#but i would need more concrete ideas for the plot first

[flythesail]

It's the way I know I'm going to end up mourning the acolyte for a second time when I finish my fic

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

EVEN MORE SPOILERS FOR SEASON 6

I figured since I already read it, I'd give my thoughts on the recent interview Astruc and Thibaudeau took part in.

Due to incompatibility with the new animation engine, SAMG will not be working on the next seasons of ‘Miraculous’. The series is now being developed entirely in France, with the integration of Dwarf Animation.

Okay, props for no more outsourcing, even if I'm not sure what this means for the other ZAG shows.

Season 6 is considered to be “a new beginning”, aside from being a new story arc. It is sometimes referred to by the writers as Season 1.

I'm sure that isn't confusing to the executives at all. Also, maybe don't imply you're starting from scratch when you're already reusing the plot of the main villain using the Butterfly Miraculous.

The writing team already has concrete ideas for how Seasons 7, 8 and 9 will begin and end. They also have ambitions to make it to a Season 12, only if the support of viewers and executives allows them to do so. With this, they emphasize the fact that they would not continue with the show if it were no longer needed or interesting.

So basically, they're planning to keep this up for as long as they can until someone pulls the plug.

The opening of the sixth season is still undecided. They are still discussing whether they will change the musical arrangement or not. Thomas also considers the possibility of making a brand-new theme song. A song has been confirmed for S6. They have the music, the arrangement and a female singer. The character remains unknown.

Imagine how funny it would be if they brought back the woman who sang for Marinette in the movie instead of having Cristina Vee sing again.

Despite leaving Paris at the end of ‘Revolution’ (5x23), Chloé Bourgeois will return in Season 6.

Putting aside all the things I've said about her "damnation arc", what is even the point of bringing her back at this point? She has no powers, no influence, no allies, and isn't a threat of any kind. This makes her not being the next Hawkmoth make even less sense, becuse she has more of a reason to hate Ladybug than Lila does.

Also, with the news that Chloe is coming back, this means that she essentially escaped punishment or at least found a way to rebound like Lila did. So that's a grand total of ZERO villains who actually got punished for their actions after five seasons. I'm starting to think Ladybug and Cat Noir really suck at their jobs.

Sebastien Thibadeau: “[Cerise] (IOTA: I'm still calling her Lila for simplicity's sake) is a villain without costume. She is a villain all the time. There is a reason why, but this reason, neither I nor Astruc will reveal to you yet.” Interviewer: “You mean you already intend to tell it?” Thomas Astruc: “Yes. And you know what, we have already told it, but you haven’t noticed.”

Translation: Ladies and gentlemen, LET'S GET READY FOR RETCOOOOOONNNNS!

Seriously, we are approaching the sixth season of this show. It has been eight years since Lila first appeared all the way back in "Volpina", and we still know nothing about her other than the fact that she has some three moms for some reason. You can't pull the whole "This is something you need to rewatch to understand!" excuse because the last two seasons hinged on breaking the rules about Sentimonsters.

Speaking of, I love how this comment about Lila accidentally implies that Gabriel never did anything evil when he wasn't Hawkmoth/Shadowmoth/Monarch. All that emotional abuse and isolation Adrien suffered was all out of love!

Thomas Astruc on Chloe redemption arc: “We put the characters in situations, and then we say to ourselves: “what would be the logic?” How would the character logically react in “such and such” a situation? And we tried, we tried everything. But every time, we say to ourselves: “if we write this, it’ll be wrong”. There’ll be no reason, it’ll come out of nowhere, the fact that she’ll face something nice and say: “Oh, I’ve been horrible, Marinette what have I done! From now on, I’ll be...” No, nonsense. I understand people’s desire for Chloe to be nice. I’d like that too. But I’d like it if in real life, people with a lot of power suddenly started doing nice things. But Chloé has no interest in changing. She has no reason to change, unfortunately.”

Ah, yes because Gabriel (Global terrorist and abusive parent), Felix (Betrayed Ladybug and temporarily wiped out all of humanity on a whim), Nathalie (Willing accomplice to Gabriel) Andre (corrupt politician and Chloe's primary enabler), Sabrina (Willing accomplice to Chloe) all had compelling reasons to change their ways.

Also, "I've been horrible, what have I done?"

MY BROTHER IN CHRIST, THAT'S HOW VIRTUALLY EVERY REDEMPTION ON THIS SHOW IS EXECUTED.

The fact that he's seriously acting like he actually wanted to write a redemption arc is insulting. Not only does it ignore all the things he's said to fans who were upset at the turn of events, but it makes no sense for him to take this stance because he's a writer. If Chloe turning a new leaf is too strange of an idea, then write an actual character arc allowing her to progress to a state where she recognizes what she's done is wrong. You control the character for God's sake! It's not like you're training a dog to stop humping the couch. You can change things to make a redemption arc possible.

In other words, Astruc is either lying to save his ass, or THIS IS WHAT THOMAS ASTRUC ACTUALLY BELIEVES about writing characters.

Sebastien Thibadeau talks about Andre's character development: In contrast to Chloe, “Andre Bourgeois evolved as a character because we had already imagined a back story. He had the potential to change, and that’s where the beautiful scene comes from — I think it’s magnificent — between Gabriel and himself on the roof of the Grand Palace, where he says: “But Gabriel, what’s become of us? We’ve forgotten the kids we used to be”. But we [writers] know what kids they used to be, and we’d like to tell the story one day, to show what young kids they were, when they were struggling through Paris and weren’t yet what you’ve come to know in the series. He’s sad about what’s happening to his daughter [Chloe], and he’s trying to change it, but he can’t. He is proof that a character can change.”

This. This right here is what cinched it for me. I've tried for years not to say it because it's a word that has been flung around a lot over these last few years, but I feel like this little snippet is enough of a reason for me to say it.

These writers are sexist.

They may not believe it, but whether they intended for it or not, they wrote a story arc where a grown man was shown to have more sympathetic qualities than his daughter. How the hell can you defend it in a way that doesn't highlight the misogyny that this show runs on?

The fact that they gush over how much "potential" Andre had right after saying how that same kind of potential wasn't enough of a reason to attempt a redemption arc with Chloe really shows how confusing their priorities are. I'm sorry to keep saying this, but for a show that takes a heavy anti-capitalist philosophy, it seems like the members of the 1% are the characters who get the most depth and sympathy... unless you're under 18 and lack a Y chromosome, that is.

A meeting will be set up in the coming weeks to decide on whether or not to make a live-action for ‘Miraculous’, Thomas Astruc reveals.

As a former Arrowverse fan, I'm willing to see this out. Not only did the Netflix One Piece series prove you can make an animated property work in live-action, Ladybug & Cat Noir: The Movie managed to do really well even without the usual writers behind it.

Thomas when asked about Gabriel’s wish in ‘Re-Creation’ (5x26) and whether he brought Emilie back to life: “All the answers are in the episode.”

For the love of--STOP SAYING THAT!

You keep claiming that we just need to rewatch the episode to understand things, but between the continuity errors and abandoned subplots, it's hard to tell what's important and what isn't. Either say "No comment" or give us an honest answer.

If people are still confused about how the season ended after almost a year, and you keep giving answers like this:

Maybe you need to change the way you tell the story.

Astruc when asked about ‘The Supreme’: “Oh, if only you knew... Nothing we do is meaningless.”

Sebastien Thibadeau on Season 7: “Once you’ve seen the start of season 7, I can swear you’ll watch season 6 a second time. That’s all I can say.”

Because it'll make Season 6 look like a masterpiece by comparison?

Thomas Astruc on the worldbuilding: There are Kwamis and Renlings, what makes you think there aren’t others [creatures]?

I swear, by the time we get to Season 10, we're going to get stuff like aliens, demons and talking mushrooms, or at least something ludicrous like that.

Zoe had a love at first sight when she met Marinette in ‘Sole Crusher’ (4x07), they confirm.

Of course! That's why it wasn't framed any differently from something like the umbrella scene and Zoe showed absolutely no signs of attraction to Marinette! It's genius!

Executives had Thomas write several alternative concepts for ‘Miraculous’, very different from what we know today or even the early PV. Among them, “a concept where Ladybug is the head of a group of superheroines, like Sailor Moon. There was no love story.”

Can you imagine a world without the Love Square?

The script writers’ favorite episode is ‘Simpleman’ (4x19) as it represents a personal, work and family attachment. Marinette’s grandfather, Roland Dupain, is inspired by Thomas Astruc’s grandfather.

Okay, either Astruc had a complicated relationship with his grandpa or he's been dead for years. While I understand that older generations have outdated views (for example, my great-grandmother yelled at me for saying I wanted to learn Japanese because "They tried to kill us!"), the fact that a caricture of a grumpy old man was based on his grandpa is a little concerning.

Also, between this and Sabine being based off an old flame of his, this only makes the theory that Chloe is based off a real person Astruc knew more plausible.

Astruc: “This is why our work is so difficult. We have to manage to bring in this generation of younger ones, and at the same time, we have to satisfy the generation that was here before and that grows with the series.”

First, if you're trying to please older fans, maybe don't get into fights with them on Twitter.

Second, you made a thread after "Simpleman" aired where you insulted fans for not getting the "meta" element to the episode and compared them to the character you just said was based on your grandfather.

You've also been burning away a lot of the older fans' goodwill over the years. Trust me, I have a few examples.

Despite sharing a similar appearance, the symbol on Nino’s T-shirt is not related to Hack-San.

Okay, is this a fan theory I missed back when Season 4 was airing? Why would anyone draw that conclusion?

Thomas Astruc talks about Season 6: “I’ll say it sincerely, I was very doubtful at the end of Season 5. I said to myself: “if we were to continue, how would we exceed?” Well, we did. It’s been a great season. The new writers have brought us a lot of great stuff. All the episodes we’ve written in Season 6 are fabulous. Each episode is on point, there is no unnecessary lines. All the scenes are really interesting, really well-crafted.”

Translation: Tons of filler, bad comedy, reused Akumas, and more Love Square drama that we're trying to claim hasn't been done before.

Thomas when asked if Marinette will get akumatized: “We never give any information about what may or may not happen.”

JUST. SAY. NO. COMMENT.

There are many important details throughout the series that no one has noticed. Thomas says that when we see the next seasons, we’ll think, “Oh, the writers had it all planned.”

You know, like how Season 3 established that Sentimonsters can be sent out of control by Cataclysm a few episodes before Adrien, a Sentimonster, gets hit by a Cataclysm and is affected in a different way. It was all planned from the beginning.

The Ladybug PV was an animation test and was not intended to be public. Jeremy Zag decided to leak it himself.

Honestly? Dick move on Zag's part. You have to wonder how pissed off Astruc was.

According to Thomas Astruc, what the ‘Miraculous’ series is today represents only 5% of what he wrote in the original bible he presented to Jeremy Zag. “The universe has evolved a lot since. I don’t know if the ideas I put there will be reused someday. It was very extensive.”

Thomas Astruc and Sebastien Thibadeau discuss the parallels between Marinette and Gabriel: Astruc: “Gabriel’s personal back story is the cause of his misery, not his will. And above all, it creates a beautiful mirror with Marinette, which is what’s interesting. They both have a lot of love for Adrien, they’re both designers, they both have a Miraculous, but it’s other choices.” Thibadeau: “That’s what makes it a great hero-villain contrast. Even if they don’t know it from the start, they have a real point in common. As we see at the end of Season 5, they both love Adrien. Except there’s one who does it by doing the right thing, and then there’s another who does it by doing the wrong thing, hurting people, to get there.”

And the one who did the wrong thing by hurting people ended up winning. What does that say about the contrast?

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

And that's it for the interview. I have to say Season 6 does not look pretty so far.

[yuri-is-online]

Episode 9 Thoughts

I actually really liked this episode TᴖT I wasn't expecting much lore or plot building? But this was surprisingly light on filler.

Not Super Spoilery Facts:

Zenji says Romeo comes from "the famous House of Lucci." I made a joke about it, but basing Romeo's family off of the Gucci family actually makes a lot of sense. The Gucci brand is no longer controlled by the Gucci family for a variety of reasons, including financial problems and that murder they recently (?) made a movie about. I think this is really neat and a fantastic idea for his character, there's so much drama you can work with in high fashion and it makes just that much more sense about why he would be mad that he's not in Frostheim. He should be, they're all wearing clothes with his family name on it, but he can't be because he doesn't own the company.

Zenji does watch over Jiro constantly. That's not a super confirmed thing but between his attitude in this Episode and the campus event it's safe to say he probably follows Jiro around as much as he does Haku.

