#like disproportionate to the amount of fics they have

[strifesolution]

anon is probably talking about this fic

I learned about codependency from a rtgame/callmekevin fic in 2020. I found it again recently it’s pretty good

[fitzrove]

WHAT'S THE POINT

[solsticehymns]

liar, liar: oneshot

james potter x f!reader / fluff / romcom vibes / truth serum shenanigans

summary: James Potter doesn’t mean to confess his feelings. Or overshare. Or humiliate himself in front of the girl he’s in love with. But when a truth-telling potion takes hold, he doesn’t really have a choice.

a/n: recently rewatched liar liar. EXCELLENT MOVIE. even though jim carrey’s face makes me irrationally angry, the plot is so good and heartwarming. this fic was heavily inspired by those vibes, and kinda just that 90s romcom vibe in general! really hope you love it <333 xoxo, sunny ☀️🌻💞

wc: 3963

"You know," Sirius began, his voice thick with scrambled eggs, "if they can't manage to cook bacon properly, they really shouldn’t be serving it at all. It’s practically criminal."

Remus, barely glancing up from the Daily Prophet, replied with practiced indifference, "You say that every morning."

"And every morning, I’m still right," Sirius said, stabbing at a charred piece of bacon with melodramatic flair.

James Potter, seated between them, was only marginally involved in the conversation. The bulk of his attention—an alarming, disproportionate amount—was focused a few seats down the Gryffindor table, where you were nestled beside Lily Evans with a steaming cup of tea cradled between your hands. You laughed at something she said, a sound so soft and clear that it reached him easily over the low hum of breakfast chatter. James didn’t even hear the joke. The moment you smiled, his brain short-circuited—something sparked, overloaded, and went still.

He lifted his goblet of pumpkin juice, took a slow sip, and set it back down carefully. A droplet slid down the rim, clinging to his finger. He wiped it away absently, still looking at you.

There was something specific about mornings and you—a quiet kind of softness. Your hair was still slightly tousled from sleep, your oversized jumper hung loosely on your frame, and your hands gripped the mug as if it anchored you to the table. You leaned in, laughing again, and the sound caught in James's chest like a hook.

You weren’t trying to be radiant. That was the worst part. You didn’t angle for attention—you just had that gravitational pull, the kind of beauty that rearranged a room without asking permission. And James was, academically speaking, utterly and irreversibly besotted.

This wasn’t new. It had been happening slowly, over months—maybe even years. A quiet, resigned sort of yearning that made itself at home beneath his ribcage; a second heartbeat. He realized he was in too deep when he stopped fantasizing about declarations and started yearning for the ordinary. Sharing a table in the library. Catching your eye across a hallway. The occasional accidental touch that felt far too meaningful.

He’d made peace with the ache. As long as he got to see you every day, he could live with it.

Peter nudged him with a mouthful of toast. "Did you finish the Transfiguration essay?"

James’s jaw tightened. He was about to deliver a casual, harmless answer. Something that passed as effort.

Instead, what he said was, "Didn't even open the book."

Silence.

James blinked.

What the hell?

He hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t even consciously thought it.

Remus slowly lowered his newspaper. "Come again?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "That’s not the James Potter we know and grudgingly tolerate."

James felt a prickling heat crawl up his neck. He tried again.

"I meant to, but I got distracted. By a leaf. Or a bird. Something shiny. I don’t know."

The words tumbled out uncontrollably. He slapped both hands over his mouth, a feeble attempt at containing the damage. His cheeks were already burning, and his eyes darted around as if he could chase the words down and pull them back.

Don’t speak. Don’t even breathe, he warned himself.

Sirius grinned, delighted. "Did you just involuntarily confess to procrastinating?"

James whispered, horrified, "I didn’t mean to. It just—happened. Like my mouth’s operating on its own."

Remus's smile faltered. He looked mildly concerned now.

Before anyone could respond, your voice cut through the moment.

"Did you hit your head this morning, Potter?"

You were looking at him, bemused, your head tilted slightly. You were clearly unaware that James was in the middle of a full-blown crisis.

He turned toward you with the intention of brushing it off—something witty, something safe.

His brain screamed: Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it—

"You're the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen and I think about your smile at least three times an hour."

Dead silence.

Your eyes widened.

James felt as if someone had suddenly electrocuted his nervous system. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

You blinked, once, then twice, and let out a breathy, incredulous laugh. "Right. You definitely hit your head."

You stood, tucked your book under your arm, and offered him one last look—a half-smile, curious and a little amused. An unknown emotion flickered in your expression before you turned away.

Gone.

James’s hand froze mid-air, toast still suspended as if caught in a still photograph.

His stomach plummeted.

Across the table, Sirius collapsed forward, laughter shaking his shoulders.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly regretting every decision that had brought him to this moment.

Peter leaned in cautiously. "Mate, what the hell was that?"

James turned to them slowly, wide-eyed and pale. "What did you do?"

Sirius beamed and gestured vaguely to the cluster of goblets in the center of the table. One still held a faint swirl of orange juice.

"This," he said reverently, "is the single best moment of my life."

James’s voice came out sharp and panicked. "Tell me. Now."

Remus hesitated, fidgeting with the edge of his paper. "We might have… accidentally tested something. On you."

James stiffened. "Tested what?"

Sirius leaned back smugly. "The pumpkin juice. We brewed a variant of Veritaserum last night. Just for fun. You drank the one we spiked. Or maybe it was the goblet next to it. Jury’s still out."

"Lucky you," Remus added, not meeting James’s eyes.

James dropped his toast. It landed butter-side down with a soft, tragic thud.

He didn’t blink.

"Oh," he said flatly. "Fuck."

James spent the subsequent hours engaging in a masterclass of avoidance tactics. He deliberately skipped lunch, took unnecessarily long routes between classes, and at one point, concealed himself behind a seventh-floor tapestry for seventeen excruciating minutes while you stood just a few feet away, engrossed in conversation with Dorcas Meadowes.

It was not dignified. But then again, dignity had abandoned him somewhere between blurting out "you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen" and letting his toast fall like a tragic Victorian heroine succumbing to fate.

Remus assured him that the potion’s effects would wear off by mid-afternoon. James clung to that prediction like a drowning man to driftwood, crafting mental versions of the day in which he might make it through without hemorrhaging any further fragments of pride. Yet with each step he took toward the next class, doubt clawed at him—what if the potion lingered just long enough to obliterate his remaining social capital? The uncertainty scratched under his skin, carrying a similar feeling to an irreversible hex.

Sirius, on the other hand, made it his personal mission to test the serum’s potency every fifteen minutes.

"Prongs, mate, how do you really feel about Filch?"

"He smells like cabbage and despair, and I once dreamt he chased me with a ladle."

Sirius erupted into delighted laughter.

James groaned into his hands. "This is it. I’m going to die of Veritaserum-induced emotional exposure."

"You’ll survive," Remus said, although his tone suggested he was still conducting the risk assessment in real time.

They scraped through Herbology with minimal disaster. James uttered only one vaguely mortifying remark—"She hugged me once and I still think about how she smelled"—which he managed to reframe as a Weird Sisters lyric. Barely.

But Transfiguration? That was a catastrophe waiting in slow motion.

With exams approaching, McGonagall had declared the day a review session, which in practice meant organized chaos. Students clustered at scattered tables, muttering incantations under their breath, cross-referencing spellwork, and trying not to Vanish their self-respect alongside practice objects. James sat toward the back. You were near the front, half-turned toward your group so that he could see the slope of your shoulder and the line of your smile when you laughed.

You were surrounded by Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene—quills scratching, parchment rustling, the occasional gasp of horror as someone’s Vanishing Spell rendered an entire desk legless. James was meant to be revising. Instead, his hand trembled and his heart pounded like it had something to prove.

His notes were illegible. The phrase "turn to smoke???" appeared multiple times, alongside a sketch of a teacup that looked suspiciously like it was weeping. His quill tapped an erratic beat against the parchment.

Across from him, Sirius arched an eyebrow, already grinning.

"So," he said, low and gleeful, just loud enough, "how exactly do you feel about her again?"

James didn’t even look up. The words left him instinctively.

"She’s a walking daydream, and I’ve got about four essays overdue because of her face."

It echoed.

Not quietly. Not subtly. It was loud enough to carry over to three tables in the vicinity

Heads turned. Someone choked on a cough. Sirius bit his fist, shaking with the effort not to fall off his chair.

James froze.

His entire body went rigid—quill suspended mid-air, lungs locked in his chest. It was as if the very fabric of time had paused to acknowledge his downfall.

Then—movement.

You paused mid-sentence. Lily tapped your shoulder with subtle urgency. Dorcas leaned in, her expression intrigued. Marlene glanced over her shoulder with the kind of grin reserved for front-row seats to emotional train wrecks.

You listened. Blinked slowly.

Then—deliberately—you turned.

The entire table held its collective breath.

Your gaze found James’s like a targeting spell—brows raised, eyes wide. Not offended. Not amused. Just... intrigued. Like you'd heard something strange and didn’t know what to do with it yet—but wanted to.

James wanted the floor to open beneath him and deliver him mercifully into the void. He briefly entertained the idea of self-immolation.

But then—you smiled.

A small one. Tentative. Surprised, maybe. But not dismissive. Not cruel.

You turned back around, and chaos resumed. Lily covered her mouth. Dorcas said something that made Marlene snort into her sleeve. Whatever it was, it was very clearly about James.

James stared at the back of your head, wondering if it might offer a second chance if he looked hard enough.

Sirius was wheezing. Remus had buried his face in his hands. Peter knocked over his inkpot in the ensuing shockwave.

James slumped forward with a groan that seemed to exit his soul before his body.

He was, by every available metric, completely and irrevocably screwed.

He had barely taken ten steps from the classroom when a voice behind him called out.

"Potter."

He turned too quickly—jerky and obvious—and almost collided with you as you stepped directly into his path.

You didn’t flinch. You simply stood there, arms folded loosely, head tilted, gaze calm and inquisitive. The corridor had mostly emptied by now, the background noise reduced to the distant echo of footsteps and muffled voices behind heavy wooden doors.

James’s heart performed a complicated sequence of flips before lodging itself somewhere uncomfortably near his throat.

You met his eyes with an unreadable expression—curious, composed, lightly amused. Like you’d opened a door and were standing on the threshold, waiting to see if he’d walk through it.

"Quick question," you said, tone airy but precise. "Was that... about me?"

His mouth opened. Instinct surged to the front of his mind—sarcasm, a joke, maybe even a clumsy attempt at denial. But his thoughts lagged just behind his reflexes, and before he could intercept them, the words had already spilled out.

"Yeah," he said plainly. "And by the way, you’re absurdly pretty. Like—genuinely hard to function around. Painfully so."

Silence fell with the weight of a dropped textbook.

You blinked. Once. Then again.

James stood frozen, every synapse in his body firing off simultaneously, as though his nervous system couldn’t decide between fight, flight, or faint. His ears were burning. His hands twitched at his sides, completely useless.

Finally, you let out a soft laugh. It wasn’t cruel, or mocking. Just surprised. Genuine.

"You’re strange, Potter."

James flailed—just barely—before shoving his hands into his pockets like it might prevent further disaster.

"No—I mean, not in a creepy way. Or, alright, maybe slightly weird, but not bad-weird. I just think you’re... brilliant. And kind. And I notice when you wear that jumper with the rip in the sleeve because it makes you look comfortable. And I should probably stop talking now."

You looked at him for a moment that stretched longer than it should have. Not unkind. Not amused. Something else—curious, thoughtful. As if you were seeing him clearly for the first time and hadn't yet decided what to make of it.

Your lips curled slightly.

You tilted your head. Evaluating. Deciding.

Then, finally, you smiled.

It was mischievous and warm, soft-edged and self-assured—the kind of smile that could level a person without trying.

"See you in Charms, heartthrob."

You turned and walked away with unhurried confidence, like you knew exactly the mess you were leaving in your wake.

James remained rooted in place, too stunned to move, like the rest of his body hadn’t caught up with what had just happened.

Crunch.

Sirius appeared beside him, seemingly conjured out of thin air, munching loudly on an apple with the casual demeanor of someone watching a soap opera.

"You’re done for, mate," he said cheerfully. "She’s gonna marry you."

James emitted a sound that hovered somewhere between a gasp and a wheeze.

Sirius thumped him on the back with unearned confidence. "Better start writing your vows."

Charms was an unmitigated disaster.

James had spent the walk to class muttering desperate prayers to any higher power that might take pity on him. Maybe Flitwick would assign partners alphabetically. Or by wand length. Or perhaps he’d adopt some arbitrary sorting system blessed by divine chance—anything to keep James from sitting next to you.

No such luck.

The universe, as it turned out, had a cruel sense of humor.

You slid into the seat beside him, entirely casual, like his whole nervous system hadn’t just tried to exit his body at the sight of you.

“Hi,” you said simply.

“Hi,” he replied, voice cracking like a prepubescent banshee. He cleared his throat. “Hi.”

You tilted your head slightly. “You doing alright?”

