#her comments just prove she’s not mature for her age

[kavehater]

Ah 🤨 what ?!

[cuntdevil]

★ ROUGH AROUND THE EDGES.

you've made your way up the rankings and retired pro-hero, dynamite aka bakugo katsuki, couldn't be more proud.

( fic demographics. ) boku no hero academia, bakugo katsuki, sexually mature | minors, ageless & blank blogs: do not interact & 7370 words.

╰┈➤ retired pro-hero!bakugo katsuki, sidekick turned pro-hero!reader (she/they), age gap (bakugo in his early to mid fifties/reader in their early thirties), alcoholic consumption, standing sixty-nine, playful banter, some bratty behavior, rough sex, unprotected sex (creampie), multiple orgasm, mating press, cum swallowing, slight slapping, dirty talk, etc.

( author's note. ) i realized that im a basic bitch and usually stick to the same kinks and positions in my smut and decided to change it up slightly. ended up having so much fun that im now currently in a bakugo rut and want him to do some very nasty shit to me.

Bakugo doesn’t quite remember when he started feeling so old. When did his hearing become so sensitive? Was it from the multiple times he had was an inch away from his own end— a ringing in his ear that was damn-near deafening? Or is it simply because he’s halfway to his sixties? When had his appetite become so bland? How come he can’t drink as much as he wants now that he’s retired from being a pro-hero? 

He thought the moment he finally received an actual break, things would get better, but he’s wishing to go back. Is there a type of quirk that’ll de-age him? It doesn’t have to last forever, just long enough where he can bask and reminisce in the feeling of being young and in his prime. Now he’s in his mid-fifties and he can’t move as freely as he wants to anymore. He was once a high-ranking hero working his ass off to be at the top and giving himself little time to enjoy it. Not that he could, danger was always a millisecond away. He got everything he ever wanted. He should be proud of it, and he is. He truly is, but God damn, sometimes does he have regrets. 

He’s still nursing this glass of whiskey that the bartender served him for ten minutes, sitting at the bar of a pristine place only open to pro-heros and sidekicks, active or retired. It’s a Thursday evening, a quiet night unlike its usual business. Bakugo’s always here on a Thursday, so much so that the moment he walks in, the bartender Akiri already has his drink waiting for him. Always cold and fresh, like it was served right in front of him. She has a weird quirk— everlasting ice— but it proves to be great in her line of business. 

The television is on and despite the music playing, he can hear the current news report. 

“This just in on Pro-Hero ranking, Spiderweb continues to climb the charts, their venomous webs seemingly seeping a new poison that makes every fall in love with her. Rumor has it that she’ll be the number one hero within the next month—”

Bakugo doesn’t hear your arrival, not hearing the jingle of the overhead bells the moment you walk in. He doesn’t even hear the moment you slide out the chair, its legs scraping against the tiled ground. You frown as his focus remains on the television, watching you when the real deal is right there. He really is getting rusty.

“You're losing your touch, Dynamite,” you slide on the stool, grabbing his drink right out of his hand the moment he falls out of his trance. “A villain could've walked right in and you would've been—” you snap your fingers. “—done for.”

He ignores your comment because he knows you're right. Can't argue that he still had the skills. He had some, but some wouldn't be enough. Instead he takes you, drinking you with his eyes. You're still in your hero suit that closely resembles everyday clothing to the regular eye, but Bakugo knows how you designed your hero fit, he helps you improve it after all. 

An ashy purple top that sucked you in, holding you in place. It had a dark gem-like pattern on it that people could mistake for rhinestones, but you were intricate with the design, using the same fluid you use to take down villains to help create the spider web pattern that runs down the top. Around your wrists, are smaller and more stylistic versions of his gauntlets, resembling bangles to help you store sweat. Similar to his quirk, you form the webs through your build up of yours with further additions. He remembered you explaining just exactly how your quirk works, but started to check out once it became too biological. 

Your black pants were baggy, helping with your own comfort as you had a fanny pack around your waist, holding them up. The boots you wore were another storage for your sweat, your clothes being a tool to absorb your bodily fluids, where you were able to experiment with yourself and further prove your usefulness. It definitely contrasted with your old sidekick uniform— a skimpy piece that you paid someone to have designed for you and you didn't have the heart to tell that you didn't like it. Considering that you're climbing the rankings now, he figures you've finally grown that backbone you used to lack when he first got you. 

“Well, if it isn't Spiderweb,” he turns in his seat to face you. It's apparent that he still works out, arms still bulging out, though he's gaining some chub in some places. But that scar on his face and his facial expression doesn't have you fooled, he's still rough around the edges. “I still prefer Deadly Spider, by the way.”

You roll your eyes with the tilt of your head as you scoff out sarcastically, “Of course, you do, Explosion Murder God— whatever it is.”

“Haha,” he feigns laughter, subconsciously scooting closer to you. “What're you doing here? Shouldn't you still be on patrol?”

“I'm not rumored to become number one for nothing,” you wink. I finished up early. Bakugo snorts. Finishing up early doesn't exist, and you know that. Hearing his snort, you stop the joking and become a little more serious. You technically weren't lying when you said you finished up early. “I was on a case for a while. I should still be out there, but I managed to crack shit down and I decided I needed to reward myself after a long day.”

He nods, bringing his glass to his lips finally. “You've gotten good,” he gestures to the screen.

“I had a good mentor,” you smile. He chuckles at that, “Damn right, ya did.”

You can't help but giggle as you slump in the chair. You can see him looking at you from the corner of his eyes, those vermillion eyes that used to always be set in a scowl now seem to be brighter. He lets out a breath as he downs the whiskey in one go. “‘m proud of ya, (Y/N). You're not disappointing me after all.”

“Have I ever?” You expect the answer to be yes. That there must've been times where you've disappointed him, especially in your early days of being a sidekick. A few UA graduates that had your tail between your legs and didn't know how you survived the lot of it. You made stupid mistakes and were chastised for it. Surely those were the moments where he was obviously disappointed in you, right? 

There's a long pause before he's shaking his head, beckoning the bartender over and asking for two more glasses. The bartender is quick, placing one in front of you and Bakugo. You're not a drinker, but you take a few sips from it. “Nah. Always knew I passed the torch to the right person.”

You snort, calling his blasphemy. “You're lying to me to make me feel good. What about that time I dropped that serum?”

“It was your first big case with me as a fresh graduate,” he remembered that day vividly. It was a month in of you being his sidekick. You were used to being by his side during patrols and smaller cases. He didn't expect to have you thrown in something like that so soon. He wanted to leave you behind, but others thought otherwise and in a rare moment, he didn't follow his intuition. “You were bound to fuck up after being thrown in with the wolves.”

Your eyes widen at his nonchalance, but they become serious in an effort to prove him wrong. Why would you want to? Bakugo can't understand as you start relaying moments where you messed up, whether it was a small accident or a huge fuckup. Stubborn as an ass, Bakugo still upholds his position. “Quit it, won'tcha? If I thought y’er a disappointment, you'd’ve been fired a long time ago.”

“Well,” you start to tear up. “That's refreshing to hear after all.”

“Now, don't make me change my mind!” He knows you all too well, seeing how the corner of your eyes start to water. “Here I thought ya finally grew a backbone, but y’still cry like a baby.”

“What?” You exclaim, not denying his claims. “I've never cried in front of you. How'd you even know?”

“Y’always were on the verge of tears, honey,” he smirks. “It wasn't hard to miss.”

The way honey fell from his lips with ease. His raspy voice sent something straight through you that it was hard to keep your composure. You're starting to remember your younger years where you'd ogle him, all while trying to not cry from him yelling at you. Despite how rough he seemed back then, you had developed a crush that you thought you grew out of. But, here you are, falling back into old ways. 

If Bakugo notices a shift, he doesn't mention it. Instead, swiveling back around to stare at God knows what. You clear your throat, taking a huge gulp of the whiskey. Your throat burns as you quickly question why Bakugo seems to like it so much. “I'm getting better though. At hiding my tears, and I do have a backbone, by the way. Just took me a while to find it, but it's all intact.”

“Good to know,” Bakugo says, dismissively, the atmosphere changing. You try to say something else, but you can't find anything to talk about anymore, despite your mind running with lots of stuff. You remembered a month into Bakugo's retirement that he started coming to Sakura's Blossom— the bar you're in now. A popular place for heroes to relax, somewhere Bakugo used to always avoid as a hero, becoming a favorite for him. When he pushed you to become a hero, your early days were close in its vicinity. You'd always see him walk in, but he's never seen you. It became a regular for him to come in on Thursdays, making it easy for you to find him.

You've always wanted to run after him, tell him how much you're grateful for his endorsement and that you'll make him proud. Because in the midst of it all, you had forgotten to and it was slowly eating at you. You had been raised to always give gratitude and you couldn't even thank the man that put you where you are today. But now, your throat is dry and you still can't. 

You can. You. Can. You can—

Bakugo pushes out against the chair, standing up as he pays for the bill— for both yours and his drinks. He nods towards the bartender before looking down at a speechless you. “Good night, Spiderweb.”

You should've said it then, but you don't. “Good night, Dynamite.”

—

You managed to change your schedule, so that you have Thursday nights free, managing to find another hero willing to switch with you. You start making regular appearances when Bakugo's there, and when he asks, you always lie. Though, you know that he knows you're lying. However, he never says your word. Simply just enjoying your company. 

You missed him, missed having him around. And he realizes that he's missed you. When he first became a pro-hero and as he grew comfortable in this dangerous career, he flew solo. Did everything on his own and didn't want a shadow that wasn't his own following him around. However, as he grew in age and realized that a second hand wouldn't hurt, he hired you to help make things easier for him. 

At first, you were a mere pain in the ass. Like you had said, you had messed up countless times and God, was he close to firing you at plenty of points in time. But, something was hindering him from doing so. He just couldn't do it. So, he kept you and trained you to be who you needed to be— helped shape yourself into someone he was proud of, as well as yourself. Sometimes when you'd seek his advice, your voice would get soft and he’d be reminded of that young woman you once were, but you've grown so much. You still might not believe him, but damn is he proud of you.

“Breaking News! Spiderweb has found themself in a web of her own. An elaborate plan on her part turned against her as a villain gives her a taste of her own medicine. Luckily, other pro-heros within her vicinity were able to help rescue them, but she was gravely injured and was brought to the hospital. Reporters have yet to hear about their condition—

Bakugo doesn't think twice before he's springing from his seat, dropping some cash and heading in your direction. He should've known from the moment that you were ten minutes late than when you usually drop in to chat that something was up. “Fuck,” he curses, climbing into his vehicle and speeding in your direction. If he's got it right, he knows exactly where you've been taken. 

You've been in and out of consciousness the moment an IV has been shoved in your veins from the joint of your arms and biceps. You were in an immense amount of pain, nearly every part of your body aching. When you squint your eyes open, you're greeted with white and you know you're in the hospital. It should be a relief, you're alive, but you feel the tears building up. You've failed. And you have before, but this time it's different. 

In the midst of finding your groove and truly feeling like yourself, you've been forced flat on your back and lost the upper hand, having to depend on others to rescue you instead of doing the rescuing. You were careless, wreckless, a disappoint—

“Where is she?” You recognize that voice. That gruff and raspy voice. It doesn't help soothe the pain, only making it worse as you begin to sob. The machine you're hooked up to starts beeping erratically. 

“Sir, we need you to calm down. She's just starting to become stable. She's in good hands—”

“Then why won't you let me see her?” Bakugo slams his fist into the desk. “She's not in surgery, is she?”

“No, but…” It goes silent from there, hearing a slew of voices and footsteps rushing towards you before Bakugo follows. “That's her! Let me see—”

“Sir, if you do not calm down, we won't have a choice in having you removed!”

You don't remember much from that point on, knowing that Bakugo didn't go down without a fight and probably finding some sort of loophole into seeing you again. When you open your eyes once more, you're more stable and not in and out of sleep. You're still in pain, but feeling slightly better. 

“Yer up,” a deep voice booms, filled with exhaustion as a huge yawn leaves Bakugo's mouth. “‘Bout damn time.”

You should be happy that he stayed to make sure you're in a stable condition and that he cares for you, but you aren't. Only reminded of your mistake. “You—you should go.”

You end up croaking and stammering on your words, but he makes out what you say and scoffs. “What the hell are ya talkin’ ‘bout? Didn't come rushin’ here and fight off a guard just to be told to leave.” 

“Dynamite—”

“Bakugo—”

“Dynamite,” you pause, expecting him to rebuttal, but he doesn't. “Please, I don't have the strength. And, I don't want you seeing me like this.”

“Seeing you like how?”

“Vulnerable.”

He snorts, crossing his arms as he stands over you by the bed. His big arms bulge as he doesn't take you seriously for a second. “Don't give me that shit. I'm stayin’.”

You don't even know why you tried arguing with a stubborn ass like him. You should've known it was pointless. He always seems to get his way, so instead. You do what you do best. Cry. 

And it's worse than he can ever imagine. You're in full-blown tears, sobbing heavily that your eyes will be bloodshot red by the end of it. He doesn't know what to do or what to say to get you to stop, leaving him speechless as he can do nothing but stand there. Why don't you want him there so bad?

“I… I failed you,” you finally sob out, clenching your fists as they crack. Your nails dig into your skin as you force your body to turn away from him.

“What are you talking about?” Bakugo asks, incredulous. “Failed me, how?”

“I got too ahead of myself,” you further explain. “Thought I could take that villain on my own, only to get a taste of my own medicine.”

Is this what this is about? Why you were in such a haste to kick him out of your hospital room? 

His uncontrollable laughter catches you off guard, having you spinning your head to look at him so hard that it hurts. “W-why are you laughing? It's not funny!” 

“Oh, honey.” There he goes, calling you honey in your horrible predicament. “But it is!”

His laughter dies down not too shortly after, a hand instinctively reaching to caress you, pushing away your braids that nurses lazily put in a ponytail. “It was bound to happen. You climb up the ranks, get a little cocky and then God strikes ya down. Happens to us all.”

“You make my near-death experience sound like it's normal,” you mumble.

“It is,” he points out. “For people like us. It's what we signed up for— it's what you signed up. Be grateful you're alive. From what I'm hearing, you'll make a great recovery. If Recovery Girl was working here, you'd have been out of here quicker than this.”

“I thought you were going to chastise me,” you admit. “It's what I wanted— what I needed.”

“If ya wanted it so much, you wouldn't’ve tried kicking me out.”

“Mmm, maybe you're right,” you give up. “You should still, though.”

His eyes grow dark in a teasing fashion, looking down at you. “And give ya what you want so easily? Not a fat chance.”

—

As Bakugo had said you would, you make a speedy recovery, getting back on your toes in no time. You take his advice, taking it easy and to not make the mistakes he made earlier on in going solo. Your ranking has dropped a few, having to live with the next month or so with people ridiculing and noting how you got full of yourself. They were right, you did, and you'll learn to be better— to accept help and ask for it. Being a pro-hero isn't a one-man gig, after all. 

You still have your Thursday nights free to spend them with Bakugo. Your accident seems to bring the two of you incredibly closer, and to the few onlooking pros that saunter inside, it's too close. You scrunch up your nose in laughter. You slap at his chest in your fit of giggles as his arms instinctively wrap around your waist and pull you closer, your head falling to his chest. You're laughing so hard that it's hard to breathe and you're nearly choking. “Woah there, honey. ‘M not that funny.”

You stop laughing, expression turning serious in a millisecond that it's nearly concerning until your voice is barely above a whisper, “Stop calling me honey. I don't think you're aware of what it does to me.”

For a moment, Bakugo’s eyes widen at your openness before they share the same darkness that yours have been growing. “I wasn't, but now that I am, I think I'll just abuse that little info.”

— 

Maybe Bakugo’s alright with this period in his life after all. Being able to say that he's an experienced man, where despite his long days of pro-hero work, he's managed to keep his dick wet through it all. It means he knows how to please someone of your caliber. 

He's a big man, despite the pudge that's grown on him. He can't workout as much as he used to, but picking you up? You're light as a feather. 

The moment he got you through his front door, he couldn't wait any longer. He needed you in a way he's never felt with any other woman. The taste of your lips don't compare to the plenty of one night stands he's had. He's got you in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist as he pushes you against the door. The tent in his pants continues to form, rubbing against you as slick sticks to the crotch of your panties. 

“Fuck,” he curses deliriously, pulling away from the kiss with a hiss. His eyes are low and hazy, filled with wanton lust. “Bet ya taste so good. Been wanting to try ya for a while.”

“Oh really?” You giggle, eyes sparkling in interest. You buck your hips into him, feeling his cock against your core. He's pulling at the hem of your shirt, helping you out of this damned hero costume. “Since when?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs with a pant. With the top of your suit gone, you do him the favor of kicking off your pants. Leaving you nearly bare and for him ogle. His eyes are glued to your chest, getting rid of your bra next to play with your dark and pert nipples. Your breasts are perky, ready to be sucked on. He takes a nipple in his mouth before remembering what else he wanted to say. “Since ya started stalking me at the bar.”

“Wait,” despite the sexual situation you find yourself in, your eyes widen at the sheer fear that he knew that you had watched him. That he had known the small fact that you had memorized his scheduled visits to Sakura's Blossom. You push against his chest, pulling him away from your breasts. “You knew that I knew all this time?” 

“Feel like we're no longer on the same page here,” he furrowed his eyebrows to clarify, fingers trailing to pinch at your nipples. “But since ya started yer regular visits.”

“Oh,” your breath of relief turns into a whine when he twists rather harshly. 

“Y’were watching me from before?” His gaze becomes stern in a teasing manner, moreso like he's bemused by the fact. 

“Used to patrol right next to Sakura's,” you shamelessly admit, gnawing on your bottom lip as you start to grind against his cock. It has him remembering why you're here, what he wants to do to you. “A hot spot for pro-heros— a villain's bound to hit some day.”

“Oh, shut up already,” he finally huffs out. 

“You're the one asking the—” You squeal as Bakugo flips you upside down, feeling his nose press into your mound. He takes a deep inhale that you can feel. His hold on you gets tight, a visceral grip that will have your sides aching by the morning. “Oh, gosh! Dynamite!”

Your damn dedication to calling him his hero name pisses him off, especially in a position like this. “Don't call me Dynamite when I'm tryna eat yer pussy.” The slap to your ass echos the room, you swallowing a breath of air in your shock. “It's Bakugo or Katsuki from this point on, got it?”

He slaps your ass again at your silence. “Ya got it?”

“Fuck,” you finally mewl out. “Yes, Bakugo.”

His cock twitches, loving the way you say his last name. He smirks. “I'll make sure that I have it engraved in your head when I'm done with you.”

