#girl stop writing

[everotten]

More info on my Signalis OCs under the cut! I felt bad since I forgot to include some of Gale's basic facts

Gale (Lost)

-Friends with STAR units (Mask from STAR mentor) Hangs out with STARS so much that she’s taken up some of their mannerisms and ideals

-Doesn't remember Chloe, to Gale she was just another EULR

-Use to be much more temperamental in her early days, was almost considered to be a lost cause

-In the past Gale was reprimanded by her mentor and other STAR units far too many times. Even other STCR would sometimes comment about Gale being too intense

-Has stabilized since then but I think she still has the capacity to be just like she was before, depending on certain circumstances. Old mindsets die hard-coded

-Takes quick showers but usually on the more frequent side to make up for it

-Punctual to a fault, after being grilled by her mentor for being late

-Coffee :)

Chloe (Background Dancer)

-The first time Sol and Chloe met was probably because Sol spotted her watching the flock of STAR from afar (Sol thinks she's a bit odd but harmless)

-Gale wasn’t the only unit to bully her, but Gale was the most significant one

-Gets her hair caught on the ARAR tunnels

-Most normal one here and not vengeful at all.

-Eventually becomes hesitant acquaintances with the ARAR unit Nuclear “Robin” The one who she stole the Retractable Rhodonite Claws from

-Transferred facilities for persona rehabilitation

-It's been so long since she's practiced her vocals that it cracks often when trying to hum or sing

-At the end of her story, she will be decommissioned the earliest out of everyone. This will always be her fate

Solar (Mentor)

-Serious with honorifics and titles. Will correct a unit for not using or using the wrong titles to address another unit or herself

-The type to use the STAR hierarchy to her benefit, turns a blind eye when she sees other STAR struggling but won’t actively participate in physical punishments. However Solar wouldn't pass up the opportunity for a fair duel.

-Able to command orders louder than a STAR unit.

-Respected by most STCR (Probably has the highest ratio of STCR that respect Solar out of all STAR mentors)

-Not a very picky eater

-Is described as abnormally amiable in general but is noticeably friendlier towards EULR and ARAR units

Solar: “Oh joy! Slop Suncycle again! Amazing!”

Everyone else in the mess hall: *collective eughhh*

i created more creatures

[inkskinned]

how odd, to watch the creative writing exercises of angry men in the comments of instagram. you noticed it first in the comments of conventionally attractive women - but then it started appearing everywhere else, too.

a young man talks about what lunch he's packing his wife. there is a little story under it, with 300 likes, fabricated from nothing. "this is pointless. if you treat her like this, she will take the lunch to her office and fuck her boss and divorce him and take all his money."

you scroll. a young woman talks about what lunch she's packing for her husband. it is always uglier when the subject of the video is a woman, you've noticed. "you sit on camera and you smile and you are cheating with the neighbor and then you're going to lie about being sexually assaulted by your husband and -"

you stop reading. it has 567 likes.

where did this even become a thing? people making up stories in their head, disgusting long-winded assumptions about intention and sexual disgrace. the evil twin of fanfiction.

like - it's just a lie. it's a lie that they are telling, baldfaced and assumptive. the undercurrent is of course misogyny, but the trouble is that they're so fucking certain. that's what makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise. there is this pervasive, inventive desire for them to be right. that they must be right. all women are cheating, lying, gold-digging bitches. no exceptions.

in the reverse, when women say i'd rather meet a bear in the woods than a strange man - men funnel in from the sides. they defend each other with a vibrance and capacity for empathy you wish applied to like, the other half of the population. a man could be saying i absolutely did kill her and these creatures in the comments would rise up with king shit. she made it happen. they love each other to the point of this sick strange self-gaslighting, a fervent and unhinged cognitive distortion. all men are good, wonderful people. all women are terrible, conniving, seditious, annoying.

and when did it become okay to just, like... say that kind of a thing? at one point, you find yourself typing out a witty and snappy retort. why are you spending so much time fantasizing about other people babe. but as you stare at the screen, some part of you pictures this man in public, saying these things to your face. his soapbox, high and mighty. his mirrored sunglasses and his empty life: tired and lonely.

what a sad and horrible loop he's locked in. he is terrible to women, so women don't talk to him, which he uses as an excuse to act more terribly. he blames this "failure" on women, rather than on his behavior. it cannot be that he is the problem (that the solution is to just put his ego down and accept women as equals) - he begins to invent a sculpture to replace the flesh frame of each person he sees.

it isn't just a woman posing on the beach. it is now a slut with a desperate need for each person to crave her body. it isn't just a woman yelping with surprise during something upsetting. it is a hysterical, unhelpful cretin who will probably make things worse instead of better. it isn't a person.

someone's very sweet wedding vows get moderate attention on instagram. in the comments, a man says good fucking luck you'll waste your life providing while behind your back she's absolutely fucking the best man. this will be so cringe in 2 months when she walks out on you.

you think - is that what you need to be true? is that what you need to happen, for the world to make sense to you?

[luxaofhesperides]

Ghostlights where Phantom saves Duke or the Signal, and a week later (at a Wayne gala or some other place) Duke recognizes the light/aura coming from Danny

Putting off gala prep was perhaps not the best plan. Duke spent the past month insisting that everything is fine and he has it under control. Duke is also a lying liar who lies, and now he’s frantically trying to pick up his suit in time to get it dry cleaned and altered as necessary. 

Alfred would be disappointed in him, but in Duke’s defense, he had to go out of town on a mission to bust a growing drug cartel, and then spent half a week visiting a shelter for metas on the run (unofficial and hidden away) to help everyone find new homes and learn to control their powers. These things take time!

Unfortunately, gala prep also takes time, and since it’s a charity gala for funding the education of every Gothamite student, it’s not one he can slip out of. The entire family is being strong-armed into attending and not making a scene until the donation period in the first half is over. 

Duke knows he’s not the only one who’s scrambling to get ready for a gala that’s taking place in three days, but they’re not helping him, so it feels like he’s the only one messing up. 

“Sorry!” he calls behind him as he sprints through a group of people. 

He could have asked someone to drive him, but he knows they’re all busy and doesn’t want his own poor time management to cause problems for anyone else. Even though he’s sure Bruce is looking for an excuse to get out of a mandatory Wayne Enterprises board meeting that both Lucius and Tim dragged him to.

RIP Bruce. He will be missed.

The Diamond District is full of people walking the streets, sprinting between parked cars and waiting for their rides. They’re all dressed nicely, making him feel out of place. It’s a feeling that’s never left him since he joined the Waynes but it’s particularly bad when he’s left to navigate these spaces alone. Rich people and socialites are a different kind of human, one that Duke doesn’t care to understand; there’s greed in all of them, turning them heartless, and they can give as much as they want to charity but it won’t change the fact that all they do is a performance to make people like them, rather than a desire to do anything good. 

The sooner this is over, the better. He keeps going, hoping that he can still make it to his appointment with the tailor. Alfred recommended the store, then set up the appointment, so all Duke has to do is trust their judgment as they get him fitted. He’s still got twenty minutes until the scheduled time, but some unspoken rule makes it so he has to show up fifteen minutes early for better service or risk being turned away and told to reschedule. 

