#long winded rant but you get what i mean…

[rowrowronnie]

why the hell has no one been talking about the pantheon show on amc why the hell is there legitimately No Way to watch the show without pirating and again, to reiterate: WHY THE HELL HAS NO ONE BEEN TALKING ABOUT THIS SHOW!!!!

[the-busy-ghost]

"Oh it would have been more satisfying if the humans had invented a technology which defeated the Martians rather than have them killed off by accident just when humanity's impotence in the face of disaster seems to be confirmed". I

To me that's just a fancy way of saying "Yeah but humans could totally handle the Martians and the writer has a duty to reassure the audience of that!"

Sir we cannot even handle climate change and I'm sorry to tell you that it's not entirely due to a lack of technological expertise

[makeyoumine69]

Love ur writing it always makes me so happy when you post

For the celebration can you do breeding, belly bulge, and loss of innocence/virginity please 🥵🥵

Obsession

◥ PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Innocent!Fem!Reader

◥ SUMMARY: When your father told you that you were going to marry the son of his biggest business partner, named Patrick Bateman, you didn't believe him at first, but eventually you had to face reality and accept your destiny.

◥ WARNINGS: Smut, hurt /comfort, forced marriage, forced pregnancy (kinda), loss of virginity, oral sex (reader receiving), fingering, nipple play/tit sucking, teasing, vaginal sex, creampie, belly bulge, Breeding kink, Praise kink, Innocent kink, Size kink, sweet dirty talk, multiple orgasms, humiliation, manipulation, pet names, horny hubby!Patrick Bateman himself.

◥ WORDCOUNT: 4.1k

◥ SONG REC: Mariah Carey - Obsessed🖤

◥ A/N: Finally, I managed to finish this prompt. I really enjoyed writing it, thank you so much for this request, I hope you like it!

◥ LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [BWC MASTERLIST].

You were so scared and lost that you couldn't really believe it was happening - you wished that marrying Patrick Bateman was just a dream... but it wasn't. It all felt so real when after the super luxurious wedding, you rode in his limo to the Plaza Hotel for your first night together. Because the whole situation between the two of you was so rushed, you didn't even have time to get to know each other better, your father was too impatient and he wanted this marriage to happen as soon as possible. However, you remembered Patrick since you were children and all the girls around were always so charmed by him, even when he was just a little cheeky boy.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Patrick suddenly asked, placing his large palm on your knee. 

With a sharp gasp, you shrugged from his unexpected touch and turned to face him, holding for a moment to admire his beautiful, brown eyes. 

“Nothing.” You replied, breaking eye contact with him once you noticed you were staring at him for too long. 

You heard him letting out a tired sigh, and then Bateman tried to cuddle with you a bit, wrapping his arm around your slightly shaking shoulders. “I know that everything seems to be a bit messy but…”

"It doesn't seem like it, but it really is," you looked at him again, his face so close to yours that you had to hold your breath. "Literally…everything."

"Baby, please. Don't interrupt me, okay?" Patrick tried his best to be patient and polite, but you could feel his hand tightening on your back with each passing moment. "Things are really messed up, but I want to assure you – if you can be a good wife, I'll be a great husband to you. That sounds like a good deal, doesn't it?"

Shivering from being so close to him, you almost writhed in your seat when you felt his searing lips brushing behind your ear as he murmured something soft, something soothing, but you couldn't concentrate as the meaning of his words slipped away from you like a leaf in the wind.

“Pat-Patrick, actually … there’s one thing I didn’t tell you yet,” you mused nearly audible. “You know, I’ve never been close with anyone.”

“What do you mean?”

As soon as you opened your mouth to respond, the limo stopped and you both looked into the window to see the beautiful illumination of the Plaza. 

“Oh thank God, we’re finally here … I really hate NY in this time of the day, because of these fucking traffic jams.” 

Bateman’s rants still resound behind your back even when you got outside. Gently, he held your waist for support as you moved to the entrance to the grand hotel, your hand kept fixing the hem of your massive dress. 

It was not surprising that Patrick chose a luxury presidential suite for you, with large rooms and high ceiling above. You couldn't hide your fascination and that made him smirk loftily whilst he was helping you to remove your half-coat. Little by little, you moved to what was supposed to be a living room and took a seat on the huge black leather couch, suppressing growing anxiety inside your chest. 

“Do you like this place?” Patrick looked at you before letting out a short whistle, removing his jacket. 

“Yes, it’s really nice.” Smiling timidly, you clutched at the skirt of your dress once you saw him coming closer. 

“Uh, you always loved fancy things, darling,” he sat next to you, throwing his leg over another and placing his hand on the back of the couch, almost touching your shaky shoulders. “Well, nothing's too good for my wifey.”

His kiss on your lips was so sudden that it sent a million chills down your spine, causing your lungs to cramp from the lack of oxygen. At first, you clawed frantically at his solid biceps as you felt his hot tongue slide against your mouth in a demanding manner. You jolted once you gave him what he wanted, because this kiss was nothing compared to the one you shared at the wedding - it was much more passionate, but still you couldn't relax.

“Pat-Patrick, please … wait,” you whispered as your voice shook, searching for his brown eyes which now were dark as a midnight sky. “You must know one very important thing.”

“What is it, my dear?” 

"I'm..." you stuttered from the way he was staring at you, his hungry gaze literally eating you alive. "I'm a virgin, Patrick."

He frowned for a moment, then laughed uproariously before pulling up the hem of your dress, messing with its countless layers. "You can't be serious."

His reaction really embarrassed you, so you just pushed his big palm away and got up, leaving him on the couch with a disappointed grimace on his face.

"Hey! Where are you going?" He asked annoyingly, his golden Rolex wiggling on his wrist as he raised his hands in confusion.

"I want to get off this dress and change into something else," you complained, trying to reach the ties at the back of your dress to undo them. "I hate it!"

It was as if he hadn't even noticed your ranting when he rejoined you: "And what about that guy from college who was hovering around you like a fucking shark? Poor guy missed his chance to get a bite of a delicious pie like you?"

Gritting your teeth, you shrugged at the unpleasant sensation and shouted: "Don't you dare talk about him like that!"

He chuckled again, in his natural haughty way. "He was always a loser, and I always knew you would be mine."

You were almost done with the ties, but as soon as you heard his last words, you froze, feeling something snap in your mind. "What did you just say?"

Bateman's grin grew even wider as you turned to face him, with an unhidden dread in your eyes. "I said I always get what I want..." He stood up and walked over to the large coffee table near the couch, taking a glass and pouring some red liquid into it. "Wine?"

When you didn't answer, he took a sip of alcohol before continuing his malicious confession: "As you probably remember, my dear (Y/N), my father wanted me to marry," with every word he said, Patrick was slowly closing the distance between the two of you. "And he also wanted me to have an heir. The American dream family, that really works best for a good social reputation".

He paused, standing almost face to face with you, you could feel his expensive perfume enveloping you like a mist. “And?” 

Your curiosity made him sneer with delight, so he cupped your cheek and looked down at you, murmuring softly as if trying to lull you into a fake sense of comfort. "And then there was a business meeting with your father where I remembered you as the ideal candidate to be my wife," he smiled almost lovingly, stroking your cheekbone and placing a tender kiss on your temple. "Too bad you couldn't see the look on your father's face when we talked about it, he was as happy as if he'd won a fucking billion dollars."

Stifling the immense pain in your heart, you closed your eyes and almost fell into his embrace from the feeling of being so miserable in this selfish world. His words only proved your thoughts about being just a figure in another chase game of your dad, and according to what Bateman just told you - your father won a jackpot by forcing you to marry the son of his biggest business partner.

“But to be fair, I didn’t expect to be that lucky …” he murmured before pulling you closer, his hands traveling around your lower back. “… to get such an innocent flower.”

When Patrick kissed you on lips again, you didn’t even struggle as the dark void inside your soul was consuming all of your thoughts and feelings, leaving you completely empty. With no rush, Bateman was undoing the rest of the ties on your dress as if he was unwrapping his most desirable gift. Your throat shivered in a choked gasp, as your body was traitorously responding to each touch he made, especially when his large palms ran across your boobs to give them a slight squash. 

"Baby, you don't have to be afraid of me." His suddenly charming voice sounded like honey, so sweet and stringy. 

"I'm not afraid," you stared up at him, catching his hands that were now caressing your thighs. "I'm so... so fucking disappointed."

"It's understandable."

"But not for you," you scowled a bit, biting your lip to keep the salty tears from welling up in your eyes. "I'm just a toy for you... just like for my beloved father."

Suddenly Patrick's eyebrows knitted, making him look a little frustrated. "No, you're not."

"Enough lies," you wanted to push him away, but he only held you tightly, forcing you to keep eye contact with him. "This is all so fake!"

"Maybe everything around us is fake, but we are not..." he gently traced a finger along your cheek, moving down to outline your trembling lips. "We're real, and when I said I'd take care of you, it wasn't a lie."

The way he looked at you was literally captivating, it caught you off guard and you couldn't help but breathe out sharply as his plump lips nestled against the sensitive spot on your neck. 

"Pat... Patrick," your hands clung to his shoulders as you desperately searched for protection, and your inner nature told you that he could do it - his strong arms were like a shield between you and the whole world. "I really want to make it work, but..."

Bateman didn't allow you to finish, pressing his thumb against your mouth and then lifting you up as if you weighed nothing as he walked into the big, fashionable bedroom. Shaking slightly, you closed your eyes from the sense of unreality that clouded your mind like the strongest alcohol.

Did he just say he was going to take care of you? 

The man you had always known as a total egoist, who loved no one but himself, now covered your small frame from above as he laid you on the king-size bed, planting little kisses on your cheek before settling on his knees, undoing his tie and unbuttoning his white shirt.

"You look gorgeous, (Y/N)," he mused, taking your leg to peck at your ankle, causing your back to arch at his unexpected tenderness. "As you always do."

Cautiously, Patrick slid down your luxury wedding dress, exposing your bare skin that was not hidden under your beautiful white lingerie - just a glimpse of it made him swallow hard, and when you gave him your most innocent look, he licked his lips briefly as his nostrils began to turn red.

Panting barely audibly, Bateman stood on the floor to remove his clothes, not wasting a moment to admire your embarrassed face, the more naked he became, the more noticeably you began to fidget.

"Come here, darling." He purred like a cat and beckoned you over to sit on the edge of the bed.

There was something sweet about him, as all the girls always said when they saw him, which was probably the reason why you couldn't resist him as you obeyed and knelt beside him, waiting for his next move.

“Babydoll,” he stroked your cheekbone, and you closed your eyes again from the blissful sensation of his warm palm. “Tonight, I’m gonna guide you into the world of pure pleasure … ”

You shuddered at his promise as your insides tightened like a spring - that strange sensation was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"You'll never be the same after this, sweetheart." Bateman crooned, wrapping his hand around your neck, not to hurt you, but to make you feel his unspoken dominance.

“A-ahh,” your low moan caressed his ears and that was one of the most delighted things he ever heard. “What do you want me to do?”

Your hasty question impelled him to humm in absolute adoration, as Patrick drew near your mouth to kiss you hungirly, never in your life someone was kissing you like that, sucking on your lips one by one and biting them a bit, making you literally melt in his strong arms.

"Be yourself, (Y/N)," he whispered into your ear, hugging your shoulders before pushing on them determinedly, and now you were sprawled on the bed beneath him. "You're incredible just the way you are."

Trembling, you wanted to scream as his words worshiped your broken soul, even if he was only doing it to befuddle you and get what he wanted - in that moment, you didn't care as the strange, burning desire grew from the inside, corrupting your innocent mind by the second.

Delicately, Bateman darted his soft fingers against your belly, sliding them up to your heavy breasts, teasing your nipples with light strokes, you gasped from that contact, creasing the blanket and spreading your legs that allowed him to rest himself more comfortably. 

“Good girl,” he praised you and pulled down the straps of your lingerie to expose your extremely hard peaks. “Mmm … my sweet, little girl.” He gave one of them a few licks, before he took it into his hot mouth, sucking it with pure delight. 

“A-aww, Gosh … ” You wailed and enfolded your arms around his head, not even realizing you were pressing him closer. 

Patrick exhaled a muffled groan and switched to your other nipple, swirling his wet tongue around it so deliciously that the tight knot in your lower abdomen was begging to be released.

“Patrick! P-Patrick please!”

“Mmm, honey, you have amazing tits,” he huffed and trapped your swollen tip between his sharp, white teeth, forcing you to freeze in silent moan of pleasure. Seizing the moment, he sneaked his long fingers between your legs to grope your taut lower lips. “Fuck, you’re soaking wet and we have only just started.”

Breathing heavily, you look up at him from under your lashes with your dazed eyes, feeling his soft finger pads slide up and down your feverish pussy. Bateman stared back at you, smirking in his arrogant way, especially when you jerked beneath him as he slipped a thumb inside your panties and pressed it against your sensitive nub.

"No one's ever touched you like this before?" Patrick asked, rubbing your clit steadily, forcing you to bend your legs into knees to give him more space to play with. 

You tossed the pillows around to cover your face and just nodded, feeling his ministrations becoming more and more insistent, you didn't know how long you could stand it. 

"Mmm, does that feel good, baby?" He watched you from above, admiring the view of your trembling body as his fingers slid over your cunt like clockwork, making obscene, sleek noises.

"A-arrh, yes ... mmm ... so good."

To be fair, Bateaman knew what you were going to say before you answered, because he was absolutely confident in his sex skills, and you would remember this night for a long time.

First, he left a light kiss on your side, passing your rib bones as he descended to your mound, leaving a wet trail of hickeys. Fondly, Patrick opened your hips wide apart, and he had to hold them securely as he pushed your underwear aside. You winced because you knew what he was going to do, and when he finally latched his plump lips against your blushing clit, you didn't know whether to stop him or explode right here - his skilled tongue left you with no choice. 

"Mm-mmhm, ohhh God, I can't... I can't, Patrick! It's too much," you writhed on the bed, the tension in your womb too intense for you to bear. "P-Please ... ah, please ..."

Uncertain of what you were pleading for, you let him strap your legs over his broad shoulders as he lapped at your cunt without stopping, sucking your burning flesh and consuming your sweet juices like his favourite dessert. You were so fucking close to combustion when a sudden sharp pain ripped through your body, causing you to shriek in agony.

"Shh, it's all right ... I need to prep you, (Y/N)," he smooched the inside of your hip, slowly pushing his thin fingers into your spasming cleft. "Hang in there, baby. Will you do it for me?"

His voice was so soothing, so convincing. As you wiped away your tears, you saw him offer you a hand and you took it, letting your fingers intertwine. Patrick interpreted this gesture as a 'yes' and the next moment his lips found their way back to your clit, flicking it with his warm tongue and sparingly pumping your pussy with his expert fingers.

As much as he attempted to be gentle, it was still painful as he plunged deeper with each passing second.  "Mmm, I..." you stammered as you felt him add another finger. "I'm scared, Patrick."

"Don't be," Bateman mused after tugging on your little tip with a squelch, slowly twisting his digits and looking at you from between your legs. "As long as you're a good girl for me, you've got nothing to worry about."

Swallowing hard, you closed your eyes from the stinging sensation of your shimmering tears. You knew there was no going back, you belonged to this man now and he could do whatever he wanted with you. Still, you tried to believe him, it might be naive and stupid, but... you just couldn't deny your sympathy towards him, especially when he treated you so kindly and lovingly.

Maybe one day you would regret it, but for now all you could do was whimper loudly and writhe on the king-size bed in the most expensive suite at the Plaza Hotel as your lawful husband was about to make you his, now and forever.

After a while, your taut body couldn't take any more of the crazy mix of pain and ecstasy that was intoxicating your mind - you orgasmed so vividly that you were afraid you were going to pass out from the feeling of your inner walls pulsating again and again.

"Yes ... just like that, honey," Patrick murmured, his fingers still pounding into your spasming cunt, prolonging your climax and it seemed you were about to cum again. "Ahhh, baby, you make me so proud."

"Patrick..." your chest rose and fell so abruptly that your face burned from the heat, as if someone had poured hot tea on you. "Mmm..."

You only managed to squeak out as Bateman suddenly rolled you over, forcing you to stay on your knees as he sat behind you. Shit, he was so huge, you felt so tiny in his arms, especially when he wrapped them around you to plant a sloppy kiss on your neck, he could feel the artery beating so fast.

"You'll like it, believe me," he chuckled softly before pushing down on your back to bend you over. "It will hurt, I admit, but not for too long."

At the very last moment, a creeping fear took over your mind and even after several orgasms he had worked you up, you couldn't relax, knowing the pain to come. Nervously, you bent down to rest your head on your crossed elbows, his hot flesh poking at your tight little hole. God, he was so big... you knew it from the time you danced close together at your wedding, your inner channel clenching around nothing in anticipation of what would happen next.

"(Y/N)," he called your name longingly, stroking his full length as he spread your wetness around his engorged head. "I've never wanted someone as badly as I want you now."

Bateman lowered himself to lick your neck, and then you screamed loudly as he began to thrust into you, gripping your hips tightly as you instinctively tried to slip away. 

"Pat! Mmm, I'm so f-full, Goshhh," you tried your best to hold yourself back from crying, but the tearing sensation in your lower abdomen was too much to handle. "W-wait!"

"Almost there, darling," Patrick lied, as it was only the tip, but he didn't want to make the current situation any worse, so he decided to just keep going, ramming into you with more effort, grabbing you by the waist and almost digging his fingers into your delicate skin. "You're doing so well, mmmm ... F-fuck, you're so tight, baby."

Bateman really tried to control himself, but the way you embraced his thick cock was too blissful, it brought out his inner beast faster than he thought.

"Aaa-awww, so... so big, oh mmmm," your eyes rolled back in your head as he buried himself completely into your squeezed womb, your saliva dripping uncontrollably from your mouth. "Ah! It hurts..."

Without hesitation, Patrick leaned down to your neck and tongued your earlobe in order to soothe you a little, and when that didn't help, he cupped your face to bring you closer as his red-hot lips locked with yours. Passionately, he attacked your mouth, sucking and licking your tongue with a slurpy sound. 

"You will give me a child, sweetheart," Bateman muttered in a demanding tone before forcing you to sit on your knees and covering you from behind. "A beautiful son..." he thrust deeper, holding you by the neck. "...or a daughter...or both."

The sounds of flesh meeting flesh mixed with the squelching your pussy made each time his beefy shaft moved in and out of your inner channel, relentlessly hitting your cervix with its tip.

"Yes, P-Patrick ... I'll do anything you ... want ... aaaww!" Your ability to speak diminished each time he rocked into your body, pressing you closer to his solid muscles as he settled more comfortably on his knees beside you. 

"Of course, you will, baby girl."

Bateman was about to lose it at any moment from the way your tight hole was squeezing his dick, and your lascivious moans only encouraged him to fuck you harder and faster. 

"Do you feel that love?" Patrick put his hand on your belly, impaling you relentlessly on his thick cock. "Can you feel my dick hitting your belly? Arrgh-fuck, you're so delicate and fragile ... I'm even afraid of breaking you."

After his brief confession, Bateman took your palm and placed it on your tummy, so you could sense the outline of his huge dick sliding inside you, and that sensation literally made you choke on air. 

"I feel it ... Patrick, I f-feel it ... aaah," you threw your head back, resting it on his sturdy shoulder. "Patrick..."

You mumbled his name over and over as a saving mantra, your eyes now full of tears, and as if that was not enough, his hips began to slam into yours with increasing intensity. For a moment you found yourself fading away from the tremendous sensation of being so fucking full and abused that you couldn't even pronounce a world, only moaning wildly as you were fucking like animals, so ruthless and totally out of control.

"F-Fuck, I'm gonna make you pregnant again and again, mm-my dear wifey," he suddenly lowered his palm down your mound to rub your oversensitive bud, smearing your slick all around your pubic area and causing your legs to tremble frantically. "Shit," he felt you clenching around his dick as you climaxed so abruptly from his rubbing circular movements. He watched you quiver in his arms, your mouth paralysed in a silent cry as he kissed your temple and contemplated: "I wanna see your belly swell with my child ... I bet you'll look so beautiful, ahh-fuck."

Growling, Patrick closed his eyes from the surging ecstasy that soon consumed him, causing his whole body to cramp and his thrusts to become absolutely raw but ragged. As he pumped his fertile seed into your pussy, he didn't stop ramming into you, holding you tightly in his muscular arms until he was spent to the last drop. The feeling of warm cum filling you from the inside was so overwhelming that you didn't have time to be afraid, as if it was destined to happen before you could even think.

‘Just be a good wifey for him,' kept nagging at the back of your mind, your tears falling on your sweaty body as your eyes were wide open, staring at that one spot on the ceiling above with bitter sorrow in your chest.

From now on, you would never belong to yourself again. Not ever.

[emphistic]

Knight in Drenched Armor

You cannot see. You cannot breathe. You cannot hear.

Wind whipped your hair around mercilessly and pushed your hood down every time you tried to pull it back up.

Sukuna and you had decided to take a walk, while it was still only slightly sprinkling, for God knows why. The weather app had told you there would be a 20% chance for a storm, but you both ignored it. I mean, how bad could it possibly be? —

— Very bad. Very bad. That 20% chance of rain turned into literal hail. According to your [pseudo] degree in meteorology, this was a literal tsunami.

"Oh my God, Oh my God! Hold me down! 'Kuna hold me downnnn!" You scream, tightening your already white-knuckled grip on Sukuna's coat sleeve.

"So dramatic, woman." Sukuna rolls his eyes, still not obliging, but — nonetheless — appreciating the way you were practically attached to his arm.

"Sukuna — I swear to God! I told you to buy a good, useful umbrella . . . not this cheap ass one," you rant as you continue to struggle to keep the umbrella open. A) it was folded the wrong way. B) it was opening the wrong way. And C) it wasn't even able to stay open and withstand the wind.

You turned to Sukuna, "How can you be so calm? Are you not freezing to death? How are you not soaked when this lame excuse for an umbrella isn't even working? The rain is literally smudging all my hard work, my mascaraaaa," you whined, pointing [with your free hand] at your stained cheek. "That stupid rodent better count its days. When I catch that fucking groundhog, it's over."

Your teeth chatter profusely as your knees knock against each other and your legs sway. You are finally able to keep the umbrella open when, out of the blue, a gust of wind launches you backwards. Time seems to slow down as you lose hold of your boyfriend and are catapulted right onto your ass.

Umbrella was long forgotten, as it was probably flying around somewhere and consequently ran over by a car.

Sukuna looks down at his sleeve, wondering where your hand went, and notices your lack of presence.

"The fuck?"

He looks at his palm confused, before turning his head in all directions, until he spots your figure curled up in a ball on the street. Your puffer jacket blowing in the wind.

You shiver from your spot on the ground — and decide to give up on life.

"What the hell? — Y/N!" Sukuna yells your name, avoiding all the weird stares he gets from passersby, while trying to get you to stand back up.

"Just go, it's too late for me. The groundhog has won," You moan, wrapping your arms around your torso.

Sukuna scoffs, moving towards you. But every time the pink-haired man gets closer, more gusts of wind blow you farther and farther away from him. To the point Sukuna just decides to leave you and go home alone.

Just kidding.

-

Miraculously, the both of you make it back to the apartment. Soaked, freezing, and half-dead, but still managed to get back home, yes.

You guys spent the rest of the night bathing each other and blowdrying each other's hair.

It's safe to say, Sukuna will never ask you to accompany him on a walk ever again — not wanting to risk another incident and disaster of you flying away.

Taglist: @starlets-things @sad-darksoul @mochimoee @r0ckst4rjk @lillycore @deepchromatose @yinyinyinyinyinyin

[shuttershocky]

this overwatch 2 shit has GOT to be illegal right? I mean, they sold the game on the promise of PvE and now they cancel it. This better earn them a false advertising charge

And the wildest part is that you can't even play Overwatch 1 anymore.

Anyone who's followed this blog long enough has probably seen me post a rant about how terrible video games are at media preservation, and how we should preserve games (even ones we don't like) to be playable in some manner long after the developers take the servers offline because games are art and deserve to be able to be experienced by the future long after they've been discarded by their makers as a product.

You can't do that anymore with Overwatch 1, a game that wasn't even free to play.

People paid 40$ in 2016, 60$ if they went for the deluxe edition, to play Overwatch. New heroes, maps, etc were promised to come as free updates, instantly accessible for anyone to play without grinding or microtransactions (though there were mtx for cosmetics) and that the game would be supported for many years.

This was one of the many reasons why Overwatch back then absorbed a large part of TF2's playerbase: TF2 had been chugging along since 2007, at the 8-9 year point its updates were winding down and people have accepted it was finally hitting the end of tis life, and were looking for a new cartoon team shooter that would last for years. OW was not TF2's successor and was never intended to be, but that promise of many years of free support was a major part of why people gave it a chance just the same.

And then just 3 years later in 2019 they announced Overwatch 2, a game that looked really, really similar to Overwatch 1, except it was going to have the actual story missions via PvE mode that Overwatch 1 didn't have. They said there would be enough new things to justify the '2', and that people who bought Overwatch 1 need not worry about their investment in the first game.

And then it turned out what they meant by that was that they were killing Overwatch 1 by closing its servers, forcing everyone to move over to Overwatch 2, a Free to Play game where you had to grind to unlock the new heroes (people who bought OW1 instantly had the new hero unlocked but come on), was chock full of the usual Free to Play engagement mechanics, and changed the 6v6 format to 5v5, if you had a full squad of friends before, you had to tell one guy to get fucked.

I think the worst part was that when people were understandably angry that Overwatch 2's actual changes from the original were almost all monetization based, games journalists that pressed Blizzard on why players now had to grind a battlepass for heroes, which Overwatch 1 had always given for free, were met with a "well, heroes are the strongest engagement point for our players" type of deflection where they didn't even try to hide their reasons behind something respectable.

Now they're announcing that OW2's PvE mode, the whole (public) reason they made OW2 a sequel instead of an update to OW1, isn't even happening anymore, and Overwatch 1's original 6v6 remains dead and inaccessible.

I didn't like Overwatch 1. I was really hyped for it when it came out, but found myself really disliking the gameplay (especially on its map design which I thought was terrible) which only worsened with its creative and balancing direction until I lost interest in only a few weeks.

Still, killing OW1 to force all players to move to OW2's free to play model was inexcusable. All art must be preserved in some manner, even ones we don't think are good enough to be worth preserving. Overwatch in particular was so massive in 2016-2018 that to kill it is to make inaccessible the source material of a kajillion other pieces of art from those years.

[calumfmu]

you've got the key to my heart.

It wasn't a matter of him being stubborn and not listening at this point, but a matter of him proving to you who he could be. He didn't understand why you would resist him, even with him being nice. You could send him a damn invoice for the whiplash you were getting.

Nonetheless, you recognized the bitchy tone he had, wondering where he was going to take it this time.

Third installment of Baby, No Attachment. Mean!Steve x reader.

cw: swearing, mean!Steve, toxic couples (what's not to love), confessions of love, angst, fluff at the end, no smut but always 18+, mdni (1.8k+ words)

Your hand was warm in his grasp, contrasting the icy wind that began to settle over the September sky. Fall was creeping in, leaves changing, wind getting more chilly with every blow, but at the same time that meant more intimate time with Steve, more cuddling, more kisses, more everything that involved his body heat.

You two had just left the theatre downtown, choosing to walk down to the burger joint a couple of streets away. Steve's jacket was draped over your shoulders, him opting to withstand the chill of the night.

It was routine at this point, Steve jumping over hoops to make sure you were comfortable no matter how persistent you were with the fact you were fine. It wasn't a matter of him being stubborn and not listening, but a matter of him proving to you who he could be. He didn't understand why you would resist him, even with him being nice. If he didn't understand the logic of something, he was going to make it known, you had learned this pretty early on.

"Steve, babe, I really am fine," you laughed quietly, beginning to lean into his rant that was to come.

Your clasped hands swung in between the two of you, his larger one completely encompassing your own.

"It's freezing out." Probably a few below 70 if you really thought about it. He was being dramatic. "You could get sic-"

"Steve?"

The shrill voice pulled the two of you out of your conversation, Steve absentmindedly turning his head in that direction. You were so intent on walking to get that burger you were craving, you nearly missed the way his body tensed up once he figured out who it belonged to.

Glancing behind him, the girl you had hoped you never saw again stood there.

"Nancy," his voice cracked slightly as she came out of a nearby camera place, chain of keys in her hand, a tall, meek boy on her heels.

For a moment, the four of you just stood there, awkwardly swallowing the silence, nothing but the sounds of the lessening crowds surrounding you, cars driving down the nearly barren streets. Steve's hand tightened in your grip, and your eyes flitted between staring at him and that boy behind Nancy, the mentioned girl in your peripheral. No matter how long it had been, you still couldn't bring yourself to make eye contact with her.

She spoke his name with a soft gasp, a sudden smile crossing her features as she came into your space, her hands briefly coming up to pull Steve in a hug. It lasted all of three seconds, him remaining frozen as he wasn't sure how to think about all of this.

"Hi, it's been, uhh, a while..." She trailed off, awkwardly throwing her hands to her side. She looked between the two of you, your clasped hands swaying slightly as the two of you loosened your grip slightly.

You could feel Steve's hesitation, his hands speaking for himself as he thought about how he could handle the situation. He attempted to resort to confidence, a facade he was all too familiar with.

"Nancy," he repeated, suddenly turning to look at you. His arm came up to drape around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. "You two have, uhh, met."

Her eyes darted in your direction, an indecipherable emotion behind them.

"I remember," she was short in her response.

That awkward tension still hung in the air, the tall boy behind her playing with the hem of his jacket, not sure how to process it. She suddenly remembered the boy behind her, her gasp loud as she reached out a hand to pull him closer to the three of you.

"This is Jonathan," Nancy smiled, her voice soft as she looked at him. In that brief look, you could tell that there were feelings involved, despite the awkward tension around you. "He's... we're together, after... y'know."

You winced at how still and stoic Steve remained through this, no emotion showing.

"I think we have a class together or something," you tried to get rid of that feeling in the air.

"I doubt it."

Eyes cutting towards your boyfriend, you immediately sensed which version of him you were going to get tonight. You could send him a damn invoice for the whiplash you were getting. His voice had a rough tone, bitterness dripping behind the words.

Nancy ignored the comment, bless her soul. It was awkward enough being in each other's presence, given the circumstances of Steve quite literally being dumped for you.

"We work together here at the shop," she continued to supply, pointing up at the sign.

"That's your camera?" Steve questioned, and even more warning bells sounded off in your mind. You recognized the bitchy tone he had, wondering where he was going to take it. Jonathan looked down at the piece of machinery he was holding, nodding as he turned it over in his grasp.

Jonathan cleared his throat, lifting it up slightly. "Yeah, it's what I use to-"

"Now that I think of it... weren't you that kid that got in trouble for, like... taking pictures of girls in the locker rooms?"

It was too far gone to save this conversation.

"Steve!"

You and Nancy had similar tones as his name left both of your mouths. Glancing at each other briefly, you placed a hand on him, beginning to guide him away from the others. Jonathan had immediately shut down, flushing red in the face as he looked away from the group, Nancy had a pissed off look on her face. Steve had a smug look, 'King Steve' returning for a long awaited cameo.

"I'm sorry," you rushed, grabbing his hand to begin to flee the scene. You couldn't come up with an excuse for his behavior, embarrassed that he would even bring up something like that. Angry that he would stoop that low even with the progress of character he had made, all that he had proven to you in the last couple of months.

The two of you began to head in the same direction that you were headed, you marching in front of the brown headed boy that seemed irritated for some reason. He was the last person who should be mad, embarrassed, whatever emotion he was feeling.

Your feet stopped in front of a random drug store along the way, a 24 hour sign illuminating the small crevice the two of you found yourself in. Steve stood a few feet away from you, looking down at his feet as he kicked a few loose scraps of gravel around him.

"I don't know why you're mad," he shrugged, moving his shoulders with his words.

"That was so uncalled for. It was mean."

"You know who you're with."

Your mouth dropped open in shock, the worst excuse he could've used. "Really Steve?"

He scoffed, a lopsided smile poking through. It was like you were in a time machine, those first few weeks of knowing him flashing before your eyes. He cleared his throat, "You act like I said I wanted to fuck her or something."

"Explain the attitude then, Steve," you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. You started at the neon sign, blinking on and off with a buzz. "You might as well take her back with the comments you were making."

He choked out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he paced in front of you, hands shoved down deep into his front jean pockets. "Yeah okay."

"You know what Steve-"

He came into your space, stepping in front of you, broad shoulders on display. Staring down at you, his eyes were squinted low, mouth pressed tight. "No, what is it? I'm dying to know."

"You could be such a dick sometimes," you choked it out, rolling your eyes away from him. Every angry emotion you felt for him came out in the moment, warning bells sounding off as you realized this was your gut feeling you had been fighting off.

"Sometimes babe? Please, go on... tell me more."

Shaking your head, you pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him away from you. You couldn't be around him right now. He stumbled back slightly, biting his lip before turning his head away from you.

You swallowed heavily, shaking your head as you tapped your fingers against your arm. That familiar cigarette craving was inching in again, not feeling the heat of the tobacco since the day you two first got together.

"I don't even know why I'm doing this," you whispered, looking down the street. You could run right now.

He looked at you again, a heartbroken emotion written all over him. "Doing what?"

"Just... never mind, Steve." You tightened the jacket draped around your shoulders, really feeling the cold that began to settle in around you. Suddenly, the warmth that you once felt from Steve's jacket just wasn't doing it for you.

Beginning to walk away from him, to where you weren't sure, you could tell yourself that this might really be it. Maybe it was the end of whatever this was, maybe this was the extent to which Steve could be better for you.

He called after you, but you ignored it, making it a few yards down the sidewalk before you heard the heavy drag of him jogging up to you.

"I'm sorry, okay," he rushed, grabbing your shoulder to spin you around. Staring up at him, you tried to ignore the pang in your chest as how beautiful he looked under the streetlights. His mole dotted cheeks were flushed red, wind whipping at the skin, eyes prickling with tears as the wind blew through them.

His voice cracked as you remained stoic, "I'm sorry."

You didn't answer him, lips pressed in a tight line as you assessed the situation.

"Please don't leave," he whispered, pulling you into him. His arms wrapped around your shoulders, his forehead pressed to your head as you remained still.

"It's, like... I don't want to do that, I don't want to be a dick," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I can't help it sometimes, like a knee jerk reaction to things I don't want to face."

You began to cave, his arms providing relief to the tension in your body. You hated your reaction to him. You repeated the one thing you had been saying over and over, the only thing that you could think of: "That was mean."

"I know," he whispered, pulling you even further into him. You slowly reached up to wrap your arms around him, ignoring that feeling in the pit of your stomach. The man in your arms was every red flag you were warned about, but everything you needed at the same time. "I don't want you to think differently of me."

You pushed your head into his chest, burying your face in his scent. Eyes squeezed shut, you spoke softly, "It's hard to even think when you're a dick to everyone except me. For now."

He suddenly pulled away, bringing his hands up to hold your face in his hands. He stared into your eyes, brows furrowed together as he shook his head.

"For now? No, no, absolutely not," he urged, pressing a kiss to your nose. You crinkled it up in response. "Not for now, not ever. I love you. So, so much."

You shook your head, your own face turning up at his words. He had said this before, but you didn't know whether or not to believe him.

"I love you, and you're perfect. Everything I've ever wanted."

"Steve, you're just making things up-"

Maybe it was how you were feeling that was protesting it, tales of your past failures even with him coming to surface. Maybe it was the fact that he was a short fuse, always ready to switch a flip and become a completely different person. Every instance of disappointment speaking out, trying to sabotage the moment before it truly got good.

"I do," he was even more firm in his speech. Steve leaned in, inches away from your face as he stared into your eyes, blinking slow as he took in your features. "I love you, and there's nothing you could do about it. I don't want to hear it."

He was truthful in all of his words, no deception behind it as he unfolded all of this on you. He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, puppy dog eyes giving you a look that could bloom a million flowers.

"You're the only person I want to see. I want to be around," he continued, pressing another kiss to your nose. Others followed, your cheek, your temple, the space between your eyes, even a small nibble on the ear. "You make me feel like I could do anything. You make me feel like I want to run away from the world just to lay with you, be by your side all day, all night, just so I could be yours. Be a better person."

A tear pricked at the corner of your left eye, falling onto the side of your nose just for Steve to kiss the skin, soaking it up. His beauty outshined the moon that hung in the sky, a competition that was unfair for nature to handle.

"Okay, okay," you laughed, shaking your head at him. He smiled at the brightness on your face, nodding with you. "I believe you."

"Okay," he agreed, holding you close.

"We have to work on whatever just happened though," you said. "That was mean, and you have to apologize."

He rolled his eyes playfully, cringing as he thought of the past moment that had just occurred.

"Can we at least have sex first, and then, get back to it?"

And there he was. Your Steve.

"You're unbelievable," you laughed, shaking your head before walking off ahead of him. You had to remind yourself, progress wasn't linear, and Steve... he fell somewhere along that.

Aannddd.... my favorite toxic couple is back. As much as I love mean!Steve, idk how much longer I can take of him being the douchiest person ever. just kidding. I'd bend over backwards for him. Definitely making this into a series, so expect more, whether you like it or not babes.

part one. prev part.

Masterlist. <3

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura

Summary: This was supposed to be a Rhysand x Reader Calanmai One Shot and boy oh boy did it spiral into a whole, multi chapter AU fic 🤷🏼‍♀️ It’s now a what if Rhys’s mate was someone other than Feyre and they both end up Under the Mountain together fic

Content Warnings: Eventual Smut, Some Suggestiveness because Rhys is here, I mean look at him everyone wants that male; canon typical violence, UTM. Each chapter will have listed content warnings.

Part Two is here

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“Stay inside, away from the windows. Make sure the doors are locked.” It’s the same speech every year, the same frantic, worried rant about staying away from those types of parties and the trouble they could bring. Never mind that you’re an adult, have been for awhile, and are perfectly capable of making the decision on your own and had decided years ago that Calanmai wasn’t really your scene. A party in a library sure, but an outdoor orgy in what was basically the High Lord of Spring’s backyard was about as opposite of you as you could get.

“I’ll be in the attic, organizing my books,” you swear and your uncle’s graying head bobs with a heavy sigh of relief as he shuts the door. Some of the livestock have gone missing--most likely the result of several visiting fae whose scene definitely is Calanmai--but he couldn’t make complaints to the High Lord until he was sure they hadn’t simply wandered out of the padlock on their own. He’s taking all three of the farmhands with him, leaving you alone in the house.

It would be a blissful couple of days. The house quiet. You plan to make tea and practice the new bread recipe you’d found tucked into one of your carefully preserved books from two centuries before. You’ve accumulated quite a collection of things in the years of your uncle’s ceaseless wandering. He’s never stayed anywhere long.

If you could focus on it, that is.

Calanmai might have never been your scene, but it did something to you every year you couldn’t explain. It had started a couple years ago; a strange whispering on the wind at first, a voice begging you to “Come. Come and see.”  The next year, after being ignored the voice had come with phantom drum beats, an echo of the ones that would sometimes crest the hill between your farmhouse and the High Lord’s estate; the voice more urgent, the drum beats like a pulse in your skull. The following year the visions started. You’d go to sleep and find yourself drifting through the air, wings beating above you, shadowy hands holding you as you flew over the bonfires and beating drums, bodies writhing and merging beneath you, before depositing you in the darkness of what you could only describe as some sort of ancient cave. When you’d woken up you found yourself half way up the hill in your sleep clothes, unsure of how you’d even gotten out of the house. You’d never mentioned it to your uncle, he was prone to worry, but it was becoming clearer and clearer every year that there was something out there that wanted you out on Calanmai. True to form, you’d started hearing the drum beats upon waking this morning, their beat a steady pulse in your temples.

Still, whatever beckons, you're not interested in meeting. You’d seen a couple priestesses and gotten a sleeping tonic that would knock you out for the night, all you needed to do was pass the time until nightfall, take the tonic, and in the morning, all would be right again. Never mind the ache in your chest you’d feel in the morning, the blaring loss a living thing in your soul, as if your decision to stay away had torn something apart in you. It was a manageable wound, for your family’s sake. Memories of your parents had been hazy at best, it had always just been you and your mother’s brother. He’d said something had happened in your home court, that he’d had no other choice but to take you and run, never any other details. Your powers were a strange, unmanageable thing that prowled beneath your skin, a restless beast you couldn’t tie to any court to try and figure out where you’d come from. They weren’t seasonal, not ice or flame or wind; you’d imagined as a kid you’d gotten them in the Night Court, the darkness that sometimes sparked from your fingertips unruly enough to make it plausible, but there was nothing definitive. And your parents, for all the good things your uncle said about his sister, had never tried to find you, leaving all questions unanswered. Left you alone with your uncle and your constant moving with his job. He worked hard to make a life for the two of you, you owed it to him to not cause any trouble, to stay inside and cook and read and help him with his trading business as best you could. Whatever it was out there that beckoned, it was not worth seeing the pain on your uncle’s face. He’d escaped something, that much was clear, you would not damn him to something else, even for your own peace of mind.

This year feels different though, and you can’t deny it. The voice more urgent, the drum beats louder. You find yourself rubbing your temples, a headache building, as you try and fail to read the recipe in your hands. The words blur, a swirl of indistinguishable colors and shapes. You pinch you eyes closed, shake your head as if to clear the voice, trying again and again to make the words make sense, but the drums won’t stop beating.

You hurl the book across the room, knocking a picture off the wall, glass shattering on impact.

“Leave me alone!” You hiss at no one, teeth bared. Talons form at your fingertips, dark shadows whispering over your skin.

“Come. Come and see,” begs the voice.

You draw a breath, then another, and another until the shadows disappear and the talons retract. If you blow the roof off the house, like last time, you’ll have to move again. Beyond your uncle’s disappointment there’s the issue of… her. The war bands, the bogge, the Attor, always a threat looming over your travels, pushing you further and further away from busy cities, all enough on their own, but the Blight adds another layer. Your Uncle said the war she helped wage against the humans was devastating, but the one she could bring here? Sometimes you wonder if she’s the reason you move so much, as if your uncle has been trying in vain all these years to escape the war path closing in on Prythian. He’d never dare delve into the Human Lands, but Spring is one of the few places she has yet to ravish. You can’t risk another move.

You focus on controlling your breathing as you sweep up the glass, and leave the picture of you and your uncle on the table. You’ll find a new frame tomorrow, for today, it’s best if you take that sleeping tonic and avoid any further outbursts.

You make quick work of double checking the locks before changing into your sleep clothes and climbing into bed. It’s only just starting to get dark, the last few rays of sunlight fighting to break through your worn curtains. The priestesses didn’t mention how long it would take to work, or how long it would last, but the drums are still so loud, and the voice won’t stop pleading. It’s a nice voice, if your honest, but you can’t go out there. You won’t.

The vial in your hand is cold, the glass pitted like it’s been used before, it’s contents a bright blue color that glitters even in the darkness. You down it in one gulp, the taste like bursting, overripe fruit. The effects are immediate, you’re asleep before your head even hits the pillows.

  The house is strange, twisted; the wooden walls thorny, gnarled like old tree trunks, the wind howling through the gaps of what used to be the windows. Fire light flickers through the gaps, casting shadows across the space as you stumble from the bed, bare legs caught in sheets suddenly made of vines.

It’s wrong, all wrong.

You stumble on legs that don’t quite work right down the stairs, slashing yours hands open on the thorns that had sprouted out of the railing alongside dark, night blooming flowers.

“Come. Come and see.”

The flowers bloom at the sound of the voice, the violets petals glowing in the darkness, leading you like wisps out the front door, now covered in vines and leaves. Disoriented, you follow the flowers out into the night, the stars dazzlingly bright overhead.

The world outside is not the one you know, the rolling hills now scorched and burned, the trees gnarled and twisted. Dark shapes with glowing eyes sit on the dying branches, starring only at you, some growling, others hissing.

There’s a single line of flowers, twisting away from the leering eyes and you race after them.

“Come. Come and see.”

You’re running before you know it, scooping up flowers as you go.

Something behind you still growls, it’s footsteps rattling the ground behind you. No matter where you look, you can’t see it, like it’s wholly veiled in the darkness. It has your heart pounding in your chest, the beat steady like drums. You push yourself faster, following the flowers over the ruined hills.

The flowers lead you into another wooded area, the trees still barely clinging to life here, their fallen leaves crunching under your bare feet. Branches tug at your shift, tearing the thin materiel, clawing at your exposed legs. Still, the thing behind you prowls closer, it’s breath hot as flame as it chases you.

The flowers wind around trees, deeper, deeper, into the dark, the only light the stars and the flowers; it’s your only chance at escaping. You push, going as fast as your legs can carry you, the drum beats of your heart still echoing in your ears. Soon enough the flowers direct you in a straight line, directly into the mouth of a cave. It feels wrong, going into a cave with some sort of beast snapping on your heels but what other choice do you have?

You reach the mouth of the cave, hand brushing the rough rock, gasping for breath. The darkness beyond beckons, “Come. Come and see,” but there are no flowers here. No stars to light the way, only the darkness of night and shadows.

The thing beyond you roars in challenge as you set one foot in…

You jerk awake like your soul is coming back into your body.

Maybe it is, because you’re not in your bed. There’s half a dozen cuts across your bare legs, staining the bottom of your torn shift, mud splattered across your legs. It feels like you’re wading through soup as you assess yourself, your mind muddled, unable to process where you got the glowing, violet flower in your hands. When you finally have the presence of mind to look up, you are in fact starring at the cavernous mouth of a cave you’ve never seen before.

Somewhere in the distance, the drums pound. Firelight dances among the treeline behind you. You’d gotten outside. On Calanmai. The tonic not only failed, it had left you so horribly vulnerable and queasy you were shaking. You need to get back home, back inside where it’s safe.

From somewhere in the shadows of the trees not far from you, a voice says, “I’m pretty sure I saw her go this way!”

Ice shoots through your veins, feet freezing in place.

The flower seems to warm in your hands, as if reminding you it was there, of the dream that had brought you here. You glance at the cave, the darkness beckoning. It might be a safe place to hide, if those voices are in fact looking for you. They are clearly male, and a few of them at that, and alone in a shift on Calanmai…

The cave might be a terrible spot, you’re pretty sure you had heard something about High Lords and caves, specifically on Calanmai, but the drowsy effect of the tonic has not entirely worn off, and with the voice drawing closer you don’t have time to try and remember what it was.

You step into the darkness, praying it isn’t the worst mistake of your life, and the darkness envelopes you like a caress. It’s almost as if it… moves, shadows and night itself twining around your legs, your arms, brushing along your spine with feather light touches. As if darkness is acquainting itself with the feel of you. You shiver, nervous, but the touch is not unwelcome.

Voices sound outside, but they are muffled, veiled.

Another step, then another, the flower still clutched in your hand blooms, glowing a little brighter. The scent of jasmine and citrus flows from it, fills all your senses.

The cave descends, the ground sloping a bit, and then you have to duck to follow the worn path. There should be loose rock along the path, but it is smooth, like sand beneath your bare feet, like someone had come along and swept out the debris. There’s nothing there to hinder your progress towards what you can only assume is the heart of the cave.

Perhaps this is all a part of your strange dream, that would certainly explain the flower, but what other choice do you have no but to keep going? From behind you, those voices from the woods sound again, as if they have stepped into the cave too.

“You’re sure she came in here?”

“Where else would she go out here?”

“Do you think Mistress will let us have a little fun before she gets her hands on her?”

Its that that makes you freeze, all thought eddying from your head.

The flower shrinks in your hand, the light dimming, even as the darkness of the cave twines itself around you, the caress like a cat rubbing against your legs, as if it’s trying to soothe you, calm you. You can’t move.

The sudden shift in the air of the cave is palpable. Goosebumps raise on your arms as the temperature drops, as the darkness deepens.

“What the fuck?” One of the men hisses.

And then the screaming starts, the blood curdling cries rattling the walls.

Still you can’t move, can’t see, can only stand there in the company of the shadow still rubbing soothing circles into your back while the earth trembles and dust rains down from the cave roof.

Just as quickly as the screaming starts, it stops, the only sound know the subtle drip of something wet hitting the floor. Your senses are sharp enough for you to scent the cooper tint of blood in the air, but even your keen senses can’t pick up what caused it. You can’t hear anything either, no footsteps, no fighting. It’s over.

You exhale a shaky breath, hands still trembling around the flower. Until it suddenly dies, the petals falling from your cupped hands. You’re strangely attached to it now, hands scrambling to catch the petals in the dark when that same glow appears around the bend in the cave.

Another flower, a way out!

You step towards it, not stopping to ask yourself why this one is smaller, so far away from the ground. Its not until you’re nearly upon it, nearly slamming into it, that you realize it’s not a flower at all. It doesn’t truly click into place until a firm set of hands grabs hold of you, stopping you from slamming right into the owner of that glowing set of violet eyes.

You might have screamed, were it not for the voice that says, “There you are, I’ve been looking for you.”

The world tilts before you as it clicks into place that you know that voice. It’s the one that called you out here.

[dilatorywriting]

Heroes vs. Villains : The Staff

Platonic GN!Reader x NRC Staff vs. RSA Staff Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. NRC Staff Version (Part 1: Crewel and Crowley)

ie. Headmaster Crowley is a nightmare, and Professor Crewel is, well, cruel. And to be perfectly honest, after meeting another dog-loving professor who doesn't treat you like absolute garbage, the Royal Sword Academy is starting to look a lot more appealing.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me!’

Crowley had chirped that very sentiment to you ad nauseum, with all the enthusiasm of an old raven eyeing a shiny penny.

“Do you really believe that?” you sniffled, angry, as you sat slumped over in one of his rickety office chairs.

People at this stupid school were mean. And yeah, school yard insults and casual accusations of being the House Wardens’ little bitch were one thing—but these assholes would go right for the throat. All of your insecurities—your fears—all laid out like a nice spread of hors d'oeuvres ready for the picking. You had endured enough sharp barbs for a lifetime, and the fact that your glorious Headmaster and self-proclaimed parental figure kept writing it all off as a ‘learning experience’ was driving you mad.

“Of course I do, dear child!” he beamed. “What sort of educator would I be if I didn’t practice what I preach! Words are but the wind, as they say!”

You nodded, sage, and shot him a smile so sugary sweet it could rot the teeth right out of his skull.

“I wish I’d never met you and I hope that all your feathers fall off one by one,” you chirped. “And I use the ‘Number One Child’ mug you gave me to scoop water out of the toilets when the plumbing fails.”

Crowley’s mouth fell open with a nearly audible clunk, and if he weren’t so wrapped up in all kinds of immoral, black magic, bull-shittery, you would have liked to imagine that maybe that had been the sound of his heart cracking in his stupid, embroidery-covered, chest.  

You popped up from your chair and breezily made your way to the exit. You propped yourself up against the intricate, wooden, frame and clapped your hands together like a bubbly preschool teacher addressing a room full of particularly dull children.  

“I’m glad we could get that out in the open in a completely pain-free way. Words really can’t hurt anyone!”

You managed to slip the door closed just as he started to wail.

.

.

That afternoon you made your way to Professor Crewel’s office, as had become your routine. It was nice. Sometimes you would help him grade papers, sometimes you would just nibble on fancy cookies and listen as he ranted about the incompetence of certain staff members which shall not be named.

Sometimes his dogs were with him in the afternoons—a pair of giant, lithe, wolf-like beasts that were most certainly of a very proud and expensive lineage. Jasper was the black one and Badun the white, and each had a coat so glossy and well-maintained that they could put your own hair care to shame. Badun was enthusiastic, charismatic, and would bound to greet anyone who entered. Jasper was more quiet, reserved, but he was secretly your favorite of the duo. Whenever you stopped in after classes, the shadowy hound would lumber over and rest his giant head in your lap.

“No puppies today?” you called when you were greeted with silence rather than a wave of happy kisses.

“They’re in for their groom,” Crewel mumbled, busy at work with his head bowed over some lab reports or other. Normally he would grouchily correct you that his two precious pooches were adults. Dogs. And should be addressed as such. He must have been really distracted today. Or maybe you were just wearing him down.

You settled into the lovely, plush, chair off to the side that you had long since claimed as your own, and set your bookbag on the floor by your feet with a thump.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence with nothing but the sound of scratching ink over paper to break up the monotony, Professor Crewel dropped his head into his hands with a miserable sort of sigh.

“You should not have spoken to Crowley as you did.”

You blinked, startled. “What?”

“I of all people understand how frustrating the Headmaster’s antics can be,” Crewel continued, firm. “But you are still a student of this Institution—and one in a precarious enough position as it is. So you need to be mindful of your tongue.”

Indignation roiled through your gut, followed by a sharp prick of disquiet that you couldn’t quite place.

“Then he should be mindful to treat me like a student and not some—some pet project,” you huffed, kicking irritably at your patched backpack for want of nothing else to do. “And besides, what’ll he even do? Expel the one person in this entire college who mops up every single one of his messes? And I mean, it’s not like he’s running around the school crying or anything. I wasn’t that mean.”

Crewel pinched the bridge of his nose and you paused, mouth parting in surprise.

“Oh come on, he did not.”

“In the name of preserving our esteemed leader’s dignity I will say no more on the matter,” he grit out, and you fought the urge to immediately whip out your phone to message Ace, and Cater, and every other rabid gossip you could think of.

“Well, maybe he deserved it,” you snipped, crossing your arms stubbornly across your chest. A bit of cautious warmth spread through you and you nervously plucked at one of the loose threads on your uniform sleeve. “And besides,” you mumbled. "He can cry about me calling him a shitty father all he wants. You’ve been way more of a dad to me here than he could ever try to be.”

“I beg your pardon.”

You froze, fingers locking in place around the picked-apart edges of your jacket. The ice in his voice was unfamiliar and entirely unpleasant. It sent a frigid wave of worry curling through your veins. Had you overstepped? You’d thