the there, you should take care of the still almost-painful ache between your legs . . .

Tidy up your apartment. Pull your emergency kit from under your bed. The Daredevil suit and all its mysteries . . . your fork scrapped the plate. The sound this produced made Trouble flinch.

“Sorry Trouble,” you said. You had been so in your head, you hadn’t realized that you already eaten all of your eggs. You moved the plate to the sink, left your mug by the coffee pot – you’d drink more when you were done with your shower – and headed toward your bedroom.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Matt might actually be in hell.

He thought it was bad earlier, when you started dreaming and his nose was filled your heavenly aroma. And when he heard you moan out his name, begging him for something. Something he couldn’t give. Not while he was like this. He had scurried out of the comforter and hidden himself before he did something . . . rash.

But this? Listening to you touching yourself? It was worse. Far worse. When there was nowhere in your small apartment where he couldn’t hear the beautiful sounds you were making. Couldn’t smell the mouth-watering scent of your arousal. Couldn’t escape the knowledge that it was always his name being moaned out.

It was torture. Pure torture.

He wanted so badly to be himself again and in that shower. Holding your naked body against his own, fingers pumping into your cunt and toying with your clit until you begged him for release. After you shattered under his hands, would he fuck you against the shower wall? Or would you turn the tables on him? Push him against the tile and start working his cock with your hands until he was the one begging?

Would that be enough to satisfy you both? Or just the beginning?

He buried himself further into the pile of blanket and comforter in a futile attempt to muffle your gasping recitation of his name as you chased your release . . .

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You walked out the bathroom feeling refreshed.

Your eyes searched for Trouble. You didn’t worry when you didn’t immediately find him. There were a lot of places in your apartment for a cat to hide. And when you went to collect last-night’s tea mug, you found him.

Or rather you found his tail. He had apparently attempt to hide himself in the pile of blankets but his tail was sticking out. You giggled as you reached out and tickled his tail. He meowed, squirmed around in the blanket until the tail disappeared into the depths.

“Not planning to come out of there, Trouble?”

The responding meow was loud, like a very firm no. which only made you giggle harder. But you left him in his blanket cocoon. He wasn’t harming anyone. If he wanted to hide for a while, you’d let him. At least he wasn’t trying to ‘help.’

TO BE CONTINUED . . . in Part 2

NOTES

The kick combination that Matt uses against the magic user is from capoeira, which is an Afro-Brazilian cultural practice that is both a martial arts and a dance. The movements require great bodily dexterity. It’s very cool.

Purrito means wrapping a cat in a towel, small blanket, or similar like they were burrito. It’s way of holding the cat without getting scratched since the paws are all inside in the burrito. Some cats find it calming as they like the gentle pressure all around them like a hug. But some don’t.

Havana brown is a cat breed developed from mixing the Siamese with brown domestic short-haired cats. They are brown to reddish-brown – right down to their whiskers – with green eyes. Very pretty cats.

Jacobson is Luke Jacobson, the fashion designer from She-Hulk. In this story, Matt saved him one night when he was in New York. He was appalled by Matt’s homemade supersuit. He demanded to make him a better one as a thank you for saving his life. And wouldn’t take no for answer.

Melvin Potter, his old suit guy, Matt has been representing as a way of apology for the trouble Melvin experienced during Season 3. Matt might introduce Melvin to Jacobson who is curious about his other red suit.

[bisclavaret]

favourite daughter

[jamsunstone]

How Outer Wilds handles horror

Part 1: Dark Bramble

**MAJOR OUTER WILDS SPOILERS BELOW. MAINLY FOCUSED ON DARK BRAMBLE, BUT ALSO SPOILS PARTS OF THE ENDGAME**

Dark Bramble is about being scared.

It's a planet that looks like Pluto swallowed an angry seed. Getting close to it pulls you in harder than even Giant's Deep. And something about the fog in the center is just eerie. And once you're in there? You can't see shit. You're flying blind, crashing into branches, finding exits only to become lost in an entirely new way, you fly towards a light and remember just too late about the anglerfish skeleton you saw in the observatory. You can learn it's secrets and find the optimal paths through, but it never gets less scary.

Horror games rely on novelty. If you've seen something 100 times, the scare factor wears off, so horror games can't overplay their hand. Dark Bramble is one of many points of interest in the solar system of Outer Wilds, and has less important pieces of knowledge by quantity when compared to the other big planets. Unless you're constantly flying into anglerfish mouths, you're not gonna visit Dark Bramble as much as the other planets. That's how it maintains it's novelty.

But hey, maybe you're not me and you got over Dark Bramble after a couple visits. That's fine! Outer Wilds is partially a game about conquering fear of the unknown through knowledge anyway. So you go through your final loop, and pick up the warp core, and that familiar music kicks in and… oh. You're no longer protected. And you've gotta get this thing to the vessel… in Dark Bramble. And it's behind the anglerfish nest. Oh. The trick of Dark Bramble is revealed. You think you've overcome it, and then it swallows you up and this time, you've got no time loop to save you. One shot. And that journey is terrifying. But you have to make it. You can't put this thing back in the box. So you drift through a lightless void, filled with giant fish that are floating like they're dead and breathing down your neck. You can't control your ship, or the sound of your engines will wake them up. You can't go faster, despite the supernova time limit.

So you drift.

That's the genius of Dark Bramble. The way my heart dropped when I realised where the warp core had to go. The way I couldn't breath as I drifted through a field of fish. The satisfaction and triumph when I reached the vessel, slotted in the core, and realised I would never have to see those evil fish again (haha shut up). In that moment I became the Nomai, chasing a mysterious signal despite not knowing where it would lead them. I became the Hearthians, building spaceships out of wood and scavenged materials and rocketing into space. I became Riebeck, who did it while scared.

Dark Bramble is about being scared, but pushing through anyway.

[soubi122]

Dreaming of You - pt 1

A two part follow up from my mini series "Sweet Dreams".

WARNINGS: Mentions of death, murder, smut, alcohol, etc. MDNI - Please and thank you!

Months after your death, Izana found himself dreaming about you. As did the rest of Tenjiku. The soft sounds of your whimpers and moans filled the room the moment the moon was at its highest point in the sky. They would dream about the way you’d call their names while breathless and a mess underneath them. These dreams felt too real, they would wake up  feeling the warmth of your lips and the heat of your body on theirs. 

Your death was something that they didn't know was gonna hit hard. The forensics team ruled it a natural death, the victim went into cardiac arrest and died in her sleep. That's what was put in your death certificate. The cops suspected no foul play nor found any evidence that pointed them in any other direction. Your body was clear of any marks, assault or semen. There was no forced entry, your toxicology report came back negative with the  exception of a bit of alcohol during dinner and you were a healthy woman. 

Tenjiku's men attended your funeral, really they were the only ones that did. You had no family, few friends and no other acquaintances. Not even your coworkers or managers came to your funeral, despite working for them for several years. 

Seeing the groundskeepers lower your coffin into the dirt - it made their stomachs turn. Especially Izana's. That night remained etched in his mind, it was a bitter sweet. Everyday he thinks about that night, the way you smiled, the way you tasted and the way your heart stopped beating. 

"Anyone else still dreaming about her?" Shion asked while holding a shot glass in his hands. The men in the room mumbled a yes. They were having vivid dreams. “I can't stop dreaming of her.” Mucho says and presses his palms into his face, covering his eyes as if he's struggling to stay level headed. “Same.” Mochizuki confesses and things start to get rather awkward in the room as they felt uncomfortable talking about you and how lewd these dreams were. You were dead. “Almost every night, I hear her voice and she…” Kakucho says but his words trail off as he notices Izana's expression. Perhaps talking about you while he's here isn't the best idea. He was the one to claim you and take your life. Kakucho could only imagine what it felt like to be there at your final moments. His thoughts were interrupted when Izana spoke. “Does she call your name first?” His eyes were empty, it's as if he was staring into a void. “Or you only realize she's there when you feel her body on top of yours?” He said with a bit of guilt on his tongue. 

Everyone paused for a moment to think. “Let me guess… She's wearing a white slip?” Rindou asks and he is met with an immediate response from Ran. “And by the time you're done fucking her, it's blood stained?” The room fell silent, everyone realized that they were all having the same dream. How? How was this possible when you didn't own any white sleepwear and there was no blood at the crime scene? Each of them began to repeat the vivid dreams and what went on. There were slight differences between them but all ended the same. They woke up feeling as if someone was in the room with them, as if they were actually making love to you.

Their discussion went well into the night, after hours they decided to head home, but a drunken Shion went to the cemetery to pay a visit to your grave. He was slowly walking up the rows looking for your plot, eerily enough he felt calm. Maybe it was liquor in his veins but he wasn't afraid. He continued to drink from the bottle of sake, of course he left Izana’s and took his comfort with him. When he reached your headstone, he crouched down and placed his hand on the cold slate. “If you wanted us to visit you baby, you could have just asked.” He says and feels tears prick his eyes. Tenjiku always prides themselves in not attaching themselves to people. However, you were different - you brought warmth to their lives. Despite the fact that they were getting attention elsewhere, your attention is what they fixated on. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the headstone. “We miss you.” He said softly. Never in a hundred years did he think he’d mourn for someone outside of Tenjiku’s leaders. 

After several minutes of crying and wishing for you to come back, Shion poured sake into a shot glass and left it on the left side of the tombstone. He was about to stand up when he realized there was no noise in the cemetery. No crickets, no rustling of the trees, leaves or anything. It was dead silent. Suddenly, the sound of light footsteps behind him made him whip his head around. Who the fuck was out here at 1am? He started to freak out when everything got quiet again. Turning around to bid your grave goodbye, he saw something that almost made his heart stop. A pair of arms were hanging over the headstone as if someone was leaning on it. Shion threw himself back and away, when he looked up to see who the person was - he had completely lost his voice. “Hey…” That soft and sweet voice he's longed to hear rang in his ears. He couldn't believe his eyes, you were right in front of him. 

“...(Y/N)?” He stutters and looks in disbelief, even rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Maybe it was the alcohol that was making him see things. He sees you swing around the headstone, sitting on it and lean slightly back. You were wearing that white slip that you wear in their dreams. Smiling, you spread your legs apart, even through the moonlight he could catch a glimpse of your heat. Lifting the slip above your thighs, you beckon him to come closer and he does so without hesitation. “Shion…” You almost whimper his name as he runs his hands along your thighs. The warmth of your skin felt too real and he couldn’t wrap his head around it. Gently tangling your fingers in his hair, you pull his face closer to your core, you want him to taste you. 

He felt his heart pounding and his hands were trembling. Shion’s breath hitches as he inhaled your scent and gripped your thighs. Glancing up at you once more before he dove in, he made eye contact with you - your eyes were hazy. It’s that same look you had in his dreams. “Oh fuck…”  He groans as his tongue makes a long swipe between your folds, tasting you and making you gasp. Everything felt like it was going so fast that by the time he realized you were grinding your hips into his face, he was losing himself. “Just like that! Don’t stop!” You moan into the night as he sucks on your bundle of nerves. He was eating you out as if it was his last meal on earth. Truth be told, he gave in to this little dream as he didn’t know when was the next time he’d be able to see you. What if he forgets about you one day? What if he forgets the way you taste, the way you sound or the way you feel? The thoughts were driving him mad. “(Y/N), baby - I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”  Shion whimpers as he hears your moans get louder. You were close. 

“Mmnh…We should have told you-fuck, the truth.” He continues to apologize and puts more pressure on your clit with his tongue. His right hand begins to snake its way between your legs and he slides two digits in, curling his fingers to find your sweet spot. Throughout all those times he’s visited you in your dreams, eating you out was his favorite thing to do to you. Feeling how you clenched around his digits, he picked up his pace and made you scream out his name. Your juices coated his fingers and tongue, nothing compared to having you come undone. 

The moment he pulled away to look up at you, your body slid down and your warm embrace made him feel whole. Without any further hesitation, he unzipped his slacks and let his desires take him even further. He penetrated your sopping cunt in one swift motion. He was enveloped with pure bliss. Shion proceeded to move your hips into his. Maybe it was the alcohol or the fact that he was eating you out but he didn’t last. Those pathetic whimpers of desperation echoed across the empty cemetery as he filled you to the brim. A tender feeling on his neck made him gasp as he realized you were sucking on his pulse point. “(Y/N)...” He moaned. “Come visit me again my love.” Your voice echoed in his ear. The honey in your voice was slowing his heart beat, almost as if he was in a daze. His head started to feel fuzzy and his vision was going white. I feel like I'm gonna pass out… He thinks to himself before his body slums over in your arms. 

*a few hours later*

“He's waking up.” A male voice echoes in the room. Shion could barely make out the figures in front of him. His eyes were bloodshot. “What the hell happened to you?” Another voice asks. When his eyes finally adjusted to the light, he realized he was at Izana's place surrounded by Tenjiku's men. He sits up immediately, shifting left to right - looking for you. “WHERE IS SHE?” He yells and continues to look around. Mochi firmly held him in place trying to calm him down. Several voices were swarming in Shion's head, too many people were talking, it was giving him anxiety and upsetting his stomach. “Everyone, shut up.” Izana says and the room goes silent in an instant. 

After several minutes of silence, Shion was able to calm down and he explained to everyone what happened. It was hard to believe since he was drunk by the time he headed ‘home’ but the way he was explaining everything in such detail, the glow in his eyes, the tremble in hands - he was telling the truth. “You have no idea how you got here, do you?” Rindou asks. Shaking his head, Shion said no - he couldn’t recall what happened afterwards. Apparently he came back at 4:30am  and knocked on Izana's front door until he opened it. He had no idea he was so close to getting punched in the face. The only reason he didn't was because Izana noticed the expression on his face. Within seconds he collapsed on the floor. The events weren't making sense. 

Kakucho had a sinking feeling in his stomach, something wasn't right and someone else was bound to end up in the same state as Madarame. 

Several days went by without incident, however… Mochi went to the cemetery to drop off some flowers. He was weary but opted to go during the day and sober, while the sun was still out. When he arrived, he noticed an empty shot glass on the grass, it looks like the caretakers haven't stopped by yet. Picking up the glass he put it on top of the head stone. He sighed at feeling the cold slate under his palm. He hated knowing that you could have been spared if they would have told you the truth. “Forgive us little lady, we didn't mean to hurt you.” He said while arranging the flowers on the metal rack. They were golden-rayed lilies. Their beautiful white and gold colors stood out against the dark slate. He sat there in silence for about 30 minutes, offering a prayer and closed his eyes. The light breeze kissed his skin and the fragrant flowers made him relax. The soft sound of the wind rustling the leaves in the distance was soothing. In another life (Y/N), we'd protect you… He says softly before opening his eyes. The moment he did, everything was dark… 

“What the fuck?” He says outloud and notices that the sun has long since set. Quickly getting up on his feet, he made the immediate dash to his motorcycle. He didn't even bother looking around to see if anyone was there. He wasn’t going to run the risk of the same thing happening to him as it did to Shion. Zooming down the streets, he made it home and the moment he closed the door behind him. He paused, taking in a deep breath and exhaling, he needed to pull himself together. There was no way he was there for 6 hours. How did it go from 4:00 in the afternoon to 10:00 pm? His thoughts were interrupted when there was a knock on the door. 

Knock. Knock. 

The sound was light and almost a bit shy. He felt a bit uneasy opening the door, he didn't hear any footsteps when he was walking down the hallway nor did he see anyone in the hallways. “Yeah? Who is it?” He retorted rather cautiously. He was met with silence. 

Knock. Knock. 

Another knock at his door made a chill run down his spine. “Who the fuck is it?” He yelled and pressed his ear against the door. Waiting to hear some sort of movement or voice. The silence was unnerving. His door didn't have a peephole so he couldn't even check to see who or what was on the other side. He waited for 5 minutes before pulling away from the door. Whoever was there probably got tired of waiting and left. Taking 4 steps away from the door, the sound of another knock made him furious. 

Mochi snatched the door handle and yanked the door open. What he saw made his throat go dry and left him in shock. “About time you open the door.” You giggled and walked into his apartment. 

You. It was you. 

The same woman he sees in his dreams wearing a white slip with a heavenly smile on her face. Mochizuki froze in place. His eyes followed your figure as it walked past the doorway. Your dainty hands gently pried his hand from the doorknob and closed the door. “(Y/N)...” He stuttered and felt your hand caress his. Slowly you brought his hand to your face, making him caress your cheek. The warmth in his palm felt real. Your skin was soft and warm, it felt alive. “I missed you.” You almost purr out as you come closer, slowly pressing your body against his. 

His immediate reaction was to wrap his arms around you. Burying his face into your neck and breathing in your scent as if it were his only oxygen and lifeline. “Fuck… Please tell me I'm dreaming.” He mumbled while remaining buried in your neck. Your response was to wrap your arms around him and embrace him. Patting him on the head and playing with his braid. Pulling slightly away to look at your face, he notices your eyes - they are hazy and full of desire. “Kiss me.” Your sultry tone made him throw all reasoning out the window and he dove into your lips. Your warm and wet tongue was matching his pace, you two became a desperate mess of kisses and moans. 

Before he knew it, he had you pinned against the wall with your legs wrapped around his waist. Everything was going so fast, when did he unbutton and unzip his pants? Your white slip was already pushed up above your waist and you could feel the way his length was pulsing against your wet folds. “We should have told you the truth.” He moans huskily as his tip pushes past your tight entrance. He could see you struggle, almost gasping at the stretch and burn of his cock bullying its way inside you. 