Duke slows to a walk when he catches sight of the store, the trying to catch his breath and look more composed before he reaches the door. He takes a moment to straighten his clothes a bit, then opens the door and steps in.

The bell jingles pleasantly above his head. The store is empty of any other customers, and the employee at the front counter looks up with a plastered on smile. 

“I’ll be with you in a moment!” she says, then looks down at her phone and types something out before placing it under the counter. A tablet comes out instead and she swipes through a few screens, then sets it down and look at Duke again. “How can I help you, sir?”

“I have an appointment? For a suit fitting. Under the name Thomas.”

She taps on the screen for a minute, then nods and gives him another customer service smile. “Alright, I’ll go ahead and grab the tailor. They’ll be out with your suit soon. Please, feel free to take a seat or browse some of our suits. We just recently got a new collection in from Italy.”

“Sure, thanks. I’ll just… be here, I guess.”

The employee takes her tablet and disappears through a door, leaving him alone in the store. He doesn’t want to sit down, not while his heart is still trying to settle from his sprint through half of Diamond District, so Duke wanders around the neat stacks of dress shirts and vests, pants and belts and shoes lined up neatly against the walls. 

He takes a moment to shoot Alfred a text that he’s at the tailor for his fitting appointment. Steph’s sent him a long string of videos online, and he’s just about to go through them when the bell rings again. 

Duke glances up and watches a guy walk into the store. He looks around, makes eye contact with Duke, then quickly looks down, taking a seat by the door.

Probably another upper class citizen uncomfortable with the fact that someone in jeans and a hoodie is shopping for suits. Shaking his head lightly, Duke wanders deeper into the store to get some distance between them so they could ignore each other more easily. It’s only until the tailor comes out, and then he can go to a fitting room and be done with this whole thing, so Duke resigns himself to suffering through the tense silence. 

How long is he even supposed to wait? He can only look at clothes in one of three colors before he gets bored. 

He goes to another rack, trying to see if he can notice anything different about these shirts. 

And then he hears a shoe scuff against the floor behind him. He tenses up, but before he can turn around, a belt is wound around his throat, pulling him back and choking him. 

Duke drops his weight, tucking his chin and gets a hand against the inside of the belt to try to push it away. His back hits someone’s chest and he’s trapped, focused on trying not to be choked to death while also keeping his vigilante abilities and meta powers secret. 

More footsteps come from behind, and a soaked cloth is pressed against his nose and mouth.

Chloroform, he realizes, familiar with the smell from Bruce’s training. But training isn’t enough to keep him from being knocked out, and he quickly slips away from the waking world, falling to the ground. 

Just before he passes out completely, he hears the employee who greeted him say, “I’m not sure how much Wayne would be willing to pay for him, but let’s start high and negotiate lower. New kid can’t possibly be worth that much…”

Duke wakes up groggily, memories of what happened quickly snapping into place. He’s too out of it still to get up, but he’s awake enough to be offended. Sure he’s the new kid, and barely even a Wayne, but he’s still worth a lot!

Kidnappers these days. So rude.

He doesn’t hear anyone around him, and it feels like he’s lying on a cold concrete floor. Basement, maybe? Warehouse? Storage unit tucked away somewhere? There’s nothing much to see when Duke is able to open his eyes, squinting bareilly at his surroundings. His arms are tied behind him, wrists bound, but they left his legs alone. 

If he could just hit the panic button on his bracelet…

Duke wiggles around, fighting through the lingering effects of Chloroform, and manages to sit up. If he strains his hearing, he thinks he can hear voices outside of the empty room he’s been left in. There’s a window high up, too high for a normal person to reach without help, but if he can use the shadows to travel through it, then he may be able to escape on his own. 

First things first: he needs to free his hands before anyone comes in to check on him.

They used zip ties on him, which is inconvenient. He’s learned how to get out of them, but it’s difficult enough without being drugged and having to do it behind his back. 

He’s feeling the zip ties bite into his wrists just as there’s a crash from outside the room. His kidnappers yell, alarmed, and are quickly silenced. That’s rarely ever a good sign. Duke renews his efforts to escape, ignore the pain in pushing against his binds like this. 

The door opens. Duke hears the small click of a lock disengaging and freezes. Then he gets to his feet, still unsteady, and prepares to ram his head into anyone who comes near him like some sort of deranged battering ram, or a drunk raging bull. 

Duke is ready for the worst: a gang hoping to steal away a Wayne hostage, a Rogue, Gnomon popping in to cause trouble for the sole purpose of getting on Duke’s nerve. 

He’s not expecting another teenage boy, who is literally glowing, to poke his head in and zero in on Duke. He blinks, then smiles; it’s friendly and sincere, nothing like the employee who helped kidnap him. 

“Hey!” he says, coming into the room properly. He’s floating a good foot off the ground, eyes a bright neon green, with white hair that sways as if he’s underwater. “Are you okay? I saw them drag you out of the back of the store and followed them, but I got a bit lost. Sorry for taking so long to get here.”

“...It’s fine?” Duke offers, trying to wrap his head around what’s happening. “I wasn’t expecting a rescue so soon, anyways. Think you can help me out here?”

“Yeah, of course!” he flies closer, then drops down to the ground behind Duke. He hums lightly under his breath, and then Duke feels a cold touch on his wrist and the zip ties are suddenly gone. 

Duke blinks, then brings his arms in front of him. He moves around a bit to make sure he’s not hallucination, and sure enough, he’s free and unbound because a random meta teenager vanished the zip ties into the ether, or something. 

“Thanks, man. Any idea where we are?”

“Not a clue. I got lost coming here, and I was following them. I don’t think you should trust any directions I give.”

“Fair enough,” Duke laughs. “I’m Duke, by the way.”

“Phantom.”

“Well, thanks for the save, Phantom. Can I treat you to something?”

“Like, coffee?”

“Sure. Or brunch, or ice cream. Whatever you want, really.”

Phantom considers it for a moment, then shakes his head. “Sorry, I would love to but going out in public looking like this,” he gestures to himself, “Is not a great idea. Thanks for the offer though. You got a ride?”

Duke pats his pockets, then sighs. “My phone’s gone. I still have my wallet, though.”

“I fly you to someplace you can call someone, if you’d like.”

“You sure? I could probably just walk out of here and call a taxi.”

“I don’t think walking around by yourself after being kidnapped is a great idea,” Phantom says, doubtfully. “Seriously, let me fly you.”

He should just hit the panic button and wait for someone to show up to get him. He shouldn’t go to some unknown location with a meta he literally just met. 

But, you know what? No one else can say they got kidnapped twice in one day, so Duke nods and says, “Sure, sweep me off my feet, Phantom. You gotta commit to this rescue.”

Phantom laughs. And then he does sweep Duke off his feet into a princess carry with a cheeky grin and flies them out the building, which turns out to be an abandoned apartment building slated for demolition. 

“Keep this up and you’ll be replacing Superman in no time,” Duke jokes.

“I think I could manage it,” Phantom replies thoughtfully. “I mean, I’m already prettier than him, don’t you think?”

“Oh, definitely. The glow really brings out your eyes.”

Phantom gets him a few blocks away when Duke recognizes where they are, and quickly directs him into Crime Alley. They land on top of one of Jason’s safe houses, and while he’s sure there’s enough security to take out a SWAT Team, that’s absolutely not going to stop him from breaking in to use one of Jason’s burner phones and eat his leftovers. 

He’s set down on his feet gently, and as soon as Phantom sees that he’s fine, able to walk and everything, he floats back up, just out of reach.

“Be careful, okay?” he says, getting ready to leave.

“I’ll do my best. Hey, are you gonna be in Gotham for a while, or…?”

Phantom gives him a tired smile. “Nah. I’m just passing through. As long as my luck doesn’t get even worse, then I should be out of here in a few days.”

“Shame,” Duke says, giving Phantom a very visible once over. He’s pretty tall, and Duke can see some muscle on him, and the tight black outfit really adds to his look. The glow that comes out of his chest makes him look ethereal and Duke is beyond glad that he got such a charming rescuer.

Phantom doesn’t blush like a normal person. He glows brighter instead, curling into himself a bit as he looks away, unable to stop the smile from growing on his face. 

“I guess,” he shrugs. “Are you really going to be alright from here?”

“Yeah, man, I have a friend who lives here. I’ll just bother him until he agrees to give me a ride.”

“Alright.” Phantom drifts away, glancing behind him before turning back to Duke. “I’ll get going then. Take care, Duke!”

Duke waves and watches as Phantom begins to fly away. Then Phantom… disappears? Or rather, his body does but Duke can see an orb of light making its way across Gotham, almost like a star fallen from the sky.

He stays on the roof until the light is long gone. When he’s finally ready to go in and steal from Jason, the sun has completely set. 

And he still doesn’t have his suit.

Duke sighs, and mentally prepares himself to other day of stressing out about the gala.

Three days of stress and last minute scrambling leave Duke in the Gotham Museum of Modern Art with Steph, Tim, Cass, and Damian. They’re hiding in the photography gallery to avoid other guests, taking a break from being polite and letting thinly veiled, passive aggressive insults slide over them.

.

.

.

“How much longer must we suffer this before we can go?” Damian grumbles, looking like he’s do anything to get his hands on a blade. Which, considering how many people tried to either pinch his cheeks are say some racist remark about him and his mother, is totally fair. Duke would just punch them, but sometimes a little drama helped get the message across. 

“At least two more hours,” Tim says, not bothering to look up from his phone. From what few glimpses of the screen Duke caught, he’s leading a Titans missions through text and clever hacking. Though it may be more accurate to call is a Young Justice mission since there’s no way any of this was authorized by a Justice League member. 

Also Anita, suited up as Empress, is there. If they aren’t on the news for property destruction and absolutely batshit wild shenanigans, Duke will have to check on Tim to make sure he’s not a pod person sent to infiltrate the family. 

“Think we can sneak out without anyone noticing?” Steph asks, looking at the emergency exit longingly.

Cass shakes her head and points to the door leading to the ballroom. When they look over, Dick makes very deliberate eye contact with them and give them a smile that looks stretched across his face.

Tim winces and pushes Duke. “Oh, something went down. Go take over for him and let Dick rest in here for a bit.”

“Man, why does it have to be me?” he grumbles even as he stands. Dick lets out a heavy breath and gives Duke a grateful smile, patting on the shoulder before shoving him out the door. 

As soon as he’s back into the main hallway, the music and chatter swell, no longer muffled by the thick walls of the photography wing. A few people come and go from the ballroom, no doubt looking for the restroom. 

Or more private places for… other things. Things they definitely shouldn’t be doing in an art museum.

He really can’t wait for this night to be over.

Duke joins the rest of the guests, fake smile on his face, and quickly makes his way to the snack table. He might as well make the most of his time stuck out here. Maybe he could even cause another relationship scandal by implying that Bruce is sleeping with one of partners when in hearing distance of a couple. Maybe even both of them. 

Bruce would go with it. It’s hilarious and he also needs something to make these events bearable.

Sadly, he doesn’t see any good targets as he scans the ballroom. A few people are dancing, while others are talking in small circles, closed off from outsiders. There’s an entire table of old ladies with glasses of wine in front of them; Duke considers hanging around them, since they confess to a lot of crimes after a few glasses. It’s fascinating. 

Also, he does kind of miss hanging out with the one old lady who’s declared herself his high society grandmother and told him stories of how she used to go to bars to find racist people or Klan members during the Jim Crow era, seduce them, then poison them and get their addresses so a few gangs she was friends with would fuck them up.

Granny Kaliasto is the coolest person ever. 

Just as he’s about to finish his last mini rolled crepe, Duke catches sight of one of the few teenagers still in the ballroom. The others, mostly stuck up rich kids no one actually likes, have already left to take over some other part of the museum to gossip until their parents decide it’s time to go home. These two are clearly not part of that crew, what with the girl being very goth and in a poofy, ripped dress, and the boy having already taken his jacket off to keep over his forearm, the top button of his shirt popped open.

They might be cool. He’s hoping they’re cool because he desperately needs some company to keep from dying of boredom while the gala continues on.

Duke walks over to them, going around the side of the ballroom, until he’s close enough to hear them talking.

The boy has his back to Duke, but the girl sees him. She immediately scowls and slaps the boys shoulder, eyes locked on Duke.

“Got another comment about my dress?” she says, voice sharp and acidic.

“Another?” Duke repeats. “I was just bored and wanted to talk to people who were my age. Sorry?”

The boy smacks the girl’s arm, then turns to face Duke. “Sorry about her! Sam is just naturally rude and aggressive. Tonight’s been a bit rough, with this crowd.”

Duke goes to say something, but the words stick in his throat when he sees the boy’s eyes shift from deep blue to an electric green. When he focuses, he can see a faint glow in his chest, the same glow he saw in Phantom.

“Dude? You alright?”

Sam looks him over judgmentally. “I guess it’s nice that I’m not being ogled for once, but don’t do that shit to Danny either.”

“Wait, that’s not what I was doing!” Duke hurries to say, snapped out of his shock. “I just… you look a lot like someone I met recently.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. What was your name? I’m Duke, by the way.”

He holds out a hand, and the boy shakes it with a small smile. “Danny. I don’t think we’ve met. I mean, I’m only here because Sam wouldn’t come to this gala without me, so her parents flew me in.”

“You from out of town?”

“Sam and I are from Illinois. Her parents are traveling around the east coast right now, and they decided to spend a week in Gotham to talk business.”

“I’d ask how it is, but outsiders tend to really hate Gotham, so…”

Sam barks out a sharp laugh. “Oh please, we can handle Gotham. Our town might not be as big and well known as Gotham, but we got our own shit to deal with there.”

“I do get shot at a lot back home,” Danny adds thoughtfully. “And that’s without the ghosts.”

“Woah, what?”

“Up for a bit of a story?” Danny asks, impish grin on his face. By his side, Sam brings a hand up to cover a manic smile, shoulders already shaking with laughter. 

This is already better than the grandma gang. Duke leans against the wall, getting settled in, and says, “Always, man. Hit me with it.”

The next hour an a half passes quickly with Sam and Danny dramatically narrating some of the things that have happened in their town. Duke listens, absolutely enraptured, and doesn’t even notice the Waynes file into the ballroom again. 

Unfortunately, they bring with them the attention of most of the ballroom, including Bruce and Sam’s parents. 