I promise I paid attention to more people than just Zenji (even though the mission never would have succeeded without him, everyone praise best boy NOW). Here let me prove it:

SPOILERS

This is mostly just for me but Romeo's nicknames/his "personal network" he references when calling for help are: Kurossa (Leo), Harry (Haru, wonder if he picked that up from Taiga or Taiga picked it up from him), and Mickey (Rui). I think he probably also considered Kaito one of his "network" because of how much he stalks him but that's just me lol.

Speaking of which lets talk about Kaito for a second. He says he doesn't remember much about the clash "because he was doing his own thing" but the timeline between when Romeo started stalking him and the events of the clash line up perfectly. To me it looks like there are two elements to Romeo's obsession, the first is obviously the pendant but the second... probably still has something to do with the pendant if we are being honest but since everything in the story has to do with the Clash probably that too. There is a piece of blackmail Romeo shows him that Kaito screams about:

My initial thought was that it was a picture of him in his underwear trapped in one of Romi's cages, but we saw that in Episode 4 or something related to his debts and to be fair? That's probably the most likely scenario. Kaito has a gambling problem (call 180-GAMBLING please bby) so there's probably no end to the dirt Romeo has on him. I do wonder if it's a bit more sensitive though but that's just me. Anyway Kaito mentions he never saw Romeo in the Casino until he started chasing him around... which makes me think the likely timeline for Romeo and Taiga's falling out can be placed somewhere around the same time. If they were working together and projecting a united front there would be no need for Romeo to do so much damage control.

That pendant is clearly important, we get a closer look of the insignia on it because Romeo finds a bracelet with the same insignia after he digs up a grave in the cemetery:

To me, this is still not enough detail and I want more but I feel fairly confident in saying this is a Heraldic symbol of some sort. As outlined here the Frostheim ghouls appear to have a sort of chess theme to their names with Kaito being the pawn. In chess pawns can become Queens if it reaches the end of the chess board, which I bring up because the insignia itself, at this point to me, appears to depict an eagle with a crown above it's head. Eagles are symbols of power and the favorite of many real world royal families, as is combining them with crowns to form a royal insignia. I need to do more research before I make concrete claims? But my initial searches have suggested that crowns are only ever used to symbolize royalty or important religious figures, and that eagles are usually double headed. A single headed eagle with a crown has been the symbol of countries like Germany, Austria, and Poland, but this eagle lacks the shield at the center for the first two and the polish eagle actually wears it's crown. I could also be reading waaaaaaay too much into this? But I'd like to think I am being perfectly normal.

Speaking of which we are told in the chapter that the graveyard plays host to "long term foreign residents." The bodies there are not cremated and it is very likely that, assuming Kaito got his pendant from a relative, that Romeo literally dug up and stole from Fuji's great great great grandparent. What a girlboss:

This person has been dead for so long they are only bones, and the only other object in their coffin is the metal bracelet. That's an old ass body, and it doesn't belong to a native Japanese person if we take what Romeo said earlier seriously. This is someone who moved to Japan and maintained enough wealth to be buried with an expensive tombstone. So why no name on the stone and where did they move from?

In less detailed? News Jiro has an extreme reaction to the crying child ghost encountered near the start of the chapter. Specifically he has a reaction to him saying "it hurts." Zenji also reacts to this, he scoops up the boy and takes him away. Later he regrets not attempting to "soothe the boy with a fairy tale." Jiro's memory loss is a side effect "of a certain tragedy that befell him." The timeline of whatever happened to the Kirisaki siblings is vague... but I think it goes something like this:

The brothers make their deal with their demons. They might do this together? Personally I lean towards Zenji doing it first in an effort to do something that will get him and Jiro out of whatever bad situation they are in and Jiro, not wanting to be babied and prove he can take care of himself, does the same thing. The reverse is also possible where Jiro makes his deal and Zenji follows suit because he feels responsible for protecting him, but either way Zenji does or says something he later comes to regret. This causes a rift between the brothers that remains unresolved through the Clash, and makes ghost Zenji reluctant to reveal himself to his brother. I lean towards them being injured around the same time? Either in the same incident or Jiro being injured first and the reason why Zenji was able to stick around. He says he wants to be an illustrious author, but really I think he just wants to make sure Jiro doesn't die. And now he also wants to cure the MC's curse, what a swell fella.

While Jiro clearly doesn't remember Zenji in detail, I don't think his memory is less fried than it first appeared. When MC attempts to get Jiro to go back to the others this happens:

I don't know how this reads in Japanese, but in English it's a really odd sentence. It's a mix up of two common phrases referring to team work: two hearts beating as one + team work makes the dream work. It's a very unique mixed metaphor, and exactly the sort of silly thing Zenji is saying all of the time so if Jiro remembered his brother... he'd probably remember him saying something like that.

... this chapter really did make me scream I'm going to miss Zenji so much.

[autumnhortsnort]

Hello coauthor! A Residuum reader here. One thing I really like about your comic is how the consequences of the characters' actions feel so plausible, but what stands out to me the most is the pacing in how they're presented throughout the story. Do you have any tips for structuring a plot? Every time I try to outline mine, it feels a bit incoherent, and the scenes don’t seem to flow well together. I’d appreciate any advice 🐢

best advice? Write the whole outline down as much and as far as you can, doesn't matter if it makes sense, that's for editing you to figure out. Then edit the ever-loving daylights out of it, add in connecting actions, and take out things that don't work. Residuum has had Five different drafts, with major tweaking as we go. The outline is not set in stone.

Also don’t share it outside of friends, that can make you feel pressured to stick to (the previous plot) even when it doesn’t work for how your story has progressed. There’s a reason we didn’t share any of the potential endings when we were still trying to figure out where the story was going. When the first arc was being posted we had an idea of the plot til about halfway through arc 4, but we didn’t actually have a concrete ending.

how we structure a plot (and do pacing)

Write out your main plot points and then write what the characters need to do to make that event happen. We basically do the plot mountain structure, but for each arc (there are 4 of them) we tend to make the climax of each arc into turning points or decisions that the main characters have to make that they cannot undo. here's a good article to read about structuring plots. (Note! This is for the broad spanning major plot beats, each update actually gets written as needed, they aren't written into the outline.)

When it comes to character decisions it’s more about, “what would make the character do this?” rather than, “would the character do this?” You can make characters do things they normally wouldn’t if you give them the right incentive.

For the pacing with residuum, because it’s serialized, we try to have something progress with each update. Either you learn something new, the plot has progressed (aka the status quo has changed), or there's set up/foreshadowing for later, most updates actually have all three. When writing in a serialized format (each chapter getting its own release) it’s a good idea to treat each update as a complete chunk. Try asking yourself: what is the goal for this part? are you using this update for anything actually important? are you conveying anything new and/or important to the plot? Is this something you want to focus on? Are you writing this to meet audience expectations or because you want to? There are parts where residuum gets almost no interaction but, importantly, those parts still meet our individual update rules. If you're writing for audience engagement you are going to get discouraged from writing long spanning plots very quickly. The audience doesn’t know whats coming, so they won’t interact with anything that doesn’t have their current blorbo™, even if it’s plot important.

for how we make the consequences make sense

Make things make logical sense? honestly i don't what to tell you.

We read. a. lot. I used to read 400 books over a school year, beaze has read about 13.6K fanfics on Ao3 over the course of 4 years. plus a ton of manhwa and manga, and that doesn’t include nonfiction, stuff from sites outside of Ao3, course assigned books, reddit fiction, royal road. Most of how we understand and structure plots is instinctual because we fire hosed our brains with them for years.

I'd recommend watching watching Overly Sarcastic Production’s Trope Talks, and reading stuff that's not rise related, as well as researching nonfiction stuff that's relevant to what you want to write we are at a place where we aren’t writing the outline anymore, just editing it if needed. We use the outline structure to make each update because it gives us a objective for the update, and gives us a road map for when to place the set up for future updates. But if you struggle to use outlines you can just… not use them. Garden writing is a valid writing strategy, I use it for one shot AU’s of residuum.

For long spanning stories written garden style the first draft can be your outline. Just edit and flesh it out once you’ve written it.

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

IV. “unmasked”

parts: previous / next

plot: set on a new (and flashy) candidate for your paper, you end up getting more than you bargained for.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, blackmail, sexual harassment (sleazy Oz), uneasy tension

words: 2.9k

It was as if you'd told her pigs could fly.

"Did you get prior authorization from Wayne Enterprises?"

Ah, shit. You knew she would balk at the idea if she knew you hadn't made contact with him yet, so you lied. "He agreed to it just this afternoon." Feeling a tad guilty but trying to shake it off, you ended the call shortly after when she told you she'd meet you outside the venue with the needed supplies for entry. Thankfully she was more knowledgeable about the goings of the city than you were, as she knew the start time: six. You had about an hour to shower, change, and do whatever hair and makeup you could manage.

And do that you did. The shower felt manic, scrubbing so hard and quick that the nearly-healed scabs on the palms of your hands reopened, burning and raw. You did your best to ignore the pains as you blow-dried your strands and brushed your teeth. You groaned when you realized the only 'formal' outfit you had was the dress you'd worn the night of the shooting. It had some snags which the sequins lightly concealed, and you had to take a spare toothbrush to your matching heels to rid of the caked mud. Your hair was cooperating, much to your amazement, and you decided to put it back in a slick, middle-part pony for your dark locks. Rummaging through your desk you found a pair of cubic zirconia stud earrings, hastily fixing them to your ears with one hand while your other smeared some foundation on.

5:45 rolled around and you had narrowly made it to your cab after hyperfixating on your makeup in the mirror. You left with only your phone and keys, pre-paying for a cab to and from so you didn't have to worry about losing your new wallet... again. You grew increasingly anxious the closer you got to the event, knowing full-well you would likely have to turn in a paper three days from now that was not an interview with the elusive billionaire. Consequences would have to be dealt with later, however, and you knew you could probably make up another lie to cover your first one, that he had simply stood you up. In fact, you had so little hope for him accepting the interview you hadn't bothered to think up a single question.

City hall was dramatically busier than anticipated. Swaths of both citizens and paparazzi huddled around the entrance, forcing your courage to shrink. Maybe it was a terrible, terrible idea. Maybe you'd make a fool of yourself. But that didn't matter—you'd be out of Gotham before the month was out. You thanked the driver, keeping your head on a swivel for the professor.

"Ms. Y/L/N!" Dr. Vry greeted you with unexpected warmth, embracing you in a hug before handing you a voice recorder and press badge. The glimmer in her eyes was intimidating, knowing that you had effectively lied for it to occur. "I await your paper with bated breath. So excited to read his first interview."

Gulping back guilt you had thanked her and wobbled your way up the stairs in your heels. The concrete slapped the soles which didn't help your baseline unsteadiness. The reality of the choice was setting in as you surveyed the entryway, full of Gotham's elite. You didn't get much of a good look before you tripped on the final stair, throwing your arms out to catch your fall.

Bruce got out of his car and handed his key to the valet, hiding a wince from the many photographers frantically screaming his name. His night-oriented eyes narrowed to protect from the harsh flashes of light reflecting not only off their lenses but the many puddles littering the caves in Gotham pavement. He focused on a dark strip of tar as he navigated toward the front steps, tucking his hands in either side of his rough wool overcoat.

Hordes of Gotham's elite climbed the stairs ahead of him, and he intentionally avoided eye contact with anyone who seemed like a Bruce Wayne superfan. He wasn't in the mood to be in public today, but it was a local government mixer; in other words, an excuse for the socialites to get drunk on wine the general public couldn't afford one bottle of while still keeping up appearances. As a Wayne, his attendance was nearly mandatory. In the past he had ignored Alfred's pushes to mingle and faced backlash. After a few scathing think-pieces in the Gotham Gazette, a mediating member reached out due to waning finances. More money than he knew what to do with, he'd signed on for a generous recurring donation which had apparently caused a mass amnesiac event. Shocking. Only cost a few million to be back in good graces.

The foyer smelled musty, the muddy puddles dragging in the scent of dirt and chemical rain by way of red-bottoms and kitten heels. Bruce refrained from reacting, his eyes moving him about the room with stealth. Wine tables. Servers. His gaze lingered toward the entrance where a group of men were eyeing women as they walked in. Before he could intercept, a sharp elbow slid across his lower back and someone grabbed his knee, a cell phone bouncing across the ground toward the refreshments. He buckled as his knee was pushed forward, falling swiftly onto his ass. You hadn't realized who it was, embarrassment tinging your cheeks as you immediately began to apologize, shocked at how quickly you'd made an ass out of yourself.

