#but i feel like my writing doesn't explain things properly or leave enough clues for people to pick up on it

[mrpenguinpants]

Me, rattling the bars of my enclosure, dying and in pain. I'M DONE. I usually try to get commissions done within 3 days but I got violently sick out of nowhere.

More writer's notes under the cut:

I feel like most of my single-character one-shots are quite different from my headcanon fics. But this one especially feels way out there. Magnolia (my previous Dottore-only fic) has a somewhat similar vibe, but this one feels like I doubled the existential crisis.

Honestly, I don’t know how to feel about it—which is bad since this is a commission. Thankfully, the commissioner liked it, so we’re safe. Or maybe they were just being really nice to me lol. Either way, I hope they did. I initially planned to use the Ayato fic as a guideline, and I kind of did since this fic follows the same structure. But somewhere in the middle, that plan went out the window.

I think I’m physically incapable of writing Dottore without the relationship dynamic feeling completely doomed. Quite literally, it’s an “I’d follow him into Hell, but I sure wish he’d stop going there” vibe. Plus, my interpretation of Dottore is so different from any other character that I was genuinely worried when the same commissioner came back to me. I was like—do you know what you’re asking for? Because I’m about to crack open a philosophy book for this guy. I even took a German word for the title just to satisfy the pretentious bullshit I associate with when writing Dottore. Even with 4,000 words, I feel like I didn’t explore the relationship dynamic enough to fully convey the serene yet doomed tone I was aiming for. But I’m glad most readers, being the smart people they are, picked up on it.

I think my downfall was the music I was listening to—real bittersweet tracks that probably seeped into the writing. I’ve also taken a lot of liberties with his characterization since we don’t know much about the original Dottore. Personally, I imagine he’d be calm and patient. In the Genshin manga, Dottore (Beta) comes off as much more unhinged, while in the Sumeru Archon quest, Omega seems calmer and more composed. So, I assume the original, technically the oldest, would be the most mellow yet hollow of them all.

Oh, and I have to mention this: the (possible) shade of Dottore’s hair is literally called Air Superiority Blue. That’s way too funny not to bring up. I was going to go with Light Blue Slumber (since I’m trying to build a theme around characters’ hair colors), but it felt a bit lame. So, I looked up Dottore’s hair color and found Air Superiority Blue, but that sounded lame too. Then I changed it to Bitter Blue Slumber, which I didn’t like either, so it became Bitter Slumber. Finally, while writing this, I went looking for a word that captures "bittersweet nostalgia," since that’s sort of the relationship dynamic I wanted to convey (not entirely, but close). And wow, Reddit came through. Someone had already asked the same question, and someone else suggested the word Torschlusspanik. I explained its meaning in the fic, but it’s such a perfect word. So yeah, that’s why the title ended up being what it is. Rip the slumber-title continuity.

Ttorschlusspanik [ Commissioned ]

[ Hcs for Dottore where the reader is very sleepy/sleep-deprived and is constantly falling asleep in battle, on dates, or maybe during research and experiments! ]

Word Count: 4k

Ayato Ver: Pale Blue Slumber Semi Part 1: Low Battery Warning [Masterlist]

Thank you so much for commissioning me! You’re so sweet, and I truly appreciate the tip, but I can’t accept this level of generosity. Please let me know if I went under the word count. Also, thank you for your patience—I got really sick this week and am still recovering.

Torshlosspanik. noun. 1. A desperate feeling that something desired is fading, missing, or being taken away. 2. A feeling of frustration when something one has is departing.

A slumbering figure, a nearly empty desk, and foreboding fabric are the greeting signs to the infamous lab. It’s ironic, really. The concept that the Doctor’s domain comes with a “receptionist” setup stationed in front of imposing steel doors, giving the illusion that this place is as normal—and as morally sound—as any other doctor’s office. At best, it’s laughable to think anyone would believe this place accepts patients willingly, let alone frequently enough to require check-ins. Yet, a shabby but sturdy wooden desk stands innocently in the corner of the entrance, its chipping edges lined with plastic chrysanthemums and white lilies. The artificial flowers are faded, their colors dull from years of neglect, as if mocking the very notion of hospitality. Behind the desk sits an equally worn-down office chair, large enough for someone to curl up in. Its fabric is stained and frayed from years of misuse, the cushion lumpy and barely holding its shape but still useable. All for a receptionist, if you can call them that, who spends more time asleep than actually working as an employee in this most unlikely place. Legs curled up on the seat, arms crisscrossed over the knees in a fetal position. A chin tucked towards the chest, hidden from the view of passersby. Back facing toward prying eyes, leaving only the pronounced slouch of their spine visible, an angle practically begging to develop scoliosis. But the most harrowing detail isn’t the position. It’s the unmistakable black-and-white fur coat draped over them like a blanket, the fabric’s presence carrying an air of authority and fear. A coat only gifted to the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. The desk itself is of no help either. There’s no clipboard, no pens, no paper-nothing that could even remotely resemble the tools of an actual receptionist. It’s an empty stage prop, barely held together by the weight of its own absurdity. And yet, for all its flaws, it stands as the gateway to a place no one in their right mind would willingly step into.

No one dares attempt to wake you. Successfully doing so is practically a death sentence, especially if you go whining to Dottore about the unprompted “alarm clock.” He has a reputation for ensuring the offender never makes a sound again. The only ones bold enough to try and emerge unscathed are his fellow Harbingers, though even they tread lightly when it comes to disturbing your slumber. It’s both impressive and deeply concerning how much of a deep sleeper you are. The bustling footsteps of agents pacing outside the lab, their sharp voices discussing assignments, don’t stir you. The deafening clangs of machinery, coupled with the revolting squelches of severed monster parts being dissected, fail to trigger even a flicker of awareness. Not even Tartaglia’s incessant yammering, loud enough to make glass shudder, elicits so much as an irritated swat from you. Instead, you remain in a state of unyielding sleep, utterly detached from the chaos around you. Your peculiar habit has become such a fixture in the lab that the staff barely remember you exist. You sit perched at their entrance and exit, as still and silent as a gargoyle guarding a forgotten ruin. To them, you are little more than part of the backdrop. A slumbering figure whose presence is a curious mix of ominous and benign.

While it's obvious that the answer to rousing you is to find Dottore himself, or one of his segments if he isn’t around, the interesting part is how you wake up. You're not immune to the initial dizziness that comes with awakening. When you finally open your eyes, blinking the sleep away from your eyelashes, you’re always disoriented. Your eyes feel glazed over, as though you’ve gone blind from keeping them closed too long. Yet, there’s always a common theme: you always reach out toward the nearest blue object. Whether it's an odd trinket or a test tube of acidic liquid, your hand automatically tries to grab it and pull it close to you. It’s part of the reason your desk is stationed outside the lab, away from anything potentially dangerous hidden behind heavy steel doors. Artificial blue has been on the rise lately. Luckily, in nature, blue is very rare. Less than one in ten plants has blue flowers, and even fewer animals are blue. Unfortunately, the biggest nuisance has blue eyes—dead as they are. Tartaglia may not like the doctor, but he does like you. Maybe it’s because your sleep demeanor can be categorized as cute, or maybe you remind him of the simple life in an organization that’s so uptight. Regardless, that little fox has been clawing at the wooden legs yapping for attention. It's only made worse you don't bother to dissuade him, only indulging in his playful antics. It's led to many, many, lectures from one particular segment.

It's fascinating watching how each segment interacts with your sleepy demeanor. While each segment has varying features and appearances, under the same clothes and mask, they would be indistinguishable if they stood still and never spoke. The only true way to discern them is through their actions and mental processes. Hence, it's easy to tell who is who by the way they go about holding you.

Omega is by far the least attentive or affectionate toward you. Perhaps it’s because he’s the most selfish of them all. There’s still an ongoing debate over whether his dislike for you stems from the fact that you stand in the way of fulfilling his desires or if his ambitions extend beyond simply overtaking the divine gaze. Or perhaps the divine gaze isn't actually his goal in the first place. Either way, it’s two sides of the same coin. When it’s Omega’s turn to fetch you, he does so as if you were any other patient. Completely beneath him. One arm rests behind his back, while the other holds a piece of paper clenched tightly in his hand. His mouth is set in a firm line as he gazes down at your slumped form. Although the air around him is calm and silent, it doesn’t take a genius to know that if he could get away with it, he’d drag you through the halls by your hair. Alas, that kind of act would get him permanently disassembled, so he settles for unceremoniously flipping you upright. The arm resting on the small of his back is removed and curls under your stomach. With one swift motion, you’re treated like one of Signora’s shopping bags. The sight of a limp body folded in half under an arm that surely digs into the stomach is the best way to know if it’s the Omega segment or not.

Beta, on the other hand. Beta. That maniacal and neurotic freak adores you but couldn’t care less about you. His research typically focuses on fusing humans with machinery to create “better versions” of themselves, and he fully believes in that philosophy. You would look so much better if he were allowed to be your sole care provider. If your drowsiness were caused by a medical condition like heart disease, asthma, pain, or a nerve condition, he could simply replace them, and you’d be perfect. If it were a mental issue, well, he’d love you no matter how unresponsive you might be. It wouldn’t be much different from you being asleep anyway. When it’s Beta’s turn to fetch you, he does so with a waltz. He walks purposefully toward your desk. Loud and firm, his hands fisted at his sides with unrestrained glee, swinging in time with each step. Even with a mask that obscures most of his face, it’s clear to see the overexcited grin stretching across his lips. It’s almost like there’s static buzzing in time with his artificial heart, fuzzy yet electrically sharp. There’s no fanfare, as soon as he’s within arm’s reach, he grabs the nearest piece of skin and hauls you out of the chair. By some miracle, you’re always still asleep from the rough handling, which is more than enough for Beta to wrap his other arm around your waist. Your chests press together, and he swings your body to and fro in his mad dance. The sight of a limp body dragged into a dancing plague that’s surely pulling your stiff joints out of place is the best way to know if it’s Beta or not. Beta has been recently banned from coming within a six-foot radius around you. 

The original Dottore, Zandik, is a unique case. All of the segments originated from him but at different points in time. However, they are still parts of his thoughts and mannerisms. There really is no order in which the segments are ranked, as they can’t compete with each other. What’s more pointless than trying to beat yourself? You’ll still lose in the end. Zandik is a strange mix of every segment yet none at all. When he wants to see you, he does so slowly, with all the time in the world. His methodical steps echo lightly on the concrete floors of the lab, his arms still at his sides yet loose enough that the slightest wind could blow them away. It’s as eerie as it is tranquil. Everything about the original whispers of restrained patience—that when he arrives at the front of your desk, he simply waits. Usually, it takes you hours or even days to wake up on your own, but when it’s Zandik standing at the edge of your daydream, your eyes slide open. Small ripples in the pond. You’re still lethargic, blindly feeling your way back into your body as your eyes ricochet off the walls until they land on blue. A weighted hand reaches out to grab that ashy blue, and another hand meets your fingertips.

It would be cute if it were anyone else. The sight of a man with curly light blue hair, carrying a bundled-up figure dressed in a white coat with a fluffy black collar, legs dangling from either side of his waist while his hands rest on the lump’s presumed back and thighs. It would be so cute indeed, if it were anyone else but Zandik. But for him, it only looks lonely, despite the two of you pressed together.

The moments when you're awake only happen on two occasions: either you just happened to wake up at that time, or it’s check-up day. What kind of doctor would Dottore be if he didn’t conduct physicals for his only patient who manages to live long enough each year? The check-ups happen twice a week, always two days apart. Never past two days of separation. Ever. Your exact relationship dynamic with Dottore remains as obscure as ever as to why he cares so much. Whether you’re old friends who knew each other before Dottore set foot in Snezhnaya or even when Dottore was called a different name. Or maybe a dead lover resurrected as a zombie in the pursuit of selfish greed and glorious progress; both are possible options. The zombie theory at least explains why you’re constantly drowsy. The staff have never seen you eat anything before, and with the abundance of... zombie food, it's not outlandish as much as it is disgusting. The old friend theory would explain why you can stomach being around someone who can fly off the handle at any moment. The most willing yet unwilling patient. No matter how often Dottore has to wrestle you upright, only for you to slump back asleep the next second, he never loses his temper. If he has to strap you into a straitjacket and hang you from the goddamn ceiling to keep you sitting with a straight back, he will. But by no means will he get anything more than slightly miffed. If he has to force-feed you your medicine because you’re too loopy to remember how to swallow, he’ll shove his fingers into the back of your throat with nothing but a blank smile. The only good thing about your sleep-deprived state is that you’re probably so out of it that you can’t feel discomfort. It saves on using the limited supply of anesthesia the lab carries.

Dottore, for lack of a better word, is displeased with your constant need for sleep. He is deeply frustrated with each check-in and the stagnation of your results. For him, bad results are no different from good ones—they’re still a means of moving forward. Something that will tell him which direction to take rather than wandering around aimlessly in the dark. But in your case, there are no significant changes, as if everything he’s done has been for nothing. He could have closed his eyes and spun a wheel for the same results. The day before your check-in is always the calm before the storm because the staff knows that when the next day comes, they’d better keep their heads down or risk losing them. No one is quite sure if your sleepiness stems from mutated genetics or if it’s a side effect of being around Dottore for too long. Stir-craziness and breakdowns are common in the lab, whether among "patients" or "employees." Everyone eventually goes mad, cooped up within the same cell-shaded walls and working under possibly the worst boss imaginable. Add to that the fact that the Fatui don’t believe in “mental health” days, and with no coping mechanisms in sight, it’s unfair to expect anyone to function effectively. Most people eventually devolve into screaming or manic episodes. Perhaps your escape is more literal. A peaceful retreat from reality through sleep. You’re not even sure why you’re constantly sleep-deprived, especially when you spend more time slumbering than awake. At first, you thought you might be narcoleptic or taking the wrong pills; a diagnosis from scratch must take a long time, right? That was until Dottore bluntly called you an idiot. He told you it’s a bad habit to self-diagnose every minor inconvenience. You should let him do all the thinking and simply listen to him. And truthfully, with the haze clouding your mind, it’s too difficult to think clearly anyway. So, you nod and do as you’re told. It’s easier that way.

It doesn’t happen often, but it occurs more than it should, considering who Dottore is and the reputation he holds. If you wish to cross him, you’d better make it count—because it’ll be your last. He’s in the middle of a meeting with Pantalone, arguing over the lab’s finances when a frantic knock interrupts. Apparently, there’s been a scuffle at the entrance of the lab. To Pantalone's knowledge, there aren't any guards or any agents stationed at the doors except for that sleepy receptionist. Perhaps the doctor's staff finally had enough and decided to take their anger on someone who couldn't fight back? Pantalone's not a good enough person to not find amusement in the situation, infinitely curious as to what Dottore's reaction will be to all of this. Whatever the banker decided to gamble on, his expression doesn't twitch as he follows behind his fellow Harbinger as they walk leisurely through the halls, as if the world has come to a standstill. It’s almost amusing that when your life is potentially on the line, he suddenly decides to take a midday stroll. The only indication of his amusement is the slight shake in his shoulders, hinting at a silent laugh. Dottore punches in the lock code and throws open the steel doors before the automatic switch can activate, slipping through as soon as the gap is wide enough. He stops at the shabby wooden desk that’s now gained a few new dents.

This time, you’re curled up on top of the table, your office chair thrown across the room. Broken. It’s no matter, he’s been meaning to replace it anyway. The chair is just another expense to add to his name. He collects you into his arms effortlessly, and you instinctively sink into the familiar hold. A quick scan from head to toe confirms that you’re unharmed, save for a few strands of hair out of place. Behind him, Pantalone lets out a noise of approval as he surveys the scene. In the center of the room stands a robot with a striking design. A star-shaped frame with six triangular segments forms a perfect symmetry. Glowing cyan cores illuminate the metallic structure, positioned at its center and edges. The intricate details combine sharp, crystalline elements with mechanical precision, radiating an aura of both elegance and menace. As expected of the Doctor. Pantalone can’t help but wonder where this machine was hiding when Signora ventured to Inazuma. Perhaps if it had been deployed then, she might have returned in one piece.

Although Dottore no longer needs to sleep to survive, there are times when, as he passes by your sleeping form, he’ll pause. He stands still, staring for what feels like an absurd amount of time, meticulously detailing and recording every breath you take within a single minute. It’s always 17. Sleep occupies about one-third of a person’s life, a significant portion of time that, in Dottore's mind, could be devoted to something useful. Something productive, instead of wasting it frolicking in dreams that neither matter nor will change anything. Yet, even he can’t deny that, occasionally, a break from reality can serve as a fragile bandage over a wound that refuses to heal. A fleeting comfort in an otherwise relentless existence.  

It’s as awkward as it is unnatural. Despite his title as "The Doctor", his hands weren’t designed for gentle touches of flesh and bone. Yet he tries. His fingers twitch involuntarily as he tilts your body to the side, just enough for him to slide in beside you. Carefully, he rests your body against his shoulder. He expects you to jolt awake, his shoulder is bony and hardly a suitable place to rest your head, even when compared to the flaky cushion of the office chair you’ve somehow grown fond of. But you don’t. Of course, you don’t. You simply lay there, your head nestled against his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. No protests, no shifting away, just stillness. The transfer of heat begins, as described by the laws of thermodynamics. Hotter, faster-moving molecules collide with cooler, slower ones, transferring energy in a quiet exchange. No fireworks, no blaring alarms, just the science of touch, as mundane and profound as ever. Zandik dares to lower his chin, letting it rest lightly against your head. His mask doesn’t obscure the quiet moment, though he can feel the unnatural curve of his lips twitching upward ever so slightly. Down here, in the deepest layers of the lab, not even the howling winds of Tsaritsa’s snowstorm can reach. It’s eerily quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of your breathing. For a moment, he wonders what it would be like if you woke up now. If your half-lidded eyes would squint at him in confusion, or if you’d simply close them again, surrendering to the haze of sleep. But you don’t stir. Instead, he lets himself linger, suspended between an unusual warmth and the cold detachment of his own thoughts

"Breaks" are not something you can indulge in down in the labs. The closest the staff ever got was when one of the Harbingers passed away, and even then, it lasted only half a day before they were right back to work. Still, if you ask nicely, Dottore will nod toward an empty seat, silently giving you permission to make yourself comfortable. You take the opportunity to describe the dreams you’ve had while Dottore tinkers away in the background. You talk about a train whose tracks stretch far into the stars, far beyond the snow-obscured sky you glimpse through the scarce, frosted windows scattered about the lab. Sometimes, you dream of a whimsical city filled with cute shops and tiny bunny-like robots waddling through fissures in space. You’re certain he isn’t really paying attention, his hands busy with instruments, and his focus locked on his latest project. Sometimes, you suspect he forgets you’re even in the room despite your rambling. A small part of you wants to stamp your feet and pout like a child. After all, you’re only awake for a few fleeting hours each week, and even then, all he can think about is his experiments. His endless, obsessive tinkering. The man’s only "hobby" is experimentation, and you wonder if he’s even capable of entertaining anything else. At least Omega and Beta would give you some attention. Omega might tell you to be quiet with that dismissive tone of his, while Beta would enthusiastically scribble down every word you say, his excitement unnerving yet oddly gratifying. Still… your gaze drifts toward Zandik’s back as he works, the muscles beneath his coat shifting subtly with each precise movement. You pull your knees up against your chest, wrapping your arms around them as you rest your cheek against your folded arms. For a moment, you simply watch him in silence, the quiet hum of the lab filling the space between you. Eventually, your eyes grow heavy, and you let them slip shut. A faint smile tugs at your lips as you wonder where your dreams will take you this time. You wonder if Zandik would come with you.

On the rare occasion that Dottore chooses to sleep of his own will, most likely due to substances that induce drowsiness and force his body into a state of rest, it’s always a remarkably uneventful night. He doesn’t dream anymore, nor does he wish to. Dreams, like the past, serve no purpose to him now. On certain days, if he concentrates hard enough, he can faintly discern whispers from the other segments he's created. However, they are nothing more than distractions, a cacophony that only aggravates his already meticulous mind. When he wakes, it’s as though he hasn’t truly slept at all. His eyelids parted smoothly, his pupils sharp and alert as if no time had passed. Yet there is an unusual sensation, warmth. Dottore does not run warm, and the lab, built for functionality rather than comfort, certainly doesn’t harbor it either. He turns his head, curiosity fleeting, and finds you huddled against his side. Your arms are wrapped around his waist in a loose embrace, and your face is pressed against his chest, seeking solace in his stillness. The white coat with its black feathered collar, the one you wear more often than he does, is draped across your body, serving as a makeshift blanket. His hands remain clasped on his stomach, and he realizes with mild irritation that he can’t move without risking the possibility of waking you. For a moment, he lingers. The seconds on, and his mind races ahead to the tasks awaiting him. The pursuit of progress waits for no one, not even himself. Every moment spent lying in this bed feels like a year’s worth of lost discovery. 

With calculated precision, he shifts. His movements are methodical, almost robotic, as he carefully bundles you in the coat, ensuring the hood doesn’t cover your face and obstruct your breathing. In a single fluid motion, he lifts you into his arms as he rises from the bed. He spares a brief glance at your sleeping form, red eyes devoid of emotion. Your breathing is steady at 17 breaths per minute—a rhythm he has memorized and measured countless times before. Still as serene as ever. But then, for just the faintest of moments, his gaze softens, almost imperceptibly, before he turns his attention back to the work that never ceases to call for him. What a peaceful way to escape the world, the thought as cold and clinical as his expression.

---

Hi, thank you for reading! I'll reblog this with further writer notes but I wanted to include the research bits in order of appearance. I can't guarantee the full accuracy but I hope I didn't get anything wrong.

Chrysanthemum & Lily

In many Asian cultures, especially in China and Japan, chrysanthemums are symbolic of death and mourning. In China, the flower is closely linked to the Day of the Dead, and in Japan, it is used in funeral rites. While in some contexts chrysanthemums can symbolize longevity or fidelity, their association with death makes them unlucky in certain circumstances, especially when given as gifts or during celebrations.

Lilies, especially white lilies, are often associated with death and mourning, particularly in Christian symbolism, where they are linked to funerals and burials. While lilies also symbolize purity and rebirth in other contexts, their frequent appearance in funeral arrangements.

Head-Down Position

The sleep position reader takes is a parody of the Head-Down position of babies in their third trimester. The head-down position (cephalic presentation) is the most common and ideal position for birth, where the baby’s head is facing downward, towards the birth canal. This allows the baby to navigate the birth process more easily.

Dancing Plague

Also called the Dancing Mania, this refers to a series of events in the 16th century where groups of people, primarily in Europe, suddenly and uncontrollably began dancing for extended periods, sometimes for days or weeks, often to the point of exhaustion, injury, or even death. The most infamous and well-documented outbreak of the Dancing Plague occurred in 1518 in Strasbourg, then part of the Holy Roman Empire (modern-day France).

Algorithm of Semi-Intransient Matrix of Overseer Network

The robot Pantalone sees is the early concept art for ^ but also known as the "Tomb Guard of the Desert King.".

17

The number 17 is considered unlucky in Italy because of its association with the Latin word for 17, which is "XVII". Rearranging these Roman numerals gives the word "VIXI", which means "I have lived" or "I am dead" in Latin. This gives the number an ominous connotation, as it can be seen as a symbol of death or misfortune.

Honkai Star Rail & Zenless Zone Zero

Yes, reader was describing these two games as their dreams lol.

[always-andromeda]

Can I request La Belle Fluer Sauvage for Klitz & AFAB reader,, Where the reader’s been hearing people on campus saying horrible things about her looks so after she breaks down in front of Klitz one night, he decides to show her how much he loves her body 🥺

Author’s Note | ahahahaaaaa, this was one hell of a piece to write. I tried to keep the description of the readers body very vague so that anyone could apply themselves here. but like lmao, this movie takes place in the early 2000s where fuckin heroin chic was a thing and you could literally be completely average sized and still called fat?? so like, it all works out in the end lol.

Warnings | smut (MDNI), oral (female receiving), some light overstimulation, Klitzy gets a liiiittle pussy drunk oop, the description of reader's body is kept vague but folks at the beginning are disparaging and call her a cow ;-; (so if this is triggering to you, maybe consider skipping this one; take care of yourselves, my loves), that's all I can think of!

The second you feel his hand graze your lower back and his lips meeting yours, you feel guilty. It's a touch that you should be familiar with by now. The sensations are the same; a chill runs up your spine and a hum begins to swell in your throat. But the emotion that wells up in your eyes makes you twitch with frustration.

Clenching your knuckles, you wait to just melt into it; for everything to come together perfectly and suddenly make sense. Because you don't like associating Klitz with these worries. He's not your problem, not really. But the longer he lingers the more you remember the sound of those girls snickering.

You remember passing by them in the lunchroom, remember the way they tried their best to look sneaky as they stared in your direction. The part you remember most are the words. They've played on a loop and bounced around the inside of your skull like a screensaver all day ever since you heard them. 

"God, what a heifer. Does she really need that much food on her tray?"

"She might not need it, but you know cows, they love to graze."

Then came the stifled cackles as you walked away as quickly as you possibly could away from their table. Body moving on autopilot, you went directly towards the lunch table the tripod had unofficially claimed as their own. Only this time, you didn't meet the greetings of any of the boys as you sat down. You couldn't even bring yourself to eat any of the lunch you'd taken.

Part of you wishes that Klitz had just ignored your silence. But he's never been that kind of boyfriend. Even if he has no clue what to do, he's always worried about you, especially when you don't respond to him placing a hand on your knee under the table. 

Not wanting to embarrass you in front of his friends, he figures that he'll ask later. He figures that maybe math class is getting you down again or maybe you didn't get enough sleep. And he figured that the second he kissed you in his bedroom when you both got back to his house, you'd respond then. 

But you make none of the happy little sounds he's used to. No contented sigh as his lips attach to your pulse point on your neck. You can tell he's trying so hard to get you hooked, but the only thing that is snagging are your own insecurities.

"Klitzy, stop," you blurt out suddenly and sit up properly, scooching away from him until you're practically on the edge of his bed. He stays rooted in place, watching as you pull your knees up, minimizing yourself as much as you possibly can, it seems. 

Klitz doesn't dare to move a muscle when he questions you, "What did I do?"

Your gaze is glued to the plaid pattern of his rumpled comforter. Blinking fast, you answer, "You didn't do anything."

He has a hard time taking the answer at face value. "Okay..." he utters slowly, waiting for something more to leave your mouth.

That's when you swallow thickly and explain, "I just...I don't like my body right now. And if I don't like it, I'm not going to expect you to like it either."