She cuts the current story about Box Ghost short with a heavy sigh. “Hold up, I need to greet the Waynes properly while my parents are watching.” She steps in front of Duke and Danny, holding out a hand with a pained smile.

Tim takes it first, giving a solid shake, and introductions start. 

Free from the rules of high society, if only for the moment, Duke leans closer to Danny and whispers to him, “Phantom. Wanna get out of here?”

Danny flinches and turns to him looking panicked. “How did you know?”

“I kinda got magic eyes. I see a lot of things normal humans can’t. Don’t worry about it. I still owe you, so you wanna get out of here?”

He watches as Danny glances around the ballroom, then back to him, clearly weighing out his options. Then he nods and says, “Know where to get a good milkshake around here?”

“Sure do.”

“I guess you’re the one rescuing me this time.”

“Not a rescue,” Duke corrects, and casually picks Danny up over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry, “A kidnapping.”

Danny laughs and waves Sam and all the others goodbye as Duke marches out of the ballroom.

“Don’t bother me for the next two hours!” he calls to the Waynes, “I’m going on a date!”

There are shocked gasps and murmurs all through the crowd. But as he spins around to wave at his shocked and easily amused family, he also catches sight of Granny Kaliasto raising her half full wine glass towards him.

She really is the coolest.

He’s definitely telling her all about this at the next event they attend together. It’ll be nice to have a few stories of his own to share.

[enviedear]

pov: constantly spending your free time with cregan at one of the numerous stark resorts. endless days of evening walks cuddled together to stay warm, trips to the stark's wolf conservation center, hot toddies and spiked hot chocolates, snowball fights, taking the dogs out to play in the snow, christmas tree searching, and never-ending layers.

in the same universe as this au

🎧 ₁ ₂ ₃ ₄ ₅ ₆

[reorientation]

Sometimes I like to imagine that every fakeboy has an invisible meter tracking how many loads of cum it'll take before she admits what she is.

Some of them are long and half-full: for the girl whose boyfriend will spend months or years fucking her bare and gently pushing her along, telling her that she should try stopping T just for a little while, just to see how it feels, and that of course you're a boy, babe, but that dress would just look so good on you...

Some of them are shorter, and empty until they're suddenly filled: for the kind of girl who'll take her first load and instantly crave more, until she realizes that she was made to bounce on a cock rather than have one.

And some are so small they're barely there: for the virginal girl who'll someday find out that she's so susceptible to the rush of a man's cum inside her - from a malleable mind or a fertile womb - that it just takes one load to erase her dreams of manhood forever.

[greenconverses]

oh no, no, nonononononono you don’t get to retcon the first series basically being an all white cast because now you’ve realized it’s Not A Great Look by blaming publishing standards and pretending that annabeth is presented as anything other than a blonde white girl in the text or any of the marketing material ever.

you wrote her as white! you wrote all the main characters as white and made it very clear when the secondary characters weren’t! it’s fine to admit you just had a blind spot and self-corrected with HoO and the other series!!! you don’t get to go back and retroactively collect diversity points by pretending annabeth is in any way presented as racially ambiguous in the text now that you’ve decided to make a tv show!!!! gaaaaaaaaahhhhhh

[candycoated-rage]

i was in the corpclash server when i made a startling realization

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter 5 - Wouldn't It Be Nice?

<<First Chapter - < Prev Chapter - Next Chapter >

Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Dubcon, Plus-sized Reader/OC, female Reader/OC, John introduces Doll to some normal people, Everyone learns new things about each other, Manipulation, PTSD, Doll has a tragic backstory, Doll is kinda sorta Catholic? Who knew (me I knew)

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above but honestly this chapter is pretty mild all considered.

Ghost, Soap and Gaz come back a few hours later with the blue sports car (a bit scratched up, but tail-light repaired) and a pick up truck that looks a lot like the one John had before, but a generation older, and green instead of gray. John speaks to them briefly before he coaxes you into the truck and drives off, promising that the others will be gone before you get back.

He drives a few miles down the road, and pulls up in front of a little farmhouse. It looks idyllic, children and a dog playing in the yard. Two people on the porch wave, and John hops out and circles around right quick to open your door and help you down.

The couple trots up to greet you both. "Who's this?" The woman asks, looking at you and beaming. "You finally introducing us to a girlfriend?"

"Doesn't feel like the right word, does it, doll?" John winks at you, like your circumstances are all just a funny little blip, nothing nefarious or terrifying about it.

"No, it doesn't," you agree, keeping your face carefully neutral. "I'm Dalisay. Nice to meet you, um, Melissa, right?" You stick your hand out and shake hers. There’s no sense in being rude to them, just because they know John. He’s probably smart enough to keep his old life, and his boys away from his new one as much as possible.

"The very same! We were a bit worried John was going to be an eternal bachelor. Nice to see he's found someone." She introduces her husband, Rob, and her kids, Hannah, Haley and Jackson, who are ten, seven and five, respectively.

"Do you want to see the puppies?" Haley asks, grabbing your hand. Jackson grabs the other one and they pull you along to the garage, not waiting for an answer. You very deliberately don’t look over your shoulder at John, because you’re fairly sure that he’ll be looking back at you with a sickeningly hopeful expression. His comments from last night still ring in your ears, and you’re not willing to indulge that foolish fantasy of his.

The puppies are in a play pen with high enough walls to contain them, but still allow their mother to hop in and out. She hops out to inspect you, sniffing your outstretched hands warily. Her tail starts to wag after a moment, and you give her a proper pat, smiling. The dog has soft ears and a silky, black and tan coat, but you're not sure what type of dog she is.

"What's her name?" you ask, kneeling down.

"Bonnie-bell," Hannah says. "And our other dog is Charaid."

"Proper Scottish names," you say. The kids all have a slight burr, and although Melissa sounds scouse, it's the first hint as to where you are.

"Da said we was gettin' too English, livin' in London," Haley says. "I like it better here anyway. Mum says maybe we can get some coos. "

"I grew up near Aberdeen," you say. "But I've lived in Manchester too long. Lost my accent."

"No' far off, then, aye? We're only about an hour and a bit south and west," Rob says, appearing at the open garage door to supervise. His stern face looks friendlier now that he knows you're not proper English. "Was worried John dragged some poor city girl out'f England to live out here."

You hum. "Well, I am something of a city girl now. Been in Manchester since I was seventeen."

"Weel, welcome home then," Rob says with a wink. "We'll get ye proper re-acclimated soon enough." He leans over and plucks a puppy out of the sleeping pile inside the pen, and hands it to you. The pup is at the age where its somewhere between looking like a potato and a proper dog, maybe six or seven weeks old. "Gordon setter, by the by," he says. "Good dogs."

"Cute too." You settle the puppy in your lap, petting its soft little head. Bonnie-bell licks your wrist and hops back into the pen to lay down next to the others.

"Ye want one? This girl's no' spoken for yet. John's been hemmin' and hawin' about it, but I figure he wouldna want ta leave ye home alone, neither."

"Oh, I'm not sure I'll be staying that long. I'm only here because there was an incident at my apartment and John wouldn't hear of me staying anywhere else." You're not certain why you're stretching the truth to fit around what he and his wife think is happening, but you have no idea what John would do if you did say something. Maybe he would laugh it off like you were making a joke, or maybe he would snap. You don't really think he would hurt these people, but there's a wide-eyed prey animal in the back of your mind that warns you to be cautious, to be careful.