You pushed yourself up to a crouch and forced yourself to make eye contact with the stranger. You didn't particularly want to face a rich guy in Gotham you'd just pummeled into the ground, but it would have been worse to simply run off into the night. The man had dark brown hair that was now obscuring his face, and pale skin. You couldn't make out much more before you'd locked eyes with the Batman.

Oh fuck.

You began to apologize and his body became tense at the sound of your voice. That familiar guttural tightness consumed him as he looked forward and once again met those big, bright eyes. It was you. You stared back at him with your mouth slightly open and he froze, forgetting to fix his face for just a moment. It was an expression he'd only seen once previously when he had come to Alfred after his first try-on of the suit. His chest felt as if knives were sharpening themselves on the lining of his lungs, slicing his esophagus to asphyxiate him. No. No. NO.

Your teeth went cold as shock washed through you, snagging at your chest and skipping your heartbeat. It registered like a narration, too big to neatly conceptualize or shelve away. What do you do when you realize the country's most eligible bachelor is also the country's most infamous vigilante?

He couldn't read you beyond your initial surprise, and it panicked him. The sound of blood pulsing in his ears deadened the sound of the crowded room, yet he was still highly aware of being surrounded by the last people he'd ever want to find out. He begged his thoughts for an answer on why you'd shown up right here, right now.

His fear disarmed you, rendering you unsteady. You needed to gather yourself, you were starting to sweat under his piercing gaze. Head spinning. World-shifting. You spun around and instead went to pick up your phone, the throngs of people already back to their own conversations. The celebrities of Gotham weren't too interested in the wellbeing of anyone besides their own... and even then they never went out of their way to help another. You noticed your phone alight in the corner by the snacks and made a beeline for it, careful to lift your feet with every step so as to not have another incident.

Thank god, you thought to yourself as you knelt down to pick up your phone. As you began to examine the screen for any dents or scratches (there were none) you stood up to someone tapping your shoulder. You had half a mind to think it was Batman—Bruce. He wasn’t in the suit. Fuck, he’s really the Batman?

"Ay, what's a pretty girl like yourself doing in a city like this, eh?" You turned to see a taller, thicker man with rough skin and a heavy accent staring back at you. He had on a checkered suit with a white shirt tucked underneath, and smelled strongly of tobacco. The bow tie caught you a bit off-guard, as did his demeanor. He looked you over as he licked his lips, making you turn your nose up. The man didn't even notice. "Sweetheart, with a body like that you'd make a killing at my lounge." His black eyes moved from staring at your chest to your face, a devilish grin plastered to his mouth.

You cleared your throat, tightening your hand around the phone. You gave as professional a smile as you could manage and nodded at him. "I'm actually here to get an interview," the absolutely terrible vibes of the man made you forget about your realization and as you walked past, he put a firm hand on your shoulder.

"C'mon," he egged, positioning himself closer. His voice was rough and jagged, every neuron in your body telling yourself to get away from the stranger. He continued without shame. "You can audition for me in the room next door, huh?" His firm pressing on your shoulder pushed you forward toward a side door. Anxiety churned your stomach. "Sir," you scrambled. "I really have to get this—"

"Miss? Excuse me, Miss?"

Your wide, nervous eyes snapped back to face Mr. Wayne, and you heard the stranger chortle. It was a nauseating sound. "Ah, Bruce Wayne!"

He wasn't looking at him, instead at you with a fervent gaze. He'd decided he would assume you knew, assume his interpretation of your gaze was correct. Otherwise, how would he have known about this interview? You'd only told him as Batman. "I was told to meet you here for the interview."

Relief poured over you like sinking into a freshly filled pool in thick August heat. You opened your mouth to speak, but whoever the person was interrupted, yet again. "With all due respect, Mister, we're in the middle of business."

Lacking so much hesitation as to nearly cut him off altogether, Mr. Wayne responded shortly. "I don't have much time so I'd like to start it now." Even if you were going to expose him, you didn't deserve to be groped in a closet by the city sleaze.

He held out his arm for you to take and you did so without reservation. You would've run into a lion's den if it meant escaping him. As you linked your arm around his, you couldn't help but notice the dense muscle hidden beneath the dusty wool and the steadiness with which he guided you through the crowd. If you had any hesitation to trust your realization of his double life, it had melted away. No person was this densely packed with pure fight other than Batman.

A part of you was excited. You'd felt so lost with everyone navigating the city so seamlessly but finally, finally you had been given a secret. You knew something no one else knew. Then, fear. What if he tried to get rid of you? What if he was leading to a private area where there were no witnesses? You knew he was viewed as a protector in the public eye, but as far as you knew no one had ever deduced what you'd noticed immediately. The fear in his face had been palpable and —

He dropped your arm right at the door as soon as he remembered where he was and who he was. He wasn't in the suit, he was Bruce Wayne, and he had a woman on his arm. If Alfred saw any rumors of romance he'd have to deal with his delighted smile and repeat questioning. If the paparazzi noticed, you'd be more at risk. Noticing he wasn't in the suit stunted his courage and kept him sheepish. He'd been a dick to you in the alleyway, leaving you hanging alone in the alleys of the city. He hadn't left, he reminded himself. He'd simply gone out of view and then followed you as you wandered through the city back to your apartment, to make sure you got home safely. But you didn't know that. He needed to be curt, but kind enough to ensure you didn't make a scene when he declined this interview for a second and final time. Don't look at her. Not even for a moment.

"You should go." His voice was gruff, but only slightly reminiscent of Batman's. He did a good job separating his two identities... to everyone besides you, you wondered.

"The interview—"

He let out a strained chuckle. "That's not happening." You were really going to barge in and assume he would bow to you? Give his first interview to a student journalist? A stranger that had stalked him until he could be cornered in public? He had to laugh at your audacity. His laughter, however, unsettled you and lit a fire in your abdomen. Who was he to be laughing? A soft rage boiled up to your throat, and you thought about blackmailing him. I know who you are, you'd say. I could tell everyone right now about your double life. But you knew that was just your desperation and ego talking. Plus... you were a bit scared of him and what his body was capable of.

Instead you turned on your heel and walked back through the foyer. Rather, you tried to... but your heel caught on the lip of the entry mat and you lurched forward, Mr. Wayne catching you by your elbow. Frustrated, he snapped at you. "Would you at least try to stop tripping over everything?"

Shame tinged your cheeks pink and cast your eyes to the floor. You could count on one hand all the times you'd worn heels, and you only bought a pair to try and fit in with the Gotham scene. You were intimately reminded of how much you didn't fit in, and a flood of emotion cascaded through you. Tears stung at your eyes and threatened to spill over as you yanked your arm away from his grip. Through your periphery you noticed his face soften, his brows lightly knit in a v with what seemed like genuine concern.

He opened his mouth but before he could speak you rushed down a side hallway in search of a restroom. Him being concerned somehow made the tears come even faster. Don't cry in public. Don't cry in public. You threw yourself into a stall and put your back against the door as tears streamed down your face. Your body wracked with sobs; you missed home. The city was so dirty, crime was so high, and you just wanted to be back in your hometown where people were safe and kind. Even Mar was having a good time—you just weren't right for this place. It was too hard, too bad, too mean. Unyielding. As you thought about the failed interview attempt that rage burned inside you yet again. You had a secret that you could wield. Everyone else in the city would use it against him in a second. He thought he could be an ass to you and not get any recourse? He had another thing coming.

You stomped out of the bathroom after patting away the tear streaks in your makeup. To your surprise, Mr. Wayne was waiting in the hallway outside the bathroom. With narrowed eyes and clenched fists you sauntered over to him. "I could tell everyone in this room who you are." You crossed your arms and let your weight rest back in your right hip. His brows raised in shock. He was going to apologize, but certainly not now. His voice was low and menacing. "You wouldn't dare."

You ignored the rumble of fear that puttered around your stomach. "Do the interview or I write an exposé." You surprised yourself as it came out. It was true; either way you would be able to fill the pages. Whether or not you actually would write the second option... he didn't need to know. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I can't believe this."

"Which one is it? Hmm? I don't have all day." You didn't need to tack on that last part, but you thought it might get under his skin. It did. He wondered whatsoever could be so important that you would need to hurry him. "I actually have an event right now, if it weren't obvious—"

"It's your funeral." You hoped he wouldn't call your bluff and stormed halfway down the hallway before he called after you. "Fine." A pause. "But you only get ten minutes."

"Twenty." You countered, and he let out a groan of annoyance. He strode past you visibly angry, muttering, his mind a mess of so many emotions he couldn't pin down a single thought. "Get around back, then meet me at Wayne Tower. Let's get this over with."

[luvvyouforever]

headcanons : matt murdock x mutant/superpowered!reader

content: fluff, some plot, smut at the very end.

a/n: i didn't mean to write this much, oops! i tried not to be very specific when describing powers, but it's a little hard not to! you can imagine anything you want to though!!! enjoy <3

ꫂৎ the first time he meets you is entirely accidental. there's fighting, he hears it on patrol, and runs to it. just a few feet before turning the corner, he pauses because he smells, he feels something different in the air. it's not the usual smell of blood and concrete and sweat. it's electric, or perhaps sweet, or something else entirely that doesn't usually come from fighting.

ꫂৎ he comes closer and notices that one person is fighting off three people and winning. in his fiery, blurred vision, he can make out an unnatural force pushing people back that's coming out of someone's hands. a hero, a mutant, a vigilante like him.

ꫂৎ without thinking, he runs forward and takes down someone who was attempting to grab you from behind. shocked, you turn and almost knock him back with whatever your power is. when you see that he helped you, you whisper a thanks.

"you have powers," he says matter-of-factly.

you nod then flex your hands which shake from the after-effects of your power flowing through you. "thanks for uh...," you gesture to the unconscious body behind you.

"don't worry about it."

before you can edge in another word, he runs off, leaving you to stand awestruck in an alleyway.

ꫂৎ the next time you meet him, he's out of daredevil form and in his charming, red glasses, lawyer form. it's something so simple like a coffee shop meet-cute or bumping into each other on the street, but he recognizes you immediately. you, of course, have no idea who he is.

ꫂৎ it feels surreal to him to see you so normal when he knows that your veins flow with some kind of power that he's dying to learn more about. quite shamelessly, he flirts with you, invites you to get a drink with him, or get lunch together. he has to know more.

ꫂৎ you definitely start going on dates more often and he certainly makes it a point to "bump" into you quite regularly. as for his night time activities, he's always searching for that same feeling of electricity in the air that comes from you. however, he doesn't find it anymore and assumes that it was a one-time thing, that you don't frequently go out searching for trouble like him.

ꫂৎ if you're an x-man or avenger or a part of another some kind of group, i'd like to think that on one of these dates you're going on, you get a call requesting your immediate presence for a mission. you'd rather quickly stand up, knocking the table into his middle, apologize, and ask for another date later. of course, he heard the call and he'd be searching for you later, knowing you were off doing some dangerous task. he worried, but when you eventually went on another date, he could tell you were bruised and that one of your ribs seemed to be just a little out of place.

ꫂৎ matt eventually asks you to be his partner not necessarily because he wants to know more about your powers, but because he genuinely likes you a lot now. he's such a gentleman to you, drops flowers off at your apartment before he goes into the office, and offers to pay for your dinners when he's busy with "work" at night.

ꫂৎ i think you would figure out he's the daredevil before he knows the extent of your powers. i imagine that one night you stay the night in his apartment while he says he's stuck at work with foggy and karen, but then he comes stumbling in, half-conscious and in dire need of medical assistance.

matt's satin sheets envelop you in his bed as you wait late into the night for him to come home. he promised you that it was okay for you to spend the night and wait around for him rather than asking you to walk back late at night.

suddenly, you hear the door open, a coat rack fall, and a cup fall to the ground, shattering loudly. with panicked movements, you jump out of bed and enter the living room. matt fell to the couch, groaning and clutching his side. he was dressed in a dark black outfit with a bandana wrapped around his eyes and despite him looking attractive, you can't ignore his bleeding wounds and obvious agony.

"what the fuck, matt?" you whisper-yell. he tears off the bandana and his eyes meet yours with shock. he tries to turn away and deny your help, but the movement causes far too much pain in his side.

"first-aid kit," he manages to get out. "bathroom."

hurriedly, you grab the kit and come back. he's trying to peel his shirt away from his chest but he can't. his hands grope around for the scissors in the kit and when he finds them, he places them in your shaking palm.