"Oh–" that catches him off guard. He chews on his lip, bites into the flesh so hard that he flinches slightly. Klitz is all too familiar with those days. Because he knows what he looks like. He's well aware that he's not built like the guys at school are. And some days he's proud that he isn't one of those mindless meatheads. But especially in the days before he had you, he often had those same days of complete self loathing.

Those days were soothed by your soft voice calling him handsome, your fingers running up and down his arm, and your lips marking up his chest and throat with smears of glittery lip gloss and hickies alike. All of those things he'd once found to be detestable...he could grow into them.

Klitz tries again, "Do you think I'm ugly?"

Finally, you look at him, worry flooding your wide eyes, "No! Never! I promise you, I'm just–"

"Then why would I find you ugly?"

"Huh?" your brow raises.

"Listen, I might think that I'm ugly sometimes...but you don't. I feel the same way. Even if you think you're ugly...that doesn't stop me from thinking that you're the prettiest girl in the entire world."

Your eyes fall to your legs again as you smile slightly. "Agree to disagree then, I guess." you say with semi-amusement.

Klitz is careful with how he closes the space between you both. He slides forward a bit more, the mattress shifting as he gets closer. "That doesn't sound like a fair compromise," he teases.

"Then what's your idea of a fair compromise?"

"How about I try a little convincing first? You haven't even let me plead my case," his lips are inches away from yours again, hungry to prove their resolve on your skin.

You bide your time before his mouth hits their destination. "What's your case again?"

His breath warms your skin and makes goosebumps flourish all around your shoulders. "I think that you're the prettiest girl–" he kisses you chastely. "–in the entire world."

You chuckle playfully. "Okay, proceed," rolling your eyes, you want to be surprised how quickly he can sway you. How simply the sight of his eager smile as he gets between your legs makes your stomach flutter with elation. Klitz's nimble fingers make quick work of the button and zipper on your jeans and you giggle as you raise your hips to help him pull them down.

Momentarily, you curse yourself for not wearing anything special underneath them. Yet Klitz doesn't even seem to notice or care that these aren't some delicate lace panties. He still pulls them off with the same delicacy as if they were. And something about that makes you want to sob. But you push that down as he reaches for one of the pillows leaned against his headboard and places it right underneath you, getting you at a better angle for his mouth.

His dimples show as he kisses your thighs. Regardless of the texture and appearance of your flesh, they are ever present and betray all of his enthusiasm for his current position. But that smile is soon replaced as his lips part to let out shaky breath.

"Can I see you?" he asks tentatively, licking his lips nervously. "Please, baby?"

Watching his pupils dilate to the size of saucers as you spread your legs slowly, you can't help but laugh a little. It's absurd. It's absurd how often you forget about this feeling and absurd how quickly he fuels your fire with simple gasp. And it's absolutely fucking absurd that you feel that damn sob rising up your throat again. It's as if he was looking at you for the first time all over again. Maybe that's the benefit of his inexperience. With no one else to compare you to, he couldn't possibly be disappointed, right?

"Fuck," the single word comes out with the force of a freight train, like it was just waiting somewhere deep in his chest. It's something carnal and full of worship as licks a stripe up the center of your cunt, parting your folds and getting a taste of the musky arousal beginning to pool between your legs.

The second it hits his tongue he curses again, breathier this time. As much as he wants to take his time, as soon as he's gotten that little bit, he's keen to dive back in completely. 

Without another thought into the action, Klitz plunges his tongue into your hole, desperately fucking you with it. His nose nuzzles against your mound and his hair flips wildly as he buries his face into your more and more like you're some sort of non-renewable resource. Like if he doesn't get his fill now, you'll run out of that sweet, tangy nectar that he so loves. And if the guttural groans and moans are anything to judge, you start to believe that he's truly been wanting this for a while.

That want only deepens as his arms hook around your thighs and raise you just slightly from the pillow, getting you closer. And that's when you finally make the contented sounds he likes to hear; the high pitched curses as you pull at your own nipples and the sharp gasps with every bump of his nose against your clit. You're so flushed, so swollen, and so ripe for him. And so close, so quickly.

He's everything you need and more, pleading his case as if he were mere moments away from a death sentence. As if you believing those ideas that you weren't worth any of this would actually kill him. That's how fervently he embraces you; all of you. Like if he didn't love your whole being with his entire being, he wouldn't even be himself.

The thought pushes you over the edge, sends you careening into a climax that practically makes your eyes roll back into your head. You finally let out that sob you'd been holding back. And the relief of it all fills your bones with warmth, even through the startling tinge of overstimulation as Klitz continues on, so lost in your cunt, that he'd barely even realized that you'd finished on his face.

You gasp, "Klitzy, too much!" and push back on his shoulders. Once he pulls away from the intense entanglement, you see his hazel green eyes are dazed behind his fogged up oval lenses and the bottom half of his thin face is covered in you. 

He blinks hard a few times and wonders aloud with confusion, "Wait, you came?"

All you can do is throw your head back on the pillow and chuckle to yourself. God, part of you is glad that the rest of your peers are too stupid and superficial to see how attractive he is. Because you can't imagine any of the big, bulky, popular guys at your school being nearly as persistent and passionate as he is.

Klitz flops over beside you, bringing himself to you until he can look you in the eyes again. One of his hands reaches forward to brush some of your disheveled hair back behind your ear.

He whispers, "So...did I convince you?"

"I'm not sure," you joke. "I think I'm gonna need convincing on a regular basis now."

"I can always do that. I was captain of the debate team during sophomore year." Klitz replies matter of factly.

You can't even bring yourself to cringe at the little quip. Because you could never find him unappealing. So instead you smile coyly and giggle, letting him pepper your face with little kisses even though his lips are still wet from you.

"Don't worry," he says, "As long as you need me to, I'll keep trying to convince you."

[p3rf3ct10nn1nj4]

Fuck you, nobody is sending in asks rn so I'll write stuff for myself then.

For a small explanation to what "insomnia" esk-thing im talking ab is; (i have no clue what the medical term for this is nor do i care all i know is that i deal with it nightly) I literally cannot fall asleep properly unless someone is besides me, there's background noise, and in physical contact with me. If they stop talking or move away from me i kinda wake back up? Again, no clue what this is, could be insomnia mixed with some other shit I've got going on (like insomnia mixing with my autism/adhd mixture) but yea... there's an explanation ig?

Yan-Boys (plus the cryptid that is John Doe) with an S/O who has difficulty falling asleep due to a condition

Jack

Lucky lucky, he's not leaving your side.