"We'll talk about it," John says from behind you. You hadn't even noticed his approach, with the noise the kids had made when they dashed back outside. "I'm trying to convince her to stay."

"Ye've gotta buy her a ring, ye daft bastard," Rob says, laughing. "A good catholic girl isna goin' ta wait for you ta get yer head out'f yer arse."

"If you don't, I'll introduce her to some lads in town that will," Melissa threatens. "Pretty girl like her has better options than you, old man. Better make your move before she realizes it." She swats John on the arm playfully.

You laugh nervously, touching the little cross around your neck absently. The puppy in your lap seems to sense your discomfort, because she starts wiggling in your arms and trying to lick your chin, little tail wagging. John kneels down beside you so he can pet the puppy too, eyes creased with a smile. "Is that it, doll? You need me to buy you a ring?"

"John," you say warningly. "We don't need to talk about this right now."

"No, I suppose you've had a rough morning. I'll try again later."

"You're impossible."

"Think you might kind of like that about me," he says.

"Not remotely. I think you're an awful, stubborn man," you tell him. Your voice comes out softer and sweeter than you intend, like you don't really mean it, even though it's true. The smile around his eyes grows deeper.

"I am." He picks up the puppy and holds her up in front of his face. "What do you think, girl?" he asks. The little dog's tail wags furiously, and she answers with a high pitched yip. And then she endears herself to you by trying to bite John’s nose. He looks stunned for a moment, but he grins when you start laughing. “Guess we’re all in agreement then,” he says, setting her down in the pen and standing up.

You accept his hand up, and quickly put a little distance between the two of you, before he anchors you to his side with a solid arm, or tries to reel you in close for a kiss. Rob and Melissa invite you in for a cup of tea, and somehow you end up sitting at a dining room table that’s obviously mostly used for crafts, and handed a piece of blank printer paper by Haley, and told by Jackson that you should draw dragons with them. The walls of the dining room are filled with tacked up juvenile masterpieces— Dragons seem to be a particular fixation of Jackson’s, whereas Hannah and Haley have more varied portfolios.

John stands leaning in the door to the kitchen, talking to Rob and Melissa quietly enough that you can’t quite pick up his words over the children’s chatter. You hate him a little for this, dangling Rob and Melissa’s idyllic little life in front of you. The implication is obvious. We could have this, his blue eyes seem to say when you look his way. Wouldn’t that be nice?

It’s frustrating, and confusing. You want to keep him at arms length for your own safety, but he’s already doing his best to roll right past your doubts and better judgment, like they’re just silly barriers between now and the future he’s dreamed up for the two of you.

And worse, you do want it.

“Didn’t know you were an artist,” he says on the drive back. Jackson had been so excited about the dragon that you drew for him that he’d shown his parents and John.

“There’s a long list of things you don’t know about me,” you say.

"For now. We'll get there, sweetheart."

You hum, looking out the window. Spending time with the Stuarts has you wistful and homesick for something you can't get back. Days like this, you'd usually pour yourself a glass of wine, look through your family photo albums and have a good cry before going to bed early. It's been a while since it's caught up with you like this, but you'd always been reliant on your routine, burying grief in structure and familiarity. "Do we need to?"

"I'd like to."

"I'm not going to be what you want me to be."

John drums his fingers against the steering wheel. "What is it that you think I want?"

"Some little housewife. Someone soft and sweet to come home to."

"You seem plenty soft and sweet to me."

You sigh, pulling your arms around yourself. "I'm not consistent. I don't know what Johnny told you I was like, but he only knows me from work. I'm not like that all the time."

"I don't expect you to be."

"You say that now, but you'll change your mind."

"I'm not stupid enough to change my mind based on a bad day or two, doll. You're allowed to be upset. I wouldn't blame you if you spend the next week slamming doors and snapping at me. I'm still going to like you." He puts a hand on your knee and squeezes gently. Men like him shouldn't be allowed to have such attractive hands, and you shouldn't be attracted to hands like his, scarred knuckles, a few fingers broken and healed crooked. You know he's killed people, know it would be so easy for him to kill you. It turns your stomach that you feel any kind of desire for him at all.

Men like him are no different than the ones that killed your parents. Dealing death is not a noble trade, there's nothing honourable about exporting violence.

You push his hand away, and keep your eyes trained on the window.

He sighs, but he doesn't press the issue, just clicks on the radio to fill the silence.

When you get back to his house he sets you up in a cozy room down the hall from the more open main space where the kitchen is, an office of some kind with a couple of arm chairs and a desk with a clunky looking laptop set on top. The room smells kind of smoky, but you're just glad to have a door you can close while he "moves some things around". He opens the laptop up so you can watch something, but you just curl up in one of the armchairs and fall asleep.

When you wake, the door is open, one of your blankets is draped over you, and there's a mug of tea sitting on the desk, alongside a couple biscuits. You uncurl, your muscles stiff and joints cracking from not moving for too long, and pick up the tea. It's cold, like it had been left a while ago, but you drink it anyway, and eat the biscuits. There's a note underneath, explaining that John had run out to the shops, and that he'd be back by 18:00. You shake your head, and check the time on the laptop. 18:00 exactly.

Military habits must die hard. You imagine he’s usually prompt too, so you wander out into the main room, and put the clean dishes in the rack away. You realize that the living room side has been rearranged, condensed to a slightly smaller footprint, with some open space left by the far corner behind the bigger couch. The smaller leather sofa has been replaced with the little red love-seat from your apartment, and your T.V. is sitting on it’s familiar perch on the refinished credenza that you’d painted twining vines and little red flowers up the side of. You’d found it on by the curb on the Kinsey’s street a few years ago, and your friend Ripley had bused over and helped you carry it all the way back to your apartment.

You’re not sure you like seeing more of your things merging into John’s house, like any of it belongs there when you still want to insist that you’ll be leaving soon. You hate him for being presumptuous, but you can’t help but think it’s sweet, too, that he makes space for you so readily, that he’ll happily include your painted flowers and colourful blankets and bright red couch into space that was all his just twenty four hours ago. That he would leave you tea and biscuits for when you woke up, that he would tuck a blanket around you while you slept. You’re not used to someone wanting to take care of you, and it feels strange.

Strange, but nice too.

You glance at the clock on the wall, realizing that it’s twenty past six, and John still isn’t back. It’s getting darker out there, the sun nearly setting, and as much as you try to tell yourself that you’re not worried, it’s hard to deny the stab of relief when you finally see the truck's lights pull up the wooded drive.

You slip on your trainers and step outside as he parks. He grins at you around a lit cigar as he hops out. “Did you miss me, doll?” he asks, insufferably smug.

“Your note said you’d be back at six,” you say lamely. “I just wasn’t sure if you’re usually on time.”

“Usually am. Got caught talking to Wells, down on the corner. Seems someone drove right through his fence last night. Teenagers, like as not. I’m goin’ to help him fix it tomorrow.”

“Oh.” You grimace. He must know it was really you. “Sorry about that.”