"i'll walk you through it."

ꫂৎ after he's safe and patched up, you interrogate him about everything. his senses, his vigilante behaviors, his past, his inner-workings. he openly tells you anything you want to know. after a few beats of silence between you in which you help him into bed, he asks you a question about your powers.

ꫂৎ you hadn't even known that he was the one to save you that night and you had an even fainter idea that he knew about your powers. you asked the questions he had as well and offered to show him what all you could do. he sat up on the bed, looking vaguely in your direction, as you showed off the abilities you had that coarsed through your body. he was in awe and the familiar smell from so long ago invaded his nose again. after that, nothing was kept hidden from either of you.

ꫂৎ you're totally a crime-fighting badass duo. he's all strength and physicality and senses while you are mystical and powerful, though not as stealthy. you spar together regularly so matt can gain experience fighting against powers and you can improve your physical fighting skills.

ꫂৎ matt never doubts your abilities or strength. if anything, he's your biggest fan. he knows you can take on big bads and robbers alike, but he's too much of a gentleman to let you fight people on your own. he will, however, step in and take someone down if they're being disrespectful to you in any way.

ꫂৎ if you are a part of some hero group, he would be secretly so nervous to meet them for the first time. on the outside, he's his usual witty and charming self, but inside he's worried that they won't like him or accept it which will create complications in your relationship.

below are some more niche/specific headcanons for different powers that reader might have:

ꫂৎ super strength: is always a little shocked when you pick up something extremely heavy. once, you two were out roaming the city as heros/vigilantes and when you two needed a quick exit, there happened to be a large dumpster blocking the way. he quickly tried to pivot but stopped once he could tell the dumpster was now 40 feet down the alleyway.

ꫂৎ elemental: oh my goodness, loves when you show it off outside of an actual need to use it. like, for example, taking a warm bath together and shaping the water into little creatures or creating beautiful flower beds or just playing with it while laying in bed late at night.

ꫂৎ magic wielding: has the most questions about this one. wants to know the full extent of your powers and if you don't even know, he finds it that much cooler. if you imagine having powers that are easily corruptible, matt will always be there to bring you back to earth and remind you of the good things in life.

bonus! small nsfw headcanons mdni

ꫂৎ. is most certainly not above using each other's abilities on the other. he's constantly listening to your heart rate to tease you, to bring you just close enough to the edge, and then pull away. he can tell when you're feeling the best and just knows what you need that night based on his senses. it's a little unfair to say you can't use your ability on him.

ꫂৎ if anything, he likes it! a lot. he's the more dominant person in the bedroom, but he enjoys a fight for it and certainly doesn't mind needing to manage a stronger person when he's in the mood for it. push him down onto the bed and don't let him get up. use some magical manipulation to tie him down. speed around him while he's trying to pin you down. he lives for it.

ꫂৎ. if you have some kind of suit, he likes running his hands along the material, feeling your body underneath, and expertly imagining the shape in his head. he especially enjoys suits if they're the tight spandex that's been molded to your body. if you're not hurt, when you come back that night, the suit will be on the floor, or perhaps left on.

[vashvenus]

★ミ serpentine.

synopsis: naga knives has a sort of morbid fascination with you than manifests in a strangely sexual manner.

contains: naga/serpent knives, knives’ taxidermy hobby is mentioned, sort of medical? but he’s just exploring and weird, dubcon i think?, he has two weewees, and afab reader. 3.5k words.

note: teehee!! this is a (late) christmas present for my BEST FRIEND!! my cool, adorable, and wonderful bff @knivesbunny <33 hehehe enjoy bee + everyone else!!

it was about time you moved on in the world. getting a fresh start in the form of a cozy cabin at the edge of the woods sung your name and the price point was staggeringly low so, after confirming there were no safety hazards, you took the place. with dark wood and muted tones alongside a beautifully kept garden by the previous owners, how could you possibly go wrong? well, ‘wrong’ is an arbitrary term and ultimately up to the individual for judgement.

your moving process went without a hitch. furniture and belongings all being placed properly following a good deep clean plus a couple coats of paint, things any place would need upon a new owner arriving. you'd been rather happy at the final product, something dreary at first taking the form of your own home; a fond word. trinkets, cupboards of dishes, and an amalgamation of photos and artworks lining the walls to create an atmosphere you almost wished you could share but, alas, a solitary life was your preference.

the garden out back was complete with a greenhouse tucked to the side, surrounded by an abundance of flora and fauna that also colourfully dotted the rest of the greenery. small plots had been sectioned out for different fruits and herbs and the idea of being able to grow a large quantity of your own food was an exciting new feeling, one that you couldn't wait to grasp. thusly, it wasn't long until you found yourself kneeling in the grass and working new seeds into the dirt. a variety of the basics alongside some of your favourites was the route of action, one also deemed reasonable. between fondly nestling new seeds and sipping at cool beverages, the thought of the greenhouse slowly slipped your mind despite how vital it was to your task. swiping the gathered sweat from your forehead, you rose up to analyze your progress to which brought your eyes back to that small addition cozied up to the side of the property. the bags of dirt and tools resting on the ground would need a place to go after all... so, you wandered over to that little building and fiddled with the door.

the wooden door was slightly overgrown and gave you a good fight to open, weeds and rust seemingly actively working to keep you out of the space. stepping back, you looked it over a bit more, not wanting any splinters, before pressing your shoulder into it for added force. with a combined 'bang' and 'groan,' the door scraped across the inner concrete floor before coming to a stop about three quarters open. you huffed and slipped in, cursing the rotten chunk of wood and attempting to get a good look at what you were working with. eyes glazing over various rickety shelves, a sharp and icy chill rolled down your spine. a small nagging voice in the back of your head whispered ‘something isn’t right,’ in response to the unusual, for lack of better words, appearance of the inside.

atop aforementioned delicate shelves lay different jars full of an indistinguishable liquid and what appeared to be organs, small ones so hopefully not human, as well as a range of entire animals fully submerged in their own watery tombs. wind chimes made of bones twinkled from the ceiling above firmly locked chests and you weren’t totally sure you were interested in the contents. the previous owners, an old couple, didn’t seem like the type to hoard such morbid trinkets but sometimes it’s the most innocent ones, you figure. still, the lingering idea of this being the work of some beast that had chased them away from their lovely home rattled at the back of your mind ominously. shifting on shaky knees and feet, you contemplated poking around a bit but rationality told you to at least find a sturdy pair of gloves first. though, as it would seem, the choice wasn’t yours to make judging by that same yet more aggressive scraping and slamming door.

whipping around, you came face to face with… a man? one with frosty eyes, near white hair, and a scowl that could skin you alive. more importantly, he was hanging from the ceiling of the small shed you were now trapped in; stuck. with him. this… not quite man, if your judgment of his long serpentine looking lower half meant anything. all wide eyes and dry mouth, you gaped helplessly at him, attempting to find some sort of explanation for what exactly you’re doing, as if this isn’t your property he’s on. his eyes turned to slits seeing you fumble for words and, with an amount of grace that shouldn’t be possible, he slithered off the ceiling to instead… stand? lay? rest? you’re not too sure but he’s in front of you now right side up. pupils merely scratches inside his powdery blue eyes, you fear he’s deciding if you’ll make a good meal and you’ve half the mind to assure him you’re not as tasty as he may think. alas, he speaks before you get the chance.

“name,” it’s a simple but firm commanding question you weren’t quite expecting but, to be real, what were you expecting from an interaction with a snake man? you stutter out a whimper of a reply and he clicks his tongue; it’s forked, you note. with all confidence you can muster, not much, you promptly for his own. he hums low. “millions knives. shorten it to knives at most. don’t dare to give me any sort of nickname, as you humans often do; it’s abhorrent,” and you’re shocked he’s so eloquently spoken. perhaps there’s snake people schools you aren’t aware of?

“right. noted, millions knives,” you hesitate, not keen on irritating him further, as clearly just your presence has perturbed him, “i… apologize if i’ve intruded but… this is my property after all. some sort of explanation on your,” you gesture widely at the space, “hobby would be appreciated.” your poor attempt at mimicking his speech pattern has him letting out a chuckle that sounds more like an array of chitters. palms sweaty and desperately avoiding eye contact, you gulp hoping he’ll entertain your question before potentially swallowing you whole; snakes can do that. his tail flicks your shin jolting you to bring your eyes back to his, admittedly handsome, face.

“my… hobby, hm? it’s nothing to you,” a disappointing response, “were you hoping i’d have a jar your size, little human?” you’re positive he’s making fun of your fear yet somehow his words feel flirtatious in a way that has your brain swinging like a pendulum between crying out of petrification and placing a hand on his built chest. “i’ve been watching you for some time now. you’re utterly,” his tail wiggles up to grip your waist, “fascinating. a perfect experiment.” if he didn’t sound like he was flirting before, he sure does now.

his words were true to an extent beyond your knowledge. ever since the first tour you took of the place, he had kept an eye on your every move. knives hadn’t found an ounce of appeal in new people moving into the small home but, if he had it his way, it would turn abandoned for him to find sanctuary in. alas, the housing market wasn’t on his side as people inspected the place top to bottom and he was stuck merely seething beyond view; that was until you came along. all bright smiles and eager nods, he was beyond irritated with the way he found you undeniably irresistible. something so... keen would make a lovely study after all, he thought, though destroying you utterly and completely was off the table for he'd never be able to poke and prod at you after that. unfortunately, in the time it took for him to mull over a game plan, your first visit was over and he slithered back into the thick woods while scowling; unfair. the jump knives felt in his heart upon your second visit was one that caught even him off-guard, an emotion towards humans beyond that of revolt? unheard of and vile. yet, he was the one who had it and couldn't simply deny that he was feeling something beyond curiosity. your scent, perhaps? he muses over a handful of biologically reasonable conclusions for his reaction to a distantly nodding vash whos already figured out the truth. he saves it though, as to not have his other arm lobbed off, and instead hums along agreeing to every point with faint amusement.

it's with thoughts racing past at speeds no human could match, that knives brings himself back to the present, large palms and boney fingers coming to trail your jaw. another flick of his tongue appears between the grin now forming along his pink lips and impossibly long teeth; even a playful nip would draw extensive blood. he makes a sound between a hiss and growl as one sharp nail trails along your neck down to your sternum slowly, as if assessing a piece of meat; perhaps, in a way, he was. silvery tail wrapping around your left ankle, he tugs your leg up with his head dipping to peer curiously at the limb. you can't really blame him considering legs are the only human trait he lacks but the unsettling nature still makes you shiver. knives takes turns with each of your legs and arms, taking them in at all angles and seemingly pleased with what he was seeing. sure, he wasn't fond of humans at all but, he can appreciate when one is well made; easy on the eyes. a slightly morbid fascination, maybe. finally letting you go from his clawed grasp, he nods, satisfied.

"alluring. remove these pesky clothes," he scrunches up his nose while pinching the fabric of your shirt, "and seat yourself atop that cabinet." his gaze never once easing up, you're between bolting or following his instructions. the former would rely on you being stronger and faster than the behemoth of a man-snake standing directly in front of the door and you're positive you'd be dead two steps in. with trembling fingers, you pull the dirt dusted shirt from your body and shiver at cool air ghosting across your bare chest, only held back by the simple bra clinging to your breasts. you swallow thickly before shimmying off your denim shorts past your thighs and awkwardly down your feet. having not removed your socks or shoes, it was quite the task, but potential tetanus from the rickety floors wasn’t on the menu today. knives found amusement in your struggle, if the chittering in front of you meant anything though, in truth, he was rather charmed. such clumsy behaviour almost reminded him of a newborn bunny. face flushed, you finally unclasp your bra and slip off your panties with no more grace than your shorts had been discarded with, before perching yourself on the cabinet knives had dully gestured to.

“is this… is this good?” the words slide past your lips before you let them, sounding too pleading for your liking but knives seemed to enjoy that despite a hum being all he offered in return. his strong chest was quickly in front of your eyes, curse his fast snake body, while his hands found purchase on your legs again. with one palm on each of your knees, he gently eased them open, nearly purring at the sight.

