#if you can figure out who's who I think it says a lot about our personalities

[abrthephantomq]

You tell me I'm a good boy or a good pet and I'll melt in your hands. - Jazz, probably, when he figures out that he's a simp for Zim even if he doesn't realize WHY he's obsessed with him.

Zim this, Zim that - he's all you talk about, Dib. Maybe you don't actually hate him. Maybe you actually like, wanna suck his dick or something --

GAZLENE --

what? Am I wrong?

Nnn-- I mean -- yes. Yes you're wrong Gaz.

Hey, have you noticed there's lots more planes flying overhead around here, lately?

Yeah, that'd make sense and all, considering what happened last week.

What happened last week?

...........Dib. You know what happened last week.

I don't, actually -- oh no...

What is it? Why're you acting so weird? Like, weirder than usual?

Fuck I overshot.

What do you mean, you overshot?

Gaz, what year is it?

It's 2001. Why?

Month?

September --

Of course! That's what happened, last week. Thanks. I forgot for a second. That's all.

How could you forget about it? All you've been talking about is how Zim was the one who did all of it --

BECAUSE HE DID, GAZ.

What?

That was ZIM - he didn't manage to sell any candy bars so he lost our bet. He was so confused why humans weren't falling to their knees, terrified. In those EXACT words. I have a recording of him saying just that.

What the hell, Dib --

:voice recording plays - Zim sounds absolutely devastated: "they didn't even blink an eye when I put that city in ruins. How can these humans be so.... Eh? I forgot the word, what was I saying?

Oh. Yeah. These hyumens aren't scared of my super scary simulation of me destroying one of their precious cities! They just shrugged and said whatever. I don't want your fucking candy."

Do you humans not get enough moneys to buy these things? These are....really good chocolate. Like, I expected them to be sand based on the name of them, but -- they're actually good? Is this a PRIVATE school?

[Dib's voice can be heard in the background; he apparently planted a bug that looked exactly like The Bug --, right where Zim tended to look at himself in the mirror. Because Zim likes to talk to himself out loud - but he's gotta see his reflection to do it. But Zim's eyes are fucking terrible and he can't see shit, even with his occular implants. Even though he is an Irken Elite. You're not gonna get anymore information from me than that. Either way, you hear enough to know that it's Dib speaking, even if you can't make out what he's saying. But Zim can hear him even if Dib is WAYYYYYY. Over there bc of his antenna. Like. You can hear a Dib when he is in his home. That is how much better Zim can hear than Dib]

Did you really just hijack me, space boy? I'm trying to tell my part of the story here as the fly on the wall of every single moment the two of you think you're alone.

Bobby Dawn what are you doing. (Barbie Dan?)(nah, Bobby Dawn. But if you wanna say it where people hear the name both ways, go for it)

Anyways, Steven asked for my assistance with the next chapter of class clown. This ain't the next, next chapter, but it is a chapter that'll show up later down the road. He's gotta finish a Mr. sludgey POV, first.

This just the super unedited version done while I'm high bc I love creating bonds and strengthening them via writing them. That includes my TikToks and my journal entries I ain't shared with y'all and all the writing we ain't shared with y'all, neither.

Gonna go get myself some lunch now, tho. Been at this long enough. ❤️ Have a good day now, y'hear?

All fanfiction authors have praise kinks in the form of comments and likes

[oceantornadoo]

ch4 the wrong john | masterlist | next

john price x f!reader, reader is johnny’s twin

—

The universe hates you, obviously.

Why else would it send you this charming and attractive man in the form of your brother’s boss? Not to mention your hookup with him was so meaningless he didn’t even deign to write you a note. Even a “had a nice time :)” would have been more acceptable than an empty bed and an aching throb in both your cunt and your chest. Since clearly it was just another hookup to him, you decide to treat John with the same dignity he treated you with.

“Nice to meet you both!” You nod at the clock above John’s head, refusing to meet his eyes, then turn to Gaz and give him a warm smile. “And I’m sorry you have to spend so much time with my brother. At least you get paid, it’s a better lot than mine.” The crew laughs, breaking the inevitable awkward tension of bringing a civilian family member to their place of work. Johnny shoves your shoulder and you gladly take the opportunity to turn your back on John.

“Well, Cap’s got a meeting soon, but we can show ye ‘round while we wait.” You don’t bother saying goodbye to John, something that Gaz and Ghost note with a look between them. Johnny’s too focused on you to notice, shouting his goodbyes over his shoulder to Price before tucking you against him once again. Your traitorous heart pounds out of your chest as you take stock of the situation. Not only is John your brother’s captain, he’s practically a father figure. Johnny’s told you how the captain took a chance on him, saved his life countless times, and you’re putting these facts together like pieces of the puzzle that is John Price. A military captain who treats his men like sons while treating a stranger like his wife, just to leave the next day. He’s clearly unstable, a person you should stay away from, because you have the slightest inkling he could ruin your life. He might already have.

Ghost leaves to finish training, Johnny on his heels to “wish him goodbye,” as if they won’t see each other in an hour. It’s disgusting how in love your brother is, how besotted Ghost is, and you hate yourself for wanting what they have so badly. It’s clear they’re meant for each other, tethered together by blood and sacrifice and the life that can grow after death. Want bubbles inside you like a pot about to explode, and you would do well to keep the lid on.

“So,” Gaz shakes you out of your reverie, cunning eyes tracking your gaze to Ghost and Johnny. “Approve of the Lieutenant for your brother? ‘m dyin’ to know.” You nod slightly, cheeks flushing in the face of Gaz’s full attention. Closer up, he’s the type of handsome you would never pursue, too pretty for his own good. In his voice and behind his eyes, though, there’s something lurking underneath. You can tell he wields his handsomeness as a weapon and you can’t even fault him for it.

“I think it’s more if Ghost approves of me, to be honest. They already seem like they’d hang the moon for each other.” Gaz nods thoughtfully, leading you outside to a path that outlines the base, giving you a glimpse of soldiers training outside. “An’ why’s that? Soap talks about you all the time like you’re a sort of angel. Not sayin’ you aren’t, of course.” He sends you a wink and you giggle at both that and the nickname Soap. Johnny told you about it, of course, but it’s a bit silly to hear it next to the name Ghost or even Gaz. He’s never told you what Soap meant, and you never asked in case it was something you didn’t want to hear.

“I think Johnny loves me, it’s just, I remind him of the parts of our family that don’t. And with Ghost, and all of you, he’s got a real family that doesn’t judge him. It’s like introducing two friend groups when you’re not sure if they’ll like each other. We represent different parts of him, but I’m old and Ghost is new, so the lines seem blurry to me.” Gaz lets you talk more, his demeanor so welcoming with the internal challenges you’re facing. He even tells you to call him Kyle, warm and soft. The two of you walk around base, minutes turning into an hour. Finally, a soldier runs up to the two of you, telling you you’re needed in Price’s office. You bite your lip nervously, not seeing how Kyle tracks your response. He almost freezes, years of training preventing him from doing so, but he’s still thrown by how nervous you seem to go back.

“Well, I’m a little sorry for talking your ear off. But I see why Johnny likes you, Kyle. You’re a good friend.” You smile at him, almost faltering when you see his stony expression. It changes in a split second, like a cloud moving from the sun, and he grins and tucks you under his shoulder, just like Johnny. “It’s no problem, angel. It’s one of my specialities. Let’s get you to lunch, ‘m starvin’.”

Johnny greets you like a long lost twin when you get back, asking for details about who you saw and where you went. He’s like that all the way to lunch, insisting on driving just the two of you to “the only decent pub in this town, really, hen.” It’s nice to spend time with him and you squeeze his forearm to say so, basking in the light of his smile. You almost forget about the John situation until you see him get out of the car the other men took, his fatigues fitting him criminally well. In fact, he’s even better looking in the daylight, blue eyes catching the sun while he stretches, muscles rippling under his clothes. You stare so long that Johnny yells at you to get moving, but he’s too focused on Ghost to turn back to see who you’re looking at. 

You find Kyle quickly, tucking your arm into the crook of his elbow and letting him guide you into the pub, sparing a singular backwards glance to John. He’s staring at you, again, but he’s too far back for you to tell anything of the subtext behind his eyes. Is he mad you’re Johnny’s sister? He has no right, obviously. Maybe he thinks you stalked him or something and this is all some elaborate scheme. Deciding you don’t care, you focus on lunch and the growling in your stomach from all the calories you burnt with John last night. He’s really the cause of all your current plights.

The pub only has booths. Johnny insists on you being in the middle, guest of honor and all that, so you’re stuck in the middle with Johnny on your left and Kyle on your right. Ghost is next to Johnny, of course, leaving John next to Kyle, a perfect angle for him to stare at you while you answer Johnny’s interrogation. Johnny asks you questions like you haven’t talked every week since you last saw each other. Like only a brother could be, he’s unhinged. 

“So yer still single, m'eudail?”

“An’ yer livin’ alone? Steaming Jesus, hen.”

“Not even a cat? Bloody hell.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see John’s shoulders bunching closer with every invasive question your brother asks. He’s being an ass, they both are, and you need a break. “Before the food comes, I’m going to use the toilet. Scooch, Johnny.” As you leave, you hear Ghost muttering to Johnny, telling him to calm down. At least someone’s on your side.

You do your business, taking a deep breath to calm yourself before going back out and facing the cavalry. As you open the door, you see the universe is not on your side.

“We need to talk.” He’s standing there, posture military straight. You hate him.

“John…” You try to push the bathroom door open to make your escape. He prides himself on your mission being unsuccessful, an arm preventing you from leaving. He doesn’t like to use his strength to intimidate women, but in this case, you’re too slippery for him to let you go politely.

“Sweetheart…”

“Oh, don’t sweetheart me, John. Or should I say, Captain?”

He yanks the door handle from your grip, spinning and locking you both inside in one move. It’s a one room toilet and there’s nowhere to go with John taking up space like it’s his right. “We need to talk.” He says it in what you imagine is his Captain Voice, firm and unmoving. Luckily for you, you’re not on his payroll. “Actually, we don’t. We had a good time, the night ended and you left, and now we happen to have a mutual connection. It’s whatever.” You try to shrug nonchalantly, fumbling for the door, but John notes how you stumbled over the words “you left.” His hands find your waist, pinning you to the door with a gentleness remnant of last night.

“You didn’t call. Or text. ‘m confused why y’r upset, pet, when the ball’s in y’r court.” His hands on your waist are breaking down your mental walls and you hate how easily you let down your guard. His actions don’t match his words, though, and that’s something you can’t deny. “How would I have called? I don’t have your number.” His brows knit together in confusion, thumbs rubbing circles over your shirt. “I left a note.” Oh. Oh.

“There was no note.”

“Left it on the pillow, sweetheart.”

“There was nothing on the pillow!”

“Must’ve moved while you slept. Should’ve known by how much ya kicked me last night.”

“I don’t kick! God, you’re annoying and-“ 

He cuts you off with a kiss, pressing you further into the door. John slots a muscled thigh between your legs, smiling against your skin when you let out a soft moan. “‘m sorry ‘m a right idiot, sweetheart. Let me make it up to you.” You shake your head, pushing him away but keeping your hands on his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his uniform. “What would you have done if I never called? And if- if I didn’t show up on base?” He smiles at you indulgently, like you’re a little girl instead of a woman. He knows he’s won, can tell by how firm your grip is on his chest. “Would’ve gone back t’ the bar tonight. An’ if you weren’t there, would’ve gone to y’r hotel room.” You frown at him. “How would you have gotten up the elevator? You need a key card.” He pecks your forehead like he’s known you a year, rather than a day. “I have my ways, sweetheart. I am a captain, as you know.” 

That kills the mood.

You push him away, finally letting go, before stepping in front of the mirror to readjust your clothes and hair. He stands behind you and it’s intoxicating to imagine you two like this, fixing your clothes after a hookup or a domestic night in. Something about John Price feels permanent, likes he’s meant to be in your life for more than one night. But then, the image of your brother pops into your brain. Your memory of how much he talks about John, talks about the group in general. How they’re like family, like brothers, how Price treats him like a son. You can’t ruin this for him.

“We can’t do this, John. If it goes wrong, it’ll break Johnny’s heart. I can’t do that to him.” Hands wrap around your waist, slotting you against him. You fit perfectly and it’s heart wrenching. “An’ what about my heart? An’ yours?” You shake your head, pushing off of him and unlocking the door. “It’s early enough that we can just- just stop. Johnny’s more important. I am sorry, truly.” You walk away without a second glance, like John’s not even there.

And just like that, John Price knows he’s met his match. His future wife, if he has anything to say about it. John Price doesn’t lose.

-

notes: johnny says bloody hell because simon says bloody hell. i don’t make the rules sorry.

also someone complained on my ao3 that this wasn’t slow burn and…i never said it was???? they literally meet as a hookup bffr. anyways hope yall enjoy! angst is coming soon hehe

taglist

@lveegsoi

 @galactict3a

@nova-willow-541

@sirbonesly

@starlightkitten19

@prettycatboy

[seoktized]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 — k.jw

jiwoong was sure he didn’t want another child until he saw you playing with your niece and suddenly.. all those worries he had were out the window.

genre: smut. mdni!

warnings: older!jiwoong, breeding kink maybe?, mating press, daddy kink. unprotected p in v sex, creampie, lmk if i missed anything!!

pairing: dilf!jiwoong (late 40s) x afab!reader (early/mid 20s)

word count: 1.9k

kinnie’s note: first installment of the dilf!zb1 series!! had to start off jiwoong hehe. i hope you all enjoy, and if you have any ideas for the other members, send them in my ask box!!

jiwoong was never fond of the idea of having another child with the fact that he was a lot older than he was when he had his first born. no amount of convincing could make him think otherwise; jiwoong was adamant about his decision.

being in his late forties, he figured he was past the baby days, instead wanting to focus on his career and his personal life which now included you.

his previous marriage had left him shattered and at that time he vowed to not let himself get too deep into any relationship again. but then he met you and all of that changed. you were the light of his life. you’d brought back happiness he thought he’d never experience again.

something deep down inside him felt bad because he knew you were much younger, wanting nothing more than to start a family and settle down with him as you were just stepping into adulthood. you hadn’t had the experiences he had.

but something about the whole thing unnerved him. the thought of those sleepless nights, the sound of crying ringing in his ears, and endless diapers had his decision set in stone: he was not going to have another child.

that was until he saw you playing with your niece at a family party.

he watches quietly from the porch as you chase her around, her little giggles ringing through the air as you lift her up, spinning her around. a soft smile plays on his lips, watching you do what you’ve always dreamed of.

for the first time in a while, jiwoong let his fears go and allowed himself to imagine what it’d be like to start a family with you, that same smile on your face as you held your newborn. the sight of you mothering another child made his heart flutter, wanting nothing more than to give you what you wanted.

the sound of your voice pulls him from his thoughts, looking up he sees you carrying your niece, who was rubbing her eyes tiredly. you say something about bringing her inside and jiwoong nods, letting you brush past him.

you return shortly, sitting down beside jiwoong on the stairs. you look over to him, noticing that he was in deep thought about something.

“you know,” he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, “i’ve been thinking,”

your eyes scanned his expression, sensing a shift in his demeanor, “yea? about what?”

jiwoong sighs, reaching out to grasp your hand, “i’ve been too.. stubborn. shutting you down everytime you mentioned having a family and.. i’m sorry.”

you shake your head, “jiwoong, i don’t want you to feel like you have to start a family with me.” squeezing his hand gently, you lean closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “you don’t have to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with.”

his eyes flicker down towards you before he returns his gaze to the yard in front of him. he swallows heavily, “i want to start a family with you. i was wrong to not consider it. consider how happy it’d make you.” jiwoong leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before he adds, “how happy it’d make us.”

his hand squeezes yours back, a content sigh escaping his lips. his thoughts go back to you holding your niece in your arms for a moment, ultimately sealing the deal for him. he wanted to start a family with you. he wanted to see that same smile on your face as you and your child greet him at the door.

“if you really want this.. i want to be sure that i can be the father and provider you and our child deserve.” jiwoong says, a bit of uncertainty still laced in his voice.

you sit up, cupping his cheeks gently, “you will, jiwoong. you’ll be the best dad to our baby.”

jiwoong leans into your touch, the warmths of your hands making his doubts fade into the background. he knew the journey would be hard, but that didn’t matter because he had you. and frankly that was all he needed.

jiwoong smiles, pulling you into a warm embrace, “can’t believe you wanna start a family with an old man,”

you pull away, looking at him with your jaw dropped, “shut up, you’re not old!” your hand slaps his chest gently as his laugh fills the air, warm and easy.

he pulls you back into his arms, his voice soft but still teasing, “i am! my knees creak with every move. i know you hear me groaning every morning.”

“i guess.. but everything else is still perfect. i love my old man,” you say, sliding your hand into his and intertwining your fingers.

jiwoong presses a kiss to your forehead, his finger going under your chin to lift your head. “i love you too. guess i’ve been all worried for nothing, huh?”

you nod, “you’ll be great, jiwoong. you already are and you always will be.”

jiwoong’s pulse quickens at your words, a wide smile present across his face as he realizes he’s ready for the future, as long as it’s with you. “if you’re sure about this, then lets do it, baby. let’s start our family.”

you return the smile, sealing the promise with a sweet kiss to his lips.

the car ride home was quiet other than the soft hum of christmas music playing on the radio. you glance over to jiwoong, a smile playing on your face as you study the face of your lover. the one who you wanted to be with forever.

“i can’t wait to spoil you rotten while you’re pregnant,” jiwoong suddenly says, taking his eyes off the road for a second to look at you. one hand leaves the steering wheel and moves to gently squeeze your thigh.

a giggle leaves your lips at his words, “you already do that, love,” you place a hand over the one on your thigh, returning the squeeze

his expression softens as he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

his hand is back on your lower thigh, slowly inching towards your heat. his eyes stay on the road as he slips his hand under your skirt, lightly tracing his fingers over your cunt as you shudder under his touch. out of the corner of your eye, you see him smirk as his fingers press against your damp panties.

“princess needs me, hm?” he rumbles, his voice thick with desire. you whimper in response, a small yes escaping your lips.

jiwoong pulls into the driveway and quickly puts the car in park before he leans over the console, pulling you into a rough, desperate kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth as he claims you entirely.

he pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours, “c’mon, baby, let’s get inside and i’ll give you what you want.” he pants against your lips before getting out and opening your door for you. jiwoong takes your hand and leads you towards the house, eager to get you inside.

once your through the door, jiwoong’s hands are back on you, peeling your jacket off and throwing it to the side. his lips are back on yours as he pulls you closer, his hands snaking under your shirt. jiwoong pulls away, taking your hand and lets you lead him to the bedroom.

he walks you backwards, letting you fall back on the bed with a small thud before he climbs over you, hooking his arms on the underside of your leg to pull you closer. his eyes rake over your body as you lay under him, your lips wet and swollen and your pupils blown as you wait for him.

“so fucking beautiful,” he groans, moving off the bed to remove his pants. jiwoong leans forward, pulling you to the edge of the bed, pressing his bulge against your clothed heat. he grinds against you, wanting nothing more but to see you writhe and whine for him.

“woong, please,” you sigh, reaching down to pull at the waistband of his boxers. a faint smirk appears on his face before he shoves his boxers down, his thick cock springing out.

it was a matter of seconds before your skirt and panties were removed and thrown across the room, your cunt now pressed against his cock as he slides up and down your slick. “so wet.. me getting you pregnant got you like this?” he chuckles, slowly pressing the tip to your hole as you desperately cry out, “yes,” needing to feel him entirely.

jiwoong pushes your legs to your chest before he fully bottoms out, earning a loud moan from you. the position had his cock reaching deeper inside you than ever before. “fuck, princess, you’re so tight,” jiwoong groans, “daddy’s gonna put a baby in this tight little cunt,”

jiwoong starts a rough pace, broken moans of his name falling with every thrust of his hips. the way he rams into you, knocking the breath out of you from the force has you clenching around him tightly, your peak nearing almost too quickly.

"fuck, baby,” he pants, “i'll take such good care of you, princess. keep you comfortable and satisfied. you'll be the perfect little mommy for our baby." the grip he has on your quivering thighs loosens as he leans forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

you moan into the kiss, reaching up to pull at the hair on the nape of his neck. jiwoong’s hand that is now free goes between the two of you, rubbing circles on your clit. “cum for me, princess. wanna feel you squeeze my cock, fuck,”

the feeling of his cock drilling into you while his fingers rub at your clit has your eyes rolling back, pushing you closer and closer to sweet bliss. “daddy, i‘m so close,” you whine, “don’t stop, please,”

jiwoong grunts at your whines, doubling his efforts to get you to the edge. his cock throbs inside of you as almost he fucks you into the mattress, his heavy balls smacking against your ass with every thrust.

with a few more thrusts and nudges to the spot that made you see stars, jiwoong has you over the edge, thighs shaking under him as he continued to thrust into you.

“shit, fuck— that’s it, baby, cum for daddy, gonna knock you up just like you want,” his voice is more desperate and husky as he chases his own orgasm.

jiwoong stays true to his word, pressing himself flush against your body as his cock pulsates inside of you, thick ropes of cum painting your insides. “take it all, such a good girl,” he groans, rolling his hips a few times to make sure you take every last drop.

you whimper as jiwoong slides his softening cock out of your cunt, collapsing beside you on the bed. “thank you for changing your mind, woongie.” you sigh, reaching over to take his hand in yours.

jiwoong turns his head, a smile on his face as he looks at you, “of course, my love.”

as he looks at you, jiwoong sees the future with you all round with his baby and that glow every new mother gets. jiwoong mentally curses himself for being so stubborn with his previous decision, seeing how the thought of being a mother made you so happy.

the thought of starting over did scare him a bit, but as he watches you now, all that fear went away once he saw that same smile of yours that he fell in love with. his heart softens as he looks at you, realizing how deep he really loved you. at this moment, jiwoong knew he wouldn’t want it any other way, he wanted you, and the family you two would make together.

reblogs + feedback is greatly appreciated ♡

tags - @senazzzz @woongiez @taylorluvation

to be added, simply comment saying you want to be added to the list!

[manicpixiedreamedwins]

GINGERWREN'S PAYNELAND RECS 2024!

I can't believe we have had Charles and Edwin for less than a year. Even still, we've had a lot of fun! I wanted to share some fics, art, and gifs that made this year worth it for me personally. I was talking to a friend recently, and we noticed recent rec lists seem to be short, tag based lists with no real input from the list writer. Many of them also seem to rec the same few fics. Sometimes I feel left out as a smaller writer, and I know my favorite fics also don't always make it onto these lists either.

So, gentle reader, I will not be making a list of tags and summaries. You can read the tags on the fics and the art work, should you choose to view. I will be telling you why I love the works themselves. This is the best way I can think to recommend work to you.

Without further ado: the list is below.

WRITING

sweeter than honey from the rock - @dearheartdont

This lives rent free in my head. Literally in my mind this is like a lost episode or something. I do not want to spoil it or anything, but some of my favorite things in it are the world building (there are delightfully sympathetic clients, and witty antagonists), Charles does... exactly what one would expect Charles to do in order to help the client and protect everyone, and he makes things temporarily worse for himself. Rest assured though, there is a very, very satisfying resolution. Really, this is such a wonderful fic.

Winter Bloom - @skinnybritishdudes

PINK!!! EDWIN!!!! NOW!!!! This was my request for our server's Christmas exchange and it blew me out of the water. Genuinely, the magical mischief PLUS the subtle horror PLUS the absolute tenderness at the end?? Was everything I wanted, and more than I expected. Friendship ended with my own pink Edwin origin story. THIS is Pink Edwin now. Run don't walk for this one (as you can see, I still have not calmed down I am so excited about this one).

Nothing Left to Hide - @roseganymede95

I know I need to say more than "spider jar" but there's a point where I just start crying softly and going "spider jar" while I am reading. Honestly I'm sure if I said that to you, you would probably know which fic I'm referring to. It's this one. It's brilliant. It rewired my brain early on and I haven't been the same since. I found a spider jar pin because it may as well be canon in my mind. They call each other mine in the fic what more do I need to tell you to get you to read this? Join the spider jar cult with me.

right. never finished it.- taableclofh

A classic. Charles tries to save Edwin from Hell. He figures some things out in the process. (This is canon divergent in the best possible way and was a real balm on the soul, somehow).

molliculi (soft little things)- @williamvapespeare

This was made in a lab to make me cry specifically. The first time I finished reading it, it was two in the morning. I stared at my bedroom wall for like twenty minutes, bleary eyed, and then finally managed to type something to @williamvapespeare (who was really gracious about whatever mess I sent, lol). God fuck. It's a character study on Edwin. It's a history of living and dying in 1916. It's wondering what it means to continue on existing, but never have lived on with your peers. It's an outsider's perspective on Charles' trying to figure things out. Go. Go now. Suffer with me.

All Rights Reserved- @phoenix-soar

Do you like possessive Charles? (There's one right answer and it's yes). This fic is the fic. This also lives rent free in my brain. I wish I could say something more coherent but honestly I do not know how much I can say- well there is this lovely description where Charles compares Edwin's eyes to the sea on a stormy day (ao3 is sadly down, I cannot pull the full quote, but it was gorgeous). The rest... 🌶️🌶️🌶️

The Case of the Omegaverse Portal - miraworos

Omegaverse, as specified in the title. Also a very well written casefic, and some really satisfying feelings revelations. Once again: 🌶️🌶️🌶️

ART

Kiss (Blue) - @ent-is-indecisive

Genuinely A I am just amazed by how lovely all the kisses you draw are. Like they come out stunningly, over and over. I have no idea how you pull off this wizardry but it is amazing. Anyway I picked the first picture we ever talked about but I am also genuinely blown away whenever you drop something in LOMA

Collab Gifset For Payneland Week- @mellxncollie

I know you have all seen Olly's gifs. If you haven't, what are you even doing? (Maybe you're new here. That's okay). It's something special when Olly makes a gifset for your fic. Genuinely, sometimes I just go back and stare at this one because WOW THOSE ARE MY WORDS. BUT ON A GIF. Genuinely thanks for making my first year in the fandom special Olly.

Pink Slip- @arisprite

Ari was super great during the flash sketch commissions and we had a blast. Now this reminds me of ongoing convos that @majorlb @deadboyslullaby and I have (and perhaps one day we will do something more with those) but the point here is Ari is great. You all should go and appreciate the wide range of payneland she has made. Her fem!payneland is dazzling, and so is her sad boy Charles (which I think is the first piece I ever fell in love with).

RITUALS - @deadboyslullaby

THE RITUALS ARE INTRICATE. This was a collaboration with @likemmmcookies . @deadboyslullaby worked really hard on the inscription around the edges for this one and I am forever in awe of all the little details here. I want more of them doing strange, arcane stuff together always.

ORBWIN IN CHARLES’ RIBS- @jube-art

This is absolutely what I think is going on when one of them is orbing and the other isn't. No I am not taking feedback. Once more, this was a piece of art that re-wired my brain early on. Ribs are for lovers.

BONUS:

Feathers and Fur - merle_p

Super secret rare pair that rewired how my brain works forever. I love you catcrow. I love you Monty that's a little bit depressed a little bit of a masochist. I love you Thomas who can't help but take in strays but still has teeth and hasn't been declawed in this fic. This fic is just... so... gorgeous*chef's kiss*. I won't spoil it for you, but I implore you to read it so I have more people to talk about this pairing with.

These were all my recs for now. Thank you Dead Boy Detective fandom 2024! We may have had some bumps in the road, but here's to a strong and healthy 2025!

[real-isaac-clarke]

1. Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

I personally call myself nonhuman, if I refer to my nonhumanity at all. I only really use alterhuman as an umbrella term for myself; it's not something I awakened to, or have ever felt awkward for. At least right now, I'm not human.

2. What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

Fused-to-armor and living action figure. I just happen to also be Isaac Clarke; less as a type and more of who I inherently am. When I was still forming, one of the materials in the metaphorical headmate printer was an Enderman, so that's why my RIG glows purple.

3. Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

Nope. Depending on the definition one uses, I'm either always in a shift or never in a shift. I'm a non-canon version of Isaac, but I am him, so I act like him.

4. How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

Trying to engage in my old hobbies (welding, wiring, construction, some other general engineering work). Doesn't work well, but I like learning about them when I can.

That, and... Okay, this might sound funny. But I also experience it by being attracted to people who're like Nicole. Just about everyone in the system has a type, and apparently mine is my fiancee.

5. What do you think of the community?

I try not to judge as a whole, you're gonna meet bad apples everywhere. That being said, fuck Therian Territory (not for the reasons you might think either. Those too, but holy shit they're fatphobic. Violently and oppressively so.) If you're alterhuman and fat, go anywhere but there.

6. What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

Knowing I'm not the only Dead Space alterhuman out there. Engaging with my source helps a lot too.

7. Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

Yeah, but on a really low level. This body bothers me; in my source I was fused to my RIG through some... unpleasant but thankfully unintentional events, making me technically part Necromorph. I really want my suit back.

8. What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

Form your own opinions and don't be afraid to be wrong about your types. Practice thinking with your mind and heart together, and don't be afraid to piss some people off - though that's the life advice we'd give in general.

10. Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

It's because I'm part of a system. Everyone who gets introjected in our system usually gets some form of nonhumanity attributed to them.

Fun fact, we don't actually have a host; Marlin is just the default. We belong to the subconscious itself, not any particular alter, and are all whole people, not parts of one.

If you are a alterhuman, reblog and answer these questions!

(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

5/ What do you think of the community?

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

[fbfh]

Could I request a drabble with Dave Lizewski and his best friend who has a major crush on Kick Ass and tells Dave all the dirty details?

OOOOOH SCRUMDIDDLYUMPTIOUS. aged up to 18+ obvs, give me a hoot or holler in the notes or my ask box if you want a fluffier version lol

Dave always wondered why girls never noticed him. he figured it was cause he's a quiet geeky nerd who likes comic books and superheroes. nope. it's because of you. when you first met Dave - however old you were, freshman, middle schoolers, kindergarteners - you latched the fuck onto this boy so fast. you've always been protective over him, always had that vibe that says you fuck with him, I'll fuck you up. besides, having a best friend as hot as you immediately made everyone assume he's totally off the market. like, it should be obvious. being "best friends" with someone as hot as you, spending all your time together - you have sleepovers for god's sake. EVERYONE at school fully believes you're fucking. the only ones unaware of this are Dave and Todd and Marty and possibly yourself.

it's at one of these infamous sleepovers that you finally spilled the beans. you've been obsessing over kickass for weeks, constantly talking about him and his exploits to Dave. you just got your hands on another grainy, horribly low quality picture of kickass stopping a purse snatching from someone's video doorbell. you're sitting at Dave's desk while he's flopped on his bed, finishing some homework.

"fuck I want him in my mouth so fucking bad..."

it just slips out, but Dave is instantly hard. he startles, sputtering and desperate to know who his best friend is practically moaning for.

"y-you want who?!" he demands in confusion at your sudden outburst, causing both of you to laugh. you turn the monitor towards him, and Dave sees himself looking back. his stomach does the thing, that flippy jerky oh shit thing from both anxiety and horniness. he is really, really hard now.

"k-kickass?" he asks, his voice getting all whiny and cracking in that way you've always found so cute.

"yes!" you exclaim with a laugh, looking at him incredulously. "come on Dave, you told me about a sex dream you had about our math teacher two days ago. he groans half heartedly at you bringing up.

"I already regret telling you about that." he protests playfully, his voice muffled into his duvet.

"just look at him," you sigh, already looking at the pictures of kickass. "look at his arms... I'd probably cum just from him putting me in a headlock."

Dave nearly chokes on his spit. He's really glad he's laying on his stomach so you can't see the way he's kind of rubbing against his mattress. it's not on purpose or anything, it's not like he's trying to get off to his best friend (even though he has before. like a lot. like he has to clear his porn search history because it's all descriptors of people who look like you) but when you're going on and on about how wet you'd get from being choked by a guy without realizing he's actually inches away from you... well, what is he supposed to do??

"christ, you can see his whole bulge in this one," you murmur, biting you lip. "I have never wanted to suck someone off so bad."

Dave lets out a choked noise, which you interpret as more playful disgust over your thirsting.

"I'm serious!" you exclaim. "I swear to god, he could keep me barefoot and pregnant and I'd thank him."

Dave's hips have started moving faster on their own as he grinds against his mattress. he knows he shouldn't prod for more details of what you'd do to kickass - to him - he knows you're his best friend and that you'd probably think he was some sick freak if you knew the truth, that he's kickass and he's getting off to you listening to you talk about him like that. Dave loves you, he respects you and admires you and cherishes your friendship so much, so why is feeling guilty and conflicted about about listening to you unintentionally dirty talk like this making it feel so good??

"literally, I would make sure his balls were always empty. like, always." you state.

each word that tumbles out of your mouth makes his blood burn with lust.

"U-uh huh," he chokes out, fighting for his LIFE not to moan in front of you right now.

"just one chance," you sigh, "I just know he's majorly packing. Bet he cums a lot too." you murmur.

you're pouting now. pouting over not being able to taste his cock. the same cock Dave is trying to discreetly jerk off just a few feet away from you. he whines softly, praying you won't notice as you continue to look through photos of him as kickass.

"I don't think I've ever been so down for someone," you whine, throwing your head back and sighing. "okay, you can't tell anyone about this-"

you start seriously.

"but I literally got off thinking about him last night, and I came so hard-"

and if that's not the straw that breaks the camel's back. Dave lets out a strangled, stifled whining moan as his hips rut and stutter against his mattress. his head swims as he cums in his pants, blinded by a raw, pure pleasure.

"O-oh god!" he pants, head spinning as he comes down from his high. his cheeks are flushed, and he can't fucking believe he just did that in front of you. he swallows thickly, terrified - and for some reason, a little thrilled by how you'll react.

you look over at him, eyes locked on him for a moment. it only takes you a second to realize what just happened - your horndog best friend got so turned on from listening to you thirst over kickass that he actually creamed his pants.

"You're so gross," you laugh playfully, throwing a pen at him. "I hope you know how lucky you are that I'm great at keeping secrets." you finish, an unspoken promise that tonight will stay between the two of you.

you turn back to what you're doing, unperturbed by the fact that your best friend just came in his pants from hearing you talk like that, chalking it up to Dave being Dave. this isn't the first time he's gotten hard at an awkward time, but usually he just sneaks off to the bathroom or something to take care of it himself. you had a hunch he might resort to something like this eventually, so you're not too surprised.

"Anyway, what do you think his type is?" you ask, swiveling around Dave's desk chair to look at him. your arms are crossed on the back of the chair, and you lean down on them as you look at him.

"Like, from an objective, guy perspective?"

"U-uh," Dave starts with a soft, nervous laugh, still unable to believe that just happened. "I- I don't know..." he shrugs.

he thinks that's the first time he's lied to you. he knows exactly what kickass's type is, because he's looking right at you.

[nirby-wirby]

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: platonic marichat, hints of adrienette

What to expect: internal conflicts, angst, fluff, set post-London Special

Summary: If he had been present, if he had been there by Ladybug’s side, then maybe his father would’ve still been alive today. Maybe the butterfly miraculous wouldn’t have been lost again to some new villain. Maybe Ladybug wouldn’t have gotten hurt, causing his father to sacrifice himself. Maybe he would’ve been the one to sacrifice himself. That was part of his job, wasn’t it?

————

She’d seen him when she had to tell him his father died. She’d seen how it had broken his heart and she couldn’t bear to see that in him again. So, maybe she was a terrible girlfriend for not being entirely truthful, but how could she be when it would only hurt him more?

The only way she could cope with any of this was: 1. Stay as busy as physically possible so as to not think about it and 2. Think of it as a Ladybug problem, not a Marinette problem. Marinette didn’t know that Adrien was a senti-being. Marinette didn’t know that Gabriel Agreste was Monarch. Marinette didn’t know about the wish. Only Ladybug did.

OR: Marinette and Adrien grapple with their guilt as Christmas approaches.

A/N: Hi @alithetiredartist!! This is your gift for the @mlsecretsanta exchange. I hope you like it!!

Adrien was restless. Now, more than ever, he had a lot of free time. Yes, Nathalie had kept the extracurriculars he liked, like piano and fencing, to try and keep some normalcy, but without photoshoots and a looser schedule, he would often find himself in his room with nothing to do. So, there he was, aimlessly walking around his room, his homework finished, the sun slowly setting in the horizon, absolutely bored. And also kind of lonely. 

It wasn’t Nathalie’s fault, of course. There was a lot she had to take care of after his father died, including finding a new job. Now that she had one, he didn’t see her nearly as often as before. Though Adrien knew they probably had enough money to not need it, Nathalie had explained that she needed to have something to do when things slowed down and that, while it was very generous of him, she didn’t want to live off Adrien’s inheritance since she wasn’t entitled to any of it. (It seemed like there might’ve been a little more there, a hint of resentment maybe or even disgust at the mention of his father, but Adrien couldn’t figure out what it really was, so he ignored it.)

Now, Christmas was approaching. Adrien was trying to ignore that fact, but it was difficult when decorations were already being placed in shops and around Paris and when holiday music was already playing on the radio. It seemed that every advertisement he came across when watching something or walking around had to do with the holiday and the importance of spending time with family. He didn’t want to think about the fact that this would be his first Christmas as an orphan. 

“Plagg,” Adrien grumbled, “what should I do?”

The creature, who had been devouring a whole wheel of camembert, paused his activities for a moment. “I don’t know, you can watch a movie or something.” 

“I don’t feel like it.”

“Ok, then play video games.”

“I don’t think I really want to do that, either.”

Plagg sighed, fully placing the last piece of his camembert on his plate and looking at Adrien as though he’d interrupted something of great importance. As though Plagg didn’t just eat three other wheels of camembert in the past hour. “If you’re gonna say that to everything I suggest, then I don’t know what to tell you, kid.”

Adrien rolled his eyes, “You gave me two suggestions.”

“Whatever.” He plopped the final piece of his camembert into his mouth, swallowing it whole. “The point is, I tried. If you don’t want to do those things, then stare at the ceiling.”

Adrien sighed, falling back onto his bed to do just that. Maybe if he stared at the ceiling hard enough then he’d get an idea that he actually wanted to do. His phone pinged, giving him something else to pay attention to other than the very interesting ceiling. It was a notification from Marinette, she’d liked his message. 

Marinette… He smiled at the sight of her name on his phone, a sparkly heart emoji right next to it. He was so, so lucky to be with her. Even with all of the chaos and everything that happened in the past few weeks, she was still there by his side. 

All of his friends had been so great. So supportive, so comforting, so ready to let him cry on their shoulders. And the extra time he’d had lately meant that he could hang out with them more often, which was also nice. All of it helped, but he still couldn’t help but feel a crushing weight of guilt.

If he had been present, if he had been there by Ladybug’s side, then maybe his father would’ve still been alive today. Maybe the butterfly miraculous wouldn’t have been lost again to some new villain. Maybe Ladybug wouldn’t have gotten hurt, causing his father to sacrifice himself. Maybe he would’ve been the one to sacrifice himself. That was part of his job, wasn’t it? 

Adrien sat up, running a hand through his hair agitatedly. He couldn’t just sit here in his room. All it did was give him time to think and thinking… wasn’t the best thing right now. 

“Plagg, let’s go for a run.”

“What? But I just—“ Plagg paused his whining. Maybe he saw something in Adrien’s expression that made him stop. He softened, “Alright, kid, let’s go for a run.”

----

Marinette couldn’t take it anymore. Ok, maybe that was a bad way of phrasing that. But she had a real, huge, gigantic problem: Adrien. Well, not Adrien, Adrien, but all of the secrets she was keeping from him. If she sat still for a moment too long, then she’d think about how she still hadn’t told him about how he was a senti-being and that his father wasn’t actually a martyr who sacrificed himself for the greater good, but a villain. 

Worst of all, she hadn’t even told Chat Noir, her partner, what really happened that night yet because she wasn’t sure if she could. What if she told Chat Noir and then he told Adrien? Gabriel’s dying wish was literally that Adrien would never find out that he was a villain. She just couldn’t let that happen. Not even because it was Gabriel’s dying wish, but because she couldn’t handle it if Adrien got hurt by that information.

She’d seen him when she had to tell him his father died. She’d seen how it had broken his heart and she couldn’t bear to see that in him again. So, maybe she was a terrible girlfriend for not being entirely truthful, but how could she be when it would only hurt him more? 

The only way she could cope with any of this was: 1. Stay as busy as physically possible so as to not think about it and 2. Think of it as a Ladybug problem, not a Marinette problem. Marinette didn’t know that Adrien was a senti-being. Marinette didn’t know that Gabriel Agreste was Monarch. Marinette didn’t know about the wish. Only Ladybug did.

Of course, this didn’t work as well as she wanted to. After all, she wasn’t transformed when the wish happened, so Marinette did know about the wish. Not to mention, Kagami and Felix knew that Marinette knew about Adrien being a senti-being and Nathalie knew that Marinette knew about Gabriel’s wish and the fact that he was Monarch. But Nathalie and Kagami had also been there when Adrien found out about his father’s death, so maybe that would keep them from saying anything for now. 

Perhaps one of the biggest issues was that Adrien constantly thanked her, Alya, and Nino for being there for him. Every “thank you” was delivered with the most earnest, sincere, sweet smile and felt like a dagger to the heart because Marinette knew that she was keeping very big secrets about his life from him. 

So, Marinette occupied her time doing what she did best: making Adrien a lot of presents. It was good timing too, with the holidays coming up. She tried making the best possible excuses for them too. When she made him a bunch of presents in the weeks following his father’s passing, it was easy to pass them off as presents to help cheer him up. When it was close to Halloween, she used that as the reason. 

It was harder to think up ideas for fall, but All Saints’ Day allowed her to make him more gifts. That was a particularly hard time, since it meant it would bring up talk of Adrien’s dead parents and it was difficult to watch Adrien feel so lonely and hurt while knowing she contributed to that. Of course, she and her friends were there for him, but sometimes it was hard to tell how he was feeling. Sometimes it felt that, like her, he was putting up a facade to keep them from worrying. But maybe she was wrong and looking too deeply into it. 

Now, with Christmas just around the corner, Marinette tried to occupy her time making him presents for that holiday too. Some delusional part of her brain hoped that if she made him enough presents, then maybe it would be enough to make up for the secrets she was hiding and ease her guilt. It wasn’t working.

“Tikki, what should I do?” Marinette asked, as she often did nowadays. A barely started project lay abandoned on her work desk. “Am I making the right decision, keeping all of this from him?” She thought of Adrien, her wonderful boyfriend, alone in that giant mansion, thinking his father died a hero. She thought of Chat Noir, her partner, who still didn’t know the full story behind what happened that day. 

“Well, Marinette, I think that you’re doing the best you can. Things will work out eventually,” Tikki supplied, as she often did, unhelpfully. Marinette groaned. 

Maybe she just needed to clear her head. Keeping busy was clearly not helping her tonight. Maybe getting some fresh, crisp winter air could help. Or maybe it would freeze her brain. But, would that be so bad? “Tikki, I think we should go for a run to get some of this extra energy out.”

Tikki smiled sympathetically, “Sounds like a good idea!”

But, before Marinette could call for her transformation, a knock came from her window. She whipped her head around as Tikki zipped away into hiding, finding Chat Noir waving at her with a wide smile. “Oh, it’s just you,” she let out a relieved sigh; ever since that day, she’d been on edge. She rolled her eyes at him, opening the window to let him in. 

“Hey, princess,” he greeted with a dramatic bow as soon as he was inside.

“Let me guess, you were in the area and wanted some fresh pastries, didn’t you?” She asked with a raised eyebrow, crossing her arms. He seemed to be coming around a lot more often lately and always for the same thing. She couldn’t blame him though, her parents’ pastries were the best, and it was nice to have a friend come by.

“Well, it is the season of giving, isn’t it?” He grinned even wider as she shook her head.

“If we keep giving you free pastries like this we’re gonna start losing some serious money,” she joked. 

He gave an exaggerated gasp, “All from just sparing a few pastries on a helpless stray like me? Oh, I couldn’t bear it if your parents couldn’t sell any more pastries all because I ate them all. Maybe I should leave…” He halfheartedly took a few steps toward the window, only to turn back around to look at her with giant kitten eyes and bat his eyelashes, “But, well, you wouldn’t be cruel enough to turn me away, would you?”

He would make a terrible actor. Marinette groaned, “Oh mon dieu, that was terrible! Who taught you to be this dramatic?” She heaved a sigh as though he were making her make a very difficult decision, playing along with his act, “Alright, fine. I guess it wouldn’t completely destroy the family business to spare you a few pastries.”

Chat Noir grinned, plopping down on her chaise as though he owned the place. “Wonderful! I knew you’d come around.”

She couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his antics. Maybe his interruption wasn’t so bad. After all, she needed a distraction from her worries, and this seemed to be the best one: a dramatic close friend who didn’t know about her troubles at all.

----

Chat Noir was glad he’d gone to Marinette’s place. After running around aimlessly for a while, he’d still felt restless, and he figured seeing his girlfriend would probably help. Of course, right now he was just a friend to her, but any time he got to spend with her, in either form, was always nice. Instead of being stuck in his empty, cold room, he was with her, laughing, playing video games, and eating pastries. 

After she beat him yet again in Ultimate Mecha Strike III, he figured it might be time to do something else. He stretched, putting his controller down and getting up. Marinette watched him walk over to her work station, a messy, creative part of her room that she felt was a “controlled chaos.” He never understood how she could work with so many sketches, sticky notes, and supplies everywhere. 

“So,” he started, gesturing at the partially started project on her desk, “what are you working on this time?” She seemed to be busier than usual lately, always working on something. A lot of the time he would find out weeks later that the project she was working on had been for him. Well, Adrien him, not Chat Noir. 

“Oh, you know, just another project,” she shrugged. Oh? That was new. Usually she’d start explaining her thought process behind it, launching into an impassioned speech that was always so cute to watch. He loved hearing her talk about her projects. 

“Just another project?” he repeated slowly, narrowing his eyes.

“Yep.” Her smile was too wide and she wasn’t meeting his eyes; she was hiding something. He was curious and unsure if he should pry, but well, he was a cat. 

“Who’s it for?” When he stepped closer to her, she backed away in her chair. 

“Hm? Oh, uh,” Marinette glanced around the room, “it’s for…” 

Oh, he thought with a grin, I see. “Me?” 

“No! Not at all! It’s, um,” Marinette sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Damn it, Chat Noir, it was supposed to be a surprise.”

“So, it is for me.” His cheeks were starting to hurt from grinning so wide. Marinette’s gifts were always the best. They were carefully crafted, made with love, and the fact that they came from her just made them that much better. No, he wasn’t biased. And yeah, he’d gotten dozens of presents from her since they’d gotten together, but this one was for Chat Noir. It was special. “What are you making me?”

“I’m not gonna tell you.” Aw, man. He opened his mouth to protest, but she put a hand up to stop him. “You already know I’m making it for you, and that’s enough. Don’t you know what they say about curiosity and cats? Just wait until Christmas.”

“But that’s so far away,” he whined. Honestly, he was just happy he was getting a gift. He couldn’t care less when he’d get it. Sure, Chat Noir and Marinette were friends, but he never expected her to make him a gift just because of that. It was nice to know that she’d thought of him. 

“It’s in three weeks, Chat.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you want it to be a New Year’s gift instead?” she warned. He stayed quiet. “That’s what I thought.” Marinette clapped her hands together, effectively ending the conversation, “Now, how about another round of Ultimate Mecha Strike III?” She held out his controller to him.

Chat Noir pretended to think about it for a moment, then immediately sat down next to her, snatching his controller from her. “Alright, but this time I’m gonna win.” She laughed as she loaded up the game, and he softened at the sound. 

----

It was Christmas Eve and Marinette, along with Alya and Nino, were planning to surprise Adrien. At the moment, however, Marinette was in her room pacing. She knew Adrien would likely be having a tough time right now and she needed to mentally prepare what she could say and do to comfort him. That wasn’t easy when she knew part of the reason why he was struggling was her fault. There were so many moments when he’d say he wished he could’ve been more like his father — meaning more courageous or heroic — and she’d have to hide a grimace with a forced solemn frown as she tried to rub his back in a comforting manner. This hangout would likely have another few of those moments where the guilt would threaten to eat her from the inside out.

She needed air. There wasn’t enough air in her room. Outside should be better, maybe. 

Marinette inhaled a lung full of fresh, crisp air from her balcony as soon as she was up there. Her warm sweater and multiple layers kept her mostly shielded from the cold, so she was able to take in the beauty of the fresh snowfall around her. It was almost enough to quiet her brain. Almost. If she just focused on the cold nipping at her nose instead of the flurry of emotions and thoughts in her mind, then maybe she would be able to gather herself enough to go back inside and meet Alya and Nino downstairs. They were probably nearly there.

As she practiced taking slow, deep breaths, something caught her attention from the corner of her eye. It broke her focus as she struggled to figure out what it was across the dimly lit rooftops of Paris. Was it a threat? An akuma? The new butterfly miraculous holder hadn’t attacked in some time. What if–

The figure grew closer. “Chat Noir,” Marinette breathed a sigh of relief. Of course, it was just him. What was he doing out here? Shouldn’t he have been spending time with friends or family? “Hey, Chat!” she called, waving her arms around to get his attention. From a distance, he paused, his ears twitching in her direction. He turned around and grinned when he saw her.

“Marinette,” he said when he landed on her balcony. He took her hand and kissed the back of it, “It’s nice to see you.” Did his eyes look puffier than usual? Was his nose red from the cold, or from something else? Before she could ask, he continued, “So, about that gift you were making me…”

“Chat Noir, it’s not Christmas yet.” The gift was ready; she could give it to him if she wanted to, but she preferred teasing him first. He was always so dramatic about things, and it was fun to watch.

His lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout, “Isn’t it close enough? Why should I wait another day when I’m already here?” She shrugged noncommittally, just to see what else he’d do to try and convince her. Chat fell to his knees, taking both of her hands and turning on his “kitten eyes.” “Please, Marinette, take pity on my poor soul. I’ve been waiting for weeks! Do you know how hard that is on a cat?”

Marinette couldn’t help but burst into a fit of laughter. Chat Noir watched her with a frown that seemed to say, Am I a joke to you? The answer was yes, definitely. “Alright, alright,” she said when she could catch her breath, “I’ll give you your present.”

He jumped up from where he'd been kneeling and clapped his hands together once, triumphantly, “I knew you’d come around, eventually.” He said it as though he’d been trying to convince her for hours instead of just a few seconds, but maybe it was hours in cat years. 

Once they were inside her room, Marinette found her little pile of prepared gifts and looked for his. She smiled as she grabbed a box she’d wrapped in festive paw print paper. To her surprise, Chat Noir gingerly took it from her hands and started carefully unwrapping it from the areas she’d taped it. Maybe it was because of the claws, but she’d thought he would’ve torn apart the wrapping paper instead. 

After setting aside the wrapping paper, he slowly took the lid of the box and gasped. He delicately held the fingerless black mittens Marinette had made him. “They’re beautiful…” Chat Noir murmured, admiring his gift. Turning them over, his eyes lit up with delight at the sight of the green toe beans embroidered into the palms. He gently set them aside and gave Marinette a tight hug. “Thank you so much.”

Marinette smiled as she hugged him back, relieved that he liked her gift. Even though her friends reassured her that her work was great, she was always nervous that it wouldn’t suit their tastes. When they pulled away, her smile faded, alarmed at the sight of his damp cheeks. “Oh my gosh, what’s wrong?” 

He shook his head with a smile, shaky hands hurriedly wiping away his tears. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he reassured hoarsely, sniffling. Her heart broke a little at the sight. “It’s just… I’ve kind of had a rough few months lately.” That was especially surprising. Chat Noir had always seemed so happy and upbeat that Marinette wouldn’t have ever thought that he’d been having a hard time. Who would’ve thought that both of the blond boys in her life were struggling at the same time?

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said softly, rubbing his back in an effort to comfort him. “Do you want to talk about it?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized that it was sort of a dumb question. They both knew that he couldn’t say much without compromising his identity. Whatever it was, it must’ve been a lot for him to tear up at her small gift. “Ah, sorry, nevermind.”

“It’s alright, I mean, it’s the thought that counts,” he shrugged. “Anyway, who are these other gifts for?” He gestured at the small pile of gifts near her work desk. 

“Oh, you know Alya and Nino?” He gave a small nod. “Well, we were gonna go surprise my boyfriend, Adrien, and I made gifts for them. He’s been having a difficult time since…” She trailed off, unable to say the words, the guilt creeping up again. She cleared her throat, attempting to clear her mind, “Well, I’m sure you’ve heard about it, and we wanted to spend some time with him to cheer him up. Or at least just to be there for him.” 

As if on cue, her phone started ringing, Alya’s profile picture lighting up the screen. “I’m guessing that’s them, then?” Chat Noir asked, pointing at her phone. Marinette nodded. “Ok, I’ll get going then. Thanks again for the gift, Marinette.” After grabbing his gift, he gave her a two fingered salute and a grin, then left.

----

Once Adrien was home and de-transformed, he quickly hid his fingerless mittens in a desk drawer. He’d rushed home in order to get there before Marinette, Alya, and Nino, and now his heart was racing. He needed to calm down before—

A knock came from his door. “One second!” he called. After taking a few deep breaths to even out his heart rate, he opened the door.

“Merry Christmas!” His friends, all bundled up for the cold, smiled at him and held up presents. 

He gasped, feigning surprise. “Oh, wow, guys! I didn’t know you were coming.” Well, not until just a few minutes ago when Marinette unknowingly told him. Adrien stepped out of the way to let them in his room. 

“Well, we figured it would be a tough time for you, tougher than the last Christmas was, so we wanted to be here,” Nino explained before hugging him. Alya and Marinette joined the hug, surrounding Adrien with his friends’ warmth. He felt like he was gonna cry again. His friends were all so wonderful and—

“Wait,” Adrien blurted, “I have presents for you, too.” They pulled away, allowing him to scramble up the stairs to the cabinets where he’d hid their presents. They’d been coming over a lot recently, which he loved, but since he’d had their presents ready for the past month, he had to hide them. 

When he came back down, they’d removed a few of their layers and placed their presents together in a neat pile in front of his couch where they were sitting. “I wanted to thank you all for everything, so I hope a little present can do that,” he explained, passing out the gifts to them. 

He sat down next to Marinette, who gave him a tender kiss on the cheek. “You really didn’t have to do that, Adrien,” she told him, “You’ve already thanked us plenty.” The others murmured in agreement.

“We’re your friends and we’ll be here for you no matter what,” Alya added. Marinette squeezed his hand reassuringly. “That said, let’s open up these presents!” 

As he laughed along with his friends, excitement and love all around him, Adrien was able to say that he was truly happy. Though it would take him a lot more time to properly grieve and move on, as long as he had his friends at his side, he knew he wouldn’t be alone. 

[mariacallous]

Like countless other people around the globe, I stream music, and like more than six hundred million of them I mainly use Spotify. Streaming currently accounts for about eighty per cent of the American recording industry’s revenue, and in recent years Spotify’s health is often consulted as a measure for the health of the music business over all. Last spring, the International Federation of the Phonographic Industry reported global revenues of $28.6 billion, making for the ninth straight year of growth. All of this was unimaginable in the two-thousands, when the major record labels appeared poorly equipped to deal with piracy and the so-called death of physical media. On the consumer side, the story looks even rosier. Adjusted for inflation, a monthly subscription to an audio streaming service, allowing convenient access to a sizable chunk of the history of recorded music, costs much less than a single album once did. It can seem too good to be true.

Like considerably fewer people, I still buy a lot of CDs, records, and cassettes, mostly by independent artists, which is to say that I have a great deal of sympathy for how this immense reorganization in how we consume music has complicated the lives of artists trying to survive our on-demand, hyper-abundant present. Spotify divvies out some share of subscriber fees as royalties in proportion to an artist’s popularity on the platform. The service recently instituted a policy in which a track that registers fewer than a thousand streams in a twelve-month span earns no royalties at all. Some estimate that this applies to approximately two-thirds of its catalogue, or about sixty million songs. Meanwhile, during a twelve-month stretch from 2023 to 2024, Spotify announced new revenue highs, with estimates that the company is worth more than Universal and Warner combined. During the same period, its C.E.O., Daniel Ek, cashed out three hundred and forty million dollars in stock; his net worth, which fluctuates but is well into the billions, is thought to make him richer than any musician in history. Music has always been a perilous, impractical pursuit, and even sympathetic fans hope for the best value for their dollar. But if you think too deeply about what you’re paying for, and who benefits, the streaming economy can seem awfully crooked.

Although artists such as Taylor Swift and Neil Young have temporarily removed their music from Spotify—Swift pressed the company over its paltry royalty rates, while Young was protesting its nine-figure deal with the divisive podcaster Joe Rogan—defying the streamer comes with enormous risks. Spotify is a library, but it’s also a recommendation service, and its growth is fuelled by this second function, and by the company’s strategies for soundtracking the entirety of our days and nights. As a former Spotify employee once observed, the platform’s only real competitor is silence. In recent years, its attempts at studying and then adapting to our behavior have invited more than casual scrutiny among users: gripes about the constant tweaks and adjustments that make the interface more coldly opaque, stories about A.I.-generated songs and bots preying on the company’s algorithms, fatigue over “Spotify-core,” the shorthand for the limp, unobtrusive pop music that appears to be the service’s default aesthetic. Even Spotify’s popular Wrapped day, when users are given social-media-ready graphics detailing their listening habits from the past year, recently took its lumps. Where the previous year’s version assigned listeners a part of the world that most aligned with their favorites, the 2024 edition was highlighted by the introduction of personalized, A.I.-voiced recaps, striking some as the Spotify problem in a nutshell—a good thing that gets a little worse with all the desperate fine-tuning.

Just as we train Spotify’s algorithm with our likes and dislikes, the platform seems to be training us to become round-the-clock listeners. Most people don’t take issue with this—in fact, a major Spotify selling point is that it can offer you more of what you like. Liz Pelly’s new book, “Mood Machine: The Rise of Spotify and the Costs of the Perfect Playlist,” is a comprehensive look at how the company’s dominance has profoundly changed the way we listen and what we listen to. A contributing editor to The Baffler, Pelly has covered the ascent of Spotify for years, and she was an early critic of how the streaming economy relies less on delivering hit tunes than on keeping us within a narrow gradient of chill vibes. Her approach is aggressively moralistic: she is strongly influenced, she explains, by D.I.Y. spaces that attempt to bring about alternate forms of “collective culture,” rather than accept the world’s inequities as a given. She sympathizes with the plight of artists who feel adrift in the winner-take-all world of the Internet, contending with superstars like Adele or Coldplay for placement on career-making playlists and, consequently, a share of streaming revenue. But her greatest concerns are for listeners, with our expectations for newness and convenience. Pelly is a romantic, but her book isn’t an exercise in nostalgia. It’s about how we have come to view art and creativity, what it means to be an individual, and what we learn when we first hum along to a beloved pop song.

A great many people over forty retain some memory of the first time they witnessed the awesome possibilities of Internet piracy—the sense of wonder that you could go to class and return a couple of hours later to a Paul Oakenfold track playing from somewhere inside your computer. In 1999, two teen-agers named Shawn Fanning and Sean Parker launched the file-sharing application Napster, effectively torching the music industry as it had existed for nearly a century. There had always been piracy and bootlegging, but Napster introduced the free exchange of music at a global scale. Rather than maintain a publicly accessible archive of recordings—which was clearly illegal—Napster provided a peer-to-peer service that essentially allowed users to pool their music libraries. After a year, Fanning and Parker’s app had twenty million users.

At first, anti-Napster sentiment echoed the hysteria of the nineteen-seventies and eighties around the prospect of home taping killing the record industry. Yet online piracy was far more serious, moving at unprecedented speed. One label executive argued that Fanning and Parker belonged in jail, but there was no uniform response. For example, the media conglomerate Bertelsmann made plans to invest in Napster even as it was suing the company for copyright infringement. Some artists embraced Napster as a promotional tool. Chuck D, of Public Enemy, published a Times Op-Ed in which he praised Napster as “a new kind of radio.” The punk band the Offspring expressed its admiration by selling bootleg merchandise with the company’s logo. On the other side was the heavy-metal band Metallica, which sued the platform for “trafficking in stolen goods,” and thereby became seen—by many of their fellow-musicians as well as by listeners—as an establishment villain. Faced with too many legal challenges, Napster shut down in July, 2001. But the desire to break from traditional means of disseminating culture remained, as casual consumers began imagining an alternative to brick-and-mortar shopping and, with it, physical media. Just four months after Napster’s closure, Apple came out with the iPod.

In Sweden, where citizens had enjoyed high-speed Internet since the late nineties, piracy took on a political edge. In 2001, after a major anti-globalization protest in Gothenburg was violently put down by the police, activists formed online communities. In 2003, Rasmus Fleischer helped found Piratbyrån, or the Pirate Bureau, a group committed to flouting copyright laws. “We were trying to make something political from the already existing practice of file-sharing,” Fleischer explained to Pelly. “What are the alternative ways to think about power over networks? What counts as art and what counts as legitimate ways of using it? Or distributing money?” That year, a group of programmers associated with Piratbyrån launched the Pirate Bay, a file-sharing site that felt like a more evolved version of Napster, allowing users to swap not only music but movies, software, and video games.

Alongside Pirate Bay, file-sharing applications like LimeWire, Kazaa, and Grokster emerged to fill Napster’s void and were summarily targeted by the recording industry. Meanwhile, the music business marched forward, absorbing losses and deferring any hard decisions. So long as fans still thought of music in terms of ownership, there were still things to sell them—if not physical media, at least song files meant to be downloaded onto your hard drive. The most common model in the United States was the highly successful iTunes Store, which allowed listeners to purchase both albums and single tracks, abiding by a rough dollar-per-song value inherited from the age of LPs and CDs. “People want to own their music,” Steve Jobs said, in 2007, claiming he’d seen no evidence that consumers wanted a subscription model. “There’s definitely a hurdle with subscription because it’s not an exact replica of the model people are used to in the physical world,” Rob Williams, an executive at Rhapsody, one of the largest early-two-thousands music-subscription services, observed, in 2008.

Daniel Ek, Spotify’s C.E.O., taught himself programming as a teen-ager in Stockholm and was financially secure by his mid-twenties, when he began looking for a new project to work on. Like many, he credits Napster for providing him with a musical education. While some of his countrymen saw piracy as anarchist, a strike against big business, Ek sensed a more moderate path. He and Martin Lorentzon, both well versed in search engines and online advertising, founded Spotify, in 2006, in the hope of working with the music industry, not against it. Ek explained to a reporter, in 2010, that it was impossible to “legislate away from piracy.” The solution was making an alternative that was just as convenient, if not more. The year he and Lorentzon launched Spotify, the census showed that thirteen per cent of Sweden’s citizens already participated in file-sharing. “I’m just interested in building a company that doesn’t necessarily change lives but adapts people’s behavior,” Ek said.

Spotify benefitted from the emergence of smartphones and cheap data plans. When we are basically never offline, it no longer matters where our files are situated. “We’re punks,” Ek said. “Not the punks that are up to no good. The punks that are against the establishment. We want to bring music to every person on the face of the planet.” (Olof Dreijer, of the Swedish electronic pop group the Knife, griped to Pelly that the involvement of tech companies in music streaming represented the “gentrification” of piracy.)

Spotify made headway in Europe in the twenty-tens, capitalizing on the major labels’ seeming apathy toward committing to an online presence. It began offering plans to U.S. users in 2011—two paid tiers with no ads and a free one that, as an analyst told the Times that year, was “solidifying a perception that music should be free.” Ek sought partnerships with major labels, some of which still own Spotify stock. Around this time, a source who was then close to the company told Pelly, Spotify commissioned a study tracking the listening habits of a small subset of users and concluded that it could offer a qualitatively different experience than a marketplace like iTunes. By tracking what people wanted to hear at certain hours—from an aggro morning-workout mix to mellow soundscapes for the evening—the service began understanding how listeners used music throughout the day. People even streamed music while they were sleeping.

With all this information, Spotify might be able to guess your mood based on what time it was and what you had been listening to. Pelly argues, in fact, that its greatest innovation has been its grasp of affect, how we turned to music to hype us up or calm us down, help us focus on our homework or simply dissociate. Unlike a record label, a tech company doesn’t care whether we’re hooked on the same hit on repeat or lost in a three-hour ambient loop, so long as we’re listening to something. (This helps explain its ambitious entry into the world of podcasting, lavishing nine-figure deals on Joe Rogan and on the Ringer, Bill Simmons’s media company, as well as its recent investment in audiobooks.) Spotify just wants as much of our time and attention as possible, and a steady stream of melodic, unobtrusive sounds could be the best way to appeal to a passive listener. You get tired of the hit song after a while, whereas you might stop noticing the ambient background music altogether.

Last spring, a Swedish newspaper published a story about a little-known hitmaker named Johan Röhr, a specialist in tepid, soothing soundscapes. As of March, Röhr had used six hundred and fifty aliases (including Adelmar Borrego and Mingmei Hsueh) to release more than twenty-seven hundred songs on Spotify, where they had been streamed more than fifteen billion times. These numbers make him one of the most popular musicians in the world, even though he is not popular in any meaningful sense—it’s doubtful that many people who stream his music have any idea who he is. Spotify’s officially curated playlists seem to be a shortcut to success, akin to songs getting into heavy rotation on the radio or television. Röhr has benefitted from being featured on more than a hundred of them, with names like “Peaceful Piano” or “Stress Relief.” His ascent has raised a philosophical question about music in the streaming age: Does it even matter who is making this stuff? At least Röhr’s a real person. What about A.I.-generated music, which is increasingly popular on YouTube?