“No harm. By the sounds of it, you’re quite the driver. Soap said you nearly ran him off the road. That what they teach these days?”

“Defensive driving is well and good, but offensive driving gets you the last good spot in the lot,” you say.

He laughs out loud at that, and leans over to pick up a big paper bag from the passenger side. “Here, can you take this in while I grab the groceries?”

You take the bag (which is slightly greasy and smells like curry), and shift it to one hip. “Can I take anything else?”

He nods and hands you a second paper bag, this one with two wine bottles inside. “Wasn’t sure if you liked red or white, so I got both.”

You settle the bags in your arms and turn to walk away. “Bad time to tell you I like rosé hm?” you tease, glancing over your shoulder.

“Terrible timing. But that’s alright. One more thing, doll.”

You turn back toward him, and he’s right there. One big hand cups your jaw and then his lips are on yours, pressing a kiss that tastes like smoke against you. You stand frozen, holding onto your cargo for dear life, too surprised to do anything. It’s just as well, because in that moment you’re not sure if you’d slap him or pull him closer.

He pulls away without trying to deepen the kiss, which is a relief. You’re certain that you’d drop dinner and the wine.

“John, that wasn’t fair.” Your feet are still frozen in place, and his hand is still on your cheek, his fingers threaded into your hair.

His eyes practically sparkle. He’s entirely too pleased with himself. “Not fair because I kissed you, or not fair because I stopped before we got to the best part?”

Your cheeks flame hot, and you pray that he can’t feel it. “You can’t just— You’re impossible.” It takes concentrated effort to take ordinary, measured steps to the door instead of running. The effect he has on you is apparently very obvious. He never would have tried it if he didn’t know you were teetering on the edge of giving in already.

Boundaries need to be set-- Set and followed-- before you can really even contemplate letting this get any further. Unchecked, you have no doubt that John will have you underneath him in a matter of days. Once that happens you know he'll never let you go, and you'll never have peace of mind if you don't really get to know him first. You know he's not as good as he makes himself out to be, but you suspect he's a better man than your deepest fears might whisper to you. He's genuine about his wants, but that's not enough. You need to know him before you can trust him.

You set your packages down on the table and turn to open the door wide for John as he carries a tote full of groceries into the house. “Thanks, doll.”

The paper bag rips when you open it to pull take-out containers out, setting them on the table neatly. "John, can we talk?" You ask, glancing at him as he stows things in the fridge.

"Course, doll. What's on your mind?"

Nerves threaten to choke you, so you take a steadying breath, in and out, trying to quiet the sea of dread that pitches back and forth in your stomach. “You can’t just take what you want from me. Not if you’re serious about wanting this to be something. I’m afraid of you, John, and I’m not going to fight you. If you push me, I’ll fold, and I’ll hate you for it.”

He pauses, holding a box halfway lifted to the cupboard. It takes a moment before he moves again, setting the box on the shelf slowly. The silence is palpable in the room, settling across both of you like a thick blanket of snow. You fold the ripped takeout bag flat, nervous, the crinkle of heavy paper hardly breaking through the rush of blood in your ears, the panic that grips you by the throat. It’s as though the admission has given your body the chance to catch up with everything that’s happened in the last two days.

You’d been drugged and taken from your home, you’d been handed off to someone you didn’t know, with no clear indication if you’re free to leave or not, you’ve been picked up and manhandled and shot at.

Darkness flickers in the corners of your vision. All you can hear is the pounding of your own heart, the sick, dizzying drums of war, and high pitched ringing like a flat-lining hospital monitor, and screaming, and the rapid burst of machine gun fire. No. The screaming you hear is just in your head, the gunshots aren’t real, they can’t be. It’s not happening, it’s over, it’s been over for a decade, you’re safe.

Except you’re not safe.

Hands land on your shoulders. You lash out, fists striking something solid, knocking the hands away. You have to get away, you have to hide until it goes quiet again. Arms wrap around you in a tight hug, stilling your thrashing limbs and bringing you down to the floor gently.

“Doll! Dalisay, sweetheart, you’re alright, come back.” The voice has authority. You know that voice. It rumbles, shaking loose memory. “Come on, love, breathe slow. You’re okay.” You breathe in, warm spice and tobacco smoke, not burning petrol, not scorched flesh. You’re kneeling on the floor, and John is holding you tight, thighs bracketing yours.

The fight melts out of your limbs.

You’re not safe, but you’re not in danger either. John loosens his hold on you and cups your face, his worried face eclipsing all else. “Doll, where’d you go?” he asks. “What happened?”

“Panic attack,” you lie, because that’s easier to say than My parents were killed in a terrorist attack while we were visiting London ten years ago and sometimes I get so stressed out that I forget it’s not still happening. “I’m fine, I’m sorry.”

“That wasn’t a panic attack, doll. Worked with Simon long enough to recognize PTSD. You were somewhere else.”

It’s hard to imagine that Ghost is as fallible, as human as you are, but you suppose there’s no shortage of opportunities for even the the biggest, toughest military men to to wade hip deep in trauma. The worst day of your life would be just another mission for them. The worst day of their lives would probably kill you outright.

"Yeah, I guess it was," you admit haltingly. "Everything just caught up with me. I won't let it happen again."

He shakes his head. "Did I set it off? I need to know— I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

"No, it's not like that. It’s just stress. It's been building since I got here."

"I guess that's what you meant in the truck, huh?"

You nod weakly. "I don't think I can explain it any better right now. But maybe tomorrow."

"Alright." John sighs, some of the tension in his shoulders releasing. " I don't want you to be afraid of me, doll."

"Then you're going to have to give me time, and space. I need to know what kind of man you are. And you should get to know who I am too.” There’s a wrinkle in his shirt, so you fixate on that rather than look right at him, smoothing it out with your fingers. “Let’s worry about becoming friends, for now. And then we can see if there’s something more.”

He doesn’t like that, you can tell by the way he pulls his hands back, reluctant to let go of you. But still, he nods, and smiles ruefully after a moment. “Guess I’m not as patient as I think I am. Too eager to get to the good part.”

You laugh lightly, the sound shaky from frayed nerves. “John, if we can be kind to each other, and come to an understanding, then it’s all the good part. You can’t build the things you want on foundations like this and hold it all together with sheer force of will.”

“You sure about that?" he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. "I’ve heard I’m pretty stubborn.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his. You still feel unsettled, your heart still pounding, your stomach still roiling with anxiety. The emotion in those blue eyes is something you can't identify, something fathomless that strikes you with a foreign kind of fear, the kind that's shot through with hope that you shouldn't feel.

“You don’t know me too well yet, John,” you say gently, “but so am I.”

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[tastycitrus]

there's an alternate timeline where the new 52 reboot kept all three batgirls but retconned all the robins except for dick, who went back to being robin with nightwing banned from being mentioned at all

[susie-dreemurr]

YT comments when a male character is being paranoid and irrationally mean: aww man :( I miss when everyone was happy. He’s fun and sassy, but I hope they make up :( I just want him to be safe, man.

YT comments when a female character is being paranoid and irrationally mean: UGH, why’s she always blaming my poor fave for everything? She’s an annoying bum now, I hate her :/// Only cares about herself, that bitch.