“Didn't you tell me to shut up alr— oh…” 

You feel his tongue against your covered mound, pressing into the fabric before the sound of sucking. He can taste you through it. He can taste your juices through the cotton of your panties with no shame at all. His eyes flutter shut as he feels your hands reach for his hips and dig your nails into him. They go through his shirt and into his skin as you can't help but roll your pelvis into him. 

You can feel the blood rush to your head, but fuck are you enjoying this. His desperation to taste you at his front door, not bothering to get you down on a bed. More juices pool from you as you gain more stability in this position, bucking your hips up to his mouth as you feel his teeth graze your skin, catching the hem of your panties and tugging it to the side. The cold conditioned air that breathes down on your core is brutal and in the darkness, Bakugo can see your pussy shine in its wetness. “Shit, I’ve gotcha all to myself, don't I? You're just mine for the taking.”

Your hands traverse to his bottoms, unzipping it as you nod. “‘m all yours, Bakugo.”

You pull down his pants as best as you can, palming his cock through his underwear and hearing a slew of curse words fall from his lips. “Yer gonna be the death of me.”

Finally do you reach in his pants, pulling out his cock. He's been losing a lot of things due to age lately, and he's grateful that an erection isn't on the list yet. Hard and prominent and all for you, he can only see so much, trying to get a good look at your face from the position, but it's hopeless, he can only feel how good you are. With one hand, he uses it to wrap around your waist tightly before using the other to rub two fingers between your folds, hissing when he feels your tongue against his tip. He spreads your slick down your pussy, making your lips all messy of yourself while he tries to remain steady as you take him in.

You can't help but moan, feeling yourself pulsate at the idea of sucking Bakugo off. How the sheer thought of it makes your pussy pool with heat. Legs wrapped around his head, you yearn for more than just his fingers as they dance around your entrance, his middle and index digits a mess. Your heart races as your tongue swirls around his tip, tasting his precum against your lips. You salivate, letting your spit lubricate his cock as you use a hand to hold it up. You shuffle to get your tongue at the base, the tip of it touching the juncture of where his cock and balls meet. You feel a vein just right there and it seems to be a sensitive spot for dear old Bakugo, causing him to shudder the moment you touch it. 

“Keep doing that n’ I'm gonna cum like a little boy,” he warns you. And you were going to keep at it and play the part of a dirty little vixen until you feel his wet muscle at the center of your nectarine. Lips around your clit, Bakugo groans around it, tasting you from the fruit itself. It surely keeps you occupied as you momentarily lose focus. You grip around his base, squeezing it and causing his fingers to dig deep into you. Whimpering at the pain, it jolts you out of your haze as you bring his cock to your lips. It's a ravenous torture between the two of you, trying to bask in your pleasure while trying to grant the other some as well. 

Still, you mewl and moan around his length, eyes sparkling in delight as you swallow his shaft. Cheeks hollowing as his pink, cut top rests on your tastebuds. Pre continues to leak from him, a translucent mess that slides down with ease. He feels so good inside your mouth, and you can feel his legs flexing and contracting at what you're administrating. A true, dirty vixen you are.

But, Bakugo's no better to you. Lapping at your pussy like a starved man, both of you are so eager to give to each other. He tastes the intricacies of your pussy, mapping it out with his tongue as his grip around your waist tightens and his free hand is back to join the party. A thumb pressing down on your clit, building up pressure and has your legs tightening around his head. Around his length, your moans become more high-pitched at the overstimulation, feeling your legs tense then untense. 

Your face is a mess, saliva dripping down to your forehead due to this upside down state. Your head beginning to hurt but you don't have the heart to tell Bakugo to stop because you don't want to. It's bound for him to change positions soon, but gosh, you want to delve in this a little longer. You continue to bob your head, the wet sounds mixing with your slurps further sounding the room. You become daring, letting go of your other hand around him and putting all of your faith into Bakugo. Your upper body dangling upside down as your other free hand travels to cup his balls, shortly remembering that spot he oh-so warned you about. 

You fondle them, greeted back to that jerk of his leg as his waist’s now pressed to the door. He momentarily pulls off of you to curse, “Shit.”

However, he never corrected you or tried to get you to stop, simply speeding up his attack on your clit to receive a close response as well. It works, but you remain focus as your mouth is off him for a second as you stroke his length, finally taking in just how big he is and how you truly weren't able to fit all of him in. All this time, working with an aged cock that could destroy you. It has you whimpering out to yourself at the anticipation of your pussy being stretched out by him. His cock glistens even with such a lack of light, your spit being the work of that. Your strokes are quick and languid, mirroring his reign on your clit, causing your hips to jerk and twitch every so often. 

Your actions falter every once in a while, but you're so determined. You're always so determined, that's what Bakugo adores about you. Even as a sidekick that often fucked up, you had your own way of showing it. You were just like him in a way, stubborn as a mule to get what you want. You just needed to learn how not to give in to people when they bite harder. And here he is, gently nibbling down on your folds, but you refuse to back down, determined to make him come undone. 

You fondle his balls, adjusting his cock up, going to that dangerous place that he warned about. A chaste kiss before your lips are fully around it and you're suckling on one of his sacs. In this position, you can truly get a good whiff of him. There's a musk, but don't be mistaken, he's sure to clean himself. It's not overpowering as you can still smell the minty hint of whatever brand of bar soap he's using. The combination has your senses going to overdrive as your legs tighten immensely around him for a moment. 

That typical clench of your stomach goes ignored as you're determined to make Bakugo release. You're unforgiving and relentless, stroking his cock as mouth tries to fit his second sac of balls in. Your moan has become a melody to his ears as his head hits the door and he tries to remain focused on your pussy. She's so damn close, he grunts to himself. Don't give into her just yet. However, it's easier said than done when he feels his cock twitching in your hold and he moans. Sending vibrations straight to your core, your achievement and his response is enough for that band in your stomach to finally snap as he lets go. 

You both gift each other your essence. You, you're the forbidden nectar in the garden of Eden, your juices so natural that it tastes sweet. There's a tang to it that has him quickly intoxicated as he finds himself addicted. Him, he's like a refreshing taste of cold water on a hot summer day. You're feeling nothing but delight when his white cum shoots down your throat and you have no choice but to swallow everything— you wouldn't dare spit anything out. 

You both need a breather to come back to the present. You're still stuck in this now painful position as your head comes to throb and you have to croak out Bakugo's name to remind him. Slowly but surely does he get you back on the right side up before finally taking a step away from the door. His legs work like muscle memory as his lips plant on yours, swallowing away the pain as he makes a beeline for his bedroom. Pushing open the door and not bothering to have it shut, he hurries to put you down on the bed. He still has you in his arms when he does, grinding his still hardened length against your pussy. All traces of your release disappeared on his tongue, but you can still taste the remnants of yourself, as you both can taste each other. 

Now that you're on a bed, you feel yourself slowly checking out as the pain is slowly alleviated by your comfort. Bakugo mutters some stuff that you couldn't care less about, only mewling and nodding in agreement until you feel his hand grab your face, squeezing your cheeks. It's hard to focus on him, to stare right back into his eyes. 

“Awww,” he coos. “Is it all too much for my baby?” He noticed your disorientation immediately, planting a chaste kiss on your lips as his eyebrows knit with concern. “She doesn't want to stop, does she?”

Immediately comprehending that, you shake your head. “Mmm, no,” you squeak out. However, Bakugo's lips drop to your ears, whispering out, “are ya sure? We can always—”

“Yes— yes, I'm sure,” you persist. “I need you, Bakugo. Would you not help a woman in need?”

He doesn't like the way you stammered out that yes, still peering down at you. However, your eyes have significantly steadied now and that same brand of determination is back on your face to finally convince him. He finally caves with a barely audible ‘okay.’ He dives down to meet you for another kiss, hands roaming to grip your legs. So focused on the kiss, you're taken aback when he hikes on leg up, your knee touching your shoulder. His cock is perfectly slotted in between your folds before he does the same with your other leg. 

“Bakugo,” you groan at this change of position. He claims that you'll be the death of him, but you beg to differ. Your soiled panties are still on you, which Bakugo is sure to get rid of in a hurried haste, pulling so hard at it that it rips. You gasp, calling out his name once more, but he dismisses your complaint. “You'll be fine.”

You feel so exposed with your body pressed like this, in the dark with Bakugo looming over you. His cock slides in between your folds, wet sounds running through the air. You don't know what he's waiting for, so you do the work for him, wanting him to ravish you just as much as he does. That familiar grip returns to his cock and before you can press his head to your entrance, he slaps your hand away. You whine in protest, but he pushes you. “Have some patience, honey. Good things take time.”

The return of that damn nickname he's given you. Once used sarcastically, now one that he's going to use to his advantage because of you— all because you couldn’t keep in your attraction for him anymore. You should be grateful for it. It's landed up in this position, but now he always has the upperhand over you, knowing just how to make you cave. 

You clench around nothing, feeling his shaft go in a back and forth rhythm as it barely presses down on your clit how you want it to. You whine nonetheless, hoping that Bakugo will pity your desperation and give in. “Bakugo, please… I need you in me. Need to know how you feel.”

One hand comes to grab your face roughly, squeezing your cheeks to make your lips pucker up. “Oh, is that right? You need to know how I feel inside you? Or what, hm?” He challenges. “Ya gonna die without knowing.”

You nod, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. “I just might.”

He can't help but chuckle at that. “Yer cryin’, again? Yer tears don't work on me anymore, honey. They just egg me on. Love to see ‘em now. Know that I've got ya all desperate for me.”

“Don't care,” you mewl. “I want you inside me.”

He keeps up at it, gliding his cock between your folds and letting his shaft collect your juices. You're so fucking wet for him that all he wants to do is bury himself deep inside you and finish, but he practices what he preaches and holds himself back. “Is this how you are with all the men you sleep with? Such a whiny baby. Rumored to be the next number one hero, a crybaby for cock?”

He taunts and teases you, pushing out his bottom lip as he tuts. “It's almost cute.”

From all your whining and desperate begging, you don't realize that Bakugo’s now slotted the tip of his cock at your entrance. It's not until his head is inside and he's deep inside you that you fully register his intrusion, a loud sob coming from your lips as he stretches you out. But just as quick as you were shocked, moans slip easily from your mouth as you drag out just how you're feeling. 

Watching you—watching how your eyes are blazed with a fire that's filled with wanton lust. He's never seen it with everyone else and he quickly realized that you've gotten him under your spell and he's so deep in it that he doesn't want to retract. It's as though you're a succubus, a demon that feeds off of lust, with the way the corner of your lips turn upwards in a smile. Your hands come to wrap around his neck and Bakugo puts all his weight on you, causing him to go deeper in you. 

You feel the tip of his cock kiss your cervix, pain mixing in with pleasure. Your back’s barely able to arch against the bed under Bakugo’s heavy weight, but your nails digging into the nape of his neck is enough to communicate just how you feel. As do your words.

“Ba— Katsuki, you feel so good,” that sudden shift from his last to his first name nearly has him cumming inside you too early. The creaking of the bed halts for a moment as his crimson red eyes look deep into yours. With his stillness, it makes you focus on the length that's against your walls, stretching you out. “Yeah, I think I prefer you calling me Katsuki better. Be a good girl and keep at it, will ya?”

It sounds like a request, but in this position, you know it’s a command. You don’t have a chance to respond, not that you were going to. He’s thrusting into you once more, but this pace is more brutal than before as he sits up and drills into your pussy without any remorse. He pushes down on your legs, making them ache as they press against your breast, making them more accentuated. Your moans become more high-pitched as you cry out his name— his first name. 

“That’s it,” he grins, maniacally. “Call my name out like the dirty little slut you are. Let my neighbors know who’s making you feel this good.”

One of your hands drag to cling to his bicep, making marks in a matter of seconds as your juices spill out of you. You’ve never had anyone else make you feel the way that Bakugo does. How he easily takes control and dominates you. With him, he lets you know that while you run the streets of Tokyo, Japan, you’ll always be underneath him. The stinging pain that runs through your lower body is delicious and while you know you’ll bear the consequences in the morning, you bask in the pleasure it secretes now. 

In this moment, you become delirious as your imagination becomes active as you can see a future with Bakugo, but is that what he wants? Hands back on his neck, you tug him down to you. “Katsuki… need you.”

“You’ve already got me, honey,” Bakugo kisses the corner of your lips, pace slowing by a pinch. “What more do you need?”

“Kiss me,” you whisper, eyes becoming glossy with wanton need. Something snaps within the both of you, a sudden shift that changes the trajectory of your relationship with him forever. Time stops for a moment before his lips are on you— lust turning into something more, something fatal. No longer is he pistoning inside you to oblivion, but holding you with more care. Precise thrusts that still get the work done to having you call out his name without a care in the world. 

He’s hitting that special spot inside of you, memorizing the sounds you make just for him. That familiar coil comes back and you bring Bakugo closer to you. “G’nna cum. Please make me cum, Katsuki.”

“Anything for you, honey.” He helps you ride out your orgasm, slowing down as he brings your legs to finally lay on the bed. Not too long after does he empty himself inside you, painting your insides white before pulling out completely. He makes eye contact with you. This. This is the perfect time, your mind tells you. 

Getting your breath steady, you peer up at him. “I never did thank you, y’know.”

“For what?” he grunts, sitting up on the bed, completely towering over you as you stay in place. Climbing over you, he’s reaching for something. Shortly after, he tosses you a water bottle that you catch with ease. 

“Just…” you sigh. “For everything.” 

—

FIVE MONTHS LATER 

"Spiderweb has had such a spectacular come up. From working under retired pro-hero, Dynamite, as a sidekick to being endorsed into a hero. She’s climbed the roster faster than anyone else has and while she had her stumbling moments, she came back to kick butt and prove to Japan that she is the hero they need!"

"We’ve managed to get a video with the pro-hero themself about the announcement of her current hero ranking—" Shortly, they pull up separate footage of a next reporter before it shows you.

“Spiderweb, please tell us how it feels to currently be the number one hero of Japan!”

The camera pans to you, your eyes lighting up in delight. You’re panting heavily standing outside in the hot sun, evidently just finishing a case. You have to catch your breath before your attention is fully turned to the camera. “It feels… It feels unbelievable, y’know? I mean, I’ve heard the rumors about it, but for it to actually come true? It’s only been a couple years into becoming a pro-hero and it feels like it’s something I don’t deserve, but I know for sure that I’ve worked my ass off— sorry for the language, kids!

“I’m just really grateful,” you continue your rambling. “I’m really grateful for everyone who believed in me and put their faith in me, especially my old mentor, the man that endorsed me himself. Dynamite, if you’re watching this! I know I’ve already told you this already, but thank you! I couldn’t have gotten here without you. I love— I mean, I’m forever in your favor.”

It’s a Thursday night and he’s not at the bar this time. Instead, he’s at his place, getting ready to head to yours. He’s lucky he kept the television on to hear you say that. He’ll certainly tease you later for it, but now, a sense of pride washes over him.  “That’s my girl.”

( author's note. ) this was only supposed to be 5k words, but gosh i had so much fun writing this. you guys have no clue.

[greengoblinswifey]

𝑭𝒂𝒎𝒆’𝒔 𝑬𝒅𝒈𝒆 ・₊✧🩶 Part I

Pairing— Nicholas Chavez x Model!Reader

Warnings— Mentions of drugs and alcohol, Substance Use, Mature Themes.

A/N— Comment to be a part of the tag list, hope you enjoy this series <3

Series Masterlist

The glossy conference room table reflected the headline of the magazine tossed unceremoniously in front of you.

“America’s New Wild Child: From Runways to Rock Bottom”

Below it was a photo of you stumbling into a hotel lobby, visibly intoxicated, mascara smeared, and your once-iconic dress askew. It wasn’t just one headline, it was everywhere. Every blog, tabloid, and gossip page seemed to have some variation of your downfall plastered across their pages.

Your manager, Angela, sighed heavily from across the table, rubbing her temples. “You see this, right? The Shade Room picked it up. TMZ is all over it. Even Vogue is doing a piece on whether or not you’re the next Kate Moss, but not in a good way.” She leaned forward, her voice sharp. “You’re toxic right now. Nobody wants to touch you.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “This isn’t true. My ex-best friend—she’s jealous. She made this all up.”

Angela gave you a pointed look and slid her iPad across the table. On it was a video—paparazzi footage of you from a few nights ago. You were stumbling out of a car, practically being carried by someone, slurring your words as you waved off photographers.

You groaned and pressed your fingers to your temples. “Y’all please, that was one time.”

“It’s never just one time with you!” snapped Melanie, one of the executives at your agency. “This is becoming a pattern. And we’re not here to babysit you.” She stood, exasperated. “You’re one of the highest-paid models in the world, and now look at you. You’re a liability.”

Angela raised a hand to calm the room. “Give me a few days,” she said, her voice firm. “I’ll clean this up. We’ll fix her image. She’ll be the ‘it girl’ again. I just need time.”

Melanie crossed her arms but didn’t argue. “Fix it fast. Otherwise, we’re done.”

As the meeting wrapped up, you sat silently, staring at the incriminating headlines. After years of grueling work, endless runway shows, and clawing your way to the top, it was all unraveling because of your past addictions and your inability to leave it behind.

Angela pulled you aside as the others left. “You need to clean this up. No more excuses. No more scandals. And definitely no more drunken or high paparazzi shots. Got it?”

You nodded numbly. “Got it.”

“Good. Now, start small. Let’s use that mansion of yours. Throw a party. Invite everyone who matters. Show them the glamorous, sophisticated version of yourself. Make them forget the messy headlines.”

Your lips curved into a small, defiant smile. “A party? That, I can do.”

2 Days Later

The house practically glittered under the LA moonlight, perched in the most exclusive part of the city. Your glam team buzzed around you, perfecting every inch of your hair and makeup as you sipped champagne. Outside the window, you noticed the usually dark house next door was now bustling with activity.

“Looks like someone’s moving in,” you said absently, gesturing with your glass. From the corner of your eye, you saw a guy carrying a box inside. He looked young, around your age maybe two years older, and vaguely attractive, though you didn’t pay much attention.

“Maybe he’ll be better than the last neighbors,” you joked to your stylist, smirking. “If he’s cute, I might even invite him to the party.”

As the night fell, the party roared to life. The mansion was packed with models, actors, and influencers. Music pounded through the walls, and laughter echoed in every corner. You danced like you had something to prove, the champagne flowing freely. At one point, you made out with a fellow model on the balcony to the cheers of a crowd. You were chaos incarnate, and you loved every second of it.

Around midnight, you were helping a tipsy friend into a waiting limo when you noticed someone approaching from the house next door.

“Excuse me.”

You turned, your vision slightly blurred, and found yourself face-to-face with the new neighbor. He was dressed casually—jeans and a hoodie—but his sharp jawline and piercing eyes caught your attention.

“I’m Nicholas,” he said, offering a tight smile. “Nicholas Chavez. I just moved in.”