“you’re something of a gem, hm?” his voice was low, hands inching up your thighs with sharp nails leaving a trail of goosebumps. “how very kind of you to welcome me with such a,” the forked tongue of his makes a third appearance, “wonderfully prepared gift? such a lovely homeowner…” though sarcastically sweet in tone, his words did nothing but shoot directly between your legs. “i’ve got a keen nose, little rabbit, are you enjoying being my area of study?” his gaze was hard as he looked at you down his nose and from between long lashes. “your most intimate nodes are crying out ‘yes’.” he presses against your folds to spread them with feather light fingertips, much like one would a dissection. spreading you softly, his head tilts to one side while his eyes seem to slowly drag up and down the weeping slit of yours he's not fully exposed. knives wedges himself fully between both of your legs as to not allow you to close them and his other hand joins in on the fun, prodding softly at your entrance. he seems to revel in the small whimpers you make, crystalline tears clinging to your lashes from a mixture of desperation and humiliation at letting him do such to you so easily.

employing a sort of gentleness and patience you didn't think he had, knives slowly eases in one of his fingers down to the second knuckle before pulling it out with a wet 'schlick' to wrap his mouth around it. the taste seemed to please him based on his own moan and he returned to his previous ministrations, softly thrusting the finger in and out of you. with the hand that had been used to spread you, he smoothly switched to rolling gentle circles over your clit, eyes still fixed firmly on watching the way your body reacts. a second finger accompanies the first in its delicate rock, encouraging more of the sweet sticky essence of you to drool out and across his hands. panting and whining, you buck pathetically into his hands with closed eyes and red bitten lips; you miss the way he slides to his knees. for a man so large he is more than quiet, something you can't match with the harsh suckling on your clit coaxing loud cries from you. his mouth curls the slightest bit with a smug smile and you can feel it past the swirling of his tongue and sharp incisors teasing your skin. briefly, you hope he won't bite. the soft plunging motions of his fingers turns harsh alongside the movements of his mouth. he seems eager to have you unravel on his face and, despite your own tattered pride, you can't stave off the shuddering of the orgasm that washes over in the most intense waves you've ever felt. embarrassingly loud slurps echo around the small shed as knives continues his own motions with glee. it's only when you gently push at his forehead that he shifts backwards and up, allowing you some reprieve from what he had just done. you're breathless, to say the least, having been made to come so shamefully on the handsome mouth and hands of this stranger but somehow you don't feel as though you were the only one who had fun despite his firm acclaims of experimentation.

you're struggling to regain your breath while knives looks you over with thinly veiled lust, you figure teasing him for it wouldn't go well so you restrain despite the thick atmosphere begging for some reprieve. while still gasping for air and shaking the post-orgasm fog from your head, he's pushing you down with his body weight and adjusting the way you lay across the cabinet to his personal preference; legs bent around his waist and hand beside your head. with hazy eyes, you look down to catch the way not one but two thick cocks slide out from the slit they had previously been held in. hanging heavy but curved up slightly, thick arousal is pooling at the tips and you think you can see ridges along the base of each. your jaw is slack as knives lets out another one of those chittery laughs.

"scared, bunny? no need, i'll make it work," his smarmy expression is nearly enough to have you shooting something snide back but he's lining up the tip of the lower cock and sinking himself in faster than you can think. "let go of any premonitions, this will be mutually beneficial."

if you could have any thoughts, they'd be nothing more than slurred curses but with the thickness and impossible length occupying and stretching your insides, you're rendered incapable. he's slow enough to give you some time to adjust but still fast enough that your body can't quite keep up with what he's giving; a pleasurable form of purgatory. knives allows his hands to wander your body, one coming to grip and gather your wrists to now rest above your head while the other fondles your breasts harshly. he's grabbing you in a way that feels inexperienced and almost charming though the harsh penetration is tearing you away from the idea. knives trails his hand from your breasts, to your stomach, and back up to grip your throat as he finally bottoms out inside of your tight heat. the wetness and warmth covering him is seeping out and down his tail to leave a lewd trail of combined juices he briefly admires the shimmer of before he's sliding himself out and roughly back in with a resounding slap. a high and needy sound escapes your throat as the tip of his cock taps your cervix and the rest of it rubs across your walls, eagerly taunting all of what's to come. the hand around your throat compresses your blood flow just enough to have your head feeling like it's full of cotton and your body even more pliant for his use. nails tilt your chin to have you make eye contact with the man currently deep in your guts, a glittering and dangerous grin spread across his face. with your eyes on his, knives begins pounding into you with earnest.

all of the sounds that leave you are high-pitched and warbled with unshed tears borne of the hand around your neck and stretch of your cunt. he's letting out strangled grunts and eager clicks at the grip of your wet pussy trying to milk him dry. his second cock his sliding against your clit and lower stomach with every harsh thrust he gives you, rubbing and pulling pleasurably. all of your nerve endings feel ablaze with the way he's using your body in a way that's filled with determination. his head drops down to make contact with your shoulder, his mouth sliding up your neck to replace his hand and add plentiful marks along the untouched skin; he figures an array of bruises will decorate it better than any necklace. dark indigo and rouge dappling the skin as blood comes to the surface, he's enamoured with how it looks tainting your flesh. both of his hands are now around your hips to hold you still for every pump of his cocks along and into your body, forcing you to take it all in full. you're crying with your back arched and chest forced to the ceiling as he continues his fast pace with teeth grazing your nipples. knives is biting numerous times across your tits, imprints of his fangs left in the wake akin to a path on a trail; he's oddly proud of his work. you're beyond your own body, desperate for him to bring you to a second high of the day, hips trying in vain to undilate against his own but his grip is too firm; his unnaturally strong. tongue flicking at your nipples, one cock deep in your guts, and the other beating against your clit, it's not long before you're babbling useless pleas for him to not stop. through choked sobs and moans, you're falling to pieces with his cock nestled deep inside of you. your brain is blank as lights splatter across your vision, eyes rolled to the back of your head and drool leaking from the corners of your mouth. still, his heavy rutting hasn't ceased. every limb of yours is twitching as sobs move past your lips without permission and your hands slide from his grip to claw uselessly at his back from overstimulation until knives is letting out an otherworldly growl as he sinks to the hilt one final time. you can feel the thick ropes of his seed coat your insides as his body curls around you protectively; a mating instinct maybe. he's grumbling lowly as an impossible amount of his spend leaks in and out of you with each twitch of his shaft.

you're still feeling a touch foggy when he pulls out, globs of shared slick pooling beneath you. knives is assessing your form critically, hands and eyes sliding over every bruise and bite left behind from his own roughness. it's almost sweet, how he seems to care for your well being despite his words claiming otherwise, and you simply allow yourself to enjoy the way he's fussing over you. once satisfied, he nods to himself and moves to scoop you up in his arms despite your small whines of protest but your indignation doesn't last long as he slithers you both over to your home, mumbling something about a shared bath; for purely experimental purposes, of course.

[kaleldobrev]

Shiny New Toy (4)

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Fem!Reader

Summary: Dean punishes you through spanking. But is it really a punishment?

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Age Gap, Cursing (1x), Light Smut (Fingering - barely), Punishment (Spanking)

Authors Note: Originally was going to be only 4 parts, but decided to make it 5 parts instead | Apologizes for this part being a tad shorter than the others | More of a filler part, but still relevant and needed for "the plot." | 18+ only please | MDNI | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

Shiny New Toy Masterlist

You were hesitant at first to get off the table, but you didn’t want Dean to have to ask you again; afraid of the consequences that could follow. “All fours?” You asked, as you started to make your way off the table, slightly covering your chest with your arms. There was no point in doing that, you knew that, but there was a part of you that still liked having some kind of decency despite the situation that was currently happening.

“I didn’t stutter, did I?” His voice sounded almost harsh, cold. You hated this voice, even before he became a demon.

“N-no.” You said, your voice coming off a lot more nervous than you had expected it to come off. You looked at the ground, not wanting to get on all fours. The concrete already felt cold on your bare feet, so you knew it would feel much worse on your hands and knees. Not only due to the coldness, but due to the hardness.

Taking a deep breath you did as you were told but still very hesitantly. “Such a great fucking view.” Dean mumbled, his hand smoothing over your ass. Feeling his hand on you, you felt your breath hitch, and he chuckled. “Aw baby, don’t be nervous.”

“Easy for you to say.” You mumbled.

“Such a sassy response from someone like you.” You could hear the smirk on his lips from his response. Someone like you? You thought. What does that even mean? A part of you had wanted to challenge that thought, but decided that it would be best not to do that. “You know what?” He began, his hand removing itself from your ass. A second later you heard the sound of a chair scraping across the floor, the sound of it piercing your ears in the worst way. “Lay across my lap. Ass up. Gonna spank you this way.”

You didn’t know what was worse or more humiliating: being on all fours and him spanking you, or being spanked while lying across his lap. With a heavy sigh, you got up from your spot on the floor and stood up, seeing him now having a seat on a chair that you didn’t even realize was in the room before. Dean patted his legs and you felt a small shudder overcome you. “Come come Sweetheart.” He said, his voice sounding a lot calmer than it had sounded previously. Again, with some hesitation you gently laid yourself across his lap, ass up like he had requested. The fabric of his jeans felt weird on your bare skin. “Know how long I’ve been dreaming of having you like this?” His hand moved to your ass, and you took a deep breath, bracing yourself.

“How long?” You weren’t even sure if you should even ask, if your question would even amount to anything. Before he answered you, he finally released a single smack; the smack making yourself let out a small yelp.

“For as long as I’ve known you.” Again, you could hear the smirk on his lips; with his answer, yet another smack.

As Dean was spanking you, you could feel the sting of every time his hand made contact. Despite the slight stinging sensation that was hitting your ass, you felt yourself starting to get turned on at the feeling; confused by it. The idea of spanking had scared you, it was something that you had never wanted to experience in your life.

At this point, you had lost count of how many blows Dean had hit you with, but with each smack, you knew that your ass was going to be beat red. “Sweetheart, we have ourselves a problem.” Dean said, the first time he had said anything since he had started to spank you.

“What’s…What’s that?” You asked, your voice nervous.

“This ain’t working uh?” He asked, already knowing the answer to his question.

“What do you…mean?” You knew exactly what he meant.

“You’re getting wet Sweetheart. This wasn’t supposed to be something you enjoy.” His voice sounded like a mixture of impressed and disappointed.

“I’m sorry.” You said, your voice low.

He chuckled at your response, his hand starting to rub your ass gently, almost as if he was trying to make you feel better at the amount of times he spanked you. The feeling of his hands on your ass would have been something that you might have enjoyed; if it wasn’t for the slight stinging feeling and soreness. “Knew you’d be a little freak in bed.” His tone not sounding even remotely upset which surprised you. “Think I spanked you enough? Or does my girl want more?”

You were unsure of how to answer that. On one hand, there was a part of you that was getting turned on by being spanked, actually enjoying the feeling despite the soreness and the stinging. It was something that you didn’t think you’d remotely enjoy. At the same time, you didn’t think your ass could take anymore. You weighed the pros and the cons to each answer you could reply with. No matter how you answered, it all came down to him still spanking you. “Y/N?” Dean asked.

You let out a small sigh, almost defeated sounding. “I don’t think it matters how I answer.” Your tone matching your sigh.

“How do you figure?” He asked, your statement clearly peaking his interest.

“If I say no, you’re still going to spank me. If I say yes, you’re still going to spank me. I can’t win.”

“My smart girl.” Was all he said, giving your ass another smack; but this time it was softer, like he was conscious of how your ass could possibly be feeling right now.

Your ass felt so sore and hot from the amount of times that he had spanked you; ultimately losing count. The spanking was something that you had enjoyed, but it was something that you had started to hate during the second set of spankings that he had given you. The first set was supposed to punish while the second set was supposed to almost reward you – but you didn’t know how it was supposed to be rewarding.

Dean had finally stopped, and at the moment you were currently lying down on the cold metal table, slight amount of relief from the cold metal felt nice against the red hot soreness of your ass. “Tired?” He asked, his question causing you to open your eyes, something that you didn’t even realized happened.

His hand was placed on your thigh, his thumb gently rubbing circles on to your skin. The feeling felt nice, almost too soft for his current demon personality. “Yes.” You didn’t know how much time had passed since the day had started, but a lot has happened during the course of it. You’ve been fingered, eaten out, lost your virginity, spanked. All things you didn’t think would happen all at once.

“I’ll tell you what Sweetheart,” you already didn’t like the sound of where his voice was going, his fingers inching closer to your clit. As much as you enjoyed him fingering you, you didn’t think you could take anymore – at least not today. “You did really good today.” Wow, a compliment. You thought, trying your best not to roll your eyes. “So, we’re going to take a break.”

“A break?” You asked, raising a brow.

“Yep.” He said, two fingers starting to rub circles very slowly on your sensitive clit.