He gave a thumbs-up. Then immediately regretted it. Who does that?

Sirius, two rows back, made eye contact and mimed a halo over his head.

Flitwick launched into a lecture on the Cheering Charm, but James only caught every fifth word. Something about “light-hearted energy” and “proper wand movement,” none of which applied to the doom currently devouring his insides. His palms were damp. His quill was trembling slightly. His knee wouldn’t stop bouncing under the desk.

You leaned closer, one elbow resting casually on the table as you peered at his parchment.

“Is that supposed to be a diagram of a wand or a tree?”

James blinked at the mess of lines he’d drawn. “It’s—neither. Abstract art.”

You grinned, wide and easy, and he felt it as a punch to the sternum. His heart lurched so hard it practically knocked the air out of him. You had no idea what that smile did to him—how it short-circuited whatever logic he had left.

You turned your attention back to your notes, but your voice was light. Curious. Teasing.

“Do you always talk like this to girls, or just me?”

James didn’t even have time to panic.

“It’s just you. Always been you.”

The words hit the air like a dropped pin in an empty room.

You blinked.

He stared at the table, mortified. His ears burned. He could feel Sirius’s psychic scream of glee from two rows away. He’d said it. Out loud. He’d said it out loud.

But you didn’t laugh, tease, or mock, as he had feared.

You only looked at him. Really looked at him.

Your expression held something quiet. Not surprise. Not pity. Something gentler—measured and soft. A flicker of understanding that warmed rather than burned.

James’s breath snagged in his throat. His fingers curled slightly around the base of his quill as he struggled to keep himself grounded. For one agonizing, wonderful moment, he thought he might cry—out of embarrassment, yes, but also because the moment was real.

And then—

You turned back to your wand.

Said nothing.

Your cheeks were slightly pink, your smile just barely visible as you bent over your parchment again. But you didn’t move away. You didn’t laugh it off. You stayed close, like the moment didn’t scare you the way it terrified him.

James blinked in the echo of it—your kindness, your quiet acceptance—completely undone.

He didn’t hear a word Flitwick said for the rest of class.

After class, James moved quickly—too quickly—trying to pack his things before reality caught up with him. If he kept his head down, avoided eye contact, and exited fast enough, maybe he could outrun the emotional catastrophe he’d spent all day teetering on.

But you didn’t leave.

“James.”

His name stopped him cold. Charms book half-shoved into his bag, his spine went rigid.

Your voice was quiet—not sarcastic, not amused. Measured. Sincere.

He turned slowly, bracing for the worst. You were standing a few feet away, arms loosely crossed, your bag hanging off one shoulder. There was nothing smug about your posture. If anything, your presence felt... gentle. And somehow, that made it harder to bear.

Your expression was hard to read, but it held no sharp edges. There was a softness in your eyes, something patient and open, like you were holding back the question that had been building all class.

“Are you okay?”

The simplicity of it landed with an almost disproportionate weight.

Because you meant it.

James blinked, unprepared. His brain scrambled to summon a joke, a quip—something light enough to float him out of this moment.

But the truth arrived first.

"No," he said. "Not even remotely."

The honesty stunned him. It left his mouth before he could restrain it, like the words had slipped from a part of him he couldn't control. He winced as soon as it was out.

Desperate to recover, he backpedaled.

“I mean—I’m not sick or dying or anything. Just…” He gestured vaguely at himself. “Emotionally compromised. Mildly feral. Truthfully unwell."

He offered a crooked smile. It held, barely.

Your brows lifted. Not out of judgment, but consideration. You looked at him like his words were puzzle pieces you were quietly fitting together.

“Truthfully, hm?”

James looked away. Embarrassment bloomed hot across his face.

It was absurd how much weight that single word carried. He fiddled with the zipper of his bag as if the act could insulate him from further exposure.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me today,” he muttered. “My filter’s gone. I think something and then—I say it. And somehow, it’s always when you’re standing nearby.”

Still, you didn’t laugh. You didn’t mock. You didn’t flinch.

Instead, you took one small step closer.

And then, without saying anything else, you reached forward and gave the sleeve of his robes the gentlest tug. Just once. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t performative. But it said everything: I see you. I’m still here.

James swallowed hard. His throat tightened, but this time not with panic. Something else. Something quiet. Something close to relief.

You turned and walked away, unhurried, the last rays of afternoon light catching in your hair as you rounded the corner.

The classroom was silent now.

James stood motionless for several seconds before lowering himself into the nearest chair like someone had been holding him upright all day and finally let go. His bag hung off one shoulder, forgotten. His hair fell into his eyes.

He tipped his head back and groaned—long, dramatic, utterly defeated: “I am so fucking doomed.”

The Gryffindor common room was silent—eerily so.

James had barely stepped through the portrait hole when he sensed it. The stillness felt curated, like a scene hastily arranged moments before he entered.

He pivoted to leave, but Sirius materialized in his path, smiling with far too much innocence to be trusted.

“Where are you off to, Prongs?”

James squinted. “Nowhere. Anywhere. Just—not here.”

“Perfect,” Sirius chirped. “Come sit.”

Before James could object, Sirius ushered him toward the fireplace with the gentle coercion of someone leading a lamb to slaughter.

That’s when James saw you.

You were already seated on the sofa, legs folded beneath you, a forgotten book resting in your lap. The firelight danced across your features, softening the angles of your face in a golden glow.

James froze. "You planned this."

Sirius thumped him on the back. "Me? Never. Just a wildly convenient coincidence, right?"

You raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Well, would you look at that,” Sirius said, clutching his chest like he was moved to tears. “Two of my dearest friends. Alone. In the same room. Under the same roof. By sheer happenstance.” He turned to you. “Don’t mind me—I’ll just be over here, not spying and definitely not listening in.”

He took a single, dramatic step back.

“Actually, no. I should go. Destiny awaits.”

James whipped around. “Sirius—”

“Good luck!” Sirius called over his shoulder, already ascending the stairs. “Also, feel free to profess undying love! Or don’t. But you probably should.”

The portrait hole sealed behind him.

James turned to face you. You had closed your book.

“That wasn’t subtle,” you said.

James exhaled and dragged a hand through his hair. “Not even a little.”

You rose, slow and deliberate. Arms folded—not defensive, but inquisitive.

“One question,” you said. “Why?”

James blinked. “Why...?”

You softened your tone. “Why have you been acting so strange today?”

That was all it took.

“I was dosed with a homemade version of Veritaserum,” James admitted, words tumbling out. “Sirius and Remus spiked my pumpkin juice this morning. For fun. That’s why I’ve been blurting things I’d normally take to the grave. Especially around you.”

He hesitated. Took a breath.

“Even so—I meant every word.”

You didn’t interrupt.

James’s voice quieted, like he was running out of room in his own chest.

“I don’t think I’ve ever outright lied to you, not really. It’s more that I’ve been pretending. Like saying 'morning' without letting it mean anything. Sitting near you and pretending I wasn’t waiting for you to notice.”

He let that hang between you.

“I can’t believe it took a bloody potion for me to admit I’m in love with you. I think I’ve known for ages. Maybe since third year, when you lent me your notes and smiled like I hadn’t just failed spectacularly. Or maybe fifth year, when you hexed Mulciber for picking on that first-year and shrugged it off like it was nothing. I’ve carried it for so long it stopped feeling urgent. It just became part of me.”

The fire crackled. James stared into it, hoping he would vanish.

“I didn’t plan to say that either,” he murmured under his breath.

You studied him.

Then, voice barely above a whisper: “You’re in love with me?”

He nodded, completely genuine. “Madly.”

And when you kissed him—softly, surely, like you’d already decided—James forgot how to stand still. One hand found your waist like it had always known where to go; the other hovered, then gently cupped your cheek, as though the moment might dissolve if he wasn’t careful.

Your lips were warm and real, and James felt his entire body lit with quiet flame.

You kissed him like it hadn’t scared you off. Like maybe it had pulled you closer.

When you broke apart—just enough to breathe—your forehead pressed against his.

“You really are strange, Potter,” you said.

James let out a shaky laugh. “You kissed me anyway.”

You smiled. “I suppose I like strange.”

And for once, James Potter didn’t need to speak. But if he had to, he’d spend the rest of his life figuring out the right words for you.

By morning, Remus and Sirius had double-checked the potion’s timeline. It had likely worn off sometime around Charms.

Everything after that? All James.

☀️🌻 masterlist

[xwonderlandresidentx]

I feel like I've been seeing a lot more posts about how both the Kat//ng and Zutara fandoms should stop fighting and tolerate each other more, and while I understand, and to an extent, agree with the sentiment, it bothers me a little because these posts tend to make it out like both fandoms are equally as toxic, when in my experience, that simply isn't true.

I am a multishipper, and even though I mostly just participate in the fandoms for my absolute favorites, I still enjoy lots of different ships, including ships that "contradict" each other.

In AtLA, even though Zutara is my favorite now, I also used to ship Kat//ng. Kat//ng used to be my favorite, and only ship for the series that I actively engaged with. I saw the appeal of Zutara (and others), but for a long time my opinion on it was "it's not canon, so why bother?" and I mostly just ignored it.

But one of the biggest reason I stopped enjoying interacting with the KA side of the fandom was because I saw a vastly disproportionate amount of other KA shippers going out of their way to harass Zutara shippers. And I don't mean simply talking badly about the ship itself, or the characters involved, but personal attacks against the real life people who ship Zutara.

Have I seen Zutara shippers harass Kat//ngers? Yes, of course. But not nearly as much as the other way around. Literally not even half as much. And not just here on Tumblr, but Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram, Deviantart. All across the internet, I saw KA shippers constantly badmouthing Zutara and Zutara shippers, even in the comments of Kat//ng art and fics, completely unprompted.

It bummed me out, and while it isn't the reason I stopped liking the ship itself, it did make me feel uncomfortable interacting with it's fandom. Kat//ng shippers are, ironically, a big part of the reason I started actively shipping Zutara. Because after seeing the way they went on about it and it's fandom, I thought "Surely, Zutara and the people who like it can't be that bad." So I took a deeper look at the ship and it's fandom, and.... I was right. They weren't as bad as other Kat//ngers had told me they were. Not even close.

[flightfoot]

How Alya's mistreated by the saltdom and the writers

I've written this for the @yall-hate-kids-tourney, but figured that I'd publish it on my own tumblr as well for an easy reference point for others who want to illustrate how badly Alya's been treated - mostly by the fandom, but she's been somewhat screwed over by the writing as well. I've written it so that even people who have never heard of Miraculous before can understand my problems with the way Alya's often depicted, and I will probably use this essay for that purpose repeatedly in the future. It's over 4500 words, so buckle up!

---

The amount of hatred Alya gets in the fandom is absolutely insane. There are over 800 fics tagged with "Alya Cesaire Bashing", and that's just the ones that actually TAG it - many of them either use a a non-canonical tag or just take their demonization of her as canon. It's not just that a lot of fics bash her either, but that the fics that bash her are disproportionately popular. If you go through the "Miraculous Ladybug" tag on AO3 and sort by kudos, I'd say around a third of the top 500 most popular fics use this gross caricature of her in order to justify inflicting some sort of insane punishment on her, or at least replacing her with "better" friends and leaving her to wail in despair.

Basically, Alya is the best friend of the main character, Marinette. She's really into superheroes and aims to be a reporter someday, to the point that the first time a supervillain cropped up in the series, she immediately got out her bike and cycled after him so that she could be there when a superhero showed up to fight him (Lois Lane would be proud). She runs a blog called the "Ladyblog" which reports on what the superheroes are doing, and sometimes makes some fun videos, like about the most impressive feats of one of the superheroes. 

More relevantly though, she acts as Marinette's support a lot of the time, often being the one to push her to confess her feelings to Adrien, to help her with plans she comes up with, to talk things out with if she's having trouble processing something, and trying to act as the voice of reason if Marinette's gotten to into her own head. It can sometimes head into Black Best Friend territory of having her mostly stick around to support her bestie, but she DOES get a decent amount of screentime and focus at least.

Then the first episode of season 3 aired, and the fandom went BALLISTIC.

This character, Lila, debuted back at the end of season 1 as being this attention-seeking liar who pretended that she knew a lot more famous people than she actually did, including being best friends with Ladybug. Alya, being a naive 14-year-old, believed her and put Lila's interview on her blog. Since Marinette IS Ladybug, she knew this was not true, though she was initially more freaked out about the possibility that Adrien (the boy she has a crush on) would find her supposedly amazing life to be entrancing and that Lila would steal Adrien away from her, to the point that she actively wanted to stop Lila and Adrien from spending time together to prevent Adrien from falling for her.

Fast-forward to Chameleon, the first episode of season 3, and Lila's back and lying some more, this time about having Tinnitus (which would mean that she needs to sit at the front of class, next to Adrien). The class has a whole seating rearrangement in order to accommodate the move, and because some of them just wanted to change seats. Since Marinette was late that day, she didn't get to give input, so she wound up sitting alone at the back of the class, instead of next to Alya like she usually did. She's upset by this, but can't prove that Lila doesn't actually have the disability (she doesn't even have evidence that Lila doesn't have hearing problems, it's just that her story of how she supposedly got the disability is suspect), so she puts up with it for the class period.