It’s tricky to make the argument that any of this is inherently bad for music fans; in our anti-élitist times, all taste is regarded as relative. Maybe Johan Röhr does, indeed, lower your stress levels. Who’s to say that A.I. Oasis is that much better or worse than the real thing? If you harbor no dreams of making money off your music, it’s never been easier to put your art out into the world. And even if we are constructing our playlists for friends under “data-tuned, ultra-surveilled” circumstances, feeding a machine data to more effectively sell things back to us, it’s a trade that most users don’t mind making. We’ve been conditioned to want hyper-personalization from our digital surroundings, with convenience and customizable environments the spoils of our age. For Pelly, it’s a problem less of taste than of autonomy—the question she asks is if we’re making actual decisions or simply letting the platform shape our behaviors. Decades ago, when you were listening to the radio or watching MTV, you might encounter something different and unknown, prompting some judgment as to whether you liked or loathed it. The collection of so much personalized data—around what time of day we turn to Sade or how many seconds of a NewJeans song we play—suggests a future without risk, one in which we will never be exposed to anything we may not want to hear.

Spotify recently projected that 2024 would be its first full year of profitability; one investment analyst told Axios that the company had “reached a level of scale and importance that we think the labels would be engaging in mutually-assured devastation if they tried to drive too hard a bargain.” Its success seems to have derived partly from cost-cutting measures: in December, 2023, it eliminated seventeen per cent of its employees, or about fifteen hundred jobs. Some music-industry groups also say that Spotify has found a way to pay less to rights holders by capitalizing on a 2022 ruling by the Copyright Royalty Board which allows services bundling different forms of content to pay lower rates.

I wonder if any of Pelly’s arguments will inspire readers to cancel their subscriptions. I remain on my family’s Spotify plan; it’s a necessary evil when part of your job involves listening to music. For all the service’s conveniences, one of my frustrations has always been the meagre amount of information displayed on each artist’s page, and Pelly’s criticisms made me think this might be by design—a way of rendering the labor of music-making invisible. Except for a brief biographical sketch, sounds float largely free of context or lineage. It’s harder than it should be to locate a piece of music in its original setting. Instead of a connection to history, we’re offered recommendations based on what other people listened to next. I’ve never heard so much music online as I have over the past few years yet felt so disconnected from its sources.

In 2020, Ek warned that “some artists that used to do well in the past may not do well in this future landscape where you can’t record music once every three to four years and think that’s going to be enough.” Rather, he suggested, artists would have to adapt to the relentless rhythms of the streaming age. I’ve long been fascinated by musicians who explore the creative tension between their own vision and the demands of their corporate overlords, making music in playful, mocking resistance of the business. A personal favorite is R.A. the Rugged Man’s “Every Record Label Sucks Dick,” which has been streamed about a quarter of a million times. Although I’ve heard many artists lament Spotify’s effect on their livelihoods, it’s hard to imagine someone channelling that animosity into a diss track. For that matter, it’s a conversation I rarely hear on podcasts—the chances of finding an audience without being present on the world’s largest distributor are slim. Instead, artists make music about the constant pressures of fame, as Tyler, the Creator, did with 2024’s “Chromakopia.” Or they try in vain to protect themselves from it, as the singer Chappell Roan, known for her theatrical take on dance pop, did this past summer. One of the breakout stars of 2024, Roan had difficulty coping with the unyielding demands of her sudden superstardom, eventually posting a TikTok begging her fans to respect her personal boundaries. The targets within the industry were once varied and diffuse, but they were identifiable. Now the pressure comes from everywhere, leaving artists to exploit themselves.

Reading “Mood Machine,” I began to regard Spotify as an allegory for life this year—this feeling that everything has never been so convenient, or so utterly precarious. I’d seldom considered the speed at which food or merchandise is delivered to my house to be a problem that required a solution. But we acclimate to the new normal very quickly; that is why it’s hard to imagine an alternative to Spotify. Rival streaming services like Apple Music deliver slightly better royalties to artists, yet decamping from Spotify feels a bit like leaving Twitter for Bluesky in that you haven’t fully removed yourself from the problem. Digital marketplaces such as Bandcamp and Nina offer models for directly supporting artists, but their catalogues seem niche by comparison.

In the past few years, artists have been using the occasion of Spotify’s Wrapped to share how little they were paid for the year’s streams. The United Musicians and Allied Workers, a music-industry trade union, was formed in 2020 in part to lobby on behalf of those most affected by the large-scale changes of the past decade. Four years later, Representatives Rashida Tlaib and Jamaal Bowman introduced the Living Wage for Musicians Act, which would create a fund to pay artists a minimum of a penny per stream. With a royalty rate at around half a cent—slightly more than Spotify pays—it would take more than four hundred and eighty thousand streams per month to make the equivalent of a fifteen-dollar-an-hour job. But the bill hasn’t made any legislative playlists.

Earlier this year, responding to questions about Spotify’s effect on working musicians, Ek compared the music industry to professional sports: “If you take football, it’s played by hundreds of millions of people around the world. But there’s a very, very small number of people that can live off playing soccer full time.” The Internet was supposed to free artists from the monoculture, providing the conditions for music to circulate in a democratic, decentralized way. To some extent, this has happened: we have easy access to more novelty and obscure sounds than ever before. But we also have data-verified imperatives around song structure and how to keep listeners hooked, and that has created more pressure to craft aggressively catchy intros and to make songs with maximum “replay value.” Before, it was impossible to know how many times you listened to your favorite song; what mattered was that you’d chosen to buy it and bring it into your home. What we have now is a perverse, frictionless vision for art, where a song stays on repeat not because it’s our new favorite but because it’s just pleasant enough to ignore. The most meaningful songs of my life, though, aren’t always ones I can listen to over and over. They’re there when I need them.

Pelly writes of some artists, in search of viral fame, who surreptitiously use social media to effectively beta test melodies and motifs, basically putting together songs via crowdsourcing. Artists have always fretted about the pressure to conform, but the data-driven, music-as-content era feels different. “You are a Spotify employee at that point,” Daniel Lopatin, who makes abstract electronic music as Oneohtrix Point Never, told Pelly. “If your art practice is so ingrained in the brutal reality that Spotify has outlined for all of us, then what is the music that you’re not making? What does the music you’re not making sound like?” Listeners might wonder something similar. What does the music we’re not hearing sound like? 

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Deck The Halls for a Birthday Party: The Third Hour.

I'm just sayin...! If we want this party to suit Mukuro, we're gonna need more warpaint!

And I'm saying if we want this to be a nice surprise, the lest violent, the better!

Bro, you just don't wanna get your face all messy!

I-I'm not denying that! But more than that, I want this to be a nice party where we can all come together as friends and family, and show appreciation for someone we love!

If we wanted to turn this into a battlefield, we might as well have gone paintballing!

So what, you really think that she'd like a more traditional Japanese thing? What has Mukuro ever said or done to make you think she liked traditional Japanese stuff?

Alright, alright, easy, you two. If you wanna get better opinions on it, just ask Sayaka when she makes her rounds.

That might be for the best. The least we can do in the meantime is finish putting up the streamers and decorations we already have.

*The decorations team set up their pre-given decorations in the gymnasium at the Future Foundation. Unfortunately, though left in charge of planning, neither Hiro, Taka, nor Mondo can truly settle on a theme for the party.

I do get your problems though. Is anyone else a little worried that we really don't know what it is we should be aiming for here?

Yeah, until Makoto and Kyoko get back, we're flyin' by the seat of our-

Woah, it's slippin'!

Huh!?

*Mondo looks up above them to see one of their paper streamers coming loose from its hook. But as it begins to fall...

*FWACK!*

Ah!?

Phew...That was a close one.

Kanon!?

*As the streamer falls, Kanon shoots it from a distance with a nail gun. She hits it dead on and catches it before it can drop.

Holy shit, that was some killer accuracy!

I've had lots of practice~

...Yeah, no kidding...Man, how the hell did Eje and his boys ever manage to wrangle you in?

Oh, well, it's not like I really struggled. They didn't wanna hurt me, I didn't wanna hurt them.

If I did...all their necks'd be broken by now.

I...don't doubt it.

Well, hey, Happy Christmas, Kanonball. What'cha doin' here?

Sayaka told me what was going on, and I wanted to lend a hand. She told me you were working over here, and...I figured you boys could use a woman's touch.

That might come in handy...We're actually struggling a little here.

Why? What's the problem?

So, Mukuro, the person who this is all for...She's kinda a reserved person, and we've never held a party for her on such a big scale before.

She's not someone who really likes talkin' about herself, so...we don't know what she really likes.

She's kinda like you actually! She's one of those "tough girl" types, so your input would really help out!

Jeez...Say what you really think of me, why don't you?

Anyway, yeah, I can chip in...But I gotta know; where is Mukuro now? It'll be hard keeping her away from this place while we brainstorm.

[gone-fish-mode]

Going to add onto this in defense of young therian teens. I tried to put it in the tags, but the editor keeps crashing on me. So direct reply it is.

I would have been a tiktok therian at 14. So fast. I considered myself nonhuman at age 8. Eight! And I discovered therians at 13. At the time, the website I was on had no large therian community, I only knew a singular individual who used a definition that most of the community now would consider to be incorrect. And so I never identified with the label because it was inaccessible to me. But had it been in a place like tiktok? With a large, diverse, active community?

Hell-fucking-yeah, dude.

And sure, maybe they'll grow out of it. So what? This isn't some lifelong condition that people have, for a lot of us its a means to an end. A way to cope, an outlet, a way to deal with dysphoria, a spiritual belief. It's not something that has ever needed to be set in stone eternally to be valid, and honestly I think the belief that it somehow does need to be a permanent fixture overlooks the experiences of so many older teens and adults in the community who would otherwise be "valid" by OPs terms. So what if they grow out of it. To quote that old tumblr post, "show me a permanent state of the self."

And even if you think someone isn't alterhuman, I want you to look me in my fish eyes and tell me that a community based around animals, researching wildlife, activities, and crafts isn't a good thing for a kid to be into. In a world of anti-intellectualism and AI and environmental distress, anything that gets a young brain thinking and learning and making art and going outside is an awesome thing and should not be shamed.

Now, want to talk about the way some members of the community throw physical nonhumans and lycanthropy (and its variations) under the bus? How prioritizing aesthetics drowns out sharing experiences and ideas? Yes, lets talk about it. Lets figure out ways to protect our community. Lets help communicate and educate, but lets not shame kids for doing things that encourage self-exploration and healthy, community-building activities.

And this last bit is a bit to the left, since it's about tiktok therians, but still relevant to the whole "kids in therian spaces" conversation, so I'm adding it.