You arched a brow, leaning lazily against the limo. “And?”

“And I have an audition tomorrow,” he continued, his tone calm but firm. “Your music is loud, and I can’t sleep.”

You laughed, the champagne fizzing in your head. “Well, didn’t you know who you were moving in next to?”

His lips twitched, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I found out too late,” he said dryly, a pointed reference to the headlines.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Funny. I’ve never seen a single headline about you.”

This time, he chuckled softly, though it was more condescending than amused. “Well, I’ll try to keep it that way.” His gaze flicked down briefly before meeting your eyes again.

You noticed, scoffing. “Nice try, but staring at my chest isn’t going to make me turn the music down.”

“Noted,” he replied smoothly, his tone unreadable. “But seriously, could you tone it down? Just a little?”

You waved him off, turning back toward the house. “Good luck with your audition.”

The door slammed behind you as the party continued to rage on. Whatever Nicholas Chavez wanted, it could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, you were untouchable—or so you thought.

You weren’t worried Nicholas would turn out like your last neighbors, the ones who had gleefully run to the press with tales of your ‘wild, disruptive parties’ adding fuel to your already blazing reputation as a noisy party girl.

The party raged on, and you weren’t exactly innocent in keeping it under control. The music blasted as guests danced, smoked, and drank with abandon. Lines of coke were casually set out on mirrored trays, and you caught more than one person lighting up joints in the corners. Even you, despite promising yourself you were done with that lifestyle, gave in after a few glasses of champagne, doing a line or two when a friend coaxed you into it.

By the time the sun started to rise, people were passed out on your marble floors, the air heavy with the stench of spilled liquor and smoke. You stumbled to bed without bothering to clean up, the haze of the night swirling in your head.

You woke to the sound of chaos downstairs—your housekeepers already hard at work, scrubbing every inch of the aftermath. Your head pounded as sunlight streamed in through your curtains. Groaning, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand and blinked at the time. It was already midday.

Dozens of missed calls and messages from Angela stared back at you. She’d been blowing up your phone about a last-minute shoot, one you had completely missed. You cursed under your breath, knowing she’d be furious.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled into the bathroom for a long, scalding shower. As the water poured over you, you couldn’t help but rethink the night before. You’d promised to get it together, to clean up your image, but it was getting harder to hold yourself accountable.

After drying off, you wrapped yourself in a silk robe and walked to your window. Across the lawn, you noticed Nicholas pulling into his driveway. He stepped out of his car looking exhausted, a coffee in hand, wearing a nice suit. You figured he must have just returned from his audition. It must’ve been early. For a brief moment, guilt pricked at you. If he hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, it was probably your fault.

Angela didn’t wait for you to sit down when you arrived at her office. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she snapped, slamming her laptop shut as you walked in.

“I’m sorry, A,” you began, your voice hoarse from the night before.

“Sorry?” she cut you off, standing up and pacing the room. “Do you know what I’ve been dealing with all morning?” She grabbed a folder from her desk and threw it onto the coffee table in front of you. A stack of printouts slid out, screenshots of articles and photos from the party.

The headlines were brutal: “A Drug-Fueled Disaster: Is Y/N Destroying the Modeling Industry?”

Photos showed passed-out models, trays of coke, and worst of all, a video of you taking a line.

You froze, your stomach twisting into knots.

Angela slammed her hands on the desk. “This was supposed to be elegant, extravagant, a chance to clean up your image. Instead, you turned it into some rockstar-adjacent drug den!”

“I didn’t know people were recording,” you said weakly, avoiding her glare.

“That’s not the point!” she barked. “You were supposed to set an example. Little black girls look up to you. This is the image you’re giving them?”

You exhaled sharply, frustrated. “Angela, with all due respect, I’m not their mother. I didn’t ask to be anyone’s role model.”

She rolled her eyes, her frustration palpable. “Well, congratulations, because you’re not much of one anyway. This is your last chance. Do you hear me? Last chance.”

You nodded quickly, desperate to make it right. “I’ll fix it. I swear.”

“I already have something cooking up,” she said sharply, leaning against her desk. “But in the meantime, go downtown, look beautiful, and give them something positive to talk about. No booze, no drugs, no nonsense. Just smile, shop, and sign autographs. Sober.”

You groaned inwardly at the thought of dragging yourself out in public, especially hungover, but you didn’t dare push back. “Got it.”

Your driver dropped you off at one of the most exclusive shopping districts in the city. Bodyguards lingered in the background as you strolled from boutique to boutique, taking your time and letting the paparazzi get their shots.

Every time someone asked for an autograph, you smiled warmly and obliged, posing with fans here and there. This was your coping mechanism—shopping your problems away, hoping the public would eat it up.

“Looking good, Y/N!” one of the paparazzi shouted as you exited a store with bags in hand.

You forced another smile, playing your part, and waved at the cameras before ducking into the backseat of your car.

When you arrived home, the guilt from last night gnawed at you. You couldn’t undo the noise and chaos, but maybe you could soften the blow. After all, Nicholas didn’t deserve to suffer because of your mess. Deciding to make amends, you ordered a small cake from a local bakery with “Welcome” scrawled neatly in frosting.

Holding the cake, you made your way next door and rang his doorbell. At first, there was no response, and for a brief moment, you wondered if he was ignoring you. Maybe he had seen the articles and already formed an opinion. The thought annoyed you, but just as you were about to turn away, the door opened.

Nicholas stood there in joggers and a fitted t-shirt, his face a mix of surprise and curiosity. His hair was slightly disheveled, and he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. His eyes dropped to the cake in your hands.

“Hi, neighbor,” you said with a small, sheepish smile.

He raised an eyebrow, reading the icing. “Welcome?”

“It’s for you,” you explained. “To welcome you to the neighborhood. And, uh, sorry about last night.”

His surprise lingered as he stepped aside to let you in. “Didn’t strike you as the generous, ‘welcome-with-cake’ kind of girl,” he said as you followed him into his sleek, modern kitchen.

The place was immaculate—white marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, and tasteful art on the walls. He set a glass down on the counter and gestured toward a barstool for you to sit.

“Well,” he added with a smirk, “especially not after a night like that. I’m surprised you’re even standing.”

You groaned, slumping into the chair. “Please don’t tell me you’ve seen the articles.”

He grabbed a knife to cut the cake. “The articles, the pictures, the videos, yeah, I’ve seen them.”

You groaned again, covering your face with your hands. “Great. Just what I needed. My new neighbor thinking I’m a train wreck.”

“Not thinking anything,” he said casually, slicing into the cake. His tone was calm, nonchalant. You couldn’t read him, and it annoyed you. Was he judging you? Laughing at you? You couldn’t tell.

You cleared your throat. “Anyway, welcome to the neighborhood. And again, sorry for the noise.”

He placed two plates on the counter, handing one to you. “Thanks. Want to eat this with me? That’s if you’re one of those rare models who actually eat carbs and don’t starve themselves.”

You shot him a pointed look. “Don’t joke about that. And yes, I’ll have a slice. Or two.”

He chuckled softly, taking a seat across from you. As you ate, you studied him a little closer. His face was sharp, striking, he was definitely good-looking, though in a boy-next-door-meets-Hollywood kind of way. Then it hit you where you’d seen him before.

“You’ve been everywhere lately,” you said, setting your fork down. “You were in that Lyle and Erik Menendez show, right?”

He looked up, surprised. “You watched it?”

“I caught the first episode,” you admitted. “It was really good. Intense, but good.”

“Thanks,” he said, his expression softening. “It was a tough project, but worth it.”

You leaned back in your seat. “Hollywood’s a mess. Be careful.”

He nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

The conversation felt easy, almost too easy. Sitting across from him, you couldn’t help but notice how his t-shirt hugged his chest and arms, or the way his jaw tensed when he chewed. You realized, with a twinge of irritation, that you were definitely attracted to him. The idea of tearing his clothes off flashed through your mind, but you quickly shoved it aside.

You had too much going on to add that kind of complication to your life. Besides, sex was supposed to be the last thing on your mind right now.

Standing abruptly, you pushed your chair back. “I should go. Thanks for letting me crash your place. Enjoy the cake.”

He walked you to the door. “If I need anything, should I come knocking?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t plan on babysitting you, but sure, I guess.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Noted, neighbor.”

The moment you stepped through the door, your phone buzzed. Angela’s name flashed across the screen.

“Good,” she said briskly when you answered. “You’re home. I’ll be at your place first thing in the morning.”

“Why?” you asked cautiously.

“There’s a plan,” she said, her tone leaving no room for questions. “I’ll explain everything then, and we’ll put it in motion. Be ready.”

She hung up before you could respond. You stared at the phone, curiosity swirling in your chest. Whatever she was planning, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement. If this was your chance to claw your way back into the spotlight, you’d take it.

For now, you poured yourself a glass of water, settling into the couch as you tried to shake off the day. Tomorrow was a new start—or so you hoped.

[sgiandubh]

Yes. Toddlers are 3 and below. However this doesn't mean Sam doesn't know her as a friend nor mean he hasn't met her son, as they are friends, not dating. We all know they had lunch as friends, he cheered her at event as friend. Photos and video prove this. The park story is a story, no photos, no proof of any of it being real. Before you go there, yes video he and Caitriona had some hug/peck at a concert, but still no proof of marriage, nor romantic anything or intoxication. Believe what you want, beliefs aren't truths.

Dear Beliefs Aren't Truths Anon,

Congratulations, you have won the Weekly Audio bingo, since I am now speaking with more ease:

Excuse me, but... you accuse me of lying?

With such desperate arguments?

A question in return for you, Anon: did you, by any chance, grow up with a single/divorced parent?

I did. And while I have discussed at great length Sarah H's irresponsible ways of exposing her underage son to Internet's predatory scrutiny (and potentially worse), I can assure you:

No single/divorced mother would bring along her son for Hogmanay at some vague, single, male friend's house.

No single/divorced mother would send her son for a walk in the park, on a Sunday early (and chilly) morning with that same vague, single, male friend of hers.

Unless they date. Which we both agree they weren't.

The above are simply not done. Not ever, not in any culture on Earth.

So, if they are friends (as you say), that means you guys spent literally months in a row in empty, mendacious speculation about Nothing At All, triggered by the fanfic written by a troll. I mean, just WOW, Anon. I have no words: mature women, who have a life, peeking into a stranger's whereabouts. I hope you are proud of yourself!

And doll - I happen to believe they were mutually beneficial acquaintances, for a very clear purpose (more followers for her and a naive diversion from his real life, aka the Elephant in the Room, for him). That is all. Things have noticeably chilled since she overexposed her son on the Web, yet she might make a cameo later on the timeline, if desperation requires it. Happened before, you see.

And yes, I will always go back 'there', Anon, simply because I know what I saw with my own eyes (and I am not the only one). Also, you seem to fail making the logical difference between being intoxicated with alcohol (one of your side's most pathetic, ludicrous 'arguments' ever ) and being infatuated with someone. That is how I know your English vocabulary is as poor as your logic or common sense, Anon. And I am sorry, so fucking sorry to bother you, buttercup, but that Taylor Swift kiss was caught on video alright.

Thank you for confirming toddlers are aged 3 and below, in the meanwhile. And thank you for confirming that basically three months after I finally published that Park Anon I was sent (https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/751391542332325888/i-always-read-the-comments-on-sams-posts-because), you are still as unsettled by it as on Day 1.

Now you tell me what that means, in your book, Anon. Because in mine that surely smells of slow burning despair.

[Later Edit, not on audio]: ah, yes, that friendly, ripe with innuendo London lunch. So long for that poor convenient imbecile, the Brazilian Journo, eh? She thought Sarah was his lover and here you are, Anon, bursting her post-teenage inacceptable bubble.

Wasn't she explaining with great impertinence that shippers were in need of immediate medical attention? I wonder what she would do if she'd meet me in an official capacity, really. Probably go hide and cry.

But this is great, Anon, I mean wow - you surely KNOW stuff, eh?

[madridfangirl]

Star Crossed Lovers - Blurb from Ch 9

(Full Ch coming soon - pls bear with me)

Series Link

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The first time Jude discussed his relationship at home, it didn’t go down too well.

He told Jobe in a long call one night.

‘I knew it.’

‘No, you guessed it.’

‘Well, I guessed right. You are too easy to read.’

‘Shut up. M not.’

‘Whatever. Does Mum know?’

‘No. Unless she’s guessed it too. She said something to you?’

‘No. How come I knew sitting here & she doesn’t have any wind of it?’

‘Coz you’re nosy.’

‘You mean smart. M smart.’

‘No, I mean nosy.’

‘Bro, you sure you’re ready for this?’

His voice suddenly turned serious. Big brotherly. He was doing that more & more lately. Those who called Jude mature for his age didn’t know what Jobe could be like at times.

‘I want this.’

‘Those are two different things.’

‘I’ll make it happen if I want it. You know that.’

‘If you say so.’

Jude didn’t like the skepticism in his brother’s voice. There was nothing he couldn’t achieve once he set his mind to it. No one thought he’ll have the record setting season with Birmingham at 16. Or the record breaking move to Dortmund at 17. Or the galactico signing to Madrid at 20. Or being a starter in the national team as quickly as he did. Proving people wrong was not new for him, he liked the challenge. Even if the person knew him as well as Jobe did. 

Sure he’ll have to give up aspects of his lifestyle. The thrill of being with new women, the rush of making them fall for him, the adrenaline of being their first choice, the excitement of first times, the satisfaction of the impact he had on them, leaving them coming back for more, never having enough of him, the ease of no ties / commitments. It all worked for him at this stage of his life. 

But something had consistently drawn him towards this girl from the moment they first met. She was a lot more than someone he just wanted in his bed (he wanted that too, desperately). She was a friend, a confidante, an advisor. Someone he sought after anything good or anything bad. She was comfort. She was warmth. She was peace. She was fun. She was his girlfriend.

His girlfriend.

Why hadn’t they said that to each other yet? It had to be rectified immediately.

Jude called her right away. She woke up with a jump.

‘What happened? All ok?’

‘Just wanted to hear my girlfriend’s voice.’

She missed the context in her grogginess.

‘It’s 2 am. I have to get up at 7 am. Are you fucking nuts?’

‘Is my girlfriend mad at me?’

‘YES. Your girlfriend is LIVID….’

She paused. He waited for it to dawn on her, what was just said.

‘Don’t leave your boyfriend hanging, dove.’

He heard the little gasp she let out at the other end.

‘M coming over. Wanna hear these noises in person.’

‘Ok.’

Next morning, as she got ready for work, she had to apply a ton of makeup to cover the marks on her neck and shoulders. While he remained sprawled on the bed, enjoying the scene, commenting when she missed a spot, ignoring the daggers she was throwing at him as she was getting late.

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(Series Link)

Hope you like where this is going, this chapter will be a roller coaster!

Thank you for all the DMs guys. I am back to writing these two and the next few chapters should come soon :)

[srgntjamesbuckybarnes]

The List (5)

Summary: When a hit list spreads around New York, Bucky’s ex-wife is the only one with any information.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Mafia Bucky Barnes x Ex-Wife Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Not Beta’d. Thank you for all of the comments. I read them all! Let me know if I missed you in the taglist!

Series Masterlist

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Chapter 5

Nothing ages the soul faster than pain. Y/N had spent the entirety of her marriage to Bucky nestled under his wing. Warm. Safe. Hidden. He had always been her protector. The second her life was threatened she fell back into familiar habits. No matter how far she jumped, gravity always dragged her back down to Bucky Barnes. A sick joke from the universe or fate? Y/N would never know. She wasn’t the same person Bucky previously married, but neither was he. When they had first wed, neither could imagine a life without one another but if the divorce proved them wrong, why were they back where they started?

Like a snake shedding its skin, the pair was forced to grow. Each new scale bound together like the armor of a knight. The protective layer of thick skin was worn with honor, displayed like a war trophy. Neither one of them had made it out of the divorce unscathed, but they had both survived it. Bucky never doubted Y/N was the one for him, their timing had just been off. Right person, wrong time. Life is like a string. The ending and beginning are always the same, people are born and then they die. It’s all the knots in between that mold people and their relationships. Y/N and Bucky hit a knot in their string. Their perfect marriage became messy and tangled but if they could unravel the knot the string could resume its course. Y/N hoped all of their time spent apart had allowed them to grow together, not apart like they had thought.

Bucky had always held the power in their relationship, but now he was a king in check, trapped behind bars. Y/N was free, free to make moves. Steve had been right. The queen held all of the power. She had been playing the game wrong all along. It wasn’t her who needed protection, it was Bucky. He had just handed her access to the board, to his men. Y/N filed her nails and sharpened her teeth. The prey had become the predator and Y/N was ready to hunt.

Dancing her way into the kitchen with a newfound confidence, Y/N skidded to a halt at the sight of Steve. A coffee mug pressed against his lips as he occupied a stool at the end of the island. He barely spared her a glance, his focus trained on the newspaper in front of him. Y/N would have found it offensive had she not known the man. He had always been more of a brother to Bucky, and she had come to see him as a brother-in-law. She respected him. That was the reason she halted. He wouldn’t approve of her decision.

Clearing her throat, Y/N held her head high as her bare feet padded across the kitchen.

“Morning,” Steve’s deep voice rumbled.

With her back turned to him, Y/N poured herself a cup of coffee mumbling her own greeting. She needed a firm hand to guide her in Bucky’s world, but she hadn’t forgotten the way Steve toyed with her. Maybe he was disappointed Bucky hadn’t left him in charge. It didn’t matter now. Bucky appointed her. At least that’s what Steve told her.

She could hear the crinkle of the newspaper turning before he spoke, “Did you give my advice some thought?”

It was now or never. Y/N clasped her mug between her palms and sauntered across from Steve. Again, he didn’t acknowledge her standing across from him, his head buried in the paper. The sound of her mug connecting with the marble finally caught his attention. The blonde’s head snapped up to face her.

“I did,” Y/N said slowly, dragging the words out.

Steve raised an eyebrow folding the newspaper in front of him. “And?” He pressed; his hands folded on top of the printed paper.

Y/N eyed him for a moment, her tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth. “I’ve decided to take another direction.” Steve shook his head, his pink lips parted. Y/N could taste the argument on his lips so she beat him to it. “You’re demoted, Steve.” The bewildered look on his face almost made her take it back, almost.

“You’re not serious, Y/N.”

The way he said it made her jaw tick. It was a statement rather than a question. As if she wasn’t capable of being serious. As if he didn’t take her seriously. He was the child, not her. Pressing her palms into the marble countertop, she leaned forward. “You may have been right yesterday but what you did was childish. You may have Bucky’s best interest at heart and be Bucky’s best right-hand man, but you are not mine.” Steve opened his mouth again, but Y/N held up a hand. “I get it, Steve, really, I do. Bucky is your friend. It was you picking up the pieces when I moved out but that doesn’t excuse your methods with me. I love you Stevie, but I need someone who is going to be upfront with me and not play these games you and Bucky orchestrated. I need my best right-hand man, not Bucky’s.”