Then lunch time rolls around and Marinette tells Alya and Alya's boyfriend, Nino, that Lila's a lying liar who lies. Alya asks why Marinette hates her so much, since she barely knows Lila (this isn't the first time that Marinette's nitpicked at Lila's stories, but she's never actually managed to prove that Lila's lying, Lila's good at coming up with explanations for any hole Marinette exposes in her tales). Marinette tells her how, after Lila first arrived at school, she followed her and Adrien, eavesdropped on them, and then saw Ladybug show up and tear into Lila for not knowing her. (Presumably that's what she says, the episode skipped past her actual recounting of what she saw). Alya and Nino are more concerned with the fact that she stalked Lila and Adrien, with Alya also being skeptical that what she heard might have been out-of-context, given how common out-of-context eavesdropping is in fiction for causing issues, with Alya saying, "A good reporter always verifies her sources. Can you prove she doesn't actually know Ladybug?"

Since Marinette can't actually prove anything without revealing that she's Ladybug, she decides that the sane and reasonable thing to do is to throw a wadded up napkin at Lila while she's eating lunch, and when she catches it (Lila's pretending to have a sprained wrist), to loudly declare that she obviously doesn't have a sprained wrist. Lila quickly pretends that catching it did actually hurt, the classmates Lila was sitting with scold Marinette for hurting her, and then Marinette goes off to seethe in a bathroom, where Lila finds her and threatens to turn her friends against her if she continues trying to expose her lies. 

Then at the end of the episode, Adrien goes to sit with Marinette at the back of the class to keep her company, the teacher thinks that Marinette ALSO has hearing issues so she's brought back to the front (and away from Adrien again), Lila pretends that her hearing has been fixed so she can sit at the back with Adrien, and Alya spots that Marinette looks miserable about sitting alone at the front, so she chooses to sit next to Marinette to keep her company and everyone ends up going back to their old places, except that Lila's sitting at the back of the class now.

And that's it. That is, for the most part, what kicked off the entire Alya hatred and demonization onslaught. While there ARE more things that happening in following episodes, they have a pretty small effect on the demonization Alya's put through, almost all of it is derived from Chameleon and hasn't changed much since then.

So for starters, in fanfics Alya is often made to ditch Marinette constantly to hang out with Lila instead. This never happens. She's often exasperated when Marinette starts talking about how Lila is awful and points out that she doesn't have proof of that, but she doesn't avoid Marinette, and the closest she ever comes to hanging out with Lila outside of class events is when she called Lila over to babysit hers and Nino's younger siblings when Marinette canceled at the last minute.

But most Alya-bashing fics don't just leave it there. Oh no. If you look through a bunch of the most popular Miraculous fics, you'll see Alya made out to be some sort of ringleader for the class in bullying Marinette, hitting her, pinching her, poisoning her, destroying her things, saying nasty, heinous things to her, the works, and inciting the rest of the class to do the same, sometimes to the point that even LILA is shocked at her cruelty. Usually in these cases, Chloe, who is canonically the class bully (and Marinette's bully in particular) is inexplicably Marinette's primary protector against the eeeeeevil Alya, becoming Marinette's best friend and support and basically taking on Alya's canon role and some of her personality traits, despite the fact that canonically, Chloe's as susceptible to Lila's lies as anyone else, and that in season 5 Chloe actually became Lila's partner in crime in trying to hurt Marinette in particular. (I don't like how Chloe's treated in canon, but that's a different story).

I've never even seen any justification given for why Alya's so frequently made to be outright violent or cruel towards Marinette, it's just widely accepted in fiction now, even with nothing pointing to her ever being malicious like that. There ARE other things Alya canonically does that I see her taken to task over though, but that fall apart when you examine them.

One of the biggest offenders is criticism towards Alya over how she handles babysitting. In Christmaster, Alya and Nino pick up Nino's little brother after Marinette babysits him for them while they're on a date, in Timetagger, Marinette's slated to babysit for them while they're on a date but cancels at the last minute, so they call Lila over instead, and then in Simple Man, Marinette books herself to babysit Alya's and Nino's younger siblings and the daughter of one's of her mom's friends, a little girl named Manon, all at the same time.

Alya receives heavy criticism for not paying Marinette for her babysitting, for having Marinette babysit for her secretly behind her parents' back without their knowledge, and for pressuring Marinette to babysit for her even though Marinette's so busy.

A few problems with this.

1. We see babysitting happen several times, sometimes with Alya helping Marinette with babysitting Manon and sometimes with Marinette just babysitting Manon without anyone else's involvement. At no point is payment brought up, and yet the absence of such a discussion is only ever used to demonize Alya.

2. There is no evidence that the babysitting Marinette does for Alya's sake is done behind her parents' back, the only thing pointing to that is a lack of Alya ever flat-out saying that she has her parents' permission to have Marinette babysit for her, but there's no evidence of sneaking around. MARINETTE, however, DOES canonically ditch her babysitting duties by having Alya babysit for her without the parent's knowledge. In Prime Queen, Marinette accidentally double books herself to do an interview as Ladybug at the same time that she's supposed to be babysitting Manon, so she calls Alya over to watch the interview with her, lies to her that she's just gonna go downstairs for a few minutes to talk with her parents and for Alya to please watch over Manon while she does that, and then leaves to do the interview while Alya watches over Manon the whole time. Nadja definitely didn't know that this happened, because she was surprised and worried when Alya and Manon called in during the interview with Marinette nowhere to be seen. In addition to this, in Simpleman, Marinette foists off all the children she's babysitting onto her grandpa against his will so that she can run off and help with Adrien's photoshoot after he calls her. The people demonizing Alya for supposedly having Marinette babysit for her secretly are not upset about the examples of Marinette canonically doing these things.

3. Of the three times that Marinette has, to date, been scheduled to babysit for Alya's sake (Christmaster, Timetagger, and Simpleman), for Christmaster she spent the next several hours after finishing with babysitting making Adrien's 50th birthday present (he's currently 14 years old), so I wouldn't say she was pressed for time, for Timetagger, she literally called Alya at the last minute to say she was too busy to babysit and Alya said it was no biggie and made other arrangements, and for Simpleman, Alya offered to cancel her date and take care of her younger siblings herself the instant she saw that Marinette was already babysitting Manon, and Marinette told her to go ahead and go on her date and that she'd look after her siblings.

So clearly, the people clutching their pearls about how horribly irresponsibly Alya is handling babysitting and how she's wronging Marinette in the process don't actually care about babysitting ethics here, because otherwise, Marinette would be getting the brunt of the hatred, not Alya. Despite this, I've seen a fair number of posts in the past tearing into Alya's babysitting for the reasons I already gave, and a bunch of fics that make it so that Alya pressures and guilt-trips Marinette into babysitting for her when she's struggling to keep up with all her work, only to have her parents find out and be horrified by how Alya's lied to them about who's been doing the babysitting and that Alya's been getting an increased allowance because of that, so they pay Marinette out of Alya's allowance and ground her, take away privileges, just have this be used as an excuse to punish Alya for supposedly wronging Marinette.

And then there's the subcategory of Alya demonization towards her for putting up Lila's interview on her blog without verifying that Lila was telling the truth. Admittedly, this was foolish, but she's 14. Retractions exist for a reason. And yet, fics frequently have her reputation be completely destroyed because she put up one interview that had a false statement by the interviewee in it, and sometimes even to be completely blacklisted from ever being a journalist in the future, things that are completely insane and would have even the most storied and well-respected of reporters be unable to ever get a job. 

She also frequently gets demonized and bashed for "believing Lila over Marinette". My major issue with this: what she's specifically believing Lila over Marinette for is on the topic of "is Lila an awful person". I don't think it's unreasonable to have a higher standard of proof for believing that someone is an awful person than for believing that your friend might just have some biased interpretations. Alya thinks that Marinette doesn't like Lila mostly because Lila has hit on Adrien, Marinette's crush, before. This isn't unreasonable considering that Marinette's first reaction to Lila is to freak out about her stealing Adrien away, and that when this other girl, Kagami, started hanging out with Adrien, she freaked out about that too. Specifically, she called a meeting of all her female friends to try and stop Kagami and Adrien from going away together to London for the weekend in Backwarder, helped Chloe in trying to get Kagami covered in food at a fancy red carpet movie opening in order to drive her away and steal her seat next to Adrien for the movie, and when she and Kagami were paired up for a "friend-making game" where the goal was to locate where Adrien was in Paris and the prize was to spend time with him, she pretended to genuinely want to be Kagami's friend so she could sabotage both of them and prevent Kagami from spending time with Adrien. So it's not like the belief that Marinette might be unfairly biased against Lila because she's made moves on Adrien is an unfair assumption.

In addition to that, on the occasions when Lila HAS tried to frame Marinette for something, Alya hasn't believed it, or hasn't been shown to believe it at least. In Ladybug, Lila tries to frame Marinette for cheating on a test, for stealing a necklace from her, and for knocking her down the stairs. Despite the evidence Lila planted, Alya doesn't believe it and investigates to try and find out what really happened. She doesn't uncover any solid proof, but she still believes in Marinette. She doesn't believe that Marinette's assumption that Lila's behind this is necessarily correct, since Marinette's leaping to that without presenting proof, but she doesn't believe that Marinette's the culprit either. And in the two following cases when Marinette's framed, Alya never actually gets a chance to say what she believes after the accusation is made against Marinette.

Just... the amount of demonization towards Alya TO THIS DAY, often for things she NEVER EVEN FREAKING DID, is absolutely insane. Even over 5 years since Chameleon aired, fics with Alya being made into this malicious, awful bully so that Marinette can get some new friends to publicly denounce her, get her arrested, or otherwise be punished are frequently on the front page of the most recently updated fics on AO3, and are often some of the most popular ones. If you go to "Fandom-Specific plot" on Tvtropes, saltfics like these have multiple files going through all the common salt tropes. When looking through fics, I frequently search for Alya's name because she's often the first person to be unfairly demonized, so if she's safe, then everyone likely is. 

I suspect that racism plays a major factor in this. It doesn't make sense that Alya's often painted as being a violent, malicious bully and leader in getting the rest of the class to physically hurt and terrorize Marinette, I haven't even seen analysis arguing that she'd do that... but it tracks with the "Black Brute" archetype. This becomes even more obvious with Chloe, who's white and canonically DOES do some of this stuff, taking on Alya's canon role and some of her personality traits in these sorts of stories.

Then there's the standard Alya's held to for how she handles her blog. It's way higher than anyone would hold real-world reporters to, much less 14-year-olds. But it makes sense if you factor racial bias into account, and how Alya, being Black, is going to be held to a higher standard than anyone else, and be punished more for failing to meet that standard.

For things like the babysitting double standard, it makes no sense if you're actually looking at the stated criticism, given that the same criticism isn't leveled at Marinette... but it makes perfect sense if you're going off the assumption that Alya, as Marinette's Black Best Friend, is supposed to solely function as her support and that she's simply fulfilling her duties by always being there for her when needed, including for babysitting, but that if Marinette ever attempts to repay in kind, then Alya's being unfair towards her because Alya's obligated to always support Marinette, but that relationship is supposed to be a one-way street. Alya is supposed to function as Marinette's support, never the other way around.

And as for the way Alya's demonized for asking for evidence before believing that Lila's lying, well... again, Alya's expected to act as Marinette's support, and her "failing" that in any way, even if it makes sense from her point of view, is viewed as a betrayal. She's supposed to be loyal to Marinette, and only to Marinette, not to think for herself or to have multiple other friends or values that she needs to weigh. And anything that she does to go against that "justifies" Marinette intentionally trying to hurt and punish her for failing to live up to her role.

In conclusion, the way Alya's treated by the salt side of the fandom is grossly unfair, often has little connection with anything she canonically did, and has some gross racist implications, and is likely at least partially spurred on by racism, especially with how common and popular it still is to this day.

Addendum: How Alya is screwed over by the writers.

While Alya is primarily screwed over by the fanbase, there are some aspects of the writing that exacerbate her ill treatment. In season 4, Marinette confesses her secret identity to Alya, letting her know that she is Ladybug. Despite now knowing why Marinette was so convinced that Lila wasn't friends with Ladybug, and that Lila's interview stating that she's best friends with Ladybug is a lie, the subject just... never comes up, even when Lila starts being important again. It's not that Alya's ignoring what Lila lying on those subjects means, it's more like the writers just completely forgot that Lila told those particular lies, since Marinette doesn't bring them up either. This creates an inconsistency with the fanbase, who really, really, REALLY haven't forgotten those lies. 

There ARE ways to explain this - Lila lying about being friends with Ladybug in order to try to boost her reputation, especially when she's the new girl, isn't really all that heinous. Marinette lies a lot as well, even if you don't count lies told to protect her secret identity or other "necessary" lies, sometimes out of embarrassment, sometimes to to try and prevent someone's feelings from getting hurt, and sometimes because she thinks it's the fastest, easiest, or most certain way to get the outcome she wants. And yet, even though Marinette lies a lot, she's not ostracized for that since it's usually not for malicious reasons - foolish reasons at times, but rarely malicious. It would make sense that Lila too, wouldn't be thought too badly of for merely lying in an attempt to make friends.