All the issues with young therians is not in fact from their age (for the most part). Its from the RAMPANT anti-intellectualism that is going around right now. Lower reading scores and puritan ideals are keeping new ideas out of young brains. Plus the emphasis on the social media algorithm keeps them hooked on material that is largely inoffensive (so that it can reach the most people and make the most ad revenue possible), so they don't challenge their own beliefs often. That bleeds into communities and spaces (like ours) that were built upon and rely on sharing new experiences and self reflection that can sometimes be gross or weird or ugly or taboo.

Anyway, all this to say. I think there should be more 14 year old therians. I think it's good for them, even if they grow out of it. And I think we should embrace them and try to help them learn.

Don't bash me in for saying this..but I don't consider anyone 14 or under who especially has tiktok to really be a therian.

They're more than likley gonna grow out of it. I'm not hating them for saying they are a therian but most people that young don't even know the meaning and seriousness of the identity.

[heytheredahlia]

Scarlet and Violet incorrect quotes, except they're direct quotes from my friends.

Drayton: I can't dress like a hoe at work... unfortunately

~

Drayton: God, my biceps look so good... sorry! No, I'm just so hot-

~

Carmine: Sometimes you just sound so fuckin' white

~

Juliana, floored: Oh my god... Kieran, what am I gonna do with you?

Kieran, very softy: Uhm... I don't know :)

~

Arven, angrily indecisive: Alright, I'm back, now what the fuck do I eat?

Penny: Eat a fuckin' McDick

~

Kieran: Note to self! Don't start fires :)

~

Lacey: Is Drayton good???

Crispin: Drayton's drunk

Drayton, aggressively slurring: I-I'm not drunk-ah! I'm fine-uh!

~

Penny, singing very loudly to herself, not realizing she's unmuted in a voice call: ... NOW THAT WE DON'T TALK!

Penny, a couple moments later, muttering: Damn, that's such a good song.

Juliana, who has been in call since the start of the song: Hi :)

Penny: (indecipherable shrieks of terror)

~

Florian, talking to Juliana: Then be a whore! Nobody here is gonna judge

Penny, without missing a beat: Juliana, what the fuck is this

Various quotes taken from: @dipplinduo @cosmic-seer @furretd0ll @snobithesnorunt @angelabsol and @kyokokusakabe

[mangled-by-disuse]

i just have to rant about the elf on a shelf for a sec

(why? i've never had one, i don't have kids and if i did that wee smug snitching fucker would still not feature in my life. AND YET so many of my parent friends are stressed out of their minds over the damn thing)

but like. I know the obvious (and correct) take is that the elf on the shelf is horrifying because it primes small children to accept constant surveillance as not only normal but positively benign, and the elf on the shelf is a fucking grass.

but I think there are more practical, sometimes more pernicious ways that it affects all aspects of the Christmas season, to whit:

Adding stress. like for fucking real do parents of small children not have enough to do in december must we also make it a social norm to move a doll into interesting places and keep it out of reach of pets and whatever the fuck else.

Making Santa less magical. like ok back in my day Santa did not need to send spies. Santa just knows shit. Santa does not require practical explanations. Santa is a jolly old elf who is slightly less omniscient than Jesus but only because he's seasonal. How does Santa know if you've been naughty or nice if the elves don't tell him? because he's fucking SANTA CLAUS that's it that's the whole reason. stop bringing your empiricism and logic into my childhood whimsy. Also, relatedly:

Giving children a loophole. The elf on a shelf is how Santa knows whether to bring you presents, yes? the elf on a shelf spies on children to feed back to Santa on whether they have been naughty or nice? Q.E.D. if I am sure that the elf is NOT in eyeline, I can be as naughty as I want and Santa will never know. is what I would absolutely have concluded as a child, thereby spoiling any positive behavioural effects of Santa mythos. or i would have attempted to bribe the elf. or... make him go away.

Preparing children for a lifetime of performance evaluations (derogatory). because I want to be clear that I do in fact have a problem with the underlying concept of "he knows if you've been bad or good" in the first place. shut up. another way in which santa is like jesus is that he doesn't actually need to care if you were Good. in my humble opinion Santa Claus doesn't give a fuck about your behaviour he just likes to give presents to children as many lonely old people do. (also binaries of good and bad are pretty harmful actually imo, where is the boundary for "naughty" and does it perhaps undermine the behavioural guidance if you are consistently told that Santa's love is conditional BUT that you have never once failed to pass the conditions? anyway we're getting off the topic at hand.)

Adding yet more plastic tat to the "necessary Christmas traditions" box. yes yes i am decades behind the times in complaining about the commercialisation of christmas. but i am also passionately frustrated by it. ooh we must have chocolate advent calendars (plastic trays)! we must have an elf on the shelf! we must go to a christmas market and buy more tat! let's have a christmas eve box and a (plastic) ugly christmas jumper and fucking. christmas earrings we'll wear one day a year and then lose. more! more christmas tat!!! MORE, I SAY!!!

Why he look like that?

it's such a punchable face. and yet, too small to punch. i see your unseemly enjoyment of your espionage, you perverted wee fucker. you delight in the suffering of overworked parents and overseen children alike. you disgust me.

anyway fuck elf on a shelf end broadcast

[losojos-decupido]

something washes over fogado now, a blend of relief and sympathy and mutual mourning. he's talked to many people in his life and has heard their many tales---some sweet, some sour, some bitter, but none of them seem to hit quite so close as what dorothea confides to him. it's like a hook in his throat, pulling out the words he's never had the confidence to say, because they're all going into a burn pile once they're done. there's reassurance in this destruction. he can trust dorothea with it, he thinks.

dorothea makes an effort to wipe the water away from fogado's face but it is futile; in the end, more water replaces where she has cleaned him. she tries so hard to bring him comfort. in return, fogado takes his shaky hands and gently grasps a section of her hair, splitting it into three strands and beginning to wind them into a braid.

he stays quiet for a while, listening to her as she had listened to him. then, when nothing but the rain breaks the silence,

" i never liked myself that much, either. "

like how dorothea stares out of the entrance, fogado's blurry gaze stays stuck to the braid he makes. " i'm always scared. there's a lot of things that i'm scared of. " once he finishes, he unwinds the braid and starts again. " i've always needed to be a happy person for everyone's sake, but it's hard when you're always so scared of everyone dying. i think, during the war in our country, i almost never slept. never more than an hour, at best. "

he thinks back to those quiet nights in the dunes, led along by his father and taught the various tools of his profession that he still uses to this day. how he was told to conceal his identity, to never let himself be known---would he be ashamed to see fogado as he is right now? would he disappoint him? who could say? he never sees him anymore.

" it's hard to say if people like us can ever be loved, " fogado muses now, finishing the braid once again. instead of breaking it down, however, he just starts on a new strand. " i say i love everybody, and i do! but it gets kind of scary when love gets deep, y'know? poking all in people's business, learning their fears and secrets. i don't know if... if people would stay, if they saw all the things i kept. it might even be a whole 'nother person under there.

" but... at least i know one thing. " he squeezes dorothea's hand back when she touches him and musters the courage to look at her. his eyes are wet and wobbly, shaky stars beneath. " i love you. i love you all the time, even if you're sad or scared. even when you hate who you are, i love you. and i want to make sure you're safe, so that one day you can... find something to love, yourself. "

a lone tear drops down his cheek but he makes no motion to wipe at it. " i'll always help you. i'll never leave you because you're someone i care about, okay? pinky promise.

" one day, we'll both figure it out. and when we do... when we're free, i think... i think it'll be the best feeling we've ever had in our lives. right? "

the sun won't rise for those like us

nov 2024 mission board

[mayspicer]

Ok, the boss is no more! There were some super stressful moments but surprisingly we all survived o:

My animal companion got hit with disintegrate, but we had hero points to make him avoid it. I would cry actually, because disintegrate means no resurrection x_x

The war is prevented! At least this one, because Cayden's party is right at the center of a much bigger one just starting. Today we saved the country. Cayden is trying to not even save the whole world, just maybe slow the whole thing down and save as much people as possible...

[inkskinned]

i love finding out how big this world is. my girlfriend has only visited boston a handful of times, but i grew up here. i told her we'd be going to do the tourist traps in salem, and she said - which salem?

to be fair to her, there are a lot of other states that have a town named "salem." and i think there's some evidence that the witch trials actually happened in what is now called Danvers. but the thing is - she thought "salem" was like, a made-up thing. there wasn't actually a salem, massachusetts - like there isn't a gotham city.

they don't talk about it that much where she grew up, is the thing! and this made me laugh. a week ago she was talking about her hometown and said something akin to "well the museum's kinda like the one in richmond," and i had to explain i still had no frame of reference for what the hell this museum was like.

i love finding out what knowledge i take for granted. i used to live with 5 other women. 3 of them were from south korea. they had to take, like, a solid fifteen minutes to explain their birthday system to my gay math-blind ass, laughing as they did.

that same month, our roommate from denmark taught me the danish word for wreath by accident - she'd been talking about decorations, used krans, and i'd been able to figure it out through context. i just picked it up and kept talking. our entire house used krans as the word. she came home and slammed the door one evening, mock-angry, shouting: you motherfuckers! it's a - a wreath!

and how often do you use certain words, anyway! i am cuban, so i was raised with certain spanish words sort of sprinkled in there; but never how you'd think. in middle school i asked someone to pass me the recogedor - in a completely american accent, like i was speaking english. i hadn't registered it as a spanish word. i mean, how often in school do you actually use the word "dustpan" - i'd only ever heard it in the context of cleaning my house.

there are places that you grew up that you, just, like, know. that you assume everyone knows. there are things and people and "common knowledge" that you have that, just, like. doesn't exist for me. i don't know what you call your public transportation system, but in boston we call it "the T". our train cards are called charlie cards because of a song where a father accidentally abandons his family, which was written because our system of transportation. in boston, most people would snort and say everyone knows that, kid.

i think you and i should go on a long walk - it's getting dark early these days and we need any sun we can manage. tell me about the first time you saw snow. tell me about the stuff everyone knows about your home. tell me about the cities "everyone's been to," about the food "everyone's already tried." who knows. maybe it will feel nice to you - watching someone learn about it for the very first time.

[eats-the-stars]

also if you have relatives/friends who will not in a million years admit that they are racist/homophobic/etc. since they know this is a bad thing they shouldn't endorse or be, then calling them out directly often leads to denial and deflection and getting really defensive and not backing down.

But if you just say 'hey, it was kind of rude to say X' or 'i think you were making H uncomfortable by bringing up X/making X joke' then they're more likely to listen w/out immediately going to level 10 defensive mode.

Also, ppl who will staunchly deny being a racist/fatphobe/homophobe/etc. will be more likely to agree to simply being 'a bit of an asshole last night.'

The goal is not to get the person to make a complete 180. It's to get them to be a little bit less of an asshole next time. And then rinse and repeat until someday they're, like, barely an asshole at all.

GRADE SCHOOL SJWS stop using social justice language to explain shit to your conservative parents IT’S NOT GONNA GO THROUGH now all they have are some new words to make fun of. don’t tell your mom she’s being fatphobic tell her she’s being a dick