Who that's lucky for? Both of you honestly

It gets you to sleep since he'll ramble about how good of a job you did at work today

And it get's him a free pass to excusably pull you closer so you are laying up against him at night

As well as giving him an excuse to lay with you EVERY night (if he didn't have one already)

If you're like me and overheat quickly and get uncomfy when you do, he'll move his hand to different spots during different times if you seem warm

although he does have to sleep eventually

meaning again, if you're like me, you might wake up a little

he'd kinda have that...idk "go back to sleep, it's okay" type of vibe while he's asleep though?

you will end up getting at least semi-decent sleep around him though

i feel like he kinda.. hums a little in his sleep? idk how to explain it because its not like "the annoying girl at a sleepover who makes some noise every other minute while she pretends to sleep and then tells us that she's possessed next morning" (met a girl like that before, it was weird) more of a "you can kinda tell if you pay attention that this is supposed to sound more like a lullaby but its kinda incomplete so it just sounds like random humming"

John Doe

Doe can manage the background noise and constant contact

however while i personally feel that Doe doesn't sleep... like at all

they'd be terrible at keeping a genuine conversation

eventually any conversation with you, if it goes on long enough, just devolves into her complementing you or him talking about things that are not helpful to sleep to

like, if you think sleeping to true crime podcasts is kinda creepy because how much gore they talk about

Doe takes that to like... five levels higher

she'd go into unreasonable detail about teeth and other such things

if you were half asleep you'd have to wake up a little to tell him maybe just switch to complements

they would...only once you tell them that its kinda difficult to sleep to facts like the definition of voluntary apnea or the fact that "drowning" in concrete burns more than it suffocates (may or may not have learned some of these things from killing someone)

the only consistent "conversation" would be the slight cryptic repetition of "I love you" being said over and over but that'd still sound more like background noise

Peter

He's canonically an insomniac, if you really can't sleep he'll stay up with you

although he likes the idea of helping you sleep better

he also likes the special moments you two have with each other during those hours

it's like secret moments just between the two of you

would gladly hold you close, whether in broad daylight or to help you sleep, he'd cling to you whenever honestly

would probably have his phone with him and would play music for you, it'd be quiet but you could still hear it

already knows your music taste & has like... three different playlists with music you like for different occasions

the talking part...it'd be a little bit of a hassle, but compared to the two above, he'd be the only one on the list so far who could talk about normal-ish things

it wouldnt just be a bunch of complements, it could be weather, your ideas on [blank thing; for example fate], etc

[mevekagvain]

Chapter 280 - Lunark watching as Urokai and Zarga have their moment with Raizel is so funny like yeah you interfered to try and save 8th but fuck those two sjjsjsksk. Just let them die without even trying to help <3 On one hand I get it because wtf are you going to do against mr noblesse, otoh... it's hilarious.

- Oh lol I never noticed Frankenstein literally bleeding through his shirt while he fixes everyone else up after the fight. Rip. Also Rael why are you sitting there you’re not hurt 🤨

- "That Kalvin guy" he was a child Tao! But good for him on not giving the right antidote. Ofc I would never want the kids to die but at least the kid who did die did so thinking it wasn't in vain.

- Seira looking at Rael like "this fuvker actually helped? Error 404".

- Tbf Raizel's lifeforce dwindling to a mere fraction could mean he has like, 20k years left instead of 2 million. I know they mean more like a few months or a few years but maybe not. Maybe all nobles get decrepit and tired when they have only 20k years left. I see no evidence saying otherwise. Would explain why he doesn't die either. Because he still actually has plenty left to use even if comparatively it isn't a lot and only a fraction, he's just unfortunately now in his old age. Stop making grandpa Rai fight guys.

- They should have just given Raizel modifications to extend his life lmao. Frankenstein's right there. Idc if you don't want any Raizel, you're gonna do it for your pet human who's loyally wasted 820 years of his life waiting for you.

- Meanwhile Takeo "he slept for 820 years???" My guy is late on the new.

- Reminder that yes the Union does non-evil things too lol. Like sponsor a company to explore the seas.

- Oh Frankenstein is dripping blood on the floor... how did I never notice this in my previous rereads.

Chapter 281 - I ask again! Is Crombel microchipping his assassination squad members or is it an imitation of a noble bond?

- The Elders upon learning about Crombel's team "idk idc about just leave them be. how could this possibly backfire on us idk idk". Like how are they still alive 😭😭😭 I do hc that it wouldn't be an issue for the noble Elders who'd sense the weak imitation noble bond Crombel had with them but the rest of them???

- Is shrimp fried rice easily digestible? Seems like it wouldn't be but whatever.

- The trio can't read Raizel's minute expressions but the kids, Frankenstein, Seira, and Regis can. My bet is that Urokai can't either but the other traitor nobles probably could. Also very cute that he blushes and leaves when the kids comfort him.

- No but why tf did you want Raizel, an adult, to go to school with teenagers Frankenstein. Surely you could figure something else out.

Chaoter 282 - The image of Lunark sloppily applying lipstick before a meeting to cope is making me laugh snjsjsksk. I do still think as a ww she has no clue of human clothes or makeup or etc aside from the basics and thus in actual diplomacy cases she was dressed up by servants or Urokai who feels obligated to make sure every Elder dresses up properly. Urokai as a competent Elder when he's not chasing after Frankenstein propaganda,,,

- Crombel being the only Elder to not know wtf a noblesse is jahsjsjsk. Sorry bro you haven't been Elder long enough and gone to enough Union Elder pool parties for the gossip sessions they have to know shit. Especially since they're dropping off like flies now. I'm sure 3rd is disappointed to have to cancel the upcoming pool party 😔

- No but srsly why do all the Elders have void rooms to have meetings in. Just Skype each other.

- The nobles as a species "hmm have you all considered that world domination is bad?" which is why the Union is wary and apparently Zarga went "aww but i love looks at writing on hand being objectively bad". Like his reason makes no sense ajjsjskks. "Ah yes i hate the Lukedonian ideal of doing whatever tf u want as long as it doesn't hurt others".

- Karias' lightning and thunder tantrum with Amore,,, good for him

Chapter 283 - Roctis, pls stop sitting in your void room. It's bad for your health.

- Ignes!!! The one real female traitor!!! Edian is an honorary traitor who is always counted in said group only.

- Roctis stuttering when he says nothing's wrong to her... lmao okay dad I totes believe you.

- The funniest part is he remains sitting in his spinny office chair in his void room the entire time.

- tteotbokki! Did they really put mayonnaise and ketchup over it though??? Meanwhile Raizel struggles with his banana...

- Poor M-21... your life must suck when you get excited to receive a special nail file as a gift. But also good on Tao for helping him out by making one for him.

Chapter 284 - Oh lol so I wasn't going crazy. Crombel also doesn't know who tf the Elders were going to contact. My guess is Lagus, Gradeus, and Edian lol. It's going to be real embarrassing if I'm wrong because this is my nth time rereading.

- Just struck me that it was the dragon clan leaders in the Union. Fascinating. Dragons stick together I suppose, until they don't.

- Raskreia asking Gejutel to recommend a clan leader while Karias volunteers,,, my sis and I have the exact same energy.