The stool screeched against the tile floor as Steve stood. “You’re making a mistake, Y/N. Bucky will be out soon and when he is, he will undo everything you change.”

Sipping her coffee mug, Y/N smiled. “Then it is my mistake to make. If I fail, you win. Enjoy this demotion. Take a break, go on vacation.”

“Lives are at risk Y/N, it is not the time to experiment,” Steve growled.

“Then Bucky wouldn’t have appointed me.” Y/N picked up her mug ready to exit the kitchen. “Effective immediately, Bucky will report to me.” Exiting the kitchen, the conversation was dismissed.

A nagging feeling in the back of her mind warned her she was making a mistake. That she should listen to Steve. He was in the business longer, he knew better. Y/N shook the feeling away, her feet carrying her across the house in search of her right-hand man. Bucky trusted her. She knew the enemy better than any of Bucky’s men. She hadn’t made her decision on a whim; Loki knew where Bucky was and was expecting Steve to take over. It was the logical thing to do.

“Hey Y/N, where are you off to in such a hurry?”

Y/N smiled at the familiar voice. Exactly who she was looking for. “Hey, Sam. I was going to head to the prison, but I wanted to get your opinion on something first.”

Sam crossed his arms across his chest. “Shoot.”

“How would you feel about a promotion?”

Strumming her nails against the cold metal table, Y/N counted down the seconds the inmates would stroll through the door. Bucky was finally able to receive in-person visits. Her chest tightened at the thought of finally feeling his hand in hers, his arms wrapped around her, his lips against her own. Being so close yet so far was torture but she wasn’t here for Bucky. At least not yet.

Sam sat at a separate table a few feet beside her. He was just as eager to see his boss, his friend, but he had mastered controlling his emotions. Sam had been in the business for years. Prison wasn’t anything new to him. He visited plenty of people, even he mentored some of them before he joined Bucky. Sam was no stranger to visiting friends in prison, but visiting Bucky in prison was new. Steve had been Bucky’s primary contact since his arrest. How would he take Y/N cutting Steve off of him? Sam’s mind swirled with a million possibilities of the kind of man that would walk through the door. Would he still be the boss he knew or worse? The answer was neither.

A buzz rang out alerting the visitors of the arrival of the inmates before the door opened. Each visitor rose from their chair in unison fighting to make their presence known in the same way one would when picking up an individual from an airport. A sea of orange piled into the room followed by the rattle of handcuffs. Despite the matching uniforms, one person stood out amongst the rest. Bucky. His 6-foot frame towered over the other men. The white sling across his chest stuck out like a sore thumb.

Sam couldn’t help but scoff at Bucky’s appearance. Steve had told him Bucky was doing well but Sam had expected him to look rougher. A wolf in sheep's clothing; a true chameleon. Bucky was able to blend in anywhere, prison was no exception.

Bucky shuffled into the gray room one foot in front of the other. His shoulders squared as much as he could with his injury. The entire prison was dull, including the visitor room. It made sense considering the prisoners were dressed in one of the loudest colors imaginable. It made it easy for the guards to keep track of everyone. Bucky was shocked to have received a request for a visit from Sam. Steve would have at least mentioned it to Bucky the last time they spoke.

Bucky came to a standstill as the men in front of him stopped. Waiting for his turn to be guided to a table, Bucky held his head high, scanning the room for Sam. Given his height, he was able to see over everyone, easily spotting Sam. Feeling another set of eyes on him, Bucky’s eyes drifted around the room. It was possible Loki had sent someone reckless to take him out with guards around. He wouldn’t put it past him. Bucky would rather overestimate the man and be prepared rather than underestimate him and be dead.

During his scan, Bucky did a double take, his eyes landing on Y/N. Curiosity ate away at Bucky between Sam’s visit and Y/N being here. He wasn’t expecting her; she hadn’t requested a visit with him.

Y/N held Bucky’s intense gaze. She could tell he was confused, his eyes pleading for answers, but she would let Sam handle that. She had a more important task at hand. She saw Bucky’s jaw clench before a shadow towered over her.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” a cheerful voice called out, pulling her eyes from Bucky.

Y/N turned to the man beside her, uncuffed with his arms outstretched for a hug. His soft green eyes stared at her like a lost puppy, and she couldn’t help chuckle as she embraced him. “Scott Lang. It’s been a while.”

The brunette’s chest rumbled beneath the orange fabric as he pulled away. Motioning to the steel chair Y/N had been previously sitting in, Scott invited her to join him at the table which Y/N gladly accepted.

“So, what brings you to my neck of the woods? Sorry, I didn’t know you were coming sooner, I would have spruced the place up a bit,” Scott joked.

Y/N had met Scott on a trip to California after her split from Bucky. He too had been recently divorced. Unlike Y/N and Bucky, Scott and his ex-wife had a daughter, Cassandra, so they were in frequent contact. Y/N had wondered if she and Bucky had a child would they have been as civil as Scott and his ex-wife? Maybe they would have worked it out and wouldn’t have divorced at all. Maybe they never would have lost contact.

Y/N laughed, ignoring Bucky’s glare as he passed her. She forgot how goofy Scott was. He always made his daughter laugh. He was a good dad. Unfortunately, his career choice kept him from her. A regret he kicked himself over time and time again; however, no matter how illegal, it did support her. That was all he wanted to do, provide for his daughter. Y/N’s heart went out to the troubled little family. She couldn’t imagine having a child with Bucky while he was in and out of prison.

“You’re a long way from San Diego. Had I known you were here I would have come to visit sooner,” Y/N smiled softly.

Scott shrugged, “Judge thought a change of scenery would do me good. Little does he know; he just gave me access to more connections.”

Y/N hummed. That was the exact reason she came to visit him. Scott was an extremely personable guy, and he knew everyone in the wrong business. “Actually Scott, that is what I came to talk to you about.”

Scott clasped his hands together on the metal table, leaning forward. “I’m all ears.”

Clearing her throat, Y/N whispered, “I need to track someone down by the name of Thor and I need it to be done as discreetly as possible.”

Scott slammed his hand on top of the table, the bang ringing around the room. Everyone’s eyes shot to the pair. Realizing his mistake, Scott held his hands up at the guards who began to approach the table. Scott began to fumble over his words explaining he wasn’t being violent, but Y/N tuned him out. Staring at Bucky who kept his murderous glare locked on Scott, Y/N turned to Sam who looked equally as furious.

“Ma’am,” a guard called, snapping his fingers in her face.

Y/N jumped, tilting her head back to face the guard.

“Are you okay?”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Y/N nodded. “We’re fine.”

“Keep it down over here.” The guard eyed the two of them for a moment before turning on his heel.

Once the guard disappeared, Y/N waved a hand at Sam dismissing him. Then she reached across the table and flicked Scott in the forearm.

“Ouch,” he began rubbing his arm, “What was that for.”

“For causing a scene. What part of discrete did you not understand? Isn’t discretion part of your job?”

Scott gestured around the room. “I never said I was good at it.” Clearly or he wouldn’t have been caught several times. “Anyway, you’re looking for Odinson?”

Y/N nodded leaning back in her chair.

A dopey grin graced his face, “Well, you’re hot.”

Y/N’s eyebrows raised, “Excuse me?”

“The hot and cold game. Me and Cassie play it all the time.” When Y/N didn’t respond, Scott waved his hand. “Forget it.” He leaned closer, “Thor is here.”

Eyes widening, Y/N pressed her palms against the edge of the table steadying herself. “In the prison?!”

Scott nodded, “Apparently royalty isn’t above the law. At least not overseas anyway. Boozie one he is.” He began to mimic a drunken man passed out.

“Well, can I meet with him?”

The man tilted his head pursing his lips. “Thor is in solitary confinement for fighting the guards.” Y/N frowned. Her plan had been a dead end. Steve was right. She should have listened to him. “But I know a guy who can get a message to him when he gets out.” Scott offered. Y/N perked up nodding enthusiastically. Scott jerked his head to his left. “They frequent the same circle. He could get the message to Odinson.” Y/N followed the direction his head pointed and snorted. Bucky.

“He’s a cool guy. I think you’d like ‘em.”

Y/N held back a laugh at the irony as she glanced down at her ring. “Thanks, Scott. Can I give Cassie a message?”

“Actually, just send her one of those creepy dolls she likes so much. She’ll know it’s from me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes before squeezing his hand. “Will do. Thanks, Lang.”

Scott raised his hand signaling the end of their conversation. In a matter of seconds, he was escorted out of the room leaving Y/N alone at the table with her thoughts. In chess, the king wasn’t useless, he could still take pieces out and make moves. He was just limited, like Bucky. It was his turn to make a move.

Y/N stood, approaching Sam and Bucky. Without a word, Sam rose from his seat sending Bucky a nod before moving to stand to talk with one of the guards. Y/N was grateful that he chatted with the guards to avoid them making a fuss over her and Bucky not having an appointment.

Bucky would have stood and waited for her to sit if it wouldn’t draw attention to them. He yearned to hold her in his arms but that wasn’t going to happen, at least not now. Instead, he let his eyes shamelessly roam her face and body. Y/N blushed under his gaze and didn’t hesitate to grasp his open palm, outstretched on the table. Bucky squeezed her hand, his eyes admiring the ring on her finger.

“You got the ring,” he observed. Y/N hummed in response. Bringing her hand up to his mouth, his lips grazed the back of her hand. “I can’t wait to get out of here so I can fuck you wearing only this,” he growled, pressing his lips against her knuckle.

“Bucky,” Y/N gasped.

He sent her a sly grin adjusting the ring on her finger. He knew just what to say to make her squirm. “Sam told me you’ve been making some big changes. Good to know you haven’t changed that much.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, “Why didn’t you tell me what you had planned?” 

Bucky didn’t need her to elaborate on what she meant. He knew she was talking about putting her in charge. For a long moment, he said nothing, his chest rising and falling with each breath he took. Y/N tightened her grip on his hand, reminding him of the question he had yet to answer.

Bucky exhaled, thumbing the ring on her finger. “I told you the conversations on the phone were recorded.”

Y/N bobbed her head, “We’re not on the phone now Buck. You promised to be honest with me, to let me in.”

His left shoulder slumped. “Steve and I speak in code sometimes. Makes situations like this and speaking in front of enemies easier. We’ve known each other so long that some things don’t need to be said out loud. Sometimes a look is enough.”

Y/N felt a pang of jealousy strike her heart like lightning. Bucky had always been close with Steve. They shared a bond that not even Bucky and Y/N had. Her ex-husband never let her fully in and it was the downfall of their marriage.

“You asked for my protection. Steve and I agreed that wouldn’t change no matter what, but I had to make sure you were all in before I handed you the keys to the castle.” His thumb stilled on the diamond. “Steve is mean sweetheart because I asked him to be. Not with words but I know he understood. He knows it would kill me if something happened to you. Hell,” he huffed, “it nearly killed me the first time. I already lost you once, I can’t do it again.”

Y/N frowned, “That doesn’t excuse the childish games you two play. This is why I demoted Steve. He’s not loyal to the mob, he's loyal to you.”

Bucky removed his hand from hers to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh, pretty girl, you don’t get how truly important you are.”

“Steve suggested we use the wedding as bait.”

Bucky leaned back in his seat. “What do you think?”

Y/N shook her head. “I met with Scott to discuss an alternative route.” Buck nodded, glad to have some light shown on why Y/N had been talking to Lang. “He said you run with the same crowd as Thor. He’s Loki’s stepbrother.” Bucky’s eyes widened. “I need you to talk to him. Tell him I sent you. Tell him the whole story if you have to. We need him on our side.”

Bucky stared at her as if she was crazy. “The guy isn’t stable Y/N. He lost his eye in a fight. He’s in solitary confinement. The guy could snap if he learns that his brother has a hit list on us. He could kill me.”

Y/N chuckled. “Don’t tell me New York’s big bad mob boss is afraid of a big oaf. Thor is nothing like Loki. He’s a good guy. He wants to help Loki.”

Ignoring her comment, Bucky pressed, “And what do I tell him when he asks how we're going to help him? I don’t think he’ll take well to us planning to kill his brother.”

Glancing around the room for anyone listening, Y/N leaned forward hissing, “We are not killing him.”

Bucky winked, “Got it.”

“I’m serious, Bucky. If we can get Thor to help us, we can lure Loki out and Thor can take Loki home to get help.”

“And if he refuses? If he gets away?”

“I need you to trust me. I know this family better than anyone else on our side.”

Bucky signed. “Should I be worried about the number of men you know that are sitting in prison?”

“You’re in prison,” Y/N pointed out.

The brunette nodded, running his fingers through his beard. “I trust you.”

“Good, because you report to me now. Not Steve, not Sam, not Peter. Me.”

Bucky groaned, “Careful darling, keep talking like that and I might not be able to wait until I get out of here.”

Next Chapter

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[theghostbunnie]

How do you feel about Max’s whole situation with his parents? Are you the ones that feel like “they don’t care” in the show or the ones that feel like it’s complicated or Max just REALLY overreacts when it comes to his family?

I was actually talking about this exact conversation with my friend yesterday!

And although I have A LOT of HCs about his parents and the intricacies about them as people, (Lacey & Arjun) their relationship with eachother, and to Max, in absolutely no way do I believe everything I HC would be cannon lmao.

It is heavily implied and inferred his parents do not emotionally care about him. Multiple general comments from Max, as well as explicitly saying "they do not care." There's room for a TWIST, yes, because these are characters who have never been showcased. We only have one action known from them directly we can gather n guess things about: his sign up sheet but so many arguments could vaildly be made why they didn't give him one AND many vaild arguments why it's proof they don't care. That's why there's still room for a twist there.

And that's just the absolute soild stuff, next we get into Max as a character and the "it's all a misunderstanding/exaggeration" theory. ((Again differences between HCs and theorys, I'll respect your HC all day but a theory can be debunked imo)) It would honestly be such a mischaracterization of him. Before I get into why I would just like to get meta for a second and I don't believe parents day as an episode would have been written as heavy as it was if the core problem was just a kid's misunderstanding. Cameron went to SUPER GUANTANAMO and swore VENGEANCE on David for not being able to prove his camp was legit, because David left choosing to comfort Max, over covering Cameron's ass.

But onto it being out of character, Max as we've seen can be emotionally immature but he is still MENTALLY mature. When Nikki thinks she's dying Max struggles to see past the /logic/ of it at first to see her /emotions./ So he'd be the MOST understanding /LOGICALLY/ if his parents have to work alot. Especiiiaaaally how we've seen him talk about politics and interact with money. BRO WOULD UNDERSTAND SO WELL THEY HAVE TO WORK 😭..

In abusive or just generally not good households it can be normal for a child to believe what is happening to them is normal bc they lack a different perspective. I'm not even saying this is Max's situation this is just to preference my next point.

It is rare for the opposite assumption to out last age 5. Where a child is in a completely fine household, but believes their parents don't care based on them working so much and them having to go to school/camp. It would be out of character so much for Max specifically because he is written to be incredibly observant compared to his peers.

I believe around the start of season 5 he compares home/school/family to a train wreck? Dumpster fire? I don't remember the exact wording but if I character is telling you to your face he thinks home and school is rough it boils down to:

Do we think this character is a reliable narrator? Have we been given reason to believe they've been confused, or lying? Or can we take what they've said as a reliable source of their experience? And I think in this case Max has only shown confusion on so little things of this caliber if at all, he's a reliable source about his experience.

Like he thought David was going to kill him but that was more a burst of paranoia/David genuinely acting suspicious depending on how you analyze it.

So in short TLDR: It's heavily implied instead of canonically shown from the characters themselves so there's room for a twist, but that said twist would have to be incredibly out of character for Max. That, and the gravity it was originally written in with, is why I don't think they were going to write that route.

[antianakin]

I used to love Ahsoka as a character and I thought she was a really interesting foil/parallel to Anakin but at some point I started to disconnect with her character and be all ‘huh that doesn’t seem right’ and for ages I couldn’t figure out why/what it was specifically that was bothering me that wasn’t just *gestures at post-Wrong Jedi!Ahsoka as a whole*

From airing of tcw s7 onwards and also a little before that in some (but admittedly not all) parts of rebels she just doesn’t act like a Jedi.

Like we’re clearly supposed to think that she does and she uses the Force to do things and she uses lightsabre combat and sometimes she even listens to what the Force is telling her(!) but she doesn’t act the way a Jedi would or should most of the time. She doesn’t use or express their teachings or philosophies or act in any way according to them even when she says she does* or the narrative implicitly claims that’s what she’s doing

(*when she’s around Kanan this gets a bit less notable bc she does act more Jedi-like around him and I can’t figure out whether that’s deliberate or accidental or what it’s supposed to say or mean about them both if it’s intentional)

Before that she was fun and also flawed and I think if they’d kept those roots while either showing how she’d manage to overcome/learn from those flaws or that she hadn’t managed to move past them at all but was still trying her best then she would have stayed interesting! But instead her character gets flattened and her flaws get narratively erased (while still being very much there just not acknowledged in any way and/or presented as though they’re not flaws at all) in favour as propping her up as The Best Jedi TM and making her feel like a caricature of an ideal rather than a real character.

Like I am mid-Ahsoka show right now and she doesn’t even feel like the same character! Everything that made her interesting is just gone and the narrative constantly implies that she’s right even when she very clearly is not???

Writers challenge! Accept that characters have flaws and should have flaws to make them interesting and help drive the plot rather than making them perfect bc they’re your favourite!

Yeah, I don't even mind Ahsoka growing OUT of her earlier flaws (which are primarily the same ones that Anakin was given, like impatience and overconfidence/arrogance) and into different ones that reflect her new experiences and maturity. But it also would've been great to see how those flaws she started with, the impatience/impulsivity and the overconfidence/arrogance sort-of grew WITH her.

Like the way the Wrong Jedi arc shows her refusing to trust the Council LONG before she has any reason to do so and going off on her own to try to prove her own innocence which just makes her look more guilty and pushes the Council into more of a corner while also trusting ONLY the person who ended up framing her in the first place. The way that her more childish impatience and overconfidence has sort-of grown into the more dangerous impulsiveness and arrogance in the Wrong Jedi would've been so so interesting to look at if anyone writing it had been willing to acknowledge that she was in the wrong.