“Dean…” You shut your eyes – you couldn’t deny the feeling of his fingers, how good they felt against you…inside of you.

“So cute.” He mumbled, both of his fingers slowly dipping inside of you. You waited for him to start moving his fingers, but they just sat there.

“Dean?” You questioned, opening up your eyes now.

“I said we’d be taking a break. Do you not want to?” His voice sounded smooth like silk, his fingers slowly started moving, a small smirk forming on his lips.

“Yes, a break…please…” Your voice trailed off.

“I don’t know Sweetheart, seems like you don’t want one.” He pointed out, his fingers going lazily slow inside of you.

“I do…Please…”

“You sure? Cause I know I’m still good to go.” His voice now sounding almost relaxed, matching the pace of his fingers.

“Yes…I’m sure.” You tried sounding confident.

He removed his fingers from you, keeping that smirk on his face. “Alright, I’ll give you ten.” Ten minutes was not going to be enough for you; you and him both knew that.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @beansproutmafia @queenie32 @deanwanddamons @missy420-0 @fullbelieverheart @little-x-wolf @angiebangiee @ilikw @spnfamily-j2 @freewastelandstrawberry @k-slla @mira-dystopiancore @kalliwinchester @violettavirus @jackles010378 If you'd like to be added to a tag list, let me know!

[moth-scrunk]

"Fates New"

The sun shined brightly down on the white concrete of this mighty city. A place of safety, a place many called home. At least, it's what Dark thought as he roamed. He had only heard of this place through the small ads on sites. He had his fair share of destruction on those sites, all before finding this place. The plot of his was simple in his mind. He just needed to find the weakest point in the city, so that when Chosen was ready to attack it, they could. However, it seemed his plan would get halted by the sounds of yelling nearby. He groaned, peering over to view the scene in the alleyway. The incoherent yells mixed with struggles, a very clear robbery attempt. The stick doing it didn't even have a weapon, how weak. Dark growled, he couldn't go looking for a good spot to burn with all this noise. Doing what he did best, he approached the alleyway. Flame in hand, he yelled in a voice that could shatter the bravest of warriors who had dared to face him. "I suggest you get lost." Dark spoke, catching the attention of both the sticks. The attacker didn't stay long, freezing for only a second of time before darting back and away from them. Fleeing down the alley and soon out of sight. The hollow tsks, almost impressed the stick fled so fast. Thoughts of his were again halted by the sounds of more noise, but this was different. The stick he had saved was now praising him, thanking him for saving them. Oh, how they praised his power, his strength. Soon Dark saw others who gathered, hearing what the stick was saying. Others joined, almost not believing the stick for what happened. Dark however, was more than willing to display his fire once more. The power brought gasps, ohs and ahs from them all. Even the children tilted their heads to the light of his flame. Dark had never felt this. Was this, happiness? It's what he had felt with Chosen. A feeling of belonging, of being seen. Admired, known, was this all he ever wanted? This feeling, this high, he couldn't just let it go. He had to chase that. He would tell Chosen, he would show him what he did.

Maybe this was a good idea after all to have attacked the city first without looking in it. If not, maybe this would have ended all differently. Dark left the group of sticks, taking off into the skies with a flaming trail behind him. He had to tell his friend about this.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Good time of the day. First of all, thank you for everything you ever did for us. Do you have any advice for how to come up with "evil" technology for sci-fi that reflects a social problem and is also related to the protagonist's internal conflict arc and character development? I have been thinking about this story idea for more than a year but the concept of the tech never gets concrete on how it affects society, the protagonist and the plot structure.

Finding an "Evil Technology" to Tie in with Story's Conflicts

Here are some steps to follow:

1 - Flesh out the "Social Problem" - Before you come up with technology that reflects a social problem and impacts your character's arc, you first have to figure out what the social problem is and specifically who and what causes it. For example, perhaps the social problem is extreme surveillance by "the authorities" to the extent that there is zero privacy for any individual at any point. Who is responsible for this situation and why? What do they have to gain? How does this situation negatively affect the citizenry? How does it impact the protagonist?

2 - Consider the Options - What kinds of technology could be used to reinforce the social problem? So, for the example of extreme surveillance, what kinds of tech would be used to enforce extreme surveillance? Cameras are probably a given, but think of how you can make cameras even more extreme. Perhaps there are small drones flying everywhere, even attaching themselves to walls inside homes. Or, maybe they've embedded cameras in people's eyes so that every living person and creature is surveillance "equipment" at that point. You can make a list of the possibilities, then choose the one (or ones) that will work best with your story.

3- Zoom in on Your Protagonist - Now, imagine an average day-in-the-life of your protagonist. How does this technology affect them? When do they encounter this technology? How does it make their life harder? What are the daily dangers presented to them because of this technology? How might they restrict themselves or change their behaviors as a result of this technology?

4 - Linking Tech to Internal and External Conflict - Your story's external conflict is the problem your protagonist must solve in their external world. Presumably, this problem would be related to the social problem plaguing your character's world. For example, "the authorities" who are responsible for the extreme surveillance. Perhaps the problem is that they came into power and have oppressed society as a result of their corruption and extremism. How to solve the problem? Get them out of power. So, how does the tech relate? Well, it would be difficult to take these authorities down if they're watching your every move, so in order to take them down, the protagonist would need to figure out how to take down the surveillance system first... or at least how to control it, trick it, or bypass it.

To link the tech to the internal conflict, first consider the internal struggles your character faces, then, consider the ways this tech affects and reflects these struggles. For example, maybe the protagonist's family were the creators of this evil tech, so your character has benefited from its existence but never agreed with it. They have since distanced themselves from the family and are fighting against the tech and those who implement it. Some internal struggles they might experience would be: guilt and shame for being complicit for any amount of time, feeling isolated and disconnected since they're no longer part of their family but feel that society doesn't fully accept them because of who they are, or they may feel conflicting loyalty if they still care about members of their family despite what they've done. Once you decide on the internal struggles, you can start to think about how the events of the story might change their view and carry them through this struggle.

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[chantsdemarins]

😅Real Villain Training [Tom Hiddleston circa 2012 X Fem.Reader]

Chapter three of Breath of the Æsir is almost here. I’m SO sorry for the wait! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy a very brief Tom story...

Honestly, I pledged to myself, no more Tom stories just focus on Loki. But I think I just can't help it. Especially when slutty inspiration like this photo comes my way (@lokischambermaid and @lokisgoodgirl 😳)

I am humbled by this era of Tom. In 2024 he is a husband/father/seasoned iconic actor in perpetual good cheer, but in 2012, he was a bad boy. As always please reblog and comment if you feel inspired!

Summary: Tom is hanging out with some real jerks for a new role, and he runs into you, literally. Your depression has caused your life to turn a little black and white, could this handsome stranger possibly add some color back? (at least to your cheeks🥵).

Smut factor: I hope...HOT 🔥

(Authors note: I have no concrete proof he was in fact a bad boy so please don't take seriously my young Tom plot themes of drugs and sex, which once again appear here. I could be totally wrong about him. It's art! It's a fabrication! Also, this story does involve mental health!)

I also don't know who would want to be on a tag list for a Tom fic these days! These are a few people who might be interested?? @lokischambermaid @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokisgoodgirl @wheredafandomat @sailorholly @mrs-illyrian-baby @superficialdomina @gigglingtiggerv2 @fictive-sl0th @muddyorbs @tbhiddlestan83 @huntress-artemiss @smolvenger @kikster606 @mjsthrillernp @hiroyukinasukawa

Los Angeles, 2012

That afternoon, the rooftop pool at the Saint Avalon was a pink swirl of bathing beauties in early spring. Tom tried to focus on his deadpan conversation with his agent, but polka dots and silly cocktails danced around him. He pushed his Ray-Bans back into place, his sweat—or perhaps nervousness—causing them to slowly slide off his nose.

"Serious British actor succumbs to being typecast as a Norse sociopath. That's where this is headed, Tom, if we don’t do something, get you something else.” “Do you really want to be known only for Marvel?” he repeated his plea. The words just weren’t sinking in.

Tom laughed and inadvertently tried to change the subject. "Have you been to the La Brea Tar Pits yet, John? It’s wild—10,000 years' worth of dire wolf bones.”

His stare remained galvanized by the poolside girls. They just didn't look like that in London. Number one, the sunshine. Number two, the tans. Number three, well, his girlfriend—or ex-girlfriend, rather—made it hard to look too long at anyone else. So had he ever found himself at a rooftop pool party, he wouldn't have had the chance he was having now.

“Tom, are you paying attention? This is important. You're only here for a week, and we need to move on this role. I need to know if you're a yes.” The truth was, Tom was suddenly filthy rich with his own money for the first time in his life. He really loved being a Norse sociopath and already had big ideas for Loki’s eventual character arc into becoming an anti-hero someday. He had filled three journals on his bedside stand with his ideas for Loki.

His agent tried again, “Just hang out with Giorgio. It’s less than a month. Then the movie should be a very easy shoot. You get to embed yourself with some real hedge fund cats.” Tom’s attention snapped back. “Wait, I like that.” “Right? It’s like if Loki worked on Wall Street.” “Well…” Tom hesitated. He didn’t think Loki would actually ever bore himself that way. Those guys were boring to Tom and to Loki.

His poor agent was right, though. He did need another role. Things had gone so well; filming for the next Avengers movie was starting this summer. If he could find another gig, a time filler, a totally different genre, it really would be the best for his career. “Then a play next,” the agent mused, taking a sip of his own cocktail. “Shakespeare, or something 70s.” “70s? As in the 1570s? Or the 1970s?” “Tom.” “How should I know?” Tom laughed to himself, eyes still canvassing the poolside display around him. His agent leaned across his lawn chair and placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “So, you’ll do it?”

Two Weeks Later

Deep down, he knew he didn’t have the dissociation required for the job. He was too corporeal, too embodied. Years of being a long-distance runner and a trained athlete had fastened his mind, heart, and soul firmly into his muscles. He clearly wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings in his highly emotive, sensitive body. That was the first thing he noticed about the guys he was forced to hang out with for this role. They were covered up with their suits and sexist jokes. It was like they had Hadrian’s Wall around them. Which was, in fact, what exactly led to his sudden departure from the bar at Rue 23.

He had been embedded with short and loud Glen, buzz-cut Ellis, and the tall and lanky, just like him, Brad Nelson. There were a few others, but they were too milquetoast to be memorable. Role be damned. He left so fast the thick glass door almost hit a nice young couple as he bolted into the cold Los Angeles spring night.

He wasn’t dressed right; in his haste to leave London, he didn’t remember that California got into the 40s after the sun went down. He didn’t even pack a suit coat. Thank God he remembered to grab his leather pack from under the bar. It contained exactly five cigarettes, a finicky Zippo, his aftershave, a white t-shirt, and a travel toothbrush. There might also be a rolled-up Popular Mechanics magazine from the Burbank airport, something he never would be caught dead reading at Heathrow.

He also hadn’t done so much coke since he was in college. Why was LA always so incredibly cliché? He couldn’t blame Luke. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for this role. He said yes when he was distracted. He was in over his head. They had hired these real blokes to make sure Tom looked authentic when they started filming next month, and given his intense drive for perfection, he had agreed that it was “brilliant” of the casting director to force the eight of them to spend these weeks in Los Angeles and one week in Manhattan, in a true immersive centrifuge of shallow materiality.

The night spun around him, a neon ball of yarn, teasing open his pupils until his eyes were black and not at all blue. As he walked, he ran his large hands down the surface of his body, the material of his shirt feeling like a fancy pillowcase from a boutique hotel.

One finger lingered over his jawline, tracing it as he brought his hands back up to his face. Engrossed in the comfort of his form a moment too long, he was distracted once again. This part of LA seemed to always be full of clusters of locals and tourists, laughing and talking. He was unfortunately moving against the flow of the crowd, a wayward salmon when he almost ran straight into you.

“Watch where you're going!” you yelled, dropping your purse onto the dirty LA sidewalk. It opened enough for your things to tumble out. Tom immediately stopped and bent down to help you, but you batted his hands away. “What the hell? I can pick up my own damn Chapstick,” you scolded. “Ma’am, I am so sorry, I am obviously not from here, and I am a little overwhelmed,” he rattled off. “Why is that obvious?” “My accent, of course.” “I didn’t honestly notice,” you spoke as you inspected the tall man’s face with squinting eyes.