[evelyn-and-art]

TORSO STUDIES (extras): Kotoha, Shizuka, Tsubakino and Endo

Art Studies with Eve #2

The studio welcomes three lovely queens 🫶

...and a snake 😕

And that completes the torso studies! Thank you for the positive feedback on the first part and for waiting for this one 🫶.

Part 1

[melooooo17]

@openphrase123 your fanfic(s but i mainly made art of the mira and siffrin one because i cant remember words for the life of me for i do not speak french) IS???? ? SO GOOD. SO GOOD IM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH finally something to look forward to in the week fr

Mild spoilers for it ig!! But nothing too explicitly groundbreaking i dont think it'll kill your mom to look at these without having read the ff first

Don't mind the shit quality i??? I drew all these so fast theyre kinda shit and i have yet to fully acclamate isat to my artstyle so it's mid

Teehee me when i make shitty rushed fanart to show my appreciation that i cannot put into words for my faovorite games and also authors

peep the rant in the tags

[nachosncheezies]

after a few weeks of marriage they may newly be besties but she takes her platonic vows very seriously

[sweetcreaturetm]

I wish there was more nurse Steve.

Like Steve in nursing school doing clinicals and he does a round in the ED. And his first shift he gets this weirdo who has to have one of his rings cut off his finger cause he bet his buddy that his rings wouldn’t bend under the wheels of his van. He’s honestly lucky none of his bones are broken. Steve’s kind of just in the background since he’s just doing clinicals but the guy keeps looking at him for comfort while the doctors are setting up all the stuff to cut the ring. Steve can tell he’s a little scared so he goes to stand on his other side to distract him.

“So- uhhh” Steve checks the chart “Mr. Munson do you usually go around running over various body parts?”

Eddie smiles widely at him “it’s Eddie, and no. But uh” he shares a sneaky look with Steve and lowers his voice like they’re conspiring together “I was a little… shall we say elevated”

Steve literally giggles “I knew it smelled a little funkier than usual” he winks.

“What can I say I’m a funky guy-“ Eddie gets cut off by the small saw the doctors are aiming at his hand. Steve can tell he’s about to freak out he sees him start to pull his hand away.

He puts his hand on Eddie’s other arm and brings his attention back to him. He glances down at his guitar pick necklace. “Do you play the guitar?” He asks his hand never leaves Eddie’s arm. And that gets Eddie distracted going on and on about his sweetheart and his band and how they play at a place called the hideout and Steve listens intently. Steve’s more than kind of mesmerized by him.

Before either of them realize the ring is off. The charge nurse asks Steve to finish wrapping Eddie’s fingers and discharge him. Steve goes about getting the gauze and other supplies while still listening to Eddie now he’s talking about D&D something Steve knew more about than he wished thanks to Dustin.

He interrupts Eddie “Okay so I’m gonna put this ointment on just for some relief the saw blade didn’t cut you but it got a little hot for your skin so you might feel a little discomfort. Then I’ll wrap it up. Try to keep an eye if it starts to hurt worse or you have a reaction. I can sneak you some of this it works wonders” he starts to clean the tray off but Eddie stops him with his hand over Steve’s own.

“Do you think I could have my ring back?” He asks sheepishly.

“Oh yeah! Of course sorry I wasn’t thinking” Steve’s a little embarrassed of course he wanted his ring he probably didn’t even care about the stupid ointment. He puts the ring in a little plastic cup they use for pills. Unfortunately they had to cut it a few times so there’s some small bits of the band that are in pieces.

After Eddie signs all the paperwork he gives Steve a little bow in thanks “you probably couldn’t tell since I was being so brave” Eddie says. Steve giggles at that. “But I am a tad frightened of hospitals and stuff. So thanks for being so nice to me. And distracting me when they tried to saw my finger off”

“They would not saw your finger off!” Steve laughs even harder. “It was nice talking to you.” He gives Eddie a hopefully flirty smile.

“Whatever you say, Stevie” Eddie says after he glances down at Steve’s temporary badge. “But hey if it was so nice maybe you can come check out our next show after my fingers are fully recovered” he waggles said fingers but then winces and stops.

Steve reaches out for his injured hand and holds it and says “that actually sounds really nice. But I literally have no time out of school and clinicals.”

“Well maybe I’ll just have to find another way to injure myself to see you again” Eddie says getting bolder.

Steve looks deep into his eyes. He glances down at Eddie’s lips god he wishes he wasn’t literally working right now. “What if you didn’t hurt yourself again and I give you my number and you can come by when I get off my shift.”

Eddie considers for a second and hands Steve his own phone so Steve can put his number in. “That sounds doable” he leans close to Steve’s ear as he gathers his jacket to walk out of the curtained off area and then whispers “just like you” he winks over his shoulder at a gaping Steve.

When Eddie pulls out his phone after getting to the van he sees the newest contact in his phone “Stevie” with a little stethoscope emoji next to it. He sends Steve a quick text so he’ll be able to text him when he’s off.

Finally Steve takes a break and checks his phone he’s been dying to check it since Eddie left he has a text from an unknown number “Guess who *guitar emoji* *ring emoji*” Steve cannot stop grinning the rest of his shift.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Character Driven vs. Plot Driven

I had someone message me asking what these terms meant and which Miraculous was and if it explained the writing, especially in context of the ending of season five and that's not something I can answer in a quick reply, so you all get a post instead!

Intro

At first glance, “character driven” and “plot driven” are somewhat confusing terms because almost every story has characters making choices that make things happen and almost every story has some kind of plot that's driving the action, so what do these terms even mean? Why do we use them?

The answer is that we generally don’t? These are high-level categorizations that I’ve almost exclusively seen talked about in things like writing classes where the instructor is trying to help you figure out your style preferences or perhaps painting a genre in broad strokes. I rarely see these terms come up when discussing specific works because they’re not that useful in the mirco. They never excuse or explain writing choices the way something like genre might because genre is a meaningful category and these really aren't. They're too vauge.

Also, as with many such binary categorizations, there’s a spectrum here. On one side is pure plot-driven and on the other is pure character-driven and in between them are most of the stories you'll consume in your life. In spite of that minor issue, I am going to start by defining what these two terms mean at their most extremes because that is relevant to the discussion. We’ll then use Miraculous to get into the nuance of the spectrum.

Character Driven

Character-driven narratives are stories that focus heavily on characters doing – or not doing – things because of their unique personalities, thoughts, and feelings. Stories where the events unfold almost entirely because of who the characters are and what very personal choices they make. Switch the characters and the story would look wildly different or even not exist at all.

When I think of pure character-driven works, I generally think of coming-of-age stories where there’s almost no plot to speak of. It’s just a teenage character struggling with life and learning to accept it. Character studies are another good example.

Plot Driven

Plot-driven narratives are stories that you're engaging with for something other than the characters. The characters are just set pieces that are there to be used by the plot. This means that the characters are probably making choice, but we’re not going to focus on the deep, nuanced reasons for those choices. Change the characters and the choices remain the same because the story is focused on something beyond the characters.

When I think of pure plot-driven stories, I think of stereotypical action movies. Movies where the villain is throwing things at the hero and the hero is overcoming them as fast as they can and so much is happening that you barely even know who these characters are because you're not here for the characters. You're here for the action, so it's fine if the characters are pretty generic. Mystery stories also tend to fit this category as those are often just about the mystery and the characters that aren’t developed beyond what is needed for the puzzle to work.