And you could keep going with that in later arcs and have her still be sort-of mistrustful of authority (especially Jedi authority), inclined to believe in her own superiority of opinion, and impulsive in her judgments. That's generally what we see in season 7, especially regarding her behavior towards characters like Mace and Obi-Wan. She believes she's right ALL THE TIME and this would be FINE if the narrative actually supported the idea that she WASN'T. Ahsoka can think she's right, but the audience should understand that she isn't. That's how her flaws got portrayed in earlier seasons of TCW and why I tend to prefer them to later ones. And this would've been a great place to follow up on her comment about not trusting HERSELF. Maybe Ahsoka has sort-of wandered away from mindfulness since she left the Order and so instead of continuing to look at the mistakes she made that caused the Order to mistrust her, she just starts blaming the Jedi for everything. And when she starts making accusations at Obi-Wan, have him point out that not only is she not being fair, but she's not being HONEST, with herself or anyone else. Because truly, it's not the Jedi she doesn't trust. It's not the Council playing politics that she's afraid of. It's her own flawed judgment leading her to her own destruction.

And there's SO MUCH you could do with that moving forward into Rebels, to showcase Ahsoka's continuing struggle with trusting her own judgment and how she's grown since Order 66 and into her place as a rebel where she HAS to trust herself more, but she still doesn't entirely trust herself to be a JEDI. Perhaps her uncertainty over Anakin's fate has a part to play in that. Instead, they just made her a spy despite the fact that a LACK OF SUBTLETY was one of her major personality traits in TCW and never once was she shown doing any kind of real spy work and we don't really see her doing any in Rebels either aside from a few conversations with Hera. We have no idea how she ended up growing into that role or WHY she took on that particular role rather than something that would've fit her existing skillset better. Ahsoka's position within the Rebellion is one of the places I think they really faltered with her because it could've been utilized to genuinely help her character move forward and develop her more as a Jedi survivor. Instead, she's just kinda... there and her entire narrative tends to revolve around Anakin, a problem that persists and actually got worse with the Ahsoka show.

I don't truly mind that Ahsoka is perhaps not acting much like a Jedi, at least not all the time, because that could be a really easy way to give her a journey BACK to being more like a Jedi. Much like the Kenobi show had Obi-Wan acting very out of character and unlike a Jedi in order to have him go on a journey to reclaim that identity and become the wise Master we all know and remember, they could've done something similar with Ahsoka. Let the narrative embrace that she's not acting like a Jedi as an intentional choice so that she can move forward from there and BECOME a Jedi again. This is also an arc that Kanan himself is sort-of going on, so it would've been pretty easy to parallel them a little in Rebels if they'd been willing to represent Ahsoka as anything other than a literal angel come to earth.

The problem with the Ahsoka show is that it DOES give her flaws, but the flaws it chooses to give her are the opposite of what they should be. (This paragraph might get a bit spoilery, so if you're trying to avoid spoilers until you finish the whole show, just skip this paragraph.) Instead of showing Ahsoka as impatient/impulsive and somewhat arrogant, they show Ahsoka being too UNFEELING. Ahsoka's primary flaw in the Ahsoka show is that she's too detached because her feelings regarding Anakin's fall have apparently caused her to pull away from connecting to anybody on a deeper level or something. And they choose to show this by having her literally recite Jedi philosophy of non-attachment and have Sabine push back against it. So now it's not just that Ahsoka is too unfeeling but that she's too much like the Prequels Jedi, the BAD Jedi who FAILED. And only once she lets go of those Jedi philosophies holding her back (and instead explicitly chooses to emulate ANAKIN, the dude who let himself be consumed by selfishness and greed and betrayed everybody and threw an entire galaxy into tyranny) is she able to move forward in her relationships. Instead of recognizing that Sabine is impulsive and arrogant and letting that shine a light on Ahsoka's own flaws so that they can BOTH work on them more, it just chooses to justify Sabine's impulsivity and arrogance instead and Ahsoka needs to accept Sabine as she is and support her completely no matter what horrifically selfish bullshit she does. Moral of the story, never hold your loved ones accountable for anything they do wrong!

Long story short, I think Ahsoka was 100% at her best in her bratty teenager phase in early TCW when the narrative actually was willing to admit she HAD flaws that she had to work through and her character has been completely flattened ever since they decided to pretend she no longer has any flaws and is just always right about everything (except for when she's acting TOO MUCH like the wrong kind of Jedi).

[catlover34]

Aether x Male!Reader

not a request

★⌒ヽinnocent love confessions..

★⌒ヽ word count : 2,836

i procrastinated this shit sm it took so fucking long to finish.

-——-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

“Alright, I’ve booked the rooms.” Kazuha announces to the group. “We have to leave by 11:30 in the morning so be prepared to wake up early.” 

“Finally!” Amber cheers, relieved to finally be able to lie down in a bed after sitting in a cramped car for hours. Her cheerful expression dissipates when she hears she has to be up early. “Come on..couldn’t you have made it later!” She whines loudly shaking Kazuha by his shoulders. The group knew amber absolutely despised waking up early, her being late to her college classes daily proving it. 

“If you didn’t stay up late everyday playing video games, you’d actually come to enjoy being up early.”(M/n) teased finding Ambers despair amusing.

Ambers puffed her cheeks as she crossed her arms  glaring at (M/n). “Unlike you, I have things that need to be done!” 

“Oh yeah? Like what, gambling all your money away on gacha games?” (M/n) shot back, a smirk planted on his face. 

“I—Well!-“ Amber’s face bloomed as embarrassment filled her body. She knew (M/n) had a point there so she was unable to come up with anything say. Just like how their squabbles usually ended, with Amber left red faced and speechless. 

“He got you there Amber.” Aether chuckled at their bickering. He was already used to their harmless fights. They were entertaining, and he couldn’t help but want to tease the loosing side of their little argument. 

“Alright, Alright.” Tomo interrupted before Amber got a chance to make another comment. “Enough bickering, we have to get to the hotel before we have less time to rest.” 

They all agreed, beginning to finish the last of their food and ask for the bill. Amber still muttering curses under her breath at (M/n). Tomo took the bill graciously, as he always did. Despite the group always offering to split the bill he never allowed them to. Being the oldest of the group he didn’t want to make them worry about the payments. He really sounded like a middle aged man in times like these,  despite only being 26 years old. They considered him the father of the group, him being the one to make sure they got home safe after a party, or reminding them to eat if they haven’t. 

Immediately when they arrived to the hotel Amber knocked herself out in her and fischls shared room. Not even checking to make sure their room was safe enough to spend the night in. One of her careless habits was that she was too carefree, which meant she would often overlook some pretty serious stuff. Fischl despite being the younger of the pair was considered the more mature one. She never hesitated to check every nook and cranny when she stayed in unknown places. The germaphobe in her never failing to send her nerves to the moon. After checking the room making sure to confirm it was safe to sleep peacefully in she comfortably lay in her bed as her tiredness finally set in and she drifted to sleep. 

Kazuha and Tomo took turns showering before they went to bed. In the group the two were considered the parents. The fact that they were a couple played a huge part in their harmless nickname, but it wasn’t the only factor in it. They took no short amount of effort in taking care of their group. Tomo was the older one, but they made it seem as if him and Kazuha were around the same age. You should’ve seen the look on Amber’s face when she found out Tomo was 26—three years older than kazuha. She still refuses to believe his age despite all of the evidence leading to it.  

After taking turns with their showers, the two changed into their most comfortable clothes and headed to sleep. Of course not before their daily kiss and words of affirmations. This was the part about them the group despised, their clear displays of pda sending bile to their throat. It almost made it seem as if they were a newly wedded couple.

Aether and (M/n) weren’t too far from Fischl and Amber in terms of playfulness, but amber could never compare to the two. They seemed like a match made in heaven the way their personalities aligned almost too perfectly. The two were closer to each other than they were to anyone else in the group. Knowing each other in high school probably played a big role in that but even then, it was hard to believe they only knew each other for a few years. They seemed absolutely enamored with one and other but its not like they would ever admit it. 

“(M/n)? You wanna shower first?” Aether inquired, staring up at (M/n) from his sitting position on the bed. 

“Nah, I’m too tired. I’ll wake up early and shower in the morning.” 

“Mm..Alright.” Aether hummed as silence filled the room once again. 

(M/n) made his way over to their shared bed sluggishly. After finally getting a moment to rest it seemed his tiredness dropped onto him in an instant as he yawned quietly. 

“Alright I’m heading in.” Aether announced softly not really expecting a reply. 

(M/n) hummed in response turning over on his back and looking up to the ceiling. He thought back to everything they did today, as he usually did before going to sleep. His mind drifted to many different things, glossing over interactions he had with people, or how good the food tasted when he ate. After his brain ran out of uninteresting topics to babble about in his head he finally drifted over to a certain topic. His longterm crush as well as his current roommate, Aether.  

Immediately his face bloomed once Aether’s face appeared in his mind. He thought back to when he first began liking all his tiredness immediately washing away. He couldn’t help but fall for him over the few years they knew eachother. During his freshman year he had to be transferred in the middle of the semester which set him back a bit in terms of making friends. No one wanted to be friends with him simply because they didn’t want to go through the trouble of having to get to know someone who they hadn’t already built a bond with. Aether was different, he didn’t care whether or not he transferred when there was only 4 months of the semester left. He just wanted to be friends with him, and that simple action sent his pulse skyrocketing. 

Just the idea of Aether gave him a giddy feeling in his chest as a smile quickly spread across his face. He brought his hands to his face as he rolled over in the bed unable to contain his excitement. He knew he probably seemed like a lovestruck highschooler to others who knew about his crush, but he couldn’t help the way his heart felt. 

“What’s got you smiling like that?” A voice inquired interrupting his train of thought. 

His heart seemed to stop beating as the very subject of his smile caught him acting like a teenage girl. He almost snapped his neck looking over to aether who stood at the shower door, hair which was usually tied into a high ponytail laying neatly onto his shoulder as a towel lay loosely in his hands. 

“Aether! Jesus—you scared the hell out of me.” (M/n) sucked in a breath. His face was still visibly red and he hoped the dimmed lights of the room covered it at least a little. 

“Mmm..” He hummed, brushing off his words. “So? What you cheesin over there for?” He teased walking over to sit down next to (M/n). 

(M/n) chuckled nervously doing his best to get Aether to drop the subject. “Just—Nothing really. I’m just happy to be on this trip with you all.” He smiled at Aether. That sentence wasn’t exactly a lie, he was extremely happy to be going on the trip but that definitely wasn’t the topic of his thoughts.

“Ah really? I was thinking the exact same thing.” Aether replied as it seemed a burst of energy spread through his body. “I was thinking how I really appreciate you all, I don’t know where I would be if I didn’t meet you.” He smiled warmly at (M/n) adoration filling his eyes. 

(M/n)’s face burned red as he went mush. Aether was too cute, and the fact he was the object of his appreciation sent his pulse skyrocketing once again. The loud beat of his heart in his chest was definitely getting harder to ignore. He didn’t know if he was overanalyzing things or if his feelings were blinding his judgment but it really seemed as if Aether reciprocated his feelings in that moment. He almost wanted to confess his feelings right then and there, but he knew it would be too sudden to just confess his feelings with no explanation. 

“Yeah..me too.” (M/n) managed to force out, his brain still trying to wrap his head around Aethers words.

“On the topic of the group, I’m so jealous of Tomo and Kazuha.” Aether sighed laying down on the bed next to (M/n) with his face towards the ceiling.

Still thinking about Aethers previous words the only words that registered in his mind were “Jealous” and “Tomo.” The moment he registered those words his heart sunk into his stomach as disappointment immediately began filling his body. He stayed silent as he listened to Aether’s complains still trying to work out the fact Aether may have had a crush in Kazuha. 

“I’m happy for them definitely,” He paused turning to face (M/n). “But no matter how hard I try, I don’t think anyone could love me like they love each other.” 

“I don’t think that’s true.” (M/n) blurted out sitting up to look at Aether. His heart hammered in his chest knowing there was no way to back out now. “Aether, you’re a great person. You’ve helped me so much throughout the years we’ve known eachother and I don’t know where I would be or what I would be doing without you.” 

“You’re beautiful Aether, inside and out.” (M/n) paused trying to get his words organized and not screw up. “And I don’t know how to express to you how much you mean to me.”

Aether was speechless as red quickly began making his way up to his face. He wasn’t expecting such a heartfelt confession from (M/n) and he sure as hell wasn’t expecting to be this flustered. His heartbeat quickly sped up as he met (M/n)’s eyes. Seeing no trace of dishonesty in his eyes,  made him even more flustered. The moment he began sweating excessively was when he knew it was over for him. You would think someone with hyperhidrosis would sweat profusely in every part of their body, except that wasn’t the case for Aether. When he begin sweating all of the sweat pools in his hands making his hands overtly moist.

”I love you Aether—More than you could ever think.” (M/n) exhaled quickly wanting nothing other than to run away and show his face again. He pushed down those feelings knowing he would never get a chance like this ever again and he couldn’t just give it up all because he was scared. He felt his heartbeat in his chest as his nerves shot to the moon. He tried as best he could to seem stable in Aether’s eyes but he was seconds away from crumbling from the inside out. 

There was silence for awhile, the two of them both trying to process what just happened. Aether was  red as a beet millions of thoughts racing through his mind. He looked up at (M/n) who he couldn’t really see well because he had his head faced downwards and away from him. He swore his heart stopped beating when he noticed the redness in (M/n)’s face. I mean who would have thought? His crush from the moment he began highschool suddenly dropping down a confession on his head? It was unexpected, and he didn’t even have any time to prepare. Still that doesn’t change how happy Aether felt in that moment. He almost burst into tears when he heard (M/n)’s words. 

(M/n) on the other hand was a hot mess. He was full on shaking now the anxiety and worry was hitting him harder than ever and Aether staying silent was not helping his case. He could feel his heart sinking to his stomach as tears brimmed his eyes. Now he thought back to their friendship sure that he ruined everything. So it came as a shock to him when he felt Aether wrap his arms around his torso whispering in his ear how much he likes—no—loves him. 

“(M/n) I love you too..” Aether sighed into the nook of (M/n)’s neck. His face was still burning and he felt mushy inside but there was no way he was gonna ruin this chance with (M/n). He hugged (M/n) tightly as if he would wake up and this would all be a dream. Now the two were sitting facing eachother with Aether cuddling against (M/n) closing any sort of space they had. 

Now it was (M/n)’s turn to be speechless. Sure he had received many hugs from Aether the few years they’ve know eachother but this was different. This time it was filled with love and admiration as well as the confirmation that his confession had been reciprocated. He almost jumped out of his skin when the complete opposite of what he thought was going to happen didn’t even happen at all. He couldn’t help it now, the tears he tried so desperately to hide spilling out from his eyes like a fountain. They were happy tear’s definitely, but all of the emotions (M/n) was feeling all at once needed someway to release. 

The moment Aether heard (M/n) sniffing he snapped his head up to look at him. He almost lost all moral reasoning when he saw how (M/n) face. Somehow even with tears flowing out of his eyes he still managed to look gorgeous. It really seemed as if God himself blessed (M/n). He snapped out of his trance as (M/n) looked at him trying to speak but no words coming out. 

“(M/n)..You look so beautiful right now.” 

(M/n) paused if his face could get any redder it was, he almost felt lightheaded now. “Shut up..No I’m not.” He spoke between sniffles the intensity of his tears pouring out lessening. “..Does this mean we’re official?” He whispers even though he already got Aethers words of confirmation he still had to hear it one more time just to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating. 

Aether smiled nodding his head as he snuggled into (M/n) once again. They sat in silence for a moment as they enjoyed eachothers company. The two cuddled together for about 20 minutes before (M/n) asked the question he had wanted to for so long. He took a deep breath and looked into Aether’s eyes his nerves finally calming down.

”Aether..Can—Can I kiss you?” (M/n) intertwined him and Aether’s hands looking up at his face for any sign of disgust or discomfort. 

“Are you sure? You don’t have to kiss me just because we’re dating now. If you’re uncomfortable please don’t try to force yourself.” Aether looked at (M/n) with sincerity in his eyes a look that never failed to make (M/n) mushy inside. 

 “No..I—I want to.” He mentally cursed at himself for stumbling over his words, red seeping onto his face once again. 

Aether said nothing and nodded his head moving closer to close the space between the two. Once again he looked at (M/n) for confirmation resuming once he earned a small nod from him. Softly, his lips met (M/n) and it was all he’d ever wish for in his life. It felt like heaven he was almost sure he’d never he able to kiss anyone ever again if it wasn’t (M/n). It lasted for ages (M/n) softly biting Aether’s bottom lip as to ask for an entry. Aether gave that entry happily he almost felt drunk on (M/n)’s taste. 

He brought his hands to (M/n)’s waist pulling him closer, wanting to taste more of him. It wasn’t until (M/n) pulled away for a breath of air did Aether realize how lightheaded he was. His brain was mushy as the kiss lingered on his tongue. He didn’t know what (M/n) was doing to him, but he wasn’t protesting. The two were both panting for a breath of air, a new atmosphere lingering around them. 

“I love you so much..” 

[smolbeansthings]

Today, I spent with my big and her partner. I was invited to eat Korean BBQ. This was my first time, so I had to be shown the process of picking out your meat, vegetables, and rice and how to cook them on the grill. Out of the group of people there, I only recognized one person, and that was Holly. I've seen her many times at the gatherings my big hosts. It goes without saying that she knows very well that I'm a bit of a baby. She's also very loving and sweet, so I've become really comfortable around her. Aside from her, there were 3 others I've never met before. New friends from work, no doubt. I introduced myself to the new faces and proceeded to eat next to Holly. My big was across from us at another table with her partner and the new face. For the majority of the time, I was silent. Only making small comments here and there. I felt very out of place. I don't know why this is, but I always assume I'm the youngest simply because everyone around me acts more mature than I do. I felt like a small child sitting at the grown-ups table and not understanding anything being said around me. Eventually, the topic of my age came up. One of them virtually screamed, learning that I was 30 years old. The other 3 guys also gasped in shock. All of them thought I was at least 18 at the oldest. One then commented that he assumed my big raised me, which was amusing to us both, considering he wasn't far from the truth. My big signed to Holly sitting right next to me, and Holly interpreted what she said. It was addressed to me, and she said, "Your age might be older, but you're still my little." I blushed so hard! I was so blushy the only thing I could do was pout and throw a fit. Of course, I tried to dispute that I was an adult, but she quickly put me in my place, stating my little tantrum said otherwise. I was frustrated at the retort and out of frustration threw an even bigger tantrum, only proving her point. Later on into the night, after some Boba and board games, it was time for everyone to leave. My big reminding me of the Halloween party happening tomorrow. Everyone was invited to wear a costume or something spooky. I voiced my concern that I didn't have anything to dress up as. I mean sure, I could wear my Stitch onsie but I had worn that the previous year. She then suggested I can dress in my little clothes as a costume. I blushed at the thought but she gave me a look of reassurance and told me it was okay. I blushed more and just nodded my head in acceptance. She had to drop off her guests and I had to go home so we all made our way to our cars. She gets her 3 passengers into her car and pulls next to mine as I'm buckling up in my own vehicle. I roll down my window to see what she wanted and she reminded me to pack a bag and bring extra clothes and a "Change". She put emphasis on the word and I knew exactly what she meant by that. Afterwards she instructed that I make way directly to her house after work. I nodded my head once again, signaling I understood her instructions. After she confirmed it, she quickly said in a sing-song tone of voice, "See you tomorrow, Princess," before driving off. It's those small settle moments that throw me right into little space, and she does it seamlessly. No doubt her experience comes from the many years she's known me.