You, of course, did immediately notice the timbre of his voice, his height, and the buttons on his tight shirt which looked like they were in the process of unbuttoning themselves. “Would you believe I’ve been doing coke all night with a bunch of Wall Street assholes at the Rue 23, and I had to get the fuck out of there,” he continued, not sure if you were listening, but you were definitely looking at him, so he continued.

“So now I am wandering the streets of Beverly Hills, and I haven’t the foggiest how the rest of my night will go.” You shuffled your feet for a moment before speaking. You had been heading home after a long day at work. You felt genuinely unprepared for navigating a handsome foreigner in the right direction. Yet there was a certain appeal to a man suddenly without his ship or his crew, so to speak. So you didn’t immediately walk away.

He had been shuffled from the airport to the bar in a hired car, he tried to explain, and his sense of direction bordered on problematic. Further, his flip phone was really only good for texting, and that even took way too long most days. He really did seem high, overwhelmed, and a little lost. He also seemed the type unable to handle any silence in a conversation.

“Do you live far?” he said after suffering through 30 seconds of no discourse. “It’s LA, everything is far.” “Fair enough,” Tom muttered sheepishly, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, which were still somehow unbuttoning themselves. He thought he had bought the right size shirt. Maybe not.

You realized that if you were to ask this too-high, too-hot British man back to your apartment, you would inevitably cave and end up sleeping with him just because he caught you in this particular moment of your life. It was an in-between time. You weren't quite your old self and your new self that you'd been working so hard on, hadn't emerged yet.

“Want to grab something to eat?” You finally offered a neutral segue. That seemed to be just what the man needed to hear. His demeanor calmed. “Oh sure, yes, I could go for a big American cheeseburger, honestly.” “Okay then, let’s go to Patty’s on Vine, we can walk,” you said as you pulled at his shirt to turn him toward the right direction. He bristled at the feeling of your touch.

His whole body was even more sensitive than usual. You looked like the queen of the ancient British Iceni to him. In truth, he didn’t much care for the California look. He loved that you appeared out of nowhere and you looked like Boudica, not like Gwyneth Paltrow. Even though he was sure he heard she was nice. RDJ seemed to really love her.

The diner where you were headed was the second-tier after-hours hang, so it wasn’t populated with the usual crowd, not yet at least. You had some time before you would be inundated, and perhaps before someone would recognize him, which you still did not. You could ask him, of course. Although, sometimes in Los Angeles, the worst part is knowing who someone is.

Although Tom being Tom was unable to resist personal questions. “Tell me a little bit about yourself, just a little,” he had to ask as the night air propelled him quickly down the sidewalk. You considered telling him about your job, but it was just how you paid the bills. Your passions were your passions and not for a stranger. So you decided to be a little goth. It couldn't hurt.

“I have something like anhedonia, I suppose,” you finally said. Tom seemed to know what you meant right away. “The inability to feel?” He spoke. “More classically refined, which results in numbness, making capturing interior somatic sensations nearly impossible,” you clarified. “Sounds like you are depressed,” Tom flattened out your creative retelling of your current state. “Maybe,” although you weren't sure of his simple label. "You think it will pass?" Tom continued, ever the optimist.

You considered one way to try and test if this state you'd been in could possibly change, would be to see if he could provoke feelings of passion or at least some kind of low-grade horniness. You’d been feeling functionally blank for a while now.

He was stunning, after all.

He seemed game for anything, his amphetamine grin taking up the majority of his handsome face. He looked so lovely under the hanging light in your dingy booth. You ate the two-egg special you ordered and watched him devour his American cheeseburger with genuine joy.

“So, you're here to practice for a new part?” You sincerely tried to keep the conversation flowing despite the growing desire to test your theory. “Yes, they want me to branch out. In my career, there’s the fear I am already 'type-casted,' I guess you could say.” “Type-casted? So early on?”

He looked young to you. Possibly younger than you actually. “Yes, I had a big role as a villain, it really blew up, but, he's like a mythological comic book one. I am misunderstood mostly. I mean my character, not me.” "Sure." You nodded in understanding and agreed even if you didn’t quite pick up what he was putting down. You wondered if he had ever seen 'The Last Starfighter.' A favorite movie of yours, you rarely shared with anyone else. Or had he been in that? Your mind wandered. You really didn't recognize him, but you also didn't want to offend him by this fact.

“So how would this role be redefining your abilities? If you are playing a heartless hedge fund dude, isn’t that also a kind of villain? Maybe that is why you got this part.” Tom pondered your insight. He again fell into overthinking and was only a text away from bailing on the entire endeavor. He was becoming that kind of guy, emotionally uneven under his elite veneer.

“I guess they feel like I don’t have the chops to be a 'real world' baddie.” “I needed more practice.” “You don’t?” you said very timidly, suddenly you weren’t hungry anymore. You gently pushed your plate aside so you could focus.

You realized his bromance compadres would find him eventually. Another LA truth: it was hard to get truly lost for long. You had been studying his face during the conversation. His pale complexion was slowly becoming flushed in small increments. Was it shyness or a hidden boldness he was bursting to demonstrate, you couldn't tell.

You had worn your espadrilles today, maybe it wasn’t the right season yet, but they always went so well with your outfit-a flowery dress from H&M. Gently and playfully, you kicked one of them off your foot, making a soft thud. Tom dipped his eyes beneath the table for only a moment and brought them back to you, a new flash of crimson emerging. Why were you taking off your shoes? Maybe your feet hurt from the walk?

He picked up his water and chugged almost all of it.

Your right leg lifted up and found purchase exactly between his, landing on the soft seat. Tom chuckled nervously and grabbed your foot. “Just what are you doing?” “I thought you were in training to be a real villain. Or did I misunderstand that?” You teased. Tom’s sincerity and earnestness were effulgent. “Oh no, I am, I really want the part, I need this role.” Suddenly when the idea of something illicit going on beneath the table loomed, he was not reticent about this new role. “Then you better continue to practice.” You laughed, your own smile forming across your face. “How long do we have until they find you?” You inched your foot closer to his crotch.

Tom took a deep breath in and pulled out his flip phone eyes squinting, trying to see the rectangle text banner across the tiny screen. He held the phone up to you. “Can you read this at all?” You grabbed it from him, feeling his hand shaking a little. It was charming. He was nervous.

You read the tiny screen aloud, “Not really, something about where are you at…you wanker, we are about to call your agent." It did say exactly that, and you wondered if possibly Tom was throwing away this role. Were you watching him collapse his career before your eyes? “Are you one for self-sabotage Tom?” The question seemed to catch him off guard. Maybe no one had asked him so bluntly. “Maybe,” he said after a long minute of typing something on the seemingly minute phone with his long fingers and even larger hands. “Just like I am possibly depressed," you offered. He looked up and sat his phone down. “Yes, I think so. Just like that.”

Incoming

Just then the waitress came by filled your water glasses and gave you another quick refill of coffee. Your chosen sobriety was a strange foil to Tom’s imbibed stimulant cocktail which showed no sign of waning. “So, are we on?” He finally said after biting his bottom lip, for what seemed like a year, until it was slightly puffy.

“For what? A staring contest?” You offered, laughing nervously too, your foot still stationed between his thighs. You wondered what you could accomplish at this hour with the looming threat of an incursion at any moment.

The glimmer in his dilated orbs registered that Tom was now aligned in a mission of testing the perpetuity of your anhedonic state. Suddenly under the table, you felt his long legs spread yours apart, like opening a long-closed window that had been painted over.

You gasped but didn’t say anything. He laughed and widened his legs further. You moved your eyes to watch him under the table, his hand reaching down to adjust his cock, which was obviously becoming hard.

At that moment you wanted to jump over to his side of the booth, you wanted to concede and take him to your far away apartment in embarrassing Marina Del Rey.

Tom went silent and finally let go of your bare foot, he had been holding it so hard with his other hand, that you were sure it would be bruised. You immediately placed it on his now impossibly hard cock, tenting his pants obscenely. Honestly, you’d never given a “foot job” before and only seen something like this in a French film once. You had no idea what you were doing.

You slowly began to move your foot up and down his length, which was quite impressive and required more force than you had anticipated. You curled your toes around him to try and create more friction, dragging your heel just at the base.

You placed your hands on the edge of the diner seat so you could put some real weight into getting him off. That seemed to work, and Tom let out a guttural moan. He quickly grabbed your water glass and drank it in addition to his own.

“Should I stop?” You let yourself wonder out loud. “Are you crazy? No.” Was Tom’s quick reply. “Does this feel good?” “Fuck yes.” His voice was breathy, and he shifted in his seat, daring to look around at the customers, but none showed any sign of noticing anything other than themselves. “But this isn’t fair,” he spoke again softly, panting. “How so?” “Because I am um, I am receiving.” “Aren’t you supposed to be a selfish cold surface-level junior business asshole?” “Yes.” “Then this is what they do, they get foot jobs in diners, amongst other perks of course,” you laughed. “Shit, you’re right,” Tom barely squeaked out.

Just then the diner door opened, and you could see the dim faces of the guys he had been partying with. They finally found him. “Don’t look now but your Republican friends have arrived.” Tom’s flush became pale. “Should I stop?” You checked in again. “No.” His response was as clear as mid-day.

So, you increased your speed, you took a deep breath. You were so turned on at this point. You were positive there would be a wet spot on the cracked vinyl seat. You lifted your skirt up further. Tom noticed and peered beneath the table again. He saw your hand brush past your underwear and a finger curl inside the lace trim. You matched his erratic breathing to your motions as you fucked yourself intently. His eyes were glued to you, his fists almost punching into the flimsy placemats. You laughed to yourself about the chances of you both coming in public, surely, he wouldn’t, or you couldn’t.

You were about to mention that perhaps you should stop. When suddenly Tom let out a muffled cry. His breath hitched. You could feel moisture beneath the bottom of your toes as you brought your foot back to the tip of his generous cock once more. “Ah, I see,” you laughed. "Well looks like we are done here." There was no more time to discuss what just happened. The bros had spotted him and you and made their way to your back corner.

Tom closed his eyes in what looked like a silent prayer. He had just had one of the best orgasms of his life. The short blond one with cropped hair spoke up, “Hiddleston, where the fuck have you been, your agency was about to call the cops, which would have been lame.”

“Hiddleston,” you said his surname out loud. Realizing you never got his last name. Tom looked at you with both lust and remorse. Then turned back to the assholes. “You found me, good work,” he said assuredly. “Well we gotta go dick we have a strip club that closes at 3am and it’s in the contract that we take you there.”

Tom slowly got up and used one of his long fingers to expertly untuck that white button-down shirt to conceal the mess you had both made. He looked your way, the pale blue of his eyes returning.

You exchanged numbers for the pleasantry of it, as the assholes looked on impatiently, probably wondering why Tom was wasting his time on a girl who looked like Boudica, but that's just what assholes do you remembered. Although you really didn’t expect to hear from him again. To your surprise right before dawn, perhaps as he was leaving said strip club, a text came over your Blackberry.

“I hope you felt something, I know I did.” Shit.

You did feel something, a lot of things actually. Tom had brought something back to the solemnly plain bagel of your life. You quickly wrote back.

"Don't let the bros see you texting me Tom, you laughed knowing he was probably squinting and barely able to see your words. You picture all of them looking over his shoulder.

"They went home. Can I come over? I feel like we aren't done quite yet. My asshole-in-training self expires at sunrise and I turn back into the real me. Is that okay?" You blinked a few times just to make sure you saw that correctly. "So you're actually Cinderella," you laughed nervously.

You managed to type your address and push send before pulling your covers over your head and screaming quietly enough to not wake up your still-slumbering roommates. You then looked around your room in quiet delightful horror, you had about 30 minutes to hide all your dirty clothes from the past three months under your bed...

[kwillow]

Not to say that you should put more even work onto your game development, but you would make a fantastic Interactive Fiction author <3 I just know it

Hey, thank you! Right now, the idea is "one game at a time," though, heh. Must finish Wishbone before we seriously look into developing any other projects.

In the future... Chocodile and I have been musing over the possibility of turning Amaranthine into some kind of interactive fiction/visual novel type game. But there's still a lot of planning that would need to happen (in terms of concretely plotting out the story, figuring out how to structure something with so many interweaving characters as a game that presumably needs a singular POV, etc.) before that could occur. Not to mention, y'know, finishing Wishbone first.

BUT! I'm flattered that my attempts at writing are decent enough to make you think a game carried on the back of them would be compelling! <3 I never know how to judge my own writing, so that's very very reassuring to hear.