None of that actually comes up though. Alya later, in Confrontation, states that, "Marinette, you know we'll always believe you. But every time you've accused Lila, there's been no evidence. And at worst, it was just a misunderstanding." Marinette doesn't say anything about the previous times Lila has been proven to lie, so it seems like either it was decided offscreen that the more understandable lies she's told don't matter, or that the writers just plain forgot about them.

There were other opportunities created by Alya knowing Marinette's identity that were ignored. Alya concludes that Adrien backing up Marinette's statement that Lila's bad news was just due to him wanting to defend his girlfriend. This is also a bit of a writing flaw, while wanting to back up his girlfriend's stance IS a decent reason for Adrien to be biased against Lila, this is Adrien we're talking about here. He's nice and understanding to a fault, and is known for giving people the benefit of the doubt and second chances. It makes far less sense to believe that he'd believe the worst of Lila, even if Marinette does, than it does for Marinette to be biased against Lila. That being said, Adrien wouldn't have been present for Lila's more indisputable threats and statements directed against Marinette, so he can't actually verify for sure whether or not there could've been some misunderstanding.

There WAS, however, someone who was always with Marinette, and who could actually back up Marinette's statements more definitively. 

Tikki. She was present for every threat Lila made, for everything she ever claimed. While it's possible that both Tikki and Marinette may have misunderstood Lila in the same way, it's far less likely, especially since Tikki would have had different biases from Marinette. Tikki could be an important witness. Yet that never comes up, is never proposed, because that would end the plotline too quickly. 

Alya was also screwed over in the immediate aftermath of Lila being exposed, though not by the writers per se? There was a short scene planned after Lila's exposed where Alya apologizes for not believing Marinette about Lila being a liar and generally an awful person, we've even got leaked footage of it, but it appears that it was cut somewhere between being written and voice acted, and the episode being aired. 

All of this only really affects detailed arguments about how well (or poorly) Alya's story arc with Lila was handled, its affect on the actual fanfiction produced about Chameleon salt was minimal, I saw no change in its frequency, severity, or general handling of the characters with any season after season 3. I highly doubt that even the changes I suggested here would have done much to persuade the saltdom against Ron the Death Eatering Alya, especially since a lot of the hatred against her has so little to do with the show.

There IS some hatred thrown at Alya for non-Lila related reasons - well, reasons that aren't DIRECTLY Lila related, most of that hatred still stems from people hating her for Chameleon stuff and then retroactively justifying it by looking back at other things she did that irked them. The most common one (that actually has some sort of argument to it, not the "Alya's a horrible babysitter and is abusing her friendship with Marinette" nonsense I listed in the main essay) is that Alya's pushy about getting Marinette together with Adrien. 

This is more a product of Alya's usual role in the story than anything. I mentioned in the main essay how Alya sometimes falls into "Black Best Friend" territory, and this is one of the biggest examples. One of her most common roles throughout the series is as the person who pushes Marinette to actually confess to Adrien, to hang out with him, to pursue her romantic desires even with her anxiety holding her back, and to be honest with herself during the times when she's trying to deny her feelings for him. She's Marinette's sounding board whenever she's having an anxiety spiral about... actually, just about anything, and acts as the voice of reason when Marinette gets in her own head too much.

Thus, Alya sets Marinette and Adrien to end up somewhere alone together, or tries to push her to talk to him, or to be honest during the times when she tries to "move on" from Adrien by denying that she still has feelings for him (which is blatantly untrue). She IS okay with Marinette dating someone else though, if she honestly seems to want to do that. She had no problem with her dating Luka, for instance. She DID protest Marinette's seemingly sudden interest in Chat Noir, but that was mostly because Marinette seemed to be grabbing at her new attraction as an attempt to run away from her feelings for Adrien, something that Tikki ALSO noted.

That's another thing - Alya's the character who's most frequently thrown into this role, but she's not the only one, nor even the most extreme one. A new character that was introduced for the Miraculous New York Special, Jess, observed how Adrien and Marinette acted around each other, and decided to try to get them to confess their love by faking a supervillain attack on them, with the supervillain kidnapping anyone that no one loves in order to compel Marinette to FINALLY confess to Adrien. (Alya thought it was stupid, but agreed to help since it might actually work). When Marinette, Adrien, Luka, and Kagami went out to the wax museum together, Luka intentionally locked Adrien and Marinette in a room together so that Marinette would stop running away and would be forced to talk to Adrien. Marinette is written in such a way that other characters are compelled to meddle in her lovelife, because otherwise she'll continue making her own extreme plans and pining away, but never actually confess her feelings. 

So while Alya could be said to be "pushy" to an extent, it's mostly for Marinette's benefit. I would like if this was a less frequent role for Alya - I think it does her a disservice, since it locks her firmly into Marinette's orbit rather than emphasizing who Alya is as her own character. Most of the hatred towards Alya for this is tied up in "Die For Our Ship" being directed at Adrien though, with Adrien bashers hating that Alya's trying to set Marinette up with what they see as an inferior option. Ironically enough, while Alya's role in this situation is one of the primary examples in the show of her being treated by the writers as a "Black Best Friend" who exists to serve Marinette's character, it's actually one of the cases where I think racism is a pretty minor part of the hatred by the fanbase over it, since I think that's mostly motivated by hatred towards the Lovesquare.

In conclusion (again), there is an issue with the writers bending Alya's character in order to tell a particular story, particularly a Marinette-centered story, while ignoring how little sense that makes with what happened earlier on in the plotline, or how it centralizes Alya's role and character around Marinette in ways that exacerbate already existing writing patterns in media. 

[static-symphony-fm]

you are in love (true love)

now playing: you are in love (taylor's version)

pairing: magnus chase x fem! reader

word count: 1.9k

summary: 5 people who knew magnus was in love with you before you did + 1 sword

an: FIRST FANFIC LETS FUCKING GOOOOO this took so long to write! I love how I accidentally made it blue themed even though that's magnus's least favorite colour 😭 its ok we all know he's canonically a 1989 girly

fun fact i actually took the first picture! i shit you not I was on a road trip with my family READING MAGNUS CHASE and I look up and see THAT SIGN and i SCRAMBLED to take a picture

content/ warnings: 5+1 things, background blitzstone bcs c'mon they're basically canon, shitty writing, kissing ooo spooky, magnus being a simp, there actually isn't a whole lot of reader in this x reader fic, minor allusions to sex stuff, a lot of swearing, weird use of perspective, i was trying to go for third person limited but magnus is the one it's limited to not reader? but reader is referred to using second person? sorry if it's confusing.

1. samirah al-abbas

  if someone had told magnus a year ago that in a couple month’s time, meeting for coffee weekly with one of his best friends and not getting kicked out of the overpriced coffee shop was going to be the most normal thing in his life, he wouldn’t have believed them. probably would have flipped them off, too, and stole their wallet as he walked away. but he’d like to think that he was a changed man, seeing as he was, in fact, in a hipster café in boston, trying not to make fun of all the fancy menu options. like, seriously? who orders a dragon fruit, pomegranate, and kale smoothie?

he realized he’d been thinking for too long and returned his attention to samirah, sitting across from him and discussing wedding plans for her upcoming marriage to amir as she sipped her latte. he noticed the way her eyes seemed to get brighter, and her entire body language conveyed how excited she was as she talked about him. magnus had a fleeting thought about how good it must feel to love someone so unconditionally like that, and have them love you back just as much. 

as if reading his mind, samirah finished her sentence and studied him, tilting her head as she seemed lost in thought, peering at him like he was a calculus problem she couldn’t quite figure out. 

after a few seconds, magnus broke the silence. 

“alright, it’s getting weird. why’re you looking at me like that?”

samirah snapped out of it, focusing on what he was saying.

“nothing, just… do you think you’ll ever get married?”

jeez, that was a loaded question. magnus narrowly avoided choking on his black coffee, swallowing and burning his throat before answering.

 “sam, i’m dead.”

“so? people get married in valhalla all the time. i have been to a very disproportionate amount of weddings in the two years i worked there.”

“yeah? how many of those end in divorce?”

samirah took a long drink of her coffee, swallowing it slowly as she responded.

“forever is a very long time, and no relationship is perfect, but wouldn’t it be better to have someone to spend that time with?”

“…i guess.” magnus accepted, lost in thought. truthfully, samirah was right, like always. if circumstances were different, if he hadn’t died at sixteen, he could imagine himself getting married. settling down. living in a cabin in the forest with two kids. 

a thought came into his mind, entirely of its own accord, of doing all of that with you. your laugh, your soft hair, the way your lips curled up and your eyes widened when you smile. you’d probably be a great mom.

whoa, what the hell? he should definitely not be thinking about getting married to his friend, what the fuck? that is not normal. 

he pushed the weird thought out of his mind as best he could, gulping his coffee and focusing on the burning in his throat and not what he was just thinking. samirah had gone back to talking about amir, and magnus was not going to think about marrying you any longer.

2. alex fierro

after nearly getting his head cut off by alex’s garrote for the third time that day, magnus needed a break. alex had decided that magnus needed to learn to fight without the help of jack, and it wasn't going too well for him. he collapsed on the bench next to alex, chugging half a bottle of water before even taking a breath. alex rolled her eyes. 

“it’s not that hard, you just aren’t fast enough.”

magnus managed to control himself and not say a snarky comment back, but it was a close call. instead, he ignored her, staring straight ahead and not engaging. unfortunately, you were in his direct line of sight, sparring with mallory only a few metres away. alex picked up on this quickly, nudging his side. 

“you like watching y/n fight, huh?” she teased, smirking. damn, why did she have to be so perceptive?

“what? no. shut up.” magnus replied quickly, trying to hide his blush. “i mean… she’s a good fighter. not like i like her or anything like that.” 

“mhm. suuuure you don’t.” alex replied, definitely not believing him. fuck.

“i’m telling the truth!” magnus protested. god, how was arguing with alex harder than physically fighting her? 

“yeah. did you see her necklace today? pretty, right?”

“she’s not even wearing a neck- fuck.” magnus said instantly, before catching himself. 

“go to hell.”  he swore, glaring at alex, who was grinning at him in a way that reminded him a little too much of her mother. 

“you first.”

      3 + 4. blitzen & hearthstone

“magnus? magnus?”

a pale hand reached in front of magnus face, waving and then snapping its fingers, bringing him back to reality. he blinked and looked around at hearth and blitz, sitting across from him in the dining room of the chase space. hearth took his hand back to sign finally, raising his eyebrows sarcastically.

“your head’s way up in the clouds, kid.” blitz remarked, drumming his short, well manicured fingernails on the table, his silver engagement ring glinting.  he was right. magnus definitely was pretty out of it lately. 

probably thinking about y/n, hearth signed. jeez, why did every conversation he had have to be about you? and no, he most certainly was not thinking about you and your pretty eyes and your delicate hands and the way your ass looked in those jeans you were wearing yesterday… jesus fucking christ, he needed to stop.

 he buried his face in his hands and groaned loudly, then raised his head back up so hearth could read his lips, hoping that his blush wasn’t as visible as it felt. 

“i am not thinking about her.” he lied through his teeth. 

“there’s nothing wrong with having a crush, you know.”

ugh, why did they have to act so much like his dads? 

“i don’t have a crush!”

“kid, you’re a terrible liar. everyone can see the way you stare at that girl. now remember, if you’re doing anything intimate, you gotta use protection…”

that’s it. magnus couldn’t stand up from the table fast enough

 “nope! this conversation is ending right now. good talk!”

5. annabeth chase

magnus and annabeth had been walking around new york for the past three hours, trying to make up for the ten years spent apart.  annabeth had shown him her favorite library, and pointed out a bunch of cool architecture in nearby buildings, with a promise to show him and his friends camp half-blood in the summer.

 they were currently taking a break, stopping for lunch at a falafel place that wasn’t quite as good as fadlan’s, but it was still falafel. magnus was enjoying listening to annabeth talk about her architecture projects– she was taking online classes to prepare for the higher level of new rome university’s program. 

magnus loved listening to her talk about things he didn’t understand. as a child he’d always thought she was a genius, the way she always solved puzzles and math problems easily. ten years later, that theory still held up, hearing her go on about a bunch of terms he didn’t understand.

“sorry, i’m probably boring you to tears. you wanna talk about something else?”

annabeth offered.

“no, it’s fine… i really don’t have a lot going on.” magnus replied, smiling politely.

“come on. there’s gotta be something interesting.” an idea seemed to come to annabeth.

“you have a crush on anybody?”

magnus swallowed. 

“no.”

but he was too slow. those steel gray eyes that matched his own were locked on him like a hawk, or maybe an owl. 

“yes, you do. come on. spill!”

magnus stayed silent. he was not telling his cousin about his crushes, but those metallic eyes stayed locked on him. he eventually gave up. annabeth could be scary when she wanted to be.

“fine. fine. her name’s y/n…”

+1. jack

 it was movie night at the chase space. was magnus ever gonna stop calling it that? no. it was cool. shut up. the credits were rolling on some disney movie that alex had insisted on, and everyone else was slowly but surely making their way to their rooms, yawning as they said their good nights. you had been sitting next to magnus on the couch the whole time, and suffice it to say that he had had some trouble concentrating on the film.  

it was just you and him, you in your nirvana t-shirt and gray sweat shorts, and in that moment, he decided to tell you.

 you got up to leave, waving at him, and in a feat of bravery so incredible it would be studied by historians for centuries to come, magnus managed to work up the nerve to speak up. 

“hey, uh, can i talk to you for a sec?”

“sure? what’s up?” you asked as you sat back down.

jesus, what had he gotten himself into? it’s ok, magnus, you got this. you beat loki in a flyting. you can talk to a pretty girl. 

“uh, i was just thinking… i just…” off to a great start, aren’t we? fuck off, voice in his head. he can do this. he took a deep breath.

“i really like you. you're gorgeous and funny and so insanely smart. i’m an atheist but i’m praying to god you feel the same way. will you be my girlfriend?”

you bit your lip, breaking eye contact as you looked off into the distance. fuck. you were gonna say no and then he was never gonna be able to talk to you again and he was gonna have to change his name and move to canada…

“can i kiss you?” 

what.

there were a million things magnus expected you to say, but that was none of them. he managed to stutter out a simple “please…” and then you leaned forward and your lips were on his and magnus chase died.

this felt more like the end of his life than being knocked off a burning bridge and drowning did. his heart was beating a million times a second, and he seemed to have forgotten how breathing worked. your lips were softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

 he managed to reciprocate a little, mostly acting on instinct, and all he could think about was how astronomically better this was than jackie molotov in the seventh grade.

what was he supposed to do with his hands? he was pretty sure that keeping them at his side was the wrong answer, so he moved one to your waist and the other one to the back of your neck, tangling it gently in your soft hair as his lips moved against yours.

gods, he could have stayed like that until ragnarök, but his stupid sword had to ruin the moment. jack started buzzing on his neck sleepily, seeming to have been woken up ungraciously. he hoped that you couldn’t feel it, but that was pretty unlikely, considering how close you were to him. jeez, he was blushing more and more every time he thought about that. 

eventually, you pulled away, smiling a little. 

“good night, magnus.”

he nodded, unable to form words, and managed to stand up and walk back to his room, wide eyed, operating on autopilot. he walked into his room and immediately collapsed backwards onto the bed, staring at the ceiling without blinking, completely still. not a thought passed through his mind for at least ten minutes, till he finally was able to reach up and pull jack’s pendant off of his necklace.

“dude, what happened to blades before babes!?!”

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 19

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending, but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind, and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

California, August 24, 2020.

Twenty minutes until the band's final performance of the year, and you'd finally be on vacation.

The air circulated better in your lungs when you remembered that you’d finally get to rest after an intense and seemingly endless string of album promotions and tours. Maybe you could even travel to a new country or perhaps visit a distant beach where not a single human soul roamed.

But when you remembered this required a plane ride, you immediately gave up, deciding that staying home and not stepping foot outside until the return to the stage next year was the better choice. The idea of relaxing in a distant place felt as impossible as the notion of taking a real vacation. You needed to come to terms with your reality.

“Can we say this phase of the band has been a real success? We’ve seen you at more festivals and opening for bigger metal names, which should mean you're reaching a broader audience, right?” the interviewer asked, holding the microphone close to your face.

“That depends on what success means to you,” your voice came out sharp, maybe a little too pointed. “Being at a lot of festivals and opening for more shows than in our last phase doesn’t mean success to me. That audience definitely isn’t ours when we’re placed in spaces disproportionate to our style. They’re not here to see us and couldn’t care less about getting to know us.”

“Looking at it that way, you’re right, especially considering the last incident at a recent festival. That crowd wasn’t ready to embrace a different musical style, and you paid the price for that.”

Your head nodded slowly as she agreed with your point. At the last festival in Florida, which she referenced, you had to endure an overwhelming amount of criticism from the audience simply for replacing a major band they actually wanted to see.

Fair enough, situations like that happened frequently in the music world, but it seemed deliberate that Gerard kept pushing you into unpleasant, unsuitable situations just for the thrill of easy money and stuffing your schedules to keep his ridiculous scheme running.

He didn’t even bother to read contracts or check if the working conditions were remotely decent.

“But that’s the price you pay when the person managing the band and booking our gigs values money above all else,” you said with a tight smile, shrugging. “We can die on stage repeating the same formula for years, playing in tiny venues and festivals that go against what we believe in and even alienate us from our real audience, but that will never measure whether the band has truly succeeded. Because it was never about quantity.”

“Do you think social media reach could change that?”

“Maybe, but it’s not something we have control over. We could blow up on a social network tomorrow with a generic song that takes less than ten minutes to produce, but if we’re still tied to someone who cares less about us than we do about ourselves because we’re just a smokescreen to cover up label problems, the issues will remain the same.”

“Wow!” the interviewer gasped slightly, her eyes widening. You couldn’t deny she had been kind and professional since she insisted this interview should solely feature the band’s female voice—a rare occurrence for you. “It’s important to know that, as a key band member, you think this way. We go to the shows and listen to the music without knowing half of what goes on behind the scenes. That’s sad.”

“Our biggest responsibility is handling our own mess without letting it spill over to the audience. You deserve to enjoy the art we create especially for you, and we’ll take care of the rest—just that.” You smiled, blowing a kiss toward the camera. “See you next time!”

You skipped back to the dressing room, certain it wouldn’t be long before Gerard stormed through the door to choke you out over your statements in the interview. He knew full well you disagreed with his management style, and you made it more evident every day as you counted down the days to free yourself from the one thing that still bound you: the contract.

In your mind, the more you defied him and eroded his dignity in front of the media, the sooner he’d give up using you as his captive.

Huffing until your lips trembled, you stood before the mirror, retouching anything out of place in your makeup. Your fingers pressed the compact powder under your eyes and a bit over your nose. You didn’t usually warm up and found it unnecessary, but at most, you’d breathe deeply a few times, holding the air in before releasing it, eyes closed.

You had a good boyfriend who loved you, a happy home you’d always dreamed of sharing with him, talent, a career, fans who followed you, and real friends who cared about you. Yet there was still this growing hollowness in the pit of your stomach, whispering constantly that none of it was enough.

You didn’t deserve any of this.

The room was partially lit, with only the faint glow of a lamp in the corner casting shadows on the walls of the dressing room. You were making the final touches to your makeup, the muffled sound of the opening band echoing in the background. The usual pre-show nerves were almost comforting.

Suddenly, the door creaked as it opened. Without turning around, you sighed, keeping your tone nonchalant.

“Sorry, but I’m not seeing any fans right now.”

There was no immediate reply, just the sound of soft footsteps crossing the carpet.

“I said I’m not—” You stopped when a chill ran down your spine. The sensation was instant, an invisible weight pressing on your chest, making the air feel heavier.

“Is that how you treat family now, doll?” The raspy, familiar voice froze you to the core.

You turned slowly, as if your mind was trying to delay the inevitable. When your eyes finally landed on the figure emerging from the shadows, your throat went dry, and the lipstick you were holding slipped from your hand.

“You...” Your voice was trembling, barely more than a whisper.

Seth took another step forward, the shadows dancing across his face partially hidden by a cap. His smile was as cold as his words.

“Oh, yes, doll. It’s me. I missed you.”

You stood frozen, unable to move a muscle. Your heart pounded so hard it echoed in your ears, and the air became harder to draw in. Your hands started to shake, buried memories struggling to resurface.

He stepped closer, his sarcastic tone dripping with menace.

“After everything we went through together, you acted like an ungrateful little bitch, handing me over to the cops with all those lies. Did you really think you could rat me out and then just go on tour with your band like we didn’t have unfinished business?”

“No…” You breathed as you tried to back away. “This place is full of security watching the band members, and if you take another step, I’ll make a scene.”

When he reached out to grab you, you stepped back, but your legs felt like lead.

“Then scream, doll! Scream!” He laughed.

You moved quickly, darting through the small gap he left to run toward the door. But with a single stride, Seth reached your torso and threw you to the floor, pinning you down as he straddled you. Your air was cut off, and before you could scream, he silenced you with a punch to the side of your face, making your head loll to the side.

“Listen here, doll,” he growled, grabbing your face with one hand and covering your mouth with the other, forcing you to look at him. “I really ought to kill you, but luckily for you, I got out of your little stunt. So, I’ll just punish you for being a stupid bitch!”

Your heart was pounding so fiercely it felt like it might burst from your chest. Sweat ran down your spine like a stream, and all you wanted was to scream until your organs trembled, but something held you back. A moment of desperation made you avert your gaze, your eyes widening, and in a desperate impulse, your teeth sank into the flesh of his hand covering your mouth, hard enough for the metallic taste to flood your palate.

He growled in pain, yanking his hand away abruptly. The momentary distraction was enough for you to wriggle free and stumble to your feet.

Your heart was still racing uncontrollably, and your eyes darted around frantically for an escape, anything to get you away from him. But he recovered quickly, his gaze darkened with fury, rage fueled by the pain.

“You think you’re stronger than me?” he sneered venomously, wiping the blood from his hand on his shirt. “You haven’t changed at all. Still the same weak, broken little girl.”

His words were like knives, cutting straight to your core. Your breathing was erratic, and your knees threatened to buckle at any moment. Seth opened his mouth to say more, but his words were cut off when a furious blur grabbed him by the collar, yanking him away from you.

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but I’m about to kill you for laying a hand on her.”

Seth laughed as he tried to break free, but Noah slammed him against the wall with enough force to make a dull thud echo through the room. That was all it took to unleash a flurry of punches that made Seth retaliate with one that struck Noah’s face, but Noah seemed fueled by pure rage. Within seconds, the two were exchanging fierce blows amidst growls, toppling chairs and scattering makeup and clothes across the floor.

Your stepfather seemed at a disadvantage as Noah blocked his arm to prevent him from striking. Through the haze clouding your vision, you could see all of Noah’s anger pouring out on that damned man, whose face became unrecognizable from the sheer amount of blood streaming down.

You stood still, hands trembling and eyes fixed on his face, as if frozen in time. Everything around you seemed like a blur. The sounds of the fight, the muffled screams, the thudding of fists meeting flesh—all of it felt distant.

Your whole body shook, a mix of fear and memory. It was as if you'd been transported back in time, the same sense of helplessness washing over you.

Finally, the sound of hurried footsteps broke into the dressing room—members of the crew rushing in to separate the two. Seth was forcibly dragged away, still trying to fight with a sneering expression, but Noah kept glaring at him with eyes full of hatred, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

“We’ll see each other soon. Don’t forget, I’m a big fan of the band, doll,” Seth said as he was dragged down the hallway, while you tried to cover your ears.

Noah wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, turning his gaze back to you. His face softened instantly when he noticed your state.

“Hey,” he called, his voice quieter now as he knelt in front of you. His restless, gleaming eyes assessed the situation on your face and carefully passed over the bruise on your cheekbone. “Sorry for losing control like that, but when I walked in and saw he’d hurt you, I just…”

You didn’t want to hear more, cutting him off by throwing yourself into his lap, desperately seeking his embrace. Noah sighed and pulled you into his arms, cradling you gently. He rested his lips on the top of your head, pressing a lingering kiss there.

He was never violent, had never even raised his voice to you in all these years together. You knew that for something to have triggered his primal instincts like this, it meant he truly cared.

“Who was he?” he asked, running his thumb along the side of your arm.

“Seth.” You barely mustered the strength to respond, the name slipping out. “My mom’s boyfriend.”

“Why didn’t I know he existed?” As pointed as the question was, he sounded only curious. “And why the hell did he show up like that?”

“I thought I’d buried that part of my life when I left Richmond. I didn’t want to remember where I came from, much less what drove me to leave that house.”

“I don’t recall you ever mentioning your home, and now I understand why,” he said, his voice heavy with regret.

“To me, he died the day I turned him in to the police, just hours before we officially moved to Los Angeles.”

You had no idea he’d been out there beyond the voices in your head and the delusions that made you think you’d seen him somewhere. You had believed it was just your mind sabotaging you, but he had remained silent all these years, simply tracking your steps.

“He found out what I did and was trying to punish me for it. Sorry for never bringing this up before—I’ve always tried to forget that part of my life, and it took me longer than it should’ve to report what he did,” you said, your voice breaking as you bit your lip and clung to Noah tighter. “First, I had to learn on my own that I wasn’t the defective piece in the factory.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. “You don’t have to go into it if you don’t feel comfortable. I’ll never stop thinking you’re the bravest woman I know because of this.”

The subtle brush of his lips on the tip of your nose made you crack a brief smile. No matter what dirty lies your mind tried to plant to ruin the moment, they couldn’t steal the feeling of being truly safe without having to fight to survive alone.

“20 seconds until you’re onstage.” A deep voice interrupted sharply, drawing your attention to the door.

“We’re not performing tonight,” Noah declared. “She’s hurt, and she’s just been through a lot.”

“20 seconds until you’re onstage,” Gerard repeated, pounding on the door again. “Jolly and Ruffilo are already starting the intro, and I won’t tolerate delays when this counts as a direct breach of contract with the event’s producers!”

“Did you hear what I said?” Noah turned to him over his shoulder, his tone hardening. “Neither of us is in the right headspace to perform!”

Slowly, you pulled away from Noah’s embrace and got to your feet with a tired sigh. This might be the first time he’d have to deal with Gerard’s true nature so blatantly, but you were used to swallowing your problems and getting to work.

Gerard entered the room with slow steps and stopped in front of him, waiting until he also stood.

“I remember saying I didn’t care if you two were screwing around as long as it didn’t interfere with your work,” he said, stroking his chin. “But I feel like that agreement is being broken when you can’t even hide on stage that you were trying to kill each other in the dressing room.”

“But…” Noah tried to argue, but Gerard cut him off.

“I don’t care what you were doing!” He pointed a finger for emphasis. “But both of you are going to find a way to cover that up on your faces, and for every second you delay, I’m docking it from your pay at the end of the month.”

With those harsh words, he turned and left the room. The intro of the first song was already playing faintly in the distance, and you and Noah exchanged glances for a few seconds. It didn’t really matter what either of you wanted or whether the situation was fair.

You never believed much in justice anyway.

The adrenaline from the stage was still coursing through your veins as you walked backstage, an almost electric energy pulsing through every movement, and the vibration of the crowd still echoed in your ears, drowning out everything around you, including the shadow that approached almost imperceptibly.

"Good job today," the man said casually, with a friendly smile that could fool anyone. Before you could react, he slipped something small and discreet into the palm of your hand.

You froze for a second, but the euphoria of the moment seemed to justify the gesture. It wasn’t as if it were something new. Still, as you glanced at the small package, your throat went dry.

"Thanks," you murmured softly, trying not to draw attention.

Your steps quickened toward the dressing room, and the sound of the boys' voices grew more distant as you moved away. As soon as you entered the small space, you heard the door slam shut behind you, and, like a furious storm, Noah advanced, snatching what was in your hand.

He held the package at eye level, his gaze fixed on you as if trying to solve an impossible puzzle.

"What is this?" he asked, his voice as sharp as a blade.

You tried to respond, but the knot in your throat held you back.

"I asked you what the fuck this is!" he yelled, throwing the package onto the nearby table. The small object slid across the surface and stopped right in your line of sight.

"It’s..." you stammered, scratching the back of your neck and pulling at some strands of hair. "It’s nothing important."

"Nothing important?" he repeated, incredulous. "Are you kidding me?"

"Of course not."

"Is this why you’ve been acting weird?" he pressed.

You averted your gaze, unable to look at him, but he wasn’t going to let it go.

"You lied to me," he continued, anger spilling from every word. "You made me believe you were just nervous, that there was too much going on at once. You made me believe it was all about the music, about the show, about me... But it’s this?"

He pointed at the package as if it were something vile.

"When did we start hiding things from each other like we don’t live under the same roof? When did you become someone I don’t know, someone who has a life parallel to the one you show me every day?"

"Stop, Noah!" you shouted back, finally finding the strength to speak, clutching the sides of your head. "You’re doing this again, and I don’t need you managing my life like I’m your responsibility!"

He let out a bitter laugh, running his hands through his hair—a gesture you recognized as a sign of extreme frustration.

"You don’t get it, do you?" he said, his voice now lower but still charged with intensity. "I care about you! I care about everything we’ve built together, and now it feels like we’re not even on the same page, but you always said we were!"

He stopped, the words seeming to choke him.

"I’m not going to stand by and watch this happen."

You tried to respond, but the guilt and weight of emotions were overwhelming. Deep down, you knew he was right. But admitting it was something you weren’t ready to do.

The words came out like a desperate sob, broken and repetitive. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, forgive me."

You knew each syllable carried a torment that felt impossible to express, yet they spilled out between sobs. Your eyes met his, and it was like looking into a mirror of pain. Noah’s eyes were brimming with tears, his face flushed with a mix of anger and deep sadness you never wanted to see in him—especially because of you.

He stepped back, as if he needed distance to breathe, but you couldn’t let him go. Without thinking, you stepped forward and grabbed his hand. Your touch, though trembling, had the power to disarm him. You felt his shoulders gradually relax, his furrowed brows softening. Still, the hurt remained there, etched in every line of his face.

This was what you hated—hated so much. Having to show him the darkest parts of yourself, the ones you did everything to hide. Noah didn’t deserve this.

He was good, so good.

You not.

"You’re absolutely right, my love," you said in a weak voice, almost a whisper. "I was nervous; I thought it was the better choice… But this was never about you. Not when it’s by your side that my noisy mind finds a little silence."

As you spoke, your fingers sought his damp cheeks, carefully tracing the lines of his pain. He yielded, the rigidity in his expression giving way to exhausted weariness, and he rested his forehead against yours. There, in the small space between you, your breaths began to intertwine until they became one rhythm.

Noah closed his eyes as he felt the tip of your nose brush against his.

"I’ll never do this again," you promised, your voice choked. "I’ll never use it again. I’ll never lose myself like this, but I need you not to leave me alone when I only have you."

He remained silent for what felt like an eternity. When he finally spoke, it was with an almost inaudible whisper, yet it carried the weight of the world.

"If you’re feeling bad about something, if your past still hurts, if you feel like you don’t belong where you are now… then share it with me. Let it hurt me, but don’t do this to yourself." He paused, his voice breaking in the midst of his confession. "I love you so much, little storm, and I would never treat you this way."

Your heart clenched with a new pain, a guilt that seemed intent on suffocating you. You loved him more than anything, but was this what love did? It placed you in front of yourself, forcing you to face your flaws?

"I know. I know. I know." You repeated, the words falling like rain as you held his face in both hands. "I love you, my love, and I’ll never hurt you like this again."

He opened his eyes, now filled with a painful hope.

"Promise?"

That word clenched your throat tightly. You couldn’t lie to him anymore. Not after this.

"I promise," you replied, your voice low but firm.

And, for a moment, as your eyes remained locked on his, you almost believed you could keep that promise.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lma1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline ; @just-randomm-stuff

[soupbitch-moneybitch]

something i really love about david jenkins' school of doing whatever the fuck you want when writing fiction is that it's given writers a lot more confidence to write things they'd otherwise be too nervous to write. there seems to be a disproportionate amount of really weird, niche ofmd fanfics compared to other fandoms (which i adore! no hate!), and i think part of it is that people are less worried about making all the details perfect. like, we have people who are like, "i've always been interested in 19th century coal production and would love to write a fic that takes place during that era, but what if i can't do it justice because i haven't done enough research??" but now you can just be like "i went to the david jenkins' school of doing whatever the fuck you want, so if there are inaccuracies no there are not 😊"

i just think it's really cool, that people can be more creative and daring now because they don't have to worry about getting every little thing right. if your gay pirate show can make absolutely no sense, so can your fanfic. and that translates to your short stories, or novels, or poetry, or artwork

idk. it's more than just a silly pirate show. it's important. it impacts people's art in a serious way, and that's neat as hell

we're all honorary doctorate students to the david jenkins' school of doing whatever the fuck you want, so let's make weird art, fam✌🏽

[essentiallyleaf]

day 10. hate sex. with. nana.

472 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, hate sex, degradation, ass play, rimming, anything else that i’m missing?, this started as a brat taming fic in my mind, but honestly, you don’t tame shit in this one, dialogue only, basically improv, i know the pic is clashing, i just kinda like it that way.

notes.

meant for this to be a decent amount longer, but i am emotionally spent from answering an ask that i felt was much more important than all of this. i need to look at pokemon sleeping adorably now. unsurely, leaf.

“Ach-ptoo!”

“Don’t you dare touch me back there, boy”

“Oh, shut up, you were begging for me to fuck you in the ass just three days ago! Now stay still for a second”

“Mmmmmgh-yeahh”

“It’s just my thumb and you’re already mewling, you little bunny slut”

“Nnngh- I’ll choke you as soon as you let me ride”

“And, enlighten me, why would I do that?”

“Because you fucking love it, you idiotic dick with legs!”

“You’d be too busy cumming on my dick, and you know that”

“Fuh- Wanna bet?”

“You ever been to Vegas? Because you seem to be into purposefully losing money”

“Who said I was talking about money?”

“What are you suggesting, then?”

“I ride you, and whoever cums first gives the other five minutes”

“Five minutes?”

“To do what the other wants with them. Mmmmhh- Deal?”

“Deal. Straddle me”

“You have no idea what you just put yourself into”

“Can’t wait to find out”

“Mmmmhhh, can you even handle cumming twice in the span of five minutes?”

“I could handle anything. But I’m afraid you’re not gonna get to find out”

“Oh, such a powerful man”

“You’re the one who’s moaning here”

“Yeah, wanna join?”

“Aaaahh, fucking, slow down!”

“Already begging?”

“We haven’t even started, as far as I’m concerned”

“Really? Cause by the way you’re gripping onto that pillow, most would disagree”

“Mmmmgh- You have no idea”

“What? It seems to me, that I know a lot of things. Nnngh. I know you love how I’m riding you, I know you’ll come before me, and I know you’re a weak man, who only takes bets because his disproportionate ego can’t fathom the idea of a girl, and a smaller girl nonetheless, having him beg for mercy!”

“Mmmmgwaaaahhh, aaah, ah… aah…”

“Pathetic”

“...”

“Fucking pathetic little boy, you came in, how long was that, even?”

“Fuh- You sex-addicted bitch…”

“Heh. You don’t deserve any of this”

“...”

“Now lay still, legs up”

“What?”

“Fucking, bend your legs and pull them up to your chest! Is that hard to understand?”

“Why? Just, choke me and let’s get this over with!”

“Hmph. You came, moaning like a whore, and now you’re trying to run away with your tail between your legs? You wanna get away with a pair of tiny hands around your neck? You don’t have a clue, do you? Honestly, that’s just cute. You’re a cute little bitch, that’s what you are. Now, for the last time, your fucking legs. Up.”

“What do you wanna do?”

“This”

“Gwaaaahhh- Not your tongue there! Jesus Christ, fuck!”

“...”

“Please. Please. Mmmmggghh- Please, just beat my dick. Just, destroy it. Fuckkk- I’ll take anything”

“...”

“Whore, you whore. You bunny devil whore. Fuckinggg- You will see. You have no idea what- I’ll breaknngggaaaahh. Aaaahh. AAAAAAHHHHMMMMHHHFUH-”

“...”

“...”

“Honestly, felt like a punishment for me, more than anything”

-

footnotes.

i hope you have a great day today. especially, leaf.

[agent-calivide]

I'm tired. Call this a rant or a vent post, but I'm so tired.

I'm not going to call anyone in specific out, but please for the love of god if you hate a character, STOP putting hate in their character tag. More specifically, if you hate people for how they choose to like a character, please, block and move on.

Yes there is a disproportionate amount of fan content for John Juniper, no it's not just basic white boy syndrome, he was the only one with a character model that showed up for more than five seconds and had an actual appearance for literally years. Positive association is a thing. Yes, you can hate him, that's normal and to be expected, dare I say most John Juniper fans do. No, most of the fandom doesn't actually think he's coming back, it's a running joke/issue based on how Schell handled their own lore that was founded before IEYTD 3 when Schell was acting coy about his status only to rip the rug out from under us with an obituary out of nowhere. No, you don't have to like the fanfics or fanart of Phoenix or Handler with Juniper romantically, but if you don't like it please block, scroll, or- I don't know- take a screenshot and talk shit with your buddies in private or something. Complaining about how a small section of the fandom posts frequently rather than putting in the energy to post more of what you like wastes your time and hurts people who are, god forbid, having fun.

And, frankly, it's not even about Juniper at this point. It's so disheartening to CONSTANTLY see "hot take, I actually HATE the way you engage with this fandom. You should make more things that are closer to MY interests." You know how much it sucks to see people say you're liking your media the wrong way when you aren't doing anything harmful?

First, it was that I wasn't making Phoenix "right" because I made them more effeminate and had them use she/her pronouns in my personal fanfics and fanart. Then, it was that Juniper was so gay he'd NEVER like a woman, and that women were just innately revolting, so shipping him and my Phoenix was gross and wrong. Then, it was why are fem!phoenix's so popular, they're nonbinary, stop assigning them a gender when there were like five fem!phoenixes total. Then, FINALLY, people chilled out and were tolerant of the fem!phoenix and mellowed out a little, but now it's I don't like the way you write/present John Juniper. If I had a shot every time I saw "hot take, I HATE Juniper, I don't get why the fandom likes him." I'd be dead. It's not really a hot take, it's the one I see all the time, but rather than investing that energy into making something new this fandom would rather just take pot shots at the consistent creatives rather than make something themselves.

I feel like a lightning rod of hate, but I don't remember asking for it. And I know a good handful of other IEYTD creators feel similar. If you hate Juniper so much, block his tag. Block the creators. Something.

But it's not fair to the people who are passionate about this game to be used as the resident dunk-tank because you don't like their favorite character, or you don't like their writing, or whatever argument of the week you have. We're here to have fun at the end of the day, and I don't see how an ooc self indulgent fic is harmful enough to warrant the way some of the people in this fandom are treated.

[fagcrush]

do u have any disability headcamons for bg3 companions/theil?

Oh thank you for giving the chance to infodump about a theil thing that I've been thinking about a lot. Like... Literally I am writing a fic about it and it's come in in my bg3 rp bc we've started postgame stuff

Basically! I hold this heavy hc that there would be some pretty bad neurological effects of losing the tadpoles depending on the amount you utilized-and particularly strong effects if you went half-illithid. I'm gonna put a read more cuz. It's long

Going by this HC, Astarion also had some effects-but these were very light in comparison to Theil, and her recovery is actually pretty fast. It's... Really losing half illithid form that really messes you up.

No one else had effects bc Theil is a greedy bitch and is like no only me and my pretty vampire gf get them >:c

After they defeat the brain and Karlach dies, Theil falls unconscious-not waking up for nearly two days. When they wake up, everything hurts. So bad. It's a level of pain they've never felt before. The dim light of their room in the inn hurts their head. They can barely move their limbs. They can't talk at first, and when they can, their words are just. Coming out weird and they keep forgetting words and what they're saying.

They also find they can't walk at all. They can't get up. Their legs seem to simply Not Work. It feels like they're weighted down. Like their bones are suddenly made of dense iron. Even with support they simply can't.

They're also just miserable emotionally. They want to cry over everything (which I mean.. they also just watched their childhood friend and girlfriend explode but). They've always had poor emotional control, but it's so much worse now. Mood swings, disproportionate reactions, all if it is god awful.

Their brain and body just feel like a big mess. Even once Astarion has mostly recovered, they're barely starting recovery.

They're given a lot of healing and medicine over a long, long time. Long term physical therapy, too. They're in a wheelchair for a couple of months, and then continue with crutches for a few more once their physical therapy and other care start to let them walk again. They end up needing a cane part time for the rest of their life, but they're kind of fussy about using it.

They never truly fully "recover." Neither does Astarion, but he's just. Very obviously having less long term struggle than Theil. Particularly Theil is just... In pain more often than not, and they have a lot of emotional struggle they just cannot work through. They struggle a lot with emotional control.

OH AND. TACKING THIS ON BC I FORGOT IT AND CANT FIGURE OUT WHERE TO PUT IT

The "wild" aspect of their magic is more intense after this all. Part of it is their unsteady emotions, but their magic also reacted in really Weird ways with the illithid stuff and when that was lost, it kind of... Burst? In a way? They're prone to more surges, and the surges are usually more intense.

And yeah!! I think that covers it hdkfjdnf

I think Abt this all the time it kills me lmao

[kn-1013]

I love the way you write about so many ships in SF it’s so good to see other multishippers.. but I gotta know what are your fave Sally face ships like out of em all

idk if i could pick a favorite honestly. i love sal/travis, but i also love larry/travis, i love sal/larry, i love sal/ash. ive also seen and appreciated ash/maple a lot, too, but im pretty partial to maple/chug because that's a goth chick and her weird pet man and i love it. and lately i've been thinking a disproportionate amount about todd/neil and the kinds of arcs they could have.

honestly it really just depends on the kind of story i want to tell. codependent best friends to lovers is sal/larry, enemies to lovers is larry/travis, self acceptance and fix-it-fics and those types are sal/travis. sal/ash is a kind of doomed yuri to me (i often take a nonbinary/genderfluid transfem read on sal) because i don't think they'd ever make it, ash is too normal, and sal has too many unaddressed issues.

todd/neil is really good when you're looking for a story with a long-running relationship that has new problems crop up, or old problems that have never gotten solved. for example: i love the idea that todd's mom is a completely unmanaged and unmedicated bipolar, and that eventually in his late 20s or early 30s, it hits for him and he and neil have to work around it.

honestly i should just turn them into the nockfell polycule atp bc that's kind of what they are to me.

[lord-squiggletits]

Your Tarn posts make me think about him more

He's a victim but he has so many victims himself, but the person that he is, that cause those victims, was delibrately cultivated. Tarn of the DJD was intentional, and that worse somehow

I have to ask, what do you think it would look like if Tarn, somehow & for whatever reason, decided to take the road of healing, to put whatever pieces of himself back together

YEAH I THINK SO FUCKING MUCH ABOUT THAT, even from my first MTMTE read when I didn't care much about him as a blorbo, I thought it was crazily compelling how Tarn was at once an absolute terrifying monster but also the most pathetic, sad little bully boy in an oversized body at the same time akldjlfksd. Like, you look at Tarn and the horrible shit he did to Pharma, all the victims of the DJD, Skids, the alt. Lost Light, etc and he seems like a completely unstoppable force. Then you actually look behind the mask and Tarn's just so... incredibly short-sighted, blindly worships, really volatile and thoughtless, and ultimately gets his shit rocked by Megatron in what's basically a no-contest loss. It feels really bad like... how can it be that someone so pathetic was able to cause so much destruction before he was put down? In the ideal world, you want to believe that shitty, weak people are powerless, but it turns out that sometimes shitty, weak people can actually be in positions of power (in terms of hierarchy, physical might, politics, etc) and when they do they can hurt an incredibly disproportionate amount of people compared to their actual strength of character as a person. As an example, pre-insanity/mania Pharma was so obviously a better person than Tarn, but look how that ended up: this absolute prodigy of a doctor, next in line to be CMO, a normal good Autobot in all accounts. Gets completely wrecked and turned into a mentally ill, insane asshole that loses everything and everyone he ever valued, and Tarn literally never even thinks about him again. God.

As to how I'd handle Tarn healing arc...

The short answer: I actually want to write about Tarn taking a road of healing, heel-face turn arc in the Pen Pals Tarnma AU I've talked about occasionally on this blog/in asks! So... when I post that fic, literally just (gestures at the whole thing)

The long answer:

If canon-divergent, it'd be Dying of the Light but Tarn and co. stop fighting Megatron bc of how pathetic he is. The DJD basically merge forces with Deathsaurus' Decepticons, and they make a sort of neo-Decepticon movement fighting the Galactic Council/Black Rock Consortia. Tarn isn't really a better person morally speaking (yknow the hating organics and wanting conquest thing), but he'd definitely be put on a path where he divorces his sense of self from Megatron and focuses more on his group of comrades: he finds meaning from a collective rather than from worshiping an individual as a god, and Tarn experiences healing from that fact bc instead of a fucked up grooming/parasocial relationship with a distant, uncaring leader, he's actually having real, tangible bonds with people who are equal to him and love and respect him. So, probably still really fanatical to his ideals, but he's a fanatic who loves his comrades as much as he loves his cause.

In a nonspecified AU, let's say during the war with Decepticon Megatron, I think the only way Tarn could get better would be if Megatron got better and then took the time/care to make Tarn better along with him. Unfortunately, Tarn has been manipulated in such a way that Megatron is literally his entire axis of morality/purpose/etc, and I think he doesn't have enough agency and independence to start healing except unless Megatron says "shittiest of my sons, why don't you deradicalize and maybe you'll calm down." It'd basically take Megatron un-grooming Tarn first, and then for Tarn to get some kind of purpose/relationship outside of him for Tarn to regain the independence he had as Damus, which would then allow him to pull the rest of the way from Megatron and go his own way. (Incidentally, this is what happens in the Pen Pals AU)

In a scenario that I don't even know how it'd happen but I desperately want it to happen: Optimus "I can fix him" Prime and Tarn are forced to work together in some capacity which leads to a slowburn mending of their relationship. Not like Tarn becomes an Autobot, or goes back to being Damus, but like... idk, Optimus is the one to deradicalize Tarn and make him realize that Megatron manipulated the shit out of him. Somehow. I would really like these two to interact so badly, and for Tarn to also have a mentor/paternal-esque relationship with someone besides Megatron. (This also happens in Pen Pals AU ldskfjlsd I told you that fic was the true Tarn Redemption Story dlksfjlsdsf)

[xshingie]

Pairing: Edouard/Annette Rating: T Prompt: Pining/Jealousy

Chapter-Specific Author commentary:

Uh... originally I just wanted to write a simple, fluffy oneshot of Annette in a karabela dress (this draft pre-dated Season 2 so I at the time, I wasn't even sure if Annette would even wear a dress, since S1 her dress seems to be more on the practical side). However, as I began writing, I began questioning the logistics of what was or wasn't available while Annette and Edouard were living in the mountains, or how maroons lived in general, really.

The original *~*~vision~*~* was to have Annette wear this dress and perform in the Vodou ritual and Edouard watching Annette dance and he falls madly smitten for her oop, but of course that got shot when I did more research and there's an attire you're supposed to follow. However, I got way too attached to the idea of cute Annette in a dress to scrap the entire thing, so here we are...

I did take some creative liberties on what materials were and weren't available, as well as postulating what their sleeping quarters might have been probably more nicer than what it actually was.

I've done a lot of reading of Haitian maroonage and demographics since then... and here are some elements that made it into the fic (there's so much more I have, just couldn't fit it all in!)

...

General Location and Geography

Annette mentions 'being taken to the mountains.' As established, Cap Francais is the city that Edouard was in (the Comedie Au Cap theatre), and the eventual location of the August 1791 slave revolts (as depicted in the show), If we examine the topography, a 1784 map shows Cap-Francais surrounded by mountainous terrain.

P.S. For the exact location of the Comedie Au Cap. If you zoom in, you can see right next to the government building, the Salle de Spectacle, or Performance Hall.

Sunday markets in the major towns like Cap Français were opportunities for blacks – free, enslaved, and runaways alike – to converge and interact, buying and selling food, and exchanging services. Note that Cap-Francais due to its dense urban population, were known for blacks to pass as free people of color (forging their own freedom documents), as well as serving as "safe houses" for runaway slaves to take refuge in.

In the map (left), it is readily apparent the relative concentrations of how many slaves escaped to Cap-Francais. For example, the neighborhood of Petit Guinée in Cap Français was a regular destination for runaways to find housing, lease themselves out for pay, and blend in with the growing population of free people of color.

The Bois Camain Ceremony, which is the Vodou ceremony we see represented in the show. Historical accounts of this ceremony note it was led by Cecile Fatiman (depicted from the show) and Dutty Boukman, both priestess (manbo) and priest (oungan). I decided to namedrop Dutty in just for fun, only because it didn't feel right to pluck a random name from the slave runaway advertisements.

Note the actual exact location is still up for debate. Many accounts point to somewhere near northern town of Morne-Rouge (present-day Vaudreuil, Haiti). Present-day, the contemporary Bois Caiman historical site in Vaudreuil, Haiti is ~10 km west of Cap-Haitien.

Population Demographics

At the peak of the revolution, Saint Domingue (later Haiti), which had 500,000 slaves, 32,000 whites, and 28,000 free blacks (which included both blacks and mulattos). Slaves made up 9/10ths of the population, with 500K+ african slaves being imported to Haiti alone in the last 50 years leading up to the revolution.

Enslaved Demographics

Men disproportionately made up the escaped reported runaway slaves and the maroonage.

Men were also more likely to occupy artisanal labor positions that allowed them a certain amount of latitude during the workday. Examples like coopers, carpenters, shoemakers, fishermen, and other artisans ran errands, apprenticed and were leased by their owner to other plantations, or hired themselves out to earn their own money.

Conversely, enslaved African women in Saint-Domingue were overrepresented as field workers and performed the most physically taxing jobs and under constant supervision. Because of the relative mobility enslaved men could have, this partially explains the overrepresentation of men for escaped slaves. Skills enslaved women acquired usually include seamstresses, laundress, and acting as market vendors selling goods.

In a study of 12,857 slave runaway postings, men made up 80%, or ~10K. Nègres - African mother + African or Creole man; Mulâtres - biracial (often coerced relations between white men); Griffe - 2/3 black. Quarteronne - 1/4th black.

There were many facets which may partially explain why women were so underrepresented as runaways, as women often had work within the constraints of society to pass as free, as well as the reproductive burden enforced on them.

Maroon Life and Struggles

The tl;dr -- trying it rough it out there in the wild was tough as shit and Maroons had to get creative in navigating the geographic topography and utilizing the terrain to their advantage. For example, one group of the maroons situated themselves in the mountains within the cusp of Saint-Domingue and Saint-Domingo (the portion of Haiti owned by Spain), such that they took advantage of murky ambiguities of "who's problem is this" territory. Retreating in the mountains also obviously disincentivized slave catchers to trek up there.