[multimilfs]

Mother Miranda x Fem!Reader: The Line Between Mercy and Affection

Summary: You're growing bolder in your role as Miranda's assistant. When invited to attend a meeting of the Lords, this could prove enlightening... or painful.

AO3

A/N: This is part 2 to 'A Taste of Mercy' so if you haven't read that, you should probably hop back and do so! I'll do my best to reformat the masterlist to properly outline the series, but if it's difficult to understand, I've also included the ao3 link.

Tag List: @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix @escapetodreamworld

Warning(s): Blood, Light torture

Part 1 of what keeps us close, yet so far

“Mother Miranda?” 

The Goddess doesn’t look up from her experiment when you address her. Her eye is glancing down the stalk of a microscope, carefully following whatever lies on the slide below. Her wings flutter and move behind her every now and again. 

“Hm?” 

“What is my… role at this meeting?” You ask timidly. 

As she looks up, you look down, pretending to write something important on the parchment you hold. You’re scribbling words and phrases in romanian. Her gaze is intense on your face. Try as you might to will away the flush rising in your cheeks, your body wins out. 

You can never replicate the same cold distance Mother Miranda maintains. You have no doubt it’s taken ages to perfect; though you have no idea how old the Goddess is—you value your life too much to ask—a mature wisdom rests behind her blue eyes. 

“Your role.” She repeats. Though she doesn’t phrase it as a question, you know it is one. 

“Yes, Mother Miranda,” You start softly, before meeting her eyes. The corners of her mouth are turned down. You square your shoulders, doing your best to summon confidence, “You’ve never allowed me to join a meeting of the Lords before. I don’t understand what use you see in it now.” 

Her wings stop moving. 

You try to keep your gaze from falling. Mother Miranda despises cowardice, but she loathes disrespect. Walking the line of her expectations often feels thinner than that of a tightrope. You have yet to fall. Still, it doesn’t keep your heart from nearly jumping from your chest each time you toe the line too closely. 

Microscope forgotten, she rises and appears before you in an instant. You drop your eyes out of instinct. Mother Miranda makes no effort to change your position. 

Her voice cuts through your chest like a blade, “Do you know what happened the last time someone questioned my judgment, little human?” 

Too afraid that your voice will fail you, you shake your head. 

“I removed his tongue and fed it to him.” 

She says it casually, as if it were a comment on the weather or notes on your experiments, instead of something to make you question your mortality. You have no doubt that she’ll take your tongue in the same way if provoked. She’s fond of making examples, you’ve noticed. It makes you shudder. 

Were it someone else in your position… you wouldn’t bat an eye at her choice of punishment. You would even revel in the curious way she enacted her punishments, though you hated to admit it. She had a monstrous grace about her. 

A finger beneath your chin makes you jump. The metal of her talons scrapes against your skin, though not unpleasantly. You allow her to lead your gaze upwards. She’s swift with punishments usually and you have no desire to prolong your own. 

You open your mouth to her. 

Her eyes widen for just a moment. It’s only a split second; quick enough to make you question if it truly happened. Then to your surprise, the corner of her mouth tilts up. You try to stomp out the pleasure it ignites in your chest. 

You’ve never seen Mother Miranda smile, this is the closest she’s come to it. It’s a sick kind of joy that you derive from her pleasure. You’re so willing to curate this reaction, just to see it, even if it means spelling out your own demise. 

Mother Miranda’s fingers grasp your tongue, the talon on her thumb digging into it. Even as blood fills your mouth, as tears flood your eyes, you watch her face with rapt attention. You watch her smile. You don’t want it to drop away from her lips. 

You swallow down the mouthful of blood and saliva, the metallic tang irritating your throat. Your whole mouth aches. It would be merciful for this to end, but you don’t dare expect anything from your Goddess. She acts as she sees fit and you’re content to let her continue that way. 

She releases your tongue a few moments later. 

“You’re useless to me mute.” 

Waving a hand, she motions for you to leave the room. You waste no time in following her command. She has you trained well.. 

—

Glancing between the Lords, it is a wonder to you how your behavior could be considered disrespectful. The meeting has been derailed by pointless squabbling nearly a dozen times in under an hour. All the while, you remain silent, watching in a muted sort of horror. 

You can’t begin to piece together how they accomplish anything. 

It had begun the second Mother Miranda entered, you following at her back. The Lords had been stunned into a moment of silence before Lady Dimitrescu spoke first. You tried to ignore the effect her words had on you as she practically purred them. Even now, they still play over again in your mind, creating a coiling feeling in your stomach. 

“How kind of you to bring such a morsel with you, Mother Miranda.” 

Where your eyes had been focused on the floor, carefully measuring your steps behind the Goddess, you glanced up at the Lady’s words. You couldn’t breathe when you met the eyes of the Countess. There was a sly smirk across her lips, a twisted warmth in her eyes. You couldn’t help but feel enamored with the woman. She was easily one of the most beautiful women you’d ever seen, a perfect, warm opposite to your Goddess. 

But her smirk had vanished the second Miranda’s eyes cut to her. Her wings had tensed, a sneer crossing her mouth. You could feel the temperature drop when the Goddess ordered Lady Dimitrescu to keep her impulses to herself. 

An odd feeling lodged in your chest when the smirk fell from the lips of the Countess. Something brief crossed behind her eyes, beautiful as they were, before they settled on you. She was quickly distracted as Lord Heisenburg proceeded to badger her. 

You can almost perfectly recount the way the Lady’s face twisted in an intriguing display of anger, when something closes sharply around your ankle, “Ouch!” 

Though you’re sure your Goddess is speaking, you have no idea what is saying as she stops. Her eyes turn to you. Everyone’s eyes turn to you. 

A bout of maniacal laughter comes from near your feet. Sitting there, wooden mouth clasped around your ankle, is Angie—Donna’s doll. You try to shake your leg, kick out to remove her. It only makes you hiss as the joint of her mouth catches your skin. 

Mother Miranda is before you when you look up. She levels a look into your eyes before she reaches down, digging her claws into the back of Angie’s neck. The doll releases your leg to complain and fight against her hold. Miranda’s eyes don’t leave you as she tosses Angie away, the doll landing on her feet and scampering back to her maker. 

Then her attention is gone, “Control your pet, Donna.”

Mother Miranda resumes her speech, but all you can focus on is the throbbing of your ankle. You glance down to see a pool of red blood dripping from the wound where Angie’s joint caught you. The heat of a gaze makes you look up. 

You’re not surprised Lady Dimitrescu focused on you. 

Her eyes slide down to your wound, pin-point pupils focusing on the slow drip, drip, drip of your blood. She looks back up at your face before turning her attention back to Mother Miranda. The attention—and subsequent lack thereof—leaves you feeling impossibly warm. 

The meeting continues, though you struggle to listen to any of it. Lady Dimitrescu and Mother Miranda seem to take turns making you the center of their attention. You’re left hot and cold by the trading of their stares. 

Mother Miranda levels you with a knowing look, accusation in her eyes—You’re not listening. You greatly fear what would happen should you continue the way you are. So you will yourself to listen, ignoring the way Lady Dimitrescu’s stare makes you want to melt. Ignoring how you’d much rather lose yourself in the eyes of these two women. 

It’s an impossible task, but luckily you’re capable of making it possible. 

You latch onto what little you know; The Cadou and its capabilities to create life–or rather, pervert it. The distinction is neither here nor there. Mother Miranda explains the proper conditions for the Cadou to take root for what she requires; and it goes without saying that your research together is the reason the conditions are understood. Every Lord in the room can read between the lines and it takes a lot to stop you from preening. 

“I’ve found a suitable host for my plans,” Mother Miranda says and you nod, before stopping. She didn’t tell me that, your mind whispers, “In a few weeks I’ll be pursuing them. Until then, I need every preparation to be made for my return.” 

The words ring through your chest, bouncing off the walls of your heart. You should be thrilled Mother Miranda has found a host. All of your hard work is paying off, but you can’t stop wondering where this leaves you. In a few short weeks you’re of no use. Mother Miranda will release you back into the village, back to a boring little life without so much as a thank you. 

You continue to jot down notes, but you have no idea what they say. You barely hear the words beyond remembering to write them down for your Goddess. Useless, your mind pokes and prods, you’re going to be useless. The thought hurts more than the idea of dying at the hands of your Goddess. At least then you’d have her full attention for a few more moments. 

So caught up in your mind, you fail to notice when the meeting ends. Your body remains perfectly cold. Not even the gaze Lady Dimitrescu offers as she leaves can warm you. It isn’t until Mother Miranda addresses you that you come back into your mind. 

“Your thoughts are very loud, little human.” She notes.

Mother Miranda walks to your side which gives you pause; in all your time working with the woman, she’s never walked. She appears in a flutter of wings or moves in the span of a blink. You watch her moves warily. The wings at her back are perfectly still and you can’t decide if that is good or bad. 

“I apologize, Mother Miranda.” 

Your apology goes ignored. Her eyes square in on your still-bleeding ankle, wings twitching at her back. You make no effort to stand from your chair and she stays standing above you. She begins to move before seeming to think better of it. If you didn’t know any better, you would think she intended to kneel. Instead, she holds out a hand. 

You lift your leg and offer the wound to her. She examines it as she examines everything–with a cool, critical eye. You watch her as you always do–with barely restrained admiration. 

“Spilling your blood was not the goal of this meeting.” Mother Miranda says. She rubs the flat of her palm over the open wound, collecting the blood there. You watch as it disappears from her hand. Her actions feel strangely like an apology, a fact that makes you squirm. 

“I should hope it isn’t the goal of any meeting, Mother Miranda,” You speak before you censor your mouth. Eyes widening, you rush to correct yourself, “but I wouldn’t dare to question your will.” 

“And why not?” 

“You… You’re a Goddess. Your will is divine.” 

“You believe Gods are incapable of making errors?” She asks slowly. The way her eyes focus on you makes you overly aware of every move you make. 

“I’ve never thought about it before,” You answer honestly, “I never believed it was my place to question higher powers.” 

Though it's the truth, you fear uttering it. You’ve been reprimanded for far less in your life. And with a being like Mother Miranda, it is impossible to tell if you’re pleasing or disappointing her with such honesty. Though you hope to believe it is the former. 

Her eyes trace the planes of your face like she’s never seen them. You allow the action, though confusion takes root in your chest. 

She changes the conversation like nothing was shared, “Donna lacks control over that doll. I have half a mind to remove the damned thing.” 

But I won’t, the words lay thick in the air. You want to ask why. You want to ask her a million questions, but keep your mouth shut, lest you toe that thin line again. Except… your curiosity over one detail eats at you, until you force words from your lips. 

“The doll holds a piece of Lady Beneviento, is that correct?” 

She nods. 

“Is it not right to believe that Lady Beneviento lacks control over herself, then? If Angie is an extension.” 

“My wings are a piece of me, but they exist and act outside of me. It isn’t enough for Donna to control herself. Angie may be a manifestation, but she has sentience apart from her.” 

“Almost like a child.” You add. 

A flicker behind your Goddesses eyes gives you pause. It holds something eerily similar to pain, but you can’t imagine anything touching her in such a way. You want to know more, but don’t dare ask. 

“Yes, like a child.” 

“I see.” 

And for once, you do see. 

You understand how her mind works for a split second. It is enough to leave you intrigued, eager for more. Mother Miranda is cruel, of course, but doesn’t lack fairness. She may punish the parent for the actions of the child, but she won’t punish the child for the shortcomings of the parent if she can help it. She… cares, in a small, confusing way. You’ve never known her to care for anything beyond her experiments. 

When you meet her eyes, you can see a softening around edges you once believed to be hard. She is just as much woman as she is God. Mother Miranda seems to sense this change in your thoughts. You can’t stop seeing the softness even as she distances herself. 

She lets your leg drop and turns away, throwing over her shoulder, “Come along.” 

You stand to follow, your chest warming at finding your wound healed. 

[paralleljulieverse]

70th anniversary of Cinderella London Palladium, 122 performances (24 December 1953 - 6 March 1954)

This month marks the 70th anniversary of a milestone in the early career of Julie Andrews: the opening of Val Parnell's lavish Christmas pantomime, Cinderella, at the London Palladium on 24 December 1953. Cinderella would be Julie’s fifth and final UK pantomime, following earlier runs in Humpty Dumpty (1948), Red Riding Hood (1950) Aladdin (1951), and Jack and the Beanstalk (1952). It was the biggest theatrical production Julie had yet undertaken and it would prove a turning point in the young star's career.

'No Pigtails for Julie'

By 1953, Julie was turning 18 and fast outgrowing the "infant prodigy" label of her early career. Efforts had been made for some time to update Julie's star image with a more mature look and an expanded musical repertoire. Much was made in the press about the new "[g]rown up now (or almost) Julie Andrews" (Bendle 1953: 2). "The tiny pigtailed schoolgirl who at age 13 sang in a Royal Command Performance," remarked one newspaper commentator, "is now a long-limbed attractive young lady who is wearing her first strapless dresses" (Pearce 1954: 6). As an archetypal tale of girl-to-woman metamorphosis, Cinderella was an ideal vehicle with which to advance these transformative ambitions. It not only gave Julie titular 'principal girl' status, but called on her to assume a role of emotional nuance and adult sophistication.

Even Julie's mother, Barbara, is reported to have exclaimed:

“Julie, this is the perfect part for you at the perfect age. It couldn’t have come at a better time in your career" (Andrews 2008: 156-57).

Val Parnell presents...

Underscoring the significance of Cinderella was the fact it was a Val Parnell production. Dubbed 'Britain's Mr. Show Business', Parnell was a hugely influential impresario who dominated the British entertainment scene for many decades. He had started in provincial variety management before progressively rising up the ranks to assume control of the prestigious Moss Empires theatre chain (Bullar & Evans 1950: 219). Later, Parnell would go on to play a significant role in the expansion of the British television industry as General Manager of ATV, the first commercial television network in the United Kingdom (Sendall 1982: 250). Renowned for his astute promotion of new talent, Parnell had been instrumental in launching Julie's career when he cast her in her first professional show at just 12 years of age: the now legendary  Starlight Roof at the London Hippodrome in 1947/48 (Alldridge 1954: 1). Cinderella would bring the two together again for the first time in six years. To hear Parnell tell the story, it was a reunion long in the making.

"From the moment [I] first heard her sing," he declared, I "made a mental note that one day [I] was going to present Julie Andrews as Cinderella." As he explained:

"So many child performers are inclined to be precocious...But Julie was not. She had that appealing simplicity which she still retains. It struck me at the time that she had all the qualities of an ideal Cinderella -- youth. freshness, charm" (Lanchbery 1954: 1).

At the London Palladium

Of all the theatres managed by Parnell, none was more celebrated than the London Palladium, a 2200 seat theatre noted for its opulent architecture and state-of-the-art stage facilities (Woodward 2009). Parnell's adept leadership propelled the Palladium to international acclaim as the most famous variety theatre in the world and a top drawcard for international stars. "To appear at the Palladium is the goal to which every artist strives," noted a 1957 newspaper commentary, "to appear at the Palladium is to have achieved star status!" (Hoddinott 1957: 4). The Palladium was also an important venue for Christmas pantomimes. Under Parnell, the Palladium "became the home of spectacular pantomime" with audiences eagerly anticipating each year's offering (Baker 2014: 219). Parnell applied the same triumphant formula to the humble British panto that he used in his variety revues: a blend of star power, spectacle, and money.

Writing in 1952, Ian Beven chronicled Parnell's studied approach to his annual pantomime at the Palladium:

"Each year...Parnell has tried to produce something bigger and better than the year before...He starts in midsummer, with a bare stage. By the third week in December, he has spent about £25,000 on scenery, costumes, musical arrangements, script, and rehearsals...Running costs of the show are high, as Parnell is prodigal with talent and fills his stage with people, and there are only about 140 performances on which to make a profit; but there is no disguising the fact that pantomime in this manner is a highly remunerative proposition, for there is rarely an empty seat throughout the run" (Seven 1952: 223).

Val Parnell's Magnificent 'Cinderella'

Cinderella would be Parnell's sixth pantomime at the Palladium. It would also be the only fully-staged panto in the West End for the 1953 Christmas season. In a sign of the rapidly changing post-war theatre scene, most of the other major London houses were tied up with long-running musicals and plays, largely imported from America. In addition, arena-style ice spectaculars were increasingly in vogue with a slew of new-fangled pantos "on ice" scheduled for suburban venues, leading some wags to quip that Parnell should call his show "Cinderella on Wood" ('Old fashioned Val' 1953: 6).  While many lamented it as a sign of "the decline and fall of the honoured institution" of the traditional panto, the absence of competition gave Parnell a distinct commercial advantage ('At the Pantomime', 1954: 4). When pre-sales for Cinderella opened in the autumn of 1953, the booking office was inundated and the show would become the theatre's most successful pantomime to date (Alldridge 1954: 4).

It also spoke to Parnell's innate sense of theatrical traditionalism. Though he was certainly not averse to innovation and was quick to adopt state-of-the-art technologies, Parnell was a producer of the old school. He believed in sticking to the tried-and-true and giving audiences what they expected. "Audiences haven't changed at all," he opined, "Certainly not the Palladium audiences. It's the same as it ever was. People go the the theatre to enjoy themselves...My job is to give it to them in bigger and better shows" (Hoddinott, 1957: 4)

True to this crowd-pleasing philosophy, Parnell determined to make Cinderella his most spectacular panto yet. Planning for the show started early in 1953. "I always start pantomime with a bare stage," he declared, "Everything must be new" (Fagence 1958: 4). Heading the production team were two influential figures who were something of righthand men to Parnell: Charles Henry and Charles Reading. Henry was Chief of Production at the Moss Empire chain for over thirty years. During his tenure, he would produce over 200 revues and pantomimes, as well as fourteen Royal Command Performances (Born & Frame 1960: 4; 'Charles Henry' 1959: 1). Known as a canny talent-spotter with an encyclopaedic memory -- Bud Flanagan famously called him "a blinking card index of comedy" -- Henry was fondly remembered by Parnell at his passing in 1968 as "one of the theatre's greatest backroom boys" and "my closest associate" (Evening Standard Reporter 1968: 17).