Nuance

So which is Miraculous?

If we must pick a side, then it’s going to be plot driven because that is Miraculous’ main writing style. It’s not here to study the characters and let them drive the action. It’s here to entertain kids in 20-minute-long chunks where the kids don’t need to know the greater context of who the characters are in order to get what is going on. Pick a random episode and it’s probably going to be one where a random akuma shows up and where everything that happens will never come up again. That is not what character-driven narratives look live. This is not a show brimming with things like Chat Blanc and the season five final. Those are exceptions to the rule.

However, the existence of those episodes and the fact that some of the characters aren't interchangeable shows that this isn’t a purely plot-driven show. The writers do want the characters to effect the world in unique ways decided by their personalities and motivations and relationships. Those are character-driven elements and is why these categories are kind of meaningless in this context. Plot driven vs character driven doesn’t justify or explain Miraculous’ writing choices because many of the writing choices make no sense in either type of story!

Narratives that are mainly plot-driven are not narratives plagued by poor characterization. They’re just ones where the characterization elements aren’t the main focus. You still want your characters to feel authentic and make sense and you can even have moments where the action is effected by who the characters are because plot-driven isn’t some hard rule. As I said at the start, it’s just a general categorization! Genre and format are infinitely more limiting and worthy of discussion because they actually come with some pretty clear rules.

Dunking on Miraculous

The problem with Miraculous is not that the plot is the main driving force of the action. The problem is that characters often make no sense! They act widely out of character for the sake of dragging out the plot, which is the plot driving the narrative, but that doesn’t make it good writing! “Because plot” is not an excuse, it’s just an explanation. In fact, because the show so often ignores the characters’ personalities for the sake dragging out the plot, it actually undermines the entire story because it feels cheap when the story tries to use the characters’ personalities to justify further delays Oh, now you’re letting this matter? Really? How nice. F-off.

Here are some examples of what I mean about the plot-driven nature of the show making inauthentic characters:

Alya is obsessed with finding out everything she can about the miraculous and even becomes a full-time team member in season four with the explicit job of tracking down the butterfly and the peacock, but she never does anything meaningful in that role. We never see her trying to track down the villains even though her character would absolutely do that. Her lack of action is wildly inauthentic.

Gabriel and Nathalie learn all of the temp heroes identities at the end of season three and make two minor efforts to do something with that information that before letting their god-tier knowledge fizzle to nothing even though those same temp heroes never stop being used. This is out of character for both of them, especially Nathalie. In a story that was true to its characters, this would have meaningful consequences such as all the temp heroes having to be benched and/or the villains guessing that Ladybug is someone who knows these people since they have some obvious connections.

The secret identities are the only reason Ladybug lost all of the miraculous at the end of season four and Adrien knows this. The season also ends with Ladybug promising to trust him more and the next season opens on an episode where she does just that. In spite of this, Adrien never even tries to tell her about the secret identity thing and Ladybug never seems to become more open with her partner because, if the show did those things, then an identity reveal would happen and they can't let that happen so, once again, plot trumps characterization.

When a show is plagued by asinine choices such as these while also trying to claim it has these overarching plots and meaningful character beats, the story can come to feel disingenuous and frustrating to a lot of fans. That’s why we can get something as divisive as the season five ending. Because of the poor writing that lead up to that final, it’s hitting different people in different ways depending on how tolerant they are of a lot of the shows previous flaws.

Would it be hard for Marinette to tell Adrien the truth? Sure! That struggle is - in theory - a genuinely good character beat, but it falls flat for many because it comes after multiple seasons of forced, inauthentic delaying tactics that spat in the face of established characterization for basically every meaningful character. With those in mind, it’s hard to view the secret keeping as some authentic, meaningful choice for Marinette’s character when she and many others have been denied so many other authentic, meaningful choices.

This is extra true because her choice to keep both Adrien and Chat Noir in the dark just compounds the issue of the authentic growth that Marinette has been denied! I briefly touched on this in that last example in my list, but we just spent an entire season watching her and Chat Noir maintain their distance in spite of that being something that should have changed based on the character-based events of the last season. Remember, season four gave us this moment in Penalteam:

Ladybug: (looks around them and frowns) I'm sorry, I've been a bad captain. I played a solo game, I forgot we're a team. I'm gonna need all of you now, more than ever. Rooster Bold: Are you sure? I'm not really.. Ladybug: You're an excellent player, Rooster Bold. That's why I chose you. That's why I chose all of you! Let's play together, and bring all of our individual strengths together onto the field!

And this moment in the final, which is the two-part episode directly after Penalteam:

Ladybug: Why don't you just give up on me? I've lost ALL the Miraculous! I'm the worst Guardian EVER! I wanted to control everything, I didn't listen to you, I lied to you, I kept you at a distance! Every time you offered me a helping hand, I never took it! I really made a mess of EVERYTHING! (continues sobbing)

We are, as always, going to ignore that these things don't really match the story that season four told and instead take them at face value since this is the stated lesson. The viewers are being directly told that Ladybug went into season five having learned to trust others and stop keeping Chat Noir at a distance.

But did she? What actually changed in season five? I can't think of anything. Season five maintained all of the secrets and ended by adding new ones. We also had to suffer through Marinette doing absolutely nothing to try to find the missing kwamis even though that is wildly inauthentic to her character. Once that girl has a problem to solve, she obsesses over it! It's one of the few things that consistently gets her acting normal around Adrien, so why did her brain shut off and go full-Adrien for all of season five?

Add in the fact that a major plot of season five was outing Lila's lies and lies being bad and Marinette keeping this secret falls incredibly flat both plot-wise and character-wise. There's a reason that one of the main justification people use for the lie is a scarf from season one that we have literally never seen again and that Marinette never actually lied about. The show simply did not set itself up to make Marinette's lie feel like some authentic character beat. The best justification most people can give is that a 14-year-old would probably struggle to reveal this secret.

To be fair, that is a believable justification. That's believability is why the season five ending could have genuinely worked in a better show where the characters felt more authentic or even if it came much earlier in the story. If this was the season two ending, then I think that most people would be engaged by it and I’d probably even be defending Marinette’s actions because this is a massive thing to put on someone’s shoulders and she was early in her journey. Heck, I have defended her actions by pointing out that she was the last-informed of the group of people in the know and none of them are telling Adrien, so this is not all on her.

But that's the best I can do while being authentic to the story because this lie isn’t part of a story with authentic characters. Marinette has not been set up to lie like this and the lie is being told at the end of a season full of poor storytelling after multiple seasons of stalling tactics, making it impossible to take this lie seriously. Even if Miraculous was a primarily character-driven show, you can’t use that to justify the lie while ignoring all the poor characterization that surrounds it. The writers gave Marinette the kind of journey that should lead to her being brave enough to tell the truth, not the kind of journey where she was too much of a coward to tell the truth. The writing also never set up Nathalie or Kagami as the kind of people who would just bow to Marinette's wishes. It is glaringly obvious that this is all happening as a delaying tactic and not because it's a good choice for the characters or the plot.

[oceanwithouthermoon]

ive come to realise that i dont actually hate kubokai, i just hate the way people write them