- Rozaria and Kei screaming at Karias while the other three just sigh ajjskzkaks. Also Karias is right. She's older thus she's his nunim 👏

Chapter 285 - The soul weapons stuff still makes no sense to me like why does Rayga's full soul not being in Kartas mean Rajak can't utilise it fully. Like maybe you're just weak bro. Have we considered that? Maybe Rajak is just naturally weaker than the other clan leaders and his constant training only puts him on equal playing grounds with them. But I do agree that you baby clan leaders shouldn't be able to beat the old ass traitors, yes.

- No let Rael complain about daddy dearest. He's right. Rayga shouldn't have split the soul weapon.

Chapter 286 - Mvp lord knew Raizel's taste in jewellery but Frankenstein fucks up again despite being told already about his preference... Maybe Raizel just doesn't want jewellery from you king.

- I wonder who's in charge of putting the skin tight shorts on the test subjects put into tubes. Like did Ignes put them on Muzaka? 9th Elder? Did they force Roctis to do it? I have so many questions.

- M-21 and Takeo loving the gifts Tao gave them,,, my heart. And then when Tao comes to ask about them and guilt trips them by mentioning that he used up most of his pay to make them,,, beloved nail file and modified toy gun, perhaps you will become tsukumogami one day even though that's a japanese shinto belief not korean. Maybe dokkaebi? But I can't see them being abandoned so.

[ripples-in-the-river]

So I've kept on writing this fanfiction. So far, the only thing the akuma does is give us a great summary of how characters feel about each other. Chat Noir is claiming he'd die for his lady and he'd give her the world, while also getting a little butthurt and so focused on being loved back that he doesn't necessarily get context clues and let her have space/time to figure it out. I'm not sure how the akuma works -- is it the lava? Are the robots doing something to make you essentially explain your life and your characterization? The akuma's name is Mouthpiece -- big floating eel with lots of lava and a big mouth on top of it. I mean, I'm essentially admitting to making it some sort of character trait ex machina to make sure everyone is on the same page. I'll use it to shoe everything about the character -- say, Chat Noir, how he feels about Ladybug, different side of him, all his subtleties, stuff like that. Also -- I'm thinking maybe one akuma isn't enough. I still need to show the rest of the cast as brainwashed so I can also make sure their characters are on point, and also get to basically make a rant into a story. I mean, the point of Mouthpiece was to have a way for Marinette to admit how she feels about the class and Lila's lies, and being rejected and/or bullied or whatever. I also wanted the rest of the cast to get brainwashed, mainly some classmates we know enough about to be able to characterize them properly, and teachers whose view of the situation would be pretty useful, too. I don't know, I mostly thought this would be sort of a rant/salt thing about Marinette and how it's okay to just cut ties when you're stabbed in the back like that. Like, it's not because you're supposed to like them or because you have history together that you can't just say that some things are unnacceptable. I felt like it had kind of been glossed over how betrayed Marinette must have felt, so I'm taking matters into my own hands.

But for that, I kind of need to rewrite the fight scene. Basically, it opens with Marinette clinging onto her yo-yo for dear life as her akuma trap fails to capture the giant eel: it escapes, and the yo-yo gets stuck around it. The akuma trashes and she tries to get on top of it to see if she can steer it better. She's just hanging onto rope, and she's not strong enough to steer it herself. She needs to get on top of it, and also, she needs her lucky charm, and also she needs Chat's help to not die on the way there. It's a massive akuma, basically a chitauri but more worm-esque. While she's stuck on the rope, she takes in the damage the akuma did --

(and what I'll explain here might become a flashback or something, so it's less convoluted to explain)

Ladybug and Chat manage to trap the akuma under the Eiffel tower with her yo-yo and a distraction fight from Chat, and it's temporarily stunned. I'm not sure how it happens, but Marinette uses lucky charm to beat it -- maybe Chat used cataclysm but it didn't completely destroy it? Or something? I dunno man. Anyways, while she's doing the thing, the akuma trashes and it breaks the tower's leg. Marinette is yanked away when it escapes, leaving Chat and some civilians (probably) near the crumbling tower.

So now, Marinette is trying to climb back up the monster's back, and she takes in the damage her plan did. This makes her worry -- and while she tries to come up with a new plan, she thinks about Chat Noir and how he's all she has, and he's alone by the tower, with civilians, and he might be hurt, or dead, and she basically realizes that he's just really freaking amazing a teammate to have. For some reason, that takes her back to earlier that day -- week? I don't know, I haven't planned a specific time for when she heard about that.

So she thinks back to someday she heard people talking about how Chat Noir deserved more love, and how he should be treated as an equal hero. That, or she thinks about how basically all Paris considers her the leader. She realises how demeaning that must be for Chat, that she has the power to rebuild, and de-evilise, and that she's the leader, and the strategist, and that on top of that she's treated as the superior hero. She thinks he must feel useless.

So Marinette kind of has a throwback to times she felt useless too -- maybe about her seamstress work? She's a perfectionist and she gets hung up on details. Maybe she gets massive anxiety over failing, or feel like she isn't worth anything if she messes up. We've definitely seen her beat herself up over mistakes she does, and it's logical that Marinette would know already be someone who puts lots of responsibility on herself, as she's Ladybug and bugs are the strategist of the team, and they have the most pressure out of the two of them. I compared it to being in a war zone, and someone sending a bomb: Ladybug would be the one with the bomb skills to stop the bomb from exploding, but without Chat to make sure nobody shoots her to death before she can touch a single cable, she's basically useless. So I wanted to talk about their dynamic, while also admitting how demeaning it would be for Chat to feel lesser than Ladybug. They're supposed to be equals but Ladybug is also capable of fighting. So yeah.

So! Marinette thinks about that in that very moment for some reason. Then Chat comes back and rescues her from splattering to her death. Then for some reason, I felt angsty, so I decided Chat had been touched by the akuma, so he was becoming more mushy. Spouting stuff like "I'd give the world to you" and "I'd die for you" to Ladybug. That, honestly, was pretty much out of nowhere, but I kind of felt like writing that scene at that moment even if it didnt fit in the continuity, I guess. I might re-write it so we see what the akuma actually DID, and also -- I know he keeps getting shot at, and brainwashed, and honestly? In context of their powers, it makes sense -- I mean, Lady Noire would have done that self-sacrifice thing too, right? Maybe? I don't know. But hey -- Master Fu chose Adrien because he didn't hesitate to sacrifice himself, and Marinette because she went against danger for someone else. Marinette has to be brave and not hesitate to help; and Adrien has to be selfless and help others even when it gets him in trouble. Not sure how much Fu's judgement is actual sacred requirements and how much is just him asking Plagg and Tikki or something -- or how much is Fu just guessing. Or if he just went around Paris and fell on his face all day until someone helped him up and he went, here we go. But okay, let's just pretend it's sacred. And I mean -- with their powers, it makes sense, I guess. Oh -- also! How cool is it that the "evil dark rotten destructive" miraculous is the one of PROTECTION against the Ladybug's INITIATIVE? How cool is that??? Destructive powers are used on the character whose most useful skill in battle is sacrifice, protection, and whose main character trait is humour, flirting, and getting himself beat up for his partner??? I mean -- you didnt see that coming, did you? It's freaking cool and I'm rambling but YAY

So in short, my problem here is to make the story progress and also to get some nice Chat Noir moments here and there. Kinda stuck on that one since I don't want it to become too salty -- and it's already dramatic enough as it is with the class salt. I guess I'll see? I just don't want it to turn into some big drama or anything like that. It feels like I'd be forced to write stuff I don't agree with or feel comfortable writing about if I go down that route. I kind of don't like talking about the injustice between Chat and Ladybug much. It's just really something that makes me angry that one of them has more power -- it feels really bad that one of them would have arbitrarily less stuff than the other one. I want to talk about it sometime, but not like that. When I'm more calm about it, maybe. Today it would just make it sound like a really agressive rant and I wouldn't want to make it so I can't be reasoned with.

I think I'll figure something out! I'm in a good creative mood right now, so i expect to be back writing in a few.

I was thinking, for my weird Miraculous fic that's probably a one-shot -- maybe I should cut off the first part? It was supposed to be about introducing the villain AKA the plot device that would force Marinette and Adrien to react to the whole Lila situation in school, with later chapters/paragraphs focusing more on the dynamic that the town has with akumas, how they react, how their lives change, etc. Bur well, the fight scene was nixe to write, and I love angsty battle scenes where everyone gets splashed with a good old dose of tears, and also battle sequences are so much fun to write, I had no idea but I apparently like the dynamism of a battle, the scenery that keeps changing, the characters that are thrown in an unexpected situation and need to resolve it, etc.

So I'm also thinking to cut off the fight scene because the akuma doesn't make sense. We have this weird eldritch eel thing that floats, then later on I was searching for a power and I liked the combination of like, pale fire and dark blue, a bit like those pictures of like, heat levels in the body -- and also because it was fun to have this creature from the deep sea spout flames like some kind of surface dragon thing. Then with that came the concept of making it into some sort of turtle/mammal thing that kind of looks like an angry turtle with bits of lava rolling on its back -- like, so hot it's almost yellow. The back design ended up looking more like a mountain with tall, slender grass and some dusty soil, like, the pale kind with some darker patches where it's more shadowy/cliffside-esque? And I had this idea that there was sort of a mountain thing on top of its carapace, and there's something in a little taiga thing between the mountains where Marinette needs to get to either fix the akuma, get rid of its weapons, or fix the damage it's causing. I thought of like, a combo between Audimatrix and a more element-themed villain like Weredad: there's the technology part that's like, controlling damage ans sort of scaring everyone down on the ground, while there's the eel thingy doing... Other stuff? Shooing people away? Shooing the technology away? I don't know at this point.

Like, the robot part was kind of a shot in the dark. I had this random idea of making robots appear, then that the robots were connected to the eel thing (that I had to physically force myself to picture as an eel and not a turtle because holy crap mental images are hard), and the lava was like, shot down from the robots. Since there was something shooting flames/lava/some weird acid thing that ended up being a weird liquid fire thing nonsense. So I thought, well, robots, right? Since they're easily something a villain can conjure -- or ar least, something you get to turn civilians into. The idea that you'd turn people into "cold" metal monsters by throwing them into lava felt kind of cool, too, if not completely disgusting to really think about. But it's an Akuma, and magic, so I guess it doesn't hurt. Deal? Deal. So now I just have to connect the pieces, but I'm kind of worried about the fic being weird or something. And I have to figure some kind of gimmick too.

The eel thing (I'm calling it Eldritch because why not, it might even be some sort of a villain name like Eldritch Metal or something) is really strong -- fic starts when it yanks Marinette off her feet while escaping her confused mess of yo-yo string/spaghetti/trap thing under the Eiffel tower. Tower collapses, Marinette hangs on for dear life, and since she'd just cast her Lucky Charm, things kind of suck. So she has to basically just hold on until Chat Noir comes back, and since she's there, she can fight a robot or two like why not, right? The fight is uneccessarily tense because honestly? I wanted to un-downplay how dangerous akumas are like, those kids are badass and akumas cause real danger, you know? And I wanted to show how Marinette reacted when she had to fight an Akuma on her own, like, we never really look into how scary it's gotta be to right these guys without your partner -- especially if you rely on them as much as Marinette does Chat Noir. Basically talk about how she depends on him -- the show stated how important Chat was to her, and honestly, I think it's gotta be something to talk about sooner or later. Ladybug's position is basically like being the bomb technician in a war zone. Like, sure, you have some field knowledge, but seriously? Go try to defuse a bomb when the whole tagteam is shooting at you and also THEY HAVE BOMBS and you're the only technician and you really can't unfuse a bomb without someone making sure you don't get murdered in the face. So I wanted to talk about that! I thought it might be something Marinette really needs to realize, and also people in general, because like, Chat is cool, nobody says he isn't, or should say. So yeah.

But the thing is, I hadnt planned for the fic to be taking that direction. It kind of turned into commentary on their characters/relationship when honestly, I meant to talk about like -- how does the town handle akumas? Can they do better? How can people handle bullying better? Is Chat being bullied/disvalued? Should something be done? How do the people handle akumatization/bullying? Basically, rhe fic started with this premise that yes, sometimes, you really WANT to believe in the people you're supposed to have faith in -- yourself, others, teachers or friends, God, parents, whatever. But sometimes you just stop pretending and you allow yourself to be dissappiinted, and angry, and it sucks. I wanted to delve into that. Into the premise of the show, into how some characters did things that others considered good but sometimes made horrible decisions that didn't get addressed or that were swept under the rug because you just wanted to believe so badly that they were good and you didn't want to stop believing in them.

Like Caline Bustier, I wanted to believe she was super sweet and all, but well, sometimes it's just no, and Mme Mendeleïev is supposed to be rude, there's stuff happening all over the place between Chloé and Sabrina and you just have no idea???? And I felt like maybe it's really freaking stupid to say this, like, isnt it the point of every fanfic ever to expand on canon and say that you're angry about things? But, I dunno. I guess I just kind of wanted to see stuff the way they are.

And I might or might now have talked about the bullying, and Lila, and how Chloé bullied basically everyone in the past and how that affected them, and also like, criminally, what is everyone's crimes? What would you sue them for? That's kind of what I wanted to explore. Kind of take of this blanket of "they're a good person, of course they wouldn't do that", like. I guess, stop taking people for better people than they are just because you want to believe they're a good model or something.

So yeah. I might post the start here? I don't know.