Reading was an equally trusted majordomo for Parnell. A true theatre polymath, Reading trained as an actor before expanding into production, direction, writing, and design. It was the latter talent that brought Reading initial fame with a series of innovative opera and ballet designs for Sadler's Wells and the Old Vic. He subsequently moved into designing more commercial fare in the West End and, in 1947, was contracted by Parnell as resident designer and production assistant at the Palladium (Barker 199: 20; Vallance 199: 36).

Together Parnell, Henry, and Reading set about staging Cinderella as an unparalleled spectacular. Set and costume design alone was budgeted at over £20,000, which equates to almost £700,000 in today's money (Webster 2013). Reading designed an intricate series of progressively spectacular sets, including a palatial Ballroom, a Cave of Crystal Lustres, and a Palace of Porcelain for the grand finale (V&A 2015).

Famed stage couturier, Robert St John-Roper, designed a complementary suite of costumes including a dazzling ballgown and bejewelled wedding dress for Julie. In her 2008 memoir, Julie recalled the breathtaking splendour of it all:

"Everything about that 1953/1954 production of Cinderella had a certain elegance...The production values on the show were terrific; there were revolving stages, and real white ponies pulling the spectacularly gilded coach...In the grand finale wedding sequence, my crinoline was so huge that I had to arrive backstage dressed in my bodice, sleeves, and petticoat, and walk into the crinoline skirt, which was braced on a stand because it was so bejewelled and cumbersome. The company, Prince Charming, and I were brought up from below stage on a hydraulic elevator, to be revealed in a sparkling white set and costumes for the final tableau" (Andrews 2008: 155-57).

Spectacle, Humour, and Charm

Careful attention was equally paid to the other production elements of Cinderella to ensure a well-wrought work of quality theatrical entertainment. To write the script, Parnell commissioned a trio of talented young writers who were only then beginning to make a name for themselves but who would go on to become giants of British comedy: Eric Sykes, Spike Milligan, and Mike Bishop. Their original treatment hewed closely to the core elements of the well-known fairy story but embroidered with innovations and, true to panto style, comic flourishes.

In the Sykes et al script, the story opens with Baron Pastry of Stoneybroke Hall lamenting that he has fallen on hard times (Stoneybroke...get it?!). He lives with his beloved daughter, Cinderella, and their faithful but hopeless retainer, Buttons who carries an unrequited flame for Cinderella. The Baron announces he has just married a wealthy widow in the vain hope of restoring his fortune. She comes to the Hall with her two unloved and unlovable daughters -- the Ugly Stepsisters, of course -- and they set about making Cinderella's life a misery. The requisite Royal Ball, benevolent Fairy Godmother, and Glass Slipper hunt all ensue before the inevitable happily-ever-after ending (Sykes et al. 1953).

Woven around these well-worn plot points were a series of comic interludes designed to accomodate the pantomime conventions of audience participation and novelty acts. These ran the gamut from a demonic door and a bomb-toting spaceman ("it's behind you") to jive singing footmen and a giant electric washing machine that tumbled a hapless Baron Pastry along with an assortment of oversized clothes (Sykes et al. 1953).

Song and Dance

No pantomime would be complete without music and dance and Cinderella served both in abundance. Overseeing the musical side of things were another pair of Palladium panto stalwarts: Phil Park and Bobby Howell. 

Park had been a star cinema organist during the picture palace era but, following the war, he turned his attention to composing and arranging. It was in this capacity that Park worked frequently for Parnell on his Palladium pantos which he "tailored to the stars appearing in the shows but always preserved the time-honoured tradition" ('Obituary: Phil Park' 1978: 6).

Bobby (aka Bobbie) Howell was a prominent band leader of the inter-war years, touring the cinema and dance circuits. After the Second World War, he became a musical director in the West End, working on a string of successful shows such as Strike a New Note, The Lisbon Story, and Piccadilly Hayride. He also worked as musical director and conductor on many of Parnell's pantomimes, including Cinderella ('Bobby Howell' 1962: 3).

In crafting the musical score for Cinderella, Park and Howell followed typical pantomime form of mixing existing well-known tunes with bespoke compositions. Many of the latter were written by Park including a humorous duet between Cinderella and Buttons (played by Max Bygraves). In this duet, Cinderella fantasises about a romantic future with the Prince, while Buttons humorously interjects with sardonic quips:

Cinders: There's a lady -- and she curtseys, Who she is, I cannot guess. She might be me, except that she Has such a pretty dress. And there's her handsome partner, Who is he, do you suppose? Buttons: All I see's a turkey, With a whopping parson's nose! Cinders: Now I see him very clearly, With a smile upon his face; I'm certain he's a Prince, Because he bows with royal grace. See now he takes her hand, And lifts it gently to his lips! Buttons: He looks like George Dawson, With a plate of fish and chips!

In addition to the duets, Julie had two showcase solos in Cinderella: "Chasing Shadows", a 1935 torch song by Silver and Davis, and "Is it Any Wonder," a lilting pop ballad by Bob Hayes and Roy Rodde which had been a recent chart hit for Joni James. 

Interestingly, both solos were modern pop standards and, thus, a marked departure from the light classical repertoire that had been Julie's stock-in-trade. She did get to do some limited coloratura trilling in the extended Transformation Scene at the climax of Act 1 where Strauss waltzes formed the musical accompaniment, but the strong emphasis on popular tunes was indicative of the strategic shift in Julie's image mentioned earlier.

A number of reviewers remarked that Julie didn't seem to do as much singing in Cinderella as they were expecting. She did, however, compensate with quite a bit of dancing -- more dancing in fact than she'd ever done in a professional context. 

Not only was there the mandatory waltz with the Prince, but Julie had a solo dance early in Act 1. She was also a key part of the pre-intermission ballet sequence. Choreography for Cinderella was provided by Pauline Grant with whom Julie had worked so happily the previous year in Jack and the Beanstalk. Pre-show publicity photos showcased Julie's dance rehearsals with Grant, underscoring her now mature lithe figure and womanly style. 

A Who’s Who of Cinderella

Alongside Julie, the cast of Cinderella was a roster of star names and variety notables:

Max Bygraves as Buttons: Born in 1922 in London, Bygraves was a versatile entertainer known for his Cockney persona, humorous storytelling, and sentimental singing. His endearing catchphrases and relaxed chummy style made him a beloved figure in British entertainment. Growing up in a modest family, he showed early signs of showmanship, encouraged by his prizefighter father. Bygraves left school at 14 and served in the RAF during WWII, where he began entertaining troops. His career took off post-war with various stage and radio appearances, including Educating Archie where he first performed alongside Julie. He made several films in the 1950s and his recordings, often nostalgic or comedic, were hugely popular. He continued performing internationally for many years, eventually settling in Australia. Recognised for his contribution to entertainment, he was awarded an OBE in 1982. He passed away in 2012 (Leigh 2012: 37).

Richard Hearne as Baron Pastry: Born in Norwich in 1909, Hearne came from a family with deep roots in music hall and circus arts, and he started performing on stage as a child. Hearne's career in variety and revue culminated in the creation of the beloved Mr. Pastry, a bowler-hatted, walrus-moustached character that brought him success in West End shows, pantomime, and TV, both in the UK and internationally. His role in Cinderella was effectively an adaptation of Mr Pastry complete with his signature comic dance, "The Lancers". A dedicated philanthropist, Hearne was a very active supporter of handicapped children and was honoured with an OBE in 1970 for his charity work. He passed away in 1979 ('Obituary: Richard Hearne', 1979: 27).

Adele Dixon as Prince Charming: Born in South London in 1908, Adele Dixon was a versatile performer known for her roles in London and Broadway musicals, Palladium pantomimes, and Shakespearean plays. After training at the Italia Conti Academy and the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, she joined the Old Vic company. There, she shone in roles like Juliet and Ophelia. Dixon's transition to musical comedy in the 1930s made her a celebrated figure in the West End, admired for her red-gold hair, expressive brown eyes, and clear soprano voice. Her noteworthy performances included leading roles in Lucky Break, Anything Goes, and Over She Goes. Additionally, she appeared in the film Calling the Tune and became the first female performer on BBC Television in 1936. Dixon continued her success in post-war years with major hits like The Fleet's Lit Up and All Clear. She was also highly acclaimed as a Principal Boy in pantomimes, performing in these trouser roles 14 times throughout her career. Her portrayal of Prince Charming in the 1953 production of Cinderella marked her last appearance on the West End stage. While she continued to perform in provincial roles, health issues forced her into early retirement in the late 1950s. Dixon passed away in 1992 (Thornton, 1992: 29).

Joan Mann as Dandini: Welsh-born Mann trained as a dancer and started touring the variety circuit in her teens where she appeared on bills with stars including Max Miller and Tommy Trinder. A tall attractive brunette with a pleasant voice and shapely dancer’s legs, Mann was a perfect pantomime boy. She played opposite Julie in Jack and the Beanstalk (1952) and also toured with her as part of the musical revue, ‘Cap and Belles’ in 1953 (Andrews 2008: 146). Though she wasn't Principal Boy in Cinderella, Mann played the other leading pants role of Dandini, the Prince's Squire. Mann’s greatest fame came later as part of the celebrated Fols-de-Rols variety troupe with whom she performed for almost two decades. She also starred opposite Dame Anna Neagle in the hit West End musical, Charlie Girl in the late-1960s. Mann died in 2007 aged 87 (P.N., 2007: 53).

Jon Pertwee as Buttercup: Born in 1919, Pertwee was a versatile actor who left a significant mark in television, radio, theatre, and film. Educated at Sherborne, he belonged to a family of distinguished artists and made his acting debut in 1939 in Brighton. His notable wartime service on the HMS Hood led to a fruitful collaboration with Eric Barker in comedy writing and radio. Pertwee became a household name with his long-running role in the BBC radio series, The Navy Lark. He gained even greater international fame on television as the third Doctor Who from 1970 to 1975, and as Worzel Gummidge. Pertwee's career spanned over 100 films, including two Carry On movies, and numerous stage productions. In Cinderella, Pertwee took on the comic drag role of Buttercup, one of the Ugly Sisters. Pertwee passed away in 1996, leaving a legacy as a unique and memorable actor (Newley, 1996: 38).

Tony Sympson as Dandelion: Born in East London in 1907, Tony Sympson had a dynamic career in music and theatre. Initially trained as a choral scholar at St Clement Danes Church Strand, he made his stage debut as a specialty dancer in Dear Love. A mainstay character actor in West End theatre, he appeared in plays, musicals, revues, pantomimes, and operas. Sympson also featured in television ads where he earned a reputation for well-conceived characterisations. A pantomime regular, Sympson played the second of the Ugly Sisters, Dandelion, in Cinderella, a role he would repeat in subsequent productions. Sympson died in 1983 at the age of seventy-six (Marriott, 1983: 7).

Cyril Wells as Baroness Pastry: Born in Belfast in 1907, Wells' entry into acting was fortuitous. Initially a bank clerk, his passion for dancing led him to become a rehearsal partner for actress Jessie Matthews. This collaboration resulted in Wells being cast as her dance partner in the 1936 film It's Love Again, his only appearance on screen but a stepping stone into show business. He then featured in West End musical comedies like Order to View (1938), Here's Looking at Them (1939), and The Charcoal-Burner's Son (1939). Post-war, Wells shifted to comic roles in theatre and variety, notably in pantomime. In Cinderella, he played the Dame role of the blue-wigged Baroness. Wells passed away in 1958 in Southport, Lancashire ('Obituary: Cyril Wells', 1958: 9).

Ted and George Durante as the Broker's Men: One of several novelty acts to appear in Cinderella, the Durantes were a popular acrobat comic duo who found popularity on the post-war variety circuit. Contrary to their billing as brothers, the duo actually comprised two unrelated individuals, Ted Aston and George Mooney. They met in 1946 while performing as part of an acrobatic troupe and decided to branch out as partners, adopting the Durante surname at random. Their act ran for nine years till the late-1950s when Ted married and formed a new double act with his wife, becoming 'Ted and Hilda Durante'. This husband-and-wife team continued for many decades, becaming regulars on TV variety shows in the sixties and seventies (Wilmut, 1985: 182).

Elaine Garreau as the Godmother: Anglo-French actor Garreau, born in 1903, had an extensive and diverse career in British theatre, film, and television. She trained as a dancer, starting on the London stage at age 11 with a company of child artists. At 16, she was principal dancer at the Théâtre des Ambassadeurs in Paris and, at 20, understudy to the legendary Mistinguett. Returning to the UK, Garreau transitioned to acting and performed for many years in various London and provincial troupes across drama, comedy and musicals. Throughout the 40s and 50s, Garreau appeared frequently in pantomimes. In Cinderella, she took on the role of the magical Fairy Godmother. A few years later in 1958, Garreau would play again opposite Julie as part of the original London production of My Fair Lady, in the role of Lady Boxington. Garreau would remain with the show for over 10 years in both the Drury Lane and touring productions, racking up over 3,000 performances which was a world record. In her later career, Garreau increasingly appeared as a character actor in film and television. Garreau died in 2000 at the grand age of 97.

Silvia Ashmole as the Fairy Queen: Born in 1926, Ashmole enjoyed an idyllic childhood, travelling through Europe with her affluent parents and attending Cheltenham Ladies College. A trip with her mother to the ballet in London inspired Ashmole to take dancing lessons and, at age 16, she enrolled in the Cone-Ripman School of Dance, where she quickly excelled. Soon thereafter she secured a place in the coveted Royal Ballet (Sadler's Wells) and toured with them for several years. During a season at Glyndebourne, she met and eventually married the renowned Anglo-German opera director Peter Ebert. Ashmole continued her career as a dancer, often performing in operas at Glyndebourne and Edinburgh. She also worked frequently with choreographer Pauline Grant who contracted her to appear as the Fairy Queen in Cinderella (Wigglesworth 2018).

The Casavecchia Troupe as the Clowns: Billed as the "World's Greatest Comedy Tumblers," the Casavecchia Troupe was a team of acrobats who had worked individually in circus and variety before combining their talents. They toured widely in the UK variety circuit during the late-40s and early-50s. In Cinderella, they appeared as part of the Harlequinade sequence where their slapstick routine offered well-received comic relief.

William Barrett and Edna Busse as Harlequin and Columbine: Barrett and Busse were a pair of classically trained ballet dancers who danced the classic roles of Harlequin and Columbine in the Act 1 Harlequinade. Barrett was born in 1919 in Staffordshire and joined the Sadler's Wells Ballet company in the late-40s, touring with them to the US ('From Farm' 1954: 11). In the 60s and 70s, he performed in theatre and TV as a resident member of the Black and White Minstrel Show. He later retrained as a drama teacher and passed in 1995 (Jevons 1995: 29). Edna Busse was born in Melbourne in 1918. A protégé of Edouard Borovansky, she later honed her skills in London with Mathilde Kschessinska. Returning to Australia, she continued to perform, before transitioning into a revered ballet teacher. She passed in 2019, aged 100 (Yeo 2019).

The Aida Foster Babes: One of many companies of dancing juveniles popular in the era, the Aida Foster Babes were students of the Aida Foster Academy in Golders Green, London. Established in 1929, the Academy trained several generations of young hopefuls till ists closure in 1970, including several famous alumni such as Jean Simmons and Barbara Windsor ('End' 1970: 43). For Cinderella, Foster provided a group of 12 ‘babes’ who performed in several of the show’s lavish dance sequences.

Critical and Popular Reception

Cinderella was very well received by audiences and critics alike. The following excerpts give a sense of the uniformly glowing notices earned by the show, with particular mention of Julie:

Daily News: "Mr. Val Parnell has really done us proud. There can hardly be two more endearing comics than Max Bygraves and Richard Hearne. Julie Andrews, less operatic than I would have expected, is just the girl for Cinders, and she dances gracefully...a most spiffing pantomime" (E.F. 1953: 4).

The Tatler: "Cinderella has taste, beauty and elegance...But if there is more spectacle than of other good things who will complain, since the result...is so giddily splendiferous. The lighting and the costumes and the scenery could not better done...The principals are worthy of their splendiferous surroundings. Miss Adele Dixon has the right princely strut and Miss Julie Andrews, though she is less vocal than she was expected to be, makes Cinderella a young lady of character and charm" (Cookman 1954: 10).

Daily Mail: "Star names may shine all over the programme -- Max Bygraves and Richard Hearne here; Adele Dixon and Julie Andrews there -- but spectacle is the real star of Val Parnell's typically sumptuous pantomime. Instead of scuffling through the usual sleight-of-stagehand transformation scene Cinderella escapes from the kitchen by way of magic force, fairy spinning wheel, and luminous flying ballet to the cave of crystal lustres: a silvery-white vision as glittering as a wedding cake brush to life" (Wilson 1953: 4).

The Guardian: "Pantomime, though represented only by a single Cinderella in Central London, still flourishes...Cinders (Julie Andrews) croons before the dying kitchen fire...Max Bygraves and Richard Hearne use routine 'biz' to good effect...But what is really remarkable and characteristic of Pantomime 1953 is the standard of the ballet: the scene before Cinders goes off in her glittering coach is as smart, fast, extravagant and excitingly danced as a finale at the Moscow Opera" (F.B. 1953: 3).

The Observer: "The new Palladium Cinderella is magnificent to the eve and its Transformation Scene has fine taste as well as sumptuosity...Julie Andrews is a most attractive Cinderella but not so vocal as I expected" (Brown 1953: 6).

Daily Telegraph: "Cinderella...is up to the best Palladium standard. Elaborate spectacle and attractive dancing combine to delight one's eye. Adele Dixon is an admirable Prince Charming -- she has always been able to fill a big stage with her personality -- and Julie Andrews, kept oddly short of chances to sing, makes Cinderella a young lady of character and charm" (Darlington 1953: 7).

The People: "This is a grand and glamorous show with Julie Andrews as Cinderella. But it would have been grander still had they let her sing more. Adele Dixon constantly charms as the Prince. Max Bygraves and Richard Hearne provide a crescendo of laughs" (Shepherd 1953: 5).

The Times: "It is a hard fact for traditionalists to swallow that there is only one pantomime on the grand scale in the West End...yet if the dismayed traditionalists go the Palladium..., they will soon be cheered up....Here, it seems to say with complete confidence, is one of the few things in a changing world that have remained constant...The humour...is received with every sign of enjoyment and the romantic side of the show is from the first in good trim...Miss Adele Dixon and Miss Julie Andrews belong to the order of unobtrusively pleasant principles. They are an appealing pair, and they have in Mr. Max Bygraves an affable Buttons" ('The Palladium' 1953: 8).

The Stage: "Mr. Parnell has thrown everything into a demonstration of faith, assembling a director's dream of a cast and applying it to all the skill, experience and efficiency that have set the Palladium high in the world of entertainment. He lavishes talent and creative art, he employs every device of lighting, mechanical contrivance and novel effect that the theatre possesses, underlines it all with a defiant and traditional Harlequinade, and the result is the pantomime of pantomimes...Julie Andrews's fragile charm graces Cinderella's rags and raiments alike, and Adele Dixon's slim figure and are of intelligent humour are a delight" ('Christmas Shows' 1953: 5).