Every vein and inch could be felt. Your moans and whimpers echoed in his ear. Mochi paused to take a deep breath, you were clenching too tight, it was making it hard for him to move. Noticing the tears streaming down your cheeks, he placed gentle kisses on your cheek, trying his best to sooth the pain. “You can take me. Right, (Y/N)?” He pants in your ear before slowly moving his hips and back forth. Feeling your body relax and melt into him, he kissed your lips and set the pace. Your body weighed nothing in his arms. He kept you in place and continued to slow fuck you until your mind went numb. One of the rowdiest members of Tanjiku was giving you slow and passionate sex. 

“Mhn! I’m gonna- oh fuck…” You barely could even speak as he was making your mind go blank. He picked up the pace to chase his high, making you cry out his name and burying your face into his neck. If this is what heaven felt like, he didn’t want to be sent back down to earth. He envied Izana for being the one to take your life. By the time he finished, he noticed you were biting his shoulder and he felt his body go numb. “Don’t forget about me…promise?” He hears you say before he completely loses all strength in his body and slides down to his knees. Everything went black. 

The sound of his door being kicked in startles him awake and he finds himself in bed. He quickly gets up and finds Mucho and Kakucho by the doorway. “Where the fuck have you been? Why haven’t you answered any calls?!” Mucho yells at him as he storms towards his direction. Mochizuki looked confused and looked around the room. It was daytime, perhaps he was dreaming - right? “You’ve been MIA for three fucking days!” Mucho continues his yelling before Kakucho cuts in. “Are you alright though?” His tone was sincere and laced with concern. The air in the room felt heavy for a moment before Mucho’s words finally hit Mochi. “Wait, did you say three days?” He asks and feels his blood run cold. The others nodded and asked him where he was this whole time. “I went to the cemetery. But I swear it was daytime, I didn’t go at night. I was sober and…” Mochi’s words trailed off when he saw something on the floor. A single lily on the floor by the doorway. It didn’t make sense, he didn’t bring anything back with him - he had to be dreaming. 

They decided to have a meeting. Izana prohibited everyone from visiting the cemetery until further notice. For the sake of our sanity, you cannot visit the cemetery, stay away from it at all costs. He was serious. Perhaps they were all just having a really hard time coming to terms with your death. They needed to focus on something else, get out and see more women or maybe get away from the city. It was rather unnerving, they couldn’t find the cause of these dreams nor an explanation to what was occurring. Them not being able to remember things could be a serious issue. If an accident were to happen, they could end up in the hospital, killing another person by accident or worse…they could die. 

Two months had flown by without incident, everyone was doing fine and they didn’t have any dreams of you. It’s almost as if you stopped haunting them.

*in Mucho’s apartment*

He was having a hard time sleeping, he laid in bed tossing and turning. He shouldn’t have been taste testing so many different coffees all at once. The amount of caffeine in his system was making his heart race. He figured he’d just get up and sit in the living room and put something on. Mucho spent a few hours surfing channels as this late at night only infomercials were airing on the majority of the channels. He opted for something really boring in hopes that it would be enough to put him to sleep.

He finally settled on a random channel as he was getting annoyed. As the TV ran some old history documentary, he just sat there listening to every word and watched as the images played on the screen. He wasn’t all into the boring things but grew interested in fantasy, folklore and paranormal lore as they themselves were part of the unknown. They told stories from all over the world. The best ones that piqued his interest were from Native American folklore, Latino folklore and of course from his home country, Asian folklore. “Back in the middle ages and even up until the early 19th century, people would create a salt barrier to ward off evil spirits. In folklore and also all around the world, salt was seen as a sign of purity and protection…” The female narrator said while showing reenactments of people pouring salt in a straight line at the base of their doors and window sills. He chuckled. He found it funny how some believed that salt would protect them from anything. They weren’t deterred by salt, charms or really anything else as their intentions weren’t to harm. It was really just to feed, at first it was hard to control their hunger but with time they were able to manage it. 

“In today’s day and age, you rarely see people with charms, salts or anything that indicates that the paranormal exists. However…there are some unexplained happenings that occur.” The narrator continued. “For example, a woman was found dead in her apartment in Yokohama 7 months ago.” The voice of the narrator changed, it went from dull to wicked, almost resentful. The change made Mucho sit up and he felt his blood run cold. This has to be some sort of coincidence right? I’m overthinking due to the caffeine in my system, I’m hearing things. He thinks to himself as he prepares to turn off the TV. It’s probably best for him to get some rest. “She didn’t know any better and thought she was loved and protected by the men whom she trusted the most.” The voice was now angry. He was frozen. The voice was speaking to him…? “No…we didn’t mean to hurt her.” He says to no one in particular. “Yes! You did! You knew what would happen and yet you ALL let it happen!” The voice retorted back with force. Mucho’s vision began to get blurry, tears were now streaming down his face as he felt his heart break. The room felt cold and he felt faint. They didn’t want to be blamed for your death, it was a harsh truth that they couldn’t face.

The sudden sensation of someone wrapping their arms around him made him turn around immediately. The person behind him was you. Your small frame was looming behind the couch, reaching over to embrace him. The angelic look on your face and smile, only made his heart drop. “Don’t listen to it, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.” Your soft and gentle voice said. It did little to soothe the pain in his chest. “(Y/N)...”  He stutters. Everything went silent. He couldn’t hear the sounds of the TV anymore or the voice of the angry narrator. He could only hear the sound of his heart pounding and your soft giggle. You pulled away only to climb over the couch and sit on his lap. “I missed you.” You say and press your lips against his, giving him a gentle kiss. “Am I dreaming…?” He mutters against your lips as you continue to kiss him. 

Mucho began to feel warmth, the room that was once cold was now warm and he no longer felt like he was going to pass out. Your body was pressed against him and he could feel the way your heart was beating against him. “I need to feel you…all of you.” You whisper against his lips and fumble with his zipper. Breaking the kiss he caressed your cheeks and locked eyes with you. That beautiful hazy look in your eyes was enough to almost make him bust. He didn’t even question it or stop you. Even though he knew this was wrong or that this was a dream, he couldn’t stop it. 

Releasing his throbbing member from their restraints, you look down at it and notice the leaky tip. The lewd squelching of your hand stroking his member could be heard going on and on. The husky groans and panting escaping his throat filled the room. He leaned back, closing his eyes and let the warmth of your hands fill the void in his heart. 

Mucho had quite the stamina and discipline. Even after what felt like hours of you pleasuring him, he still wouldn’t finish, he refused to. Those throaty groans and exhales of bliss - it was soothing to hear. If only you were able to hear him and everyone else like this everyday… Even if you couldn’t actually sleep with them due to the…well, death by snoot snoot (coitus), you wished to hear them. With his large hands roaming your body he found ways to give your body pleasure. He didn’t want you to do all the work. Whether it was kneading your breasts, pinching and teasing your nipples, or snaking his hand between your thighs, he wanted to do something to hear your voice. 

Your whines got louder when his fingers found that spongy spot that had your vision going white. “Ahn! Right there!” You cry out and feel that numbing sensation creep up your spine. Mucho snickers between his moans, he felt your hand squeeze his a cock a little tighter and pick up the pace. Seeing your face in total bliss, lit his fuse - he was gonna cum. Not waiting to waste the opportunity presented to him, he gripped your wrist, stopping your motions. You couldn’t even fight it, he was merciless. The combination of your thighs trembling and your juices coating his wrist, he knew he made you see the white pearly gates all over again. 

You collapsed against his shoulder, panting and overall a mess. Mucho’s real plan kicked in, he didn’t give you even 3 seconds to breathe before he lifted your hips and sunk you down on his cock. The sudden intrusion made you scream out in pain and pleasure. Pain from being stretched out and�� pleasure as he made you cum again. “You came from me just putting it in? Fuck, (Y/N) - you’re such a good girl.” He coos in your ear and guides your movements. Slowly grinding you against him, he makes you feel his entire length - the fact that his veins were pulsing and rubbing against your velvet walls had you in daze. 

Mucho felt you clench around him the moment he called you a good girl. Oh, she likes to be praised? He thinks to himself and smirks. “You’re taking me so well, princess.” He moans in your ear and feels your body shiver. What followed was you clenching again, sucking him in deeper and a little whimper escaped your lips. “Mhn…feels s’good.” You babble almost incoherently against his shoulder. Before you knew it, he was bouncing you up and down his cock. He kept praising you and telling you sweet nothings. Even if this was a dream, he wanted to make it up to you. 

He got you to the point where you couldn’t take it anymore. You were an incoherent mess and moaning so loud that he thought his neighbors were going to start banging on his door. “I-ngh! I can’t anymore!” You cry out blissfully and dig your nails into his shoulders, making him flinch and grip your hips harder. The moment you called out his name, he felt his release clawing its way out and he painted your pretty walls white. Mucho felt the way your body collapsed against him, your head was resting on his shoulder and your heavy breathing was like music to his ears. He wrapped his arms around you and caressed the back of your head, gently stroking your hair and pressing you against him.

It felt surreal to have you in his arms, your body was hot and he felt your heart beating against his chest. There was no way this was just a dream. Mucho was smiling to himself and basking in the afterglow until the sudden sensation of a pinch on his shoulder snapped him out of his daze. Your teeth had his flesh between them in a rather crude bite. Before he could pull away, he felt his body go numb and he got lightheaded. The grip on your body loosened and everything went black…

END PT 1

[funhouse-mirror-barbie]

The Decay of Complex Characters and Character Development in Helluva Boss (Stolas and Octavia’s Relationship: Part 1 of 2)

Part 2 here

I’ve seen this in a few different places, but it’s been on my mind in particular since the animated “Look My Way” music video that dropped a while back.

The way the song was updated for the animated music video made the changes to Stolas’ character stick out even more to me, and I really want to talk about what I perceive as some really flawed writing decisions around Stolas’ character.

If you’re a fan of HB please know that I’m not trying to attack the creators or change whatever opinions or feelings you have about the story. If you love this show and this character and they mean a lot to you that’s great! My goal is never to spread negativity or toxicity—it’s always to talk openly about media and how we interact with it. ☺️

I want to start by saying I was a big fan of Helluva Boss, and of Stolas, up until the second season started. And before the second season, my favorite episode by far was “Loo-loo Land”.

(TLDR at the end of the post if you don’t have time to read thru!)

I still really like the episode now, and I especially love the opening scene and song. It’s beautiful, and the song “You Will be Okay” has brought me to tears more than once. It’s one of the best songs in the entire series, and I think the only one that tops it for me is probably “The House of Asmodeus”.

The whole sequence of “You Will be Okay” is both heartening and heartbreaking—it captures the unconditional love and protection a parent promises to give their child, while also expressing the sad truth about that promise that only a parent can know—that you can’t and won’t always be around for your child.

No matter how much you want to protect them from the dangers of the world, you can’t—parents have to let their kids go out into the world and become their own person—the most a parent can do is try to always be there in any way they can for their kids, even if they can’t be there physically.

The lyrics and tone of the song tell us as much. It’s very clear that Stolas is acutely aware that something may happen to him and that he needs to let Octavia know that while he may not be there with her physically, his love for her will always be with her, protecting her.

The build up to the song’s crescendo matching the visuals around Stolas and Octavia bring everything in the scene together really well, and Bryce’s performance is so good that it made me believe for a second that he would keep his promise to Octavia. That he would never abandon her, and would always put her needs as his child first.

That, somehow, he will truly be with her always protecting her, and that she really will be okay.

For a moment it was possible for me to forget the dramatic irony of the situation. That this was the past, that I already knew for a fact that Stolas would cheat on Stella and jeopardize his family life.

The song comes to a close, and through all the seemingly random chaos happening in space around them, Stolas keeps Octavia safe, and lulls her back to sleep. They return to her room, and the scene ends on Via in bed sleeping peacefully.

The whole sequence does such a fantastic job of showing you what Stolas’ and Octavia’s relationship was like when she was a child. She trusts him implicitly, and, at least at this time in her life, he seems to have been a present and loving father.

What makes this scene work even better though, is the transition to the present that follows RIGHT after it.

At the end of the song we get this jarring and sharp match-cut of a teenage Octavia being jolted awake by the shrill screaming and fighting of her parents in the background. In that instant, we as the audience see her going from feeling safe and having a seemingly idyllic childhood, to being a moody and neglected teen with a turbulent and unstable family life.

The music change that accompanies this not only fits the change in mood perfectly, but it quite literally tells us what she is feeling—her whole world is crashing down around her.

To this day, I think this transition is wonderful.

The visuals do such an amazing job conveying the changes that have happened in the Goetia family through Octavia’s perspective. And it’s extremely important because it immediately shows the audience that Stolas broke his promise.

I watched this episode when it came out, and when the only other Helluva Boss story and world-building we had was the Pilot and S1E1-“Murder Family”. While it could be assumed that Stella would not be happy about her husband’s cheating, we didn’t know anything about her personality and how she would react.

So. while it was clear that Stella wasn’t acting appropriately or maturely in the next scene, it was also VERY clear that Stolas was at fault for breaking up their relationship by cheating.

I will be talking about Stella’s character in “The Circus”, and how she is used as tool to absolve Stolas of any wrongdoing in season 2 later. For now, I want to stress that I will NOT be talking about future development of her character here.

After Stella leaves Stolas tries to connect with Octavia like they used to and just continuously fails. It’s clear that she’s still very angry with him for cheating on her Mom, and that his trying to carry on like nothing is wrong is irritating her.

Stolas asks her if she slept well and all she can sarcastically say is “Is that a serious question?”

What Stolas does next to try and reconnect with Octavia is very very important because it shows that he’s still being extremely selfish.

He decides they’re going to LooLoo Land, in a poor attempt to recapture some of their old good memories together and does not once LISTEN to Octavia and what she actually wants to do.

They go, but he uses the trip as an excuse to meet up with Blitzø, and behaves inappropriately and flirts with him the whole time, right in front of Octavia.

This, rightly, is extremely upsetting to her, and she runs away. Stolas follows after her and they have a heart to heart where he FINALLY FINALLY takes the time to listen to some of her concerns and why she is upset.

The episode ends on a happy note-with Stolas asking Octavia what SHE wants to do and what her interests are, and Octavia admitting to Stolas that, “You’re okay sometimes”.

This episode is extremely important to Stolas’ character because it does such a good job of getting across to the audience that Stolas is not a perfect person. That he’s someone who has people he genuinely cares about and loves, but that he can still royally fuck up. He’s sleazy, he doesn’t respect Blitzø’s boundaries, he neglects his daughter, and he doesn’t listen to her, putting his own desires and needs ahead of hers.

And the resolution to this episode is important, not because it fixes everything, but because it is the first STEP in the right direction for Stolas becoming better and becoming the father his daughter needs him to be again.

This episode ends with Stolas meeting the BARE MINIMUM to START making amends with Octavia. He doesn’t even say sorry, just that he would never leave her to run off with Blitzø. There is still a lot that Stolas needs to do to make amends with her, and to repair the ruptures in their relationship.

Due to this, at the time this episode came out, I thought that this was just the very beginning of Stolas’ first character arc—realizing his actions could truly HURT those he cared about, and having to come to terms with the fact that he was in the wrong. That something he did, hurt those around him, and that he would need to take responsibility for that.

“Loo-loo Land” went to such great lengths to show us that Stolas is imperfect. That he is someone who is capable of mistakes and doing the wrong thing, of being oblivious and selfish, and of needing to do better.

And before “The Circus” and “Seeing Stars”, I believed that the writers could develop his character to grow and change and become a better person for his loved ones.

This doesn’t happen however, as again the writers bend over backwards to make sure that Stolas never has to actually directly answer for his mistakes. So much so that they literally don’t let him say “Sorry” to Octavia the next time he breaks a promise to her and doesn’t consider her needs before his own.

After S2E2 of Helluva Boss, “Seeing Stars”, came out, I officially lost any faith in the writers to have Stolas ACTUALLY take ownership and responsibility for the ways he harms those he loves. That first step he took on the path to healing his relationship with Octavia from “Loo Loo Land” has been totally erased, and I can’t imagine whatever resolution they come up with for his character will be satisfying.

I have no doubt that Stolas will receive a happy ending, but I predict it will be one with 0 stakes, and 0 satisfaction, because it will not have been earned. I worry that with any character flaw or upset he causes, another character will be swept under the rug in order to make Stolas appear as if he was always in the right.

As I’ve said before, if that’s the story the writers want to tell, that’s fine. It’s their story, not mine.

I just personally cannot imagine not wanting to explore those character faults and acknowledge them. Maybe, hopefully, I’ll be pleasantly surprised. I’d really like that.

I’ll be following up to this post with a critique specifically of how “Seeing Stars” is very much a retread of “Loo Loo Land”, but in all the worst ways possible.

TLDR;

-In my opinion, the initial handling of Stolas as a flawed and complex character who could make mistakes and be in the wrong was really well done.

-The first canon episode that gives Stolas focus, “Loo Loo Land”, goes to great lengths to show us the ways in which Stolas has failed Octavia.

-This was a great set-up for character development and for Stolas to have to come to terms with his actions and change, but future episodes do not follow through on this set up.

-Will be talking about the episodes that undo the set ups for Stolas’ character development in Part 2.

EDIT:

I made the mistake of missing a part of “Loo Loo Land” where Stolas DOES apologize to Octavia properly—missing this was my mistake—I made an addendum post here that goes over this briefly—Apologies.

[rocals]

bullets era ray toro is like I would have let you infodump to me forever and ever and ordered us one strawberry milkshake with two straws and held hands with you the whole walk home