Due to the difficulty of accessing finished goods (clothing, glassware, etc) and weapons to arm themselves, maroons across the Caribbean had two ways of sustaining their supplies: engage in skirmishes/raids against plantations, or choose to engage in trade. Maroon settlements also tend to have varying success regarding based on how well-established/populated they were (some settlements were like, as little as one person in a swamp); some even forming agreements with governments to form peace treaties or even partake in catching runaway slaves to sustain themselves. The more established and successful settlements were able to cultivate crops even and keep domesticated livestock for food.

In the late 18th century, following the 1750s, the growing demand for land to support plantation agriculture, driven by the booming sugar and coffee industries, made it increasingly challenging to find and establish maroon settlements (see: the figure where in the last 50 years leading up to the revolution, over 500K african slaves brought to Haiti). This expansion encroached on existing settlements and threatened the safety of any remaining secure territories.

Daily Life and Personal Items

Archaeological dig sites efforts across 3 Haitian Maroonage sites yielded ~9000 artifacts in total, with the most common being pottery shards (making up 30-50% of the finds), porcelain, glassware, tobacco pipes fragments being the most common. It is likely that finished goods like imported pottery suggests that they were purchased by slaves from local markets, hinting that slaves did travel to markets to procure the needed finished goods not readily available.

Domestic animal bones that were also uncovered like pig, cow, sheep/goat, wild bird, and fishing weights/marine shells also hints at hunting. fishing for sustenance depending on the geography.

Other materials like hand-made-bricks, mortar, and nails.

Other less common items were uncovered, such as items for personal adornment or leisure/craft activities. Instances hinting to clothing fragments atypically in possession by the enslaved (i.e., a button belonging to a gentleman's sportscoat or frock) were also discovered.

Maroons were known to make hut-like structures from mud and leaves.

Other random things that came up in my fic

Zabeth is a name I sampled from a runaway slave advertisement who ran away alongside someone else Cecile. (Probably not the same Cecile Fatiman, though!)

The maréchaussée were the police responsible for catching runaway slaves, and was required by free men of color to serve a three year draft; or a passageway for mobility/options for free men of color who found themselves otherwise strapped for opportunities. I can only imagine, if Edouard was indeed subject to the draft, how that must have hurt his soft heart!

Ounsi temerè (fearless ounsi) is the highest degree that a Vodouist can reach without actually becoming a priest or priestess.

How Did Edouard Fit Into the Maroon Life?

While writing this, I had to do a little bit of speculation/guesswork on how Edouard might have fit into the maroonage life, based on what skills Edouard might have possess already, within the context of what skills men/women had and contributed to maroon life. I speculated based on some additional details on belonging we see in the flashback:

Detail #1. Everybody is wearing white during the Vodou Ceremony, Edouard is not.

The presence of white clothing suggests a Rada Rite; the ounsi (the vodun initiates) wear all-white robes at Rada ceremonies and make up the choir. Note that many of the depictions or historical accounts of the presence the blood of a sacrificial pig during the Bois Caiman ceremony seem to suggest it is a Petwo rite. as Pigs are sacrificed in the Petwo rite but not in the Rada rite.

Now realistically, the artists/animators decided to depict them wearing simple garb and white clothing may just be the fact that realistically, they weren't able to procure more fancy clothing.

In addition, it's also possible that this was just an animator oversight and the animators chose to depict Edouard per his character art reference sheet. Still, this tells us that Edouard was not initiated in the Vodun religion, which may hint that he might not have been as intimately tight-knit and integrated.

Detail #2. Edouard is singing by himself. No one joins him.

In the aftermath of the revolt, Edouard is showing singing Il mio tesoro intanto and he's pretty much clearly alone singing and while everybody is really chill about, I just found this detail funny because if there ever would be some celebration in a group, they would be singing creole songs as a community and it's unlikely anybody would be able to join him here since only he would have this super niche classical opera knowledge.

However, the more likely explanation of this is that whoever was directing this scene (that one opera fan) wanted their vision actualized and that the piece selected adds to the thematic elements. Still, I decided to leverage this detail into my writing when thinking about how Edouard might feel about how he fits with the other escaped slaves.

Sources and Further Reading:

Eddins, C. N. (2021). Rituals, runaways, and the Haitian Revolution: Collective Action in the African Diaspora.

Mapping. (2022, November 2). In The Streets of Le Cap. https://streetsoflecap.com/mapping/

Lockley, T. (n.d.). Runaway Slave Colonies in the Atlantic World. Oxford Research Encyclopedia of Latin American History. https://doi.org/10.1093/acrefore/9780199366439.013.5

Explore the sites. (n.d.). National Museums Liverpool. https://www.liverpoolmuseums.org.uk/archaeologyofslavery/explore-sites

Haiti: The Bois Caiman Meeting of 1791. (n.d.). http://faculty.webster.edu/corbetre/haiti/history/revolution/caiman.htm

Duffy, J.-C. (2021). Early accounts of the Bois Caïman ceremony. Miami University - Empire and American Religion. https://sites.miamioh.edu/empire/files/2022/08/1791-Early-accounts-of-the-Bois-Caiman-ceremony.pdf

“Demographics of Saint Domingue,” LIBERTY, EQUALITY, FRATERNITY: EXPLORING THE FRENCH REVOUTION, accessed January 31, 2025, https://revolution.chnm.org/d/500.

Bromley, C. J. (n.d.). Resistance and the Haitian Revolution. Slave Resistance: A Carribbean Study. Retrieved January 31, 2025, from https://scholar.library.miami.edu/slaves/san_domingo_revolution/individual_essay/jason.html

Phelipeau, R. (1784). (Cap-Haïtien) Plan De La Ville Du Cap Francais. Barry Lawrence Ruderman Antique Maps Inc. Retrieved January 31, 2025, from https://www.raremaps.com/gallery/detail/49958/cap-haitien-plan-de-la-ville-du-cap-francais-et-de-ses-env-phelippeaux#

Hebblethwaite, B. (2011). Vodou Songs in Haitian Creole and English. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. https://muse.jhu.edu/book/12835.

Maroons and their Communities in the Americas. (n.d.). Politika. https://www.politika.io/en/notice/maroons-and-their-communities-in-the-americas

[eraofkalki]

𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓

Pairings: None

Summary: Little Diavolo (not) very intimidatingly coerces Barbatos into becoming his butler.

Warnings: None.

A/N: This is purely my take on it with the little amount of information we have. It may not be canon compliant in case I missed out on something (I'm not caught up with the story so I'm going off of spoilers) or if the devs reveal the details of it after the release of this fic.

Sometimes small things make a large impact; or at least, that is what they say.

You could wield mastery over the very fabric of time; its unnervingly merciless passage, swift and linear to others, could simply be a complex sea to you--or perhaps, a not very complex bowl of soup. Despite that, there could still be moments, emotions, beings that...elude your understanding.

Having witnessed the ebb and flow of all components of this murky concept of existence that very few were even close to somewhat comprehending, one might expect a demon like Barbatos to be unfazed at best at the sight before him. Yet...sometimes, small things could make a large impact.

The "small thing" there being a little royal demon child, barely five feet tall, holding the heavy key to the room the both of them were locked in with endearing determination, not realising how the key looked comically disproportionate in his tiny hands. His unwaveringly resolute eyes bore into Barbatos's own coolly amused ones like two pools of molten gold. Diavolo, wasn't it? Did he hope to hold him captive?

To stand his ground and ask perhaps the most powerful demon to be bound to him for eternity...

I'm not letting you out of this room until you promise to be my loyal steward. For the rest of your life.

"You are certainly...fierce." Barbatos said it with every ounce of honesty. "Unwordly, but fierce."

It was true, everything about him was; his vivid eyes, his fiery hair, his intense ambitions...what kind of strength could he possess once he grows up? Will his goals be as fierce as him, even then? How would it be if Barbatos stayed to see?

"I--" Diavolo started, attempting to keep his voice sounding steady. "I told you; if you don't do it, I won't let you out."

However domineering he believed he seemed, all Barbatos could see was an adorable, trembling, whiny child. The adult demon pondered for a moment, taking in the flickering flames of the sole fire lamp in the chambers; its orange light illuminating the little boy in front of him, making him even more radiant. Akin to a sun, Barbatos felt, even though it would be one of the strangest thoughts to have about the future ruler of the Devildom, where there is eternal moonlight.

"If I agree, what is there for me to gain?"

"Gain...?" Diavolo turned the question around in his head for a bit, and his amber eyes lit up in triumph, as if suddenly remembering something. "I have something that you'd want. I won't give it to you, though. Not unless you say yes." He slyly smiled at the look of vague confusion on the other demon's face.

"So..." He slowly started pacing around the room as if to build suspense. "Do you know about Mount Infernal?"

"Of course I do." Barbatos responded, not expecting that question. "I told you about it."

"Well, you know about any particular type of...plants there? That might interest you?"

"If you are referring to the Tartarean tea plantation, then yes. Again, I believe I was the one who mentioned it to you?"

"Yes you were." Diavolo flashed yet another smile as if his supposedly genius plan had already succeeded. "What if I told you that I have those very tea leaves with me?"

"...The Tartarean tea leaves?" Barbatos asked, his mind wiped blank of any idea as to how to react. "You're saying that you procured them, by crossing all the six levels of the Infernal forest?"

"I mean, not me, obviously. But I do have them, yes." He elaborated, "I had father request for them, as a reward for passing my Devildom History test. I had to force him alot, so if you don't agree..." When he realised that his façade of tenacity was beginning to crack, he quickly reverted back to his 'extremely intimidating' self. "O-of course you'll agree! If you don't, I won't let you out and you won't be able to ever get your hands on those tea leaves."

"That is a rather enticing proposal," Barbatos admitted.

It was something that Diavolo didn't know, but he had been wondering as to how to get his hands on the very object he was being offered. The fundamental making of a demon was that--to covet, covet, and covet; when the objects of your desire lands in front of you, you shed all reason and reach for it however you can. In such a situation, it was only expected that he would...reach for what it was he desired, however trivial it may be; then, perhaps, not care for the contract it came with.

He could justify whatever he said and did afterwards as his most primal instincts coming into play. But he knew, and only he knew, that maybe a miniscule piece of his heart did not mind fulfilling his end of the deal. Not simply because of what he gained, but because...he wanted to, almost. Maybe Barbatos wished to see this little boy grow into a force to be reckoned with. Maybe he will grow to cause destruction and chaos across Devildom and derive joy from seeing demons in their most primeval state. Or maybe he will spread resplendence and joy. Maybe he will be fair and just.

Maybe he will be none of those things, but Barbatos wished to see.

He kneeled down to meet Diavolo's eyes which held doubt thinly veiled by confidence.

"From this moment..." The fire lamp suddenly seemed to blaze for a fleeting moment, before dangerously flickering as the entire room seemed to go in and out of darkness. The lamps went out.

"Wh-wh--?" Diavolo almost cowered, sensing immense power in the air. A kind he has never felt before. His father's power felt overwhelming, pulsating, and it burned; but this felt...silent. Restrained, but chilling...cold. "What is happening?!"

"I shall be your loyal steward."

The still, olive eyes piercing into Diavolo's seemed to grow a sickly green in the dark. The temperature dropped.

"I will serve you, for as long as you wish. All I am, body and soul, shall be under your command..."

Diavolo inhaled sharply as the lamps came to life again, burning with more vigour than ever before. The formerly absent heat caught up to him, spreading across his body with overwhelming intensity.

"...Young Master."

[lakesbian]

It's funny, whenever what one might call a disagreement between you and someone else happens on here, I find myself thinking stuff along the lines of "ah now lakesbian you can talk about bad analysis without naming specific people" or "yeah we know worm fanfic can be terrible but you don't have to read out a specific fic" and so on.

But then when any of them try to make a comeback or something, they make a complete show of themselves and come off way worse than whatever slight could be perceived from you.

It's just weird because I can see a world in which they engaged civilly or didn't engage at all, but instead they like, call you a drunk driver, or trash some unrelated, reasonable analysis you've made with citations.

the time you're thinking of wasn't ridtom calling me a drunk driver, it was him writing a several paragraph long vivid description of how i'm "drunkenly shitting my pants" by talking about homophobia in parahumans. this made me laugh remembering it because it was just so absurdly long and detailed KSDFHLDF. but yeah it's strange.

ftr i personally find it a lot easier to interact with spaces where people are being blunt/direct about who or what they disagree with and why, but i can understand the opposite opinion. large part of why i don't think i'm doing anything untowards by namedropping ridtom or similar is that, like. essentially my literal first interaction with him was me firmly, but not rudely, disagreeing with him on a post abt homophobia in ward & then receiving that paragraphs-long insulting rant about how i'm "drunkenly shitting my pants" back, and it's all been similar downhill from there--there was no point in reining back in the bluntness to be nicey to someone who was first to demonstrate that they were never interested in responding to Different Opinions About How Homophobic Wildbow Books Are or whatever without being disproportionately mocking.

(and there's certainly no point in reining back any bluntness now that they've gone around on a major discord and reddit "warning" people about me (again, a jewish lesbian!) "getting mad at [them] for complaining about nazis," resulting in significant amounts of shit-talk and derogatory speculation about me as a person happening both on the discord/reddit and in my inbox)