The Sketch: "It is the happiest panto-subject, and this is as happy a version as I remember. Richard Hearne in the bowels of a washing-machine, Adele Dixon and Julie Andrews to end rightly as Prince and Princess, Max Bygraves to chant 'Bighead!' -- here they all are, and Val Parnell has never had a spectacle more satisfying than the magical creation of coach and gown." (Trewin 1954: 18).

A Real-Life Cinderella

In many ways, Cinderella signalled something of a pinnacle for Julie's early British career. She was now a young woman in a starring role on the West End stage and, in professional terms, could scarcely go much further. Julie herself writes that "I felt that with Cinderella, my career had peaked" and whatever future she may have would be a continued cycle of "radio, vaudeville and pantomime" (Andrews 2008: 157). 

But the theatre gods had other plans and a real-life Fairy Godmother materialised to change the course of Julie's life forever. Midway through the run of Cinderella, Julie was paid a backstage visit by Vida Hope, the producer of the smash hit London musical, The Boy Friend. There were plans to take the show to New York with a new company, but the producers were struggling to cast the lead role of Polly Browne. At the suggestion of Hattie Jacques, Julie's former co-star in Educating Archie, Hope went to see Julie in Cinderella and offered her the role. 

It is part of theatrical lore that Julie was initially reluctant to accept the offer, but she was eventually persuaded to seize the opportunity (Andrews 2008: 157-58). Five months after the close of Cinderella, Julie flew off to New York and the rest, as they say, is history...

References:

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Andrews, Julie (2008). Home: A memoir of my early years. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson.

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Cottrell, John (1968). Julie Andrews: The Story of a Star. London: Arthur Barker.

Darlington, W.A. (1953). "Christmas Shows: Modern Twist to Cinderella, Elaborate Show at Palladium." Daily Telegraph. 28 December: 7.

Double, Oliver (2012). Britain Had Talent: A History of Variety Theatre. London: Palgrave MacMillan.

E.F. (1953). 'A Most Spiffing Pantomime." Daily News. 28 December: 4.

Even Standard Reporter. (1968). 'Ex-Palladium Showman Dies.' Evening Standard. 28 February: 17.

Fagence, Maurice (1958). 'Curtain Up on Mr. Palladium'. Daily Herald. 17 February: 4.

F.B. (1953). "From a Nose in Egypt to Abandon in the Outer Suburbs." The Guardian. 28 December: 3.

Frame, Colin & Boorn, Bill. (1960). 'Palladium Nights.' The Birmingham Evening Mail. 9 November: 6.

Hoddinott, Derek (1957). 'Val Parnell Speaks". The Stage. 29 August: 4.

Lanchbery, Edward (1954). 'Teen-age Cinderella task to the CN: Julie Andrews' dream comes true.' Children's Newspaper. 16 January: 1.

Leigh, Spencer (2012). 'Obituary: Max Bygraves.' The Independent. 3 September: 37

Marriott, R.B. (1983). 'Obituary: Tony Sympson'. The Stage and Television Today. 21 April: 7.

Newley, Patrick. (1996). 'Obituary: Jon Pertwee'. The Stage. 23 May: 38.

'Obituary: Cyril Wells' (1958). The Stage. 17 April: 9.

'Obituary: Phil Park' (1978). The Stage and Television Today. 23 November: 6.

'Obituary: Richard Hearne' (1979). The Stage and Television Today. 30 August: 27.

Pearce, Emery (1954). “No Pigtails for Julie.” Daily Herald. 11 January: 6.

P.N. (2007). ‘Obituary: Joan Mann’. The Stage. 6 December: 53.

Ray, Ted (1956). 'Palladium Nights.' The Liverpool Echo. 27 October: 3.

Sean, Neil (2014). Live from the London Palladium: The World's Most Famous Theatre in the Words of the Stars Who Have Played There. London: Amberley Publishing.

Shepherd, Ross (1953). "London Holiday Shows." The People. 28 December: 5.

Sykes, Eric; Milligan, Spike; Bishop, Michael; and, Park, Phil. (1953). Val Parnell's Cinderella: For production at the London Palladium Xmas 1953. Moss Empires Ltd. [Manuscript held in the Lord Chamberlain's Plays Collection, British Library].

"The Palladium: Cinderella." (1953). The Times. 28 December: 8.

Thornton, Michael. (1992). 'Obituary: Adele Dixon.' The Stage. 4 June: 29.

Trewin, C.W (1954). "At the Theatre: Cinderella (Palladium)." The Sketch. 13 January: 18.

V&A (2015). 'Charles Reading.' V&A Theatre and Performance Collection. https://collections.vam.ac.uk.

Vallance, Tom. (1999). 'Obituary: Charles Reading.' The Independent. 17 June: 36.

'Variety Stage: Palladium Plans' (1953). The Stage. 17 September: 3.

Webster, Ian (2013). 'U.K. Inflation Calculator.' In2013dollars.com. https://www.in2013dollars.com/UK-inflation.

Wilmut, Roger (1985). Kindly leave the stage! : the story of variety, 1919-1960. London: Methuen.

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©2023, Brett Farmer. All rights reserved.

[archivalofsins]

Pfft, coming back online to see people commenting joyously on the downfall of a twelve year old. Really showcases how Futa should have been innocent round one the middle schooler be damned. It is kind of funny to see a bunch of supposedly mature individuals literally admit they have nothing better to do with their day but make a fictional child's story worse. Well, as long as people aren't treating real children like this, oh wait...

That's the point of social experiments, isn't it? To gage and measure how people react to certain situations, events, and specific sorts of people. Hm... well, that could be bad.

But it also isn't really surprising if she ends up guilty considering how a majority of the audience is. Whelp, it's whatever. I was feeling bad about making that video on Amane because it's basically tearing into people's reasoning on voting her guilty, but actually, I'm not anymore. Because fuck it like what do I have to lose? Credibility with people who can excuse child abuse but draw the line at texts from one's employer?

What are they gonna do vote her guilty harder? They're already doing that. The only person keeping me respectful is me and I don't have to respect people who can't respect that everyone regardless of age or religion has and deserves rights. Literally if she's guilty, whatever happens as a result of that ceases to be my fault.

Like that's all on the people who pushed for that. So, either way I win because if she's voted guilty and it gets worse anyhow I can just say I fucking told you so. And they'll never be able to prove what would have happened if she was innocent, so there's no rebuttle to that. They're just gonna stay wrong. Either way, I get something I want. None of the evidence is on these people's side it is going to get worse if she's guilty.

So no, we are not in this together, actually. I am not responsible for these people's choice, and I will take no onus of the consequences that occur from them. I will just laugh at them because they're gonna get what they want, but it's not gonna do what they think it will. It's gonna be so fucking funny when the only people guilty this round are minors.

A seventeen, sixteen, and twelve year old.

Put those prisoners at the kiddy table- Told they're asses to sit down. Really said fuck them kids. It's even funnier because it's like there are minors in this audience voting this way with no awareness of the precedent it sets. Like I don't know I'm an adult so this doesn't concern me truly. My rights are secure, but man sucks to be a minor. Lucky I grew out of that.

Everyone near my age is innocent, and it's gonna stay that way. But ya'll keep teaching those kids a lesson have at it. Fuck it; maybe there won't be any kids next round and it will be all adults. They're going to learn this lesson one way or another, I suppose.

Luckily, a majority of the voters seem to be adults with jobs or college aged. Huh, that definitely couldn't have anything to do with well anything.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Mary Ann Little Ph.D

Published: Oct 28, 2024

Key points

The permissive parent position is typically identified by the parent’s pervasive over-indulgence.

A child of a permissive parent may appear well adjusted until real-world frustrations arrive.

The child’s immaturity in tolerating frustration proves problematic throughout life.

The child sees themselves as better than others and comes to expect special treatment.

When Terrie moved to town and joined her local parenting group, she was surprised to find so many people sharing stories of difficulties with their child’s behavior. Many of these comments came with groans of dismay and shared stories of restaurant debacles and lost TV privileges. After a few gatherings, Terrie admitted that she never had to set limits for Elizabeth, who was eight years old, and time outs were exceedingly rare.

“I guess she’s just an easy kid,” Terrie said with a shrug.

Although many of the others left that meeting that day green with envy, after they got to know Terrie and her daughter better, the truth came to light. On the playground, when Elizabeth played with children her own age, she often came across as demanding. Her peer group had to play Elizabeth’s games, and no, she wasn’t about to take turns. When Elizabeth didn’t get her way, she pouted or threw fits that made her appear far less emotionally mature than her peers. Eventually, many of the friends drifted away, although she managed to retain the friendship of a shy girl who seemed content to do anything Elizabeth wanted. Terrie was happy at least one of the girls at the school understood exactly how “special” she was.

It turned out Elizabeth appeared to be an “easy kid” because Terrie gave her everything she wanted.

Stay up past bedtime? Sure. Get a new toy from Target, even though she’d already gotten two this week? Okay. Skip out on chores, again? Of course, you can focus on being a kid and your school work, and I’ll clean up.

The Permissive Parent

Terrie has adopted what can be called the indulgent/permissive parent position. This is most typically identified by the parent’s outright and pervasive over-indulgence. The child is provided with most everything she wants and, in some cases, with everything money can buy. She is seen as “special,” prettier than other children, more likable than other children, more popular than other children, or put simply, just better all around. As such, she is deserving of special treatment. She doesn't need to “worry her pretty little head” about insignificant things or the duties and obligations of daily life. The child is overly valued, and the relationship is characterized by excessive caretaking and attention accompanied by limited demands.

How Indulgent Parents “See” and “Treat” Their Child

The critical elements in the indulgent/permissive parent position involve the parent’s view of the child as special, and the parent’s treatment of the child, which is characterized by a lack of discipline and a general pattern of indulgence (see post one of this blog series for more on the view of the child and the treatment of the child).

The combination of this dysfunctional view of the child and this dysfunctional treatment of the child leads to a sense of entitlement. Elizabeth believes she deserves to be the one who picks the games on the playground. She believes her games are fundamentally better, and everyone else should recognize that. She has neither accepted mature limits on the self nor the realistic limits common to all healthy relationships.

Indulgence Has Important Psychological Consequences

If the grandiose or inflated view of the child does not become moderated through limit setting and frustration, the child clings to the view of themselves as better than others and comes to expect special treatment in the form of effusive caring and pampering. This type of child appears to be “spoiled,” and is ultimately emotionally immature and ill-equipped to engage in the mutuality of healthy relationships. Regardless of their presentation to the world, they are entitled.

Not all children respond to this pattern of indulgence as Elizabeth did. Some, like Terrie’s daughter, become extremely demanding and quite disagreeable in their insistence on getting their way, while others are less demanding of others but remain entitled and desirous of special treatment. Both types of children present as entitled, but the latter appears better socialized and more cooperative than the other. The former is prone to tantrums and verbal aggression, while the latter tends to beg their parents for the things they want.

Interestingly, parental indulgence can make children look more mature than they actually are for a while, especially when younger. Parents may explain that their child does not tantrum much, but that seeming strength is the result of the fact that he has not been exposed to much frustration. However, as the indulged child spends more time away from the home, real-world frustrations cannot be avoided and are poorly managed. The child, who earlier appeared to be well adjusted, throws tantrums, flings harsh words at friends, bursts into tears far too often, or acts aggressively toward others.

Indulgence and Its Contribution to Character Flaws

Indulgence comes at a cost to the child’s development. There are a number of potential areas of negative outcomes. Here’s a list of some of the most likely areas. Interestingly, all of the likely immaturities are associated with narcissism

Low Frustration tolerance: Difficulty tolerating frustration is problematic throughout life.

Poor Anger Management: Problems in controlling anger result in a kind of emotional immaturity. A problem with anger management is the adult embodiment of this childhood deficiency if the root problem remains unaddressed.

Sense of Entitlement: Expecting to get your way and being upset when that does not occur is a damning trait. Being demanding proves costs to relationships of all sorts and interferes with both intimate and more superficial ties.

“Better Than” Attitude: A sense of superiority is problematic from the get-go. It makes mature, reciprocal relationships impossible and contributes to being disliked by peers, co-workers, and mates.

Correcting Parental Indulgence and Reversing Course

It bears repeating that the right amount of warmth along with appropriate limits will help parents like Terrie steer their child back onto a good course of development.

Permissive parents can change. They can find their way back to the healthy center. They can learn to set appropriate limits, to require their child to do chores and help out, and to resist their child’s demands to get their way or be given everything they desire.

They can say “no” to a new sweatshirt and require them to wait until their birthday or Christmas. They can finish cleaning their room, even if it feels overwhelming. They can finish the semester of tap lessons without quitting early, even if it wasn’t as much fun as they thought it would be. Developing frustration tolerance and patience through age-appropriate disappointment, struggle, and longing is good for kids, a topic I discuss in my book, Childhood Narcissism: Strategies to Raise Unselfish, Unentitled, and Empathetic Children.

This is not always easy. Parents must work to find the right balance between frustrating and granting their child’s wishes, requiring them to wait and work for things that are desired while holding unconditional love and keeping support constant. Children must struggle to mature in healthy ways and find self-confidence in the benefit of persistence and accomplishment. Accomplishment without effort and fulfillment without investment undermine the development of the essential structures that ensure health and maturity.

==

This explains most of Tumblr.

[maplesyrupsainz]

Charles gf is so messy. People found her twitter and saw she liked some questionable tweets one was racist and the account was a well known neo Nazi who's account is literally "racial consciousness" and then a bunch of tweets in favour of Macrons law which is a French law which would affect the working class, it's the reason for all the riots a few years back so her being in favour is basically the equivalent of a nepo baby telling people if they don't have money they should just get a job.

When people found her account and spread the tweets she deleted the account. It died down until a few months back and even her fanpages spread the screenshots and said how upset they felt about it and she started to block people who shared the screenshot including fanpages. Spent an entire quali session deleting comments calling her racist under her post, blocked people literally today who posted the tweets on tiktok.

The thing is that she could have denied the tweets and said they were fake or even claimed she misunderstood them/was young (16) and is now more mature and knows that mindset is awful and wrong but instead she doubled down and blocked people which kind of proved they were real. There's also screenshots of Antoine (Charles' photographer) in dms with fans saying she can't be racist because she's Mexican and using the tweets to make her out to be a bad person is stupid. Which apart from being a stupid thing to even acknowledge and argue with fans over it is also him admitting those tweets were 100% real.

She's also a chronic silent sponsor girlie. Basically she promotes brands by being seen wearing their stuff and people will obviously post Charles and she'll be next to him so people will ask about her outfits. She doesn't have to legally say it's a payed ad because the laws don't class goods and engagement as official payments. So she can get away with getting sent clothes in exchange for wearing them as promo without all the hassle. It's just a shady loophole that Kelly used to do and only got called out for after her family made those comments towards Lewis.

She also used to be friends with Charlotte and when people posted about it she blocked Charlotte so all her comments, tags and likes on Charlotte's account vanished. There's also multiple instances of her lurking on gossip pages before she and Charles were official and public where she was reacting and responding to gossip about her by correcting info like nationality, age, birthday etc.

Just a bunch of shady weird shit that put people off from day one. The entire thing is actually so interesting and a huge deep dive. There's so many weird ass coincidences and it really puts Leclerc in this weird light and not in a good way. His company is questionably shady.

posting this for anyone else who didnt know about this!!! so crazy lol it would've been so so easy just to apologise & claim she was uneducated and unaware.. do these ppl not have pr reps or what?? blocking ur own fanpages is crazyyyy behaviour

i suppose rich ppl literally do not care about anything 😳

[chaifootsteps]

There is an "artist" in the hyspanic side of the art internet community that reminds me so much of Vivziepop:

Her name is "Angel de la verdad" (Angel of truh in spanish, wich is a very ironic name lol), and she is know for being a grown ass woman (she is almost 40) that acts childish and cant take criticism.

People started making fun of her because she would react badly to any kind of criticism; she would make big tantrums every time someone made a video criticising her work and would send her fans (all of them being literal children because she made videos about sonic, undertale and other things that were popular between them) to harrass and attack them, then negate that she did that. She would also claim that those who have any little negative opinion on her art were haters and would call them childish insults like "rats" and encourage her fans to do the same.

One day she got mad beef with a literal 14yo boy cuz he made a video saying that her Sonic fancomics were cringe, and that made her so mad, that she took down that video, made several video directs making fun of that child, made a drawing where she potrayed him as a crying child while she was scolding him, told lies about how he was harassing and stalking her when she was the one doing that, and even threaten to doxx him because she got his personal information.

She became a very hated figure, in every video she uploaded you would see she had like 40k views but only like 10 comments cause she would erase any "hate" comment calling her out, only keeping the ones made by her bootlickes that couldnt be over the age of 8.

I remember she even did a video "debunking" her acusations, and in the part of the doxxing she said "i never said i would leak personal information of that child! I just told him to behave, and to not give his information to strangers!" Thing that is obviously a lie. She also showed screenshot of personal conversations she had with him "proving" that he was harrassing her, but they were basically her insulting him and he responding with "lol ok".

The latest thing i knew about her is that she posted on twitter that she would sue some youtuber who made a video on her revealing all the things she did, she claimed that the video was "defaming" her and that she already got a lawer. That was about a year ago and nothing happened, so i guess it was all a lie lol.

Viziepop reminds me a bit of her, in the sense that she is also over the age of 30 and still cant take criticism in a mature way. Maybe she doesnt openly insult her "haters", but she inderectly encourages her fans to be horrible people to those who dont like her work.

I was thinking, if Vivzie didnt have a reputation to take care of, she would be similar to the lady i talked about, maybe not to the point of doxxing a child, but in the sense that she would post on her social media the links of videos where she gets criticised and telling her fans to attack them, then acting all inocent with "those mean haters were attacking me 🥺 i was just defending myself..."

But she cant do that, right now she is know as "the saviour of indie animation", as a goddess of pure positivity that inspires others and will get her work shown on TV, that behaviour would ruin her reputation in a second.

So now i can imagine her sitting in front of the computer, looking for people who criticise her work. She would get the idea of making a post so her fans attack them, but then she glances at the poster on her wall, wich says "reminder: you have a reputation on the internet, DONT fuck it up". So she just growls angrily, and limits herself to like comments of her bootlickers defending her.

(Also, little fun fact about Angel de la verdad: she has a sister who is EXACTLY like her, a mediocre internet artists who acts childish and throws tantrums in the sight of criticism. Many people used to belive they were the same person with different users, but they have different voices and pictures together so we know they arent, the world is a crazy place).

Thank you for this story, Anon, and also for this peek into Vivzie's Christmas future.

(Hopefully.)