[ballgame]

I'm going to ramble a little on my thoughts on magic in Deltarune, but I'd like to preface this by saying that a lot of this falls more under the realm of speculation (and at times headcanons) rather than genuine theory-crafting. I'm fully prepared to have some of these ideas be completely blown to smithereens come later chapters.

I'm not exagerrating when I call this rambling, so I'm putting it under a read-more.

I like to think that the Deltarune reality is the way it is because its Earth is just innately less magical. This is of course working under the assumption that Undertale's Earth is innately magical in some sense, with both monsters and humans pulling from that innate magic in their own ways.

DR monsters are still likely largely physiologically the same as UT monsters, but they can't effectively use their magic because almost all of it goes into sustaining their bodies. I'd wager that the limited magic they do have isn't even quite understood in-universe as being magic, if it's observed at all it's likely called something else. This difference is potentially also why they're more "sturdy" than their UT counterparts, since they never adapted to relying on environmental magic, potentially having slightly more physicality (although they presumably still turn to dust, so not too much more).

Humans on the other hand do not use magic at all, since there's no readily available source to draw it from. Hypothetically they could get and use magic in other ways, since it still exists outside of Dark Worlds to an extent, but I'd reckon these methods are either completely unknown due to a lack of research or are extremely underground/taboo (think about how Kris turned to "occult" stuff when trying to learn magic).

Less magic could potentially also help explain why the functionality of SOULS is unknown in Deltarune. In Undertale, monsters are said to be attuned to their SOULS due to their body being composed mostly of magic. So if DR monsters have less magic than UT monsters, or rather their bodies use it more stringently, this attunement might be dampened or outright nonexistent. This would then majorly stunt the study of souls in early history and limit the wider understanding of them.

Hell, I actually think that the line of logic I've presented here could even explain why Dark Fountains can be created in Deltarune in the first place. This was never a conclusion I was planning to come to, but the more I think about it the more it makes sense to me. Let me explain:

So there's a good possibility that "Darkness," the force that Deltarune's plot revolves around, also exists in Undertale. Entry No. 17 seems to imply this, since it's most likely from Gaster when he was the royal scientist. The very scant concrete, official information we have about Gaster actually does well to explain why he would know about it, since researching ways to draw energy from the Earth to create and maintain the CORE would naturally lead him to learning about darkness if it does indeed exist in Undertale. Now, if Gaster needed something like the CORE to even scratch the surface of what darkness is, then that would seem to suggest that it exists as a layer under the Earth's magic (not in a literal physical sense, I'm speaking metaphysically here). Normally, to draw power from the Earth you need determination, but I would assume the amount of DT an individual would need to reach past magic and into darkness is insurmountable for even the most determined human. But, in a world virtually without magic, one like Deltarune's, darkness is allowed to bubble up from the depths.

[dcficrecs]

OKAY I am writing short stories every day and I’m good at like, chapters and scenes but not whole fics and it’s driving me so insane. I’m better at mundane moments that show a bit of character development, like when Dick starts to actually trust Bruce. Or when Lois realizes she has feelings for Clark and not Superman. Or when Superman is interviewed by Lois the first time and tells her he’s an alien. Or when Bruce makes the decision to let Dick become Robin. The main fics I’m working on right now are an origin for Batman and Robin which I want to become a whole series, so a very lengthy fic about how he became Robin, and another fic about how he stopped being Robin. I want to do all the Robins in order like that. Each Robin gets an origin fic and a conclusion fic. I want Jason to be the only Robin with one fic to represent his life getting cut short. I want my Clark and Lois centered Superman fic to have at least two parts: the first where he becomes Superman and the main villain he eventually meets is Metallo, and the second one is where Lex Luthor comes in as a main villain. He also meets Batman in the second fic. I just have SO MANY IDEAS but they’re all not tied to a main villain arc and I KNOW any superhero fic needs a main villain, sometimes multiple like an organization or whatever. I JUST NEED A STORYLINE that’s MORE than the obvious “Dick Grayson’s parents get murdered and he becomes Robin” or “Clark Kent gets a job at the Daily Planet and becomes Superman” like everyone KNOWS that. I want to make up things and plots and stories but I am just completely incapable of just coming up with it so easily. If I ever do come up with anything, I bet it’ll take MONTHS to even have a rough draft and it’s driving me insane. I have so many chapters in Dick’s origin story and I honestly love so much of what I write that I go back and reread it sometimes for fun because I just love it. But I can’t make it into a concrete STORY and I am FUMING.

It’s likely that I’ll post excerpts here to see if people like it and also hopefully if they suggest where I can take the story and the characters but I’m also worried that if I do that, the stories I post here will end up in a completed fic and people will have to reread a chapter and I’m slightly against that for some reason even though I would totally love that if it were someone else’s. What is wrong with me 😭

[quigzahhutt]

elms sargebon anon here!! god i would love to come off anon and be mutuals but i am shadowbanned 😔 you asked for more so tbh i'm just thinking abt the first few weeks they were teammates again, and they're trying to be so Normal abt each other but they're not. logan thinks being normal is being nonchalant meanwhile alex is actively trying to Rebuild the connection, thinking he's being rebuffed.. they have to share a shower for Plot reasons and logan walks past alex with only a towel and is doing the most to show he's unaffected, and alex being a petty bitch is like. Fine. I'm just as Unaffected as you. and it becomes this game of chicken where either wouldn't admit the touches are Getting to them, until it's like 2am and jamie's stint is not ending for another 2 hrs, and it being alex's first time adrenaline won't let him sleep, and he keeps thinking abt the Before time when being w logan puts him in at peace so much that he falls asleep, so he seeks out logan at his driver's room and swallows his pride and asks if he could sleep with logan, please, and logan lets him. and alex is so tender with all these new feelings that he finally kisses logan... and i need to stop i think bcs its alrd too long 😭😭

ITS OK DEAR ANON. I suppose we must stay as well acquainted strangers😔😔

BUT. THAT ASIDE. UGHHHHH I LOVE THIS IDEA. the stupid game of chicken they accidentally get themselves into is so unbelievably real like. they would 100% do that I hate themmm

and then omg... Alex not being able to sleep because he's never really done endurance racing before, at least not at this level. a 6 hour race is incredibly different than a 24 hour, and so Alex is simultaneously exhausted and anxious, and he kind of can't shake the feeling that there is something hiding underneath his bed, waiting to grab him by the ankles and pull him under

and it's funny, because he knows there isn't, because there usually isn't even an underneath on those beds; it's basically just a mattress on the floor, give or take some extra cushion. and it's charming, but Alex's back kind of hurts, and so does his head, and his eyes, and his- yeah you get the idea

it's 2 in the morning and so his thoughts are jumbled. I mean, his thoughts are always kind of jumbled; there's never really a moment of peace, but tonight it's especially bad. flurries of static punctuated by awful loneliness, occasionally interrupted by a short ruckus outside in the hospitality, and even that kind of makes Alex feel worse, like he's invisible, or like he's the only person on earth

he knows he's not, realistically speaking. there are 8 billion people on earth, and then a good hundred or so in his proximity. Alex would love to go out there and chat, make a few jabs and crack a few jokes. maybe it would help soothe the hamster wheel in his chest, maybe it wouldn't

Logan would always be able to help. and that thought really catches Alex off guard, and before his chest can be hit by the freezing cold ache that always accompanies most of his thoughts about Logan, his body rings with another wave of exhaustion. and the combination of those two things leaves Alex with only one solution

and his body carries him to Logan's room without second thought, and my god, Alex is tired; his limbs feel like concrete, and the only reason his eyes are even open right now is simply because he's vertical. he might not be in a second, though, depending on how long it takes Logan to open the door

and then Logan doesn't open the door, and Alex feels stranded and also like his ankles are about to give out on him at any moment, and so Alex just tells himself fuck it, and lets himself in. fuck his pride, fuck this stupid game they've been playing with each other. Alex is tired, and Logan is here, which is something that Alex hasn't been able to say comfortably for a long time

and so then he's met with Logan's sleeping form, curled up and lumpy in the sheets, and Alex so fucking tired and so fucking jealous, and so he hardly has to think about it before walking over and shaking Logan awake

and Logan rolls over, heavy and drowsy and really warm beneath Alex's palm, and Alex then realizes fuck what am I even doing. but now it's too late; Logan is awake and looking up at him, bundled up and sleepy, and then Alex yawns and it becomes horribly evident that all he wants right now is curl up into Logan's ribcage where it's warm and quiet and not plagued by the adrenaline of another stint on the horizon

so he asks. asks if he can be here. if he can sleep with Logan. and even though Logan has just woken up and his eyes are still a little bleary, he just smiles up at Alex and nods his head before pulling Alex down into bed with him. Alex nearly busts his lip on Logan's shoulder, and their legs get a little tangled up in the blankets, and it's all horribly reminiscent of something that they used to have, something clad in blue and riddled with insecurity

but it's different, this time, in how Logan pulls Alex into his chest, in how he mumbles something between their bodies, and how Alex finally leans in to kiss him without overthinking it

ANON PLEASE COME BACK WE NEED YOU IM LOVING THIS AND I KNOW U HAVE MORE TO SAY PLEASE PLEASE🙏🙏🙏

[mahercbeaucoup]

TTRPG Design Lessons from Wildermyth

I've recently been spending a good deal of time thinking about solo RPGs and playing Rangers of Shadow Deep, a solo miniature game. My brain has been buzzing with ideas for solo game design, but I wanted to extend my research into video games, and so I found myself playing Wildermyth. This game has been on my radar for years, but I finally took the time to sit down with it. I enjoyed the game's first campaign, and I came away with some lessons for solo TTRPG design.

Procedural Stories

As your party of heroes wanders the world of Wildermyth, the player is treated to vignettes of the characters' encounters with their environment. These little stories build much of the player's connection to their band of heroes, especially the ones who join later and appear less often in the main plot.

Coming from the OSR world, a natural comparison arises to random encounters, especially during overland exploration. But whereas OSR encounters can follow any structure (and it is not uncommon for them to merely provide a moment of flavor), the Wildermyth vignettes always result in a meaningful change to the game state (as far as I can tell). A character may gain a new item, or change in some unexpected way, and the player will have a choice to make. Because a vignette always results in some sort of change, the game has a continuous feel of forward momentum.

In solo games, I struggle with developing side characters (or characterization at all, if the game is primarily skirmish-based). Looking at Wildermyth's approach, I can see the potential for a spark table to take one or two characters and create a little side-adventure for them, giving them a little color and differentiating them from the others.

Overworld Map

Wildermyth's map is broken down into regions, and each type of region contributes a different gameplay option. Some areas may have ruins you can reclaim, giving you increased resources or "Legacy Points" (a type of special currency), that you can use to grow and enhance your party. Some areas might allow you to build a bridge across a river, or tunnel through a mountain pass, into an adjacent territory. Villages provide recruitment opportunities, and new areas need to be scouted.

Crucially, every action requires time to complete, and the world is always moving on. Timers count down to the next bad event, armies march across the map and destroy settlements, and the deck of potential enemies is always growing stronger. Even when you acquire enough party members to split them up over multiple locations, it always feels like there is never enough time to get to everything you want to.

This system is simple, but it adds rich, opportunities for gameplay. I would love to experiment with this kind of campaign layer in an otherwise more traditional skirmish game. By adding simple concrete benefits to the control of a region, a huge amount of gameplay naturally emerges, even before diving deep into other sorts of quest hooks that will develop.

Enemy Behavior

When it comes to the tactical battles, the enemy AI seems to be very simplistic (as it is in most games of this type, and video games in general). But this isn't a knock against the battles, because the game's designers clearly understand that you can compensate for AI with varied enemies and scenario design.

I could very much picture running these enemies manually, each one operating by a different tactic that is simple enough to execute manually, while also appearing in enough unique combinations and situations to the player on their toes. One enemy might always charge to the farthest character it can reach, while another might draw characters toward it. These are just a few examples from Wildermyth, but they demonstrate how a few simple enemies can drastically change the tactical situation.

Interfusion

The mage class in Wildermyth has "Interfusion" as its primary ability. This lets the character manipulate the scatter terrain in the environment, with different types of terrain offering different tactical benefits.

I haven't seen this kind of approach to magic before, and I think it has good potential on the tabletop.

Putting it all together

After playing Wildermyth, I have a clearer picture of the game that is brewing in my mind: a cross between a skirmish game and an RPG (hardly a new idea), focused on a war band securing an area, and reacting to dynamic threats with varied enemies and approaches to AI. It's the smallest of seeds, but I have a vision for what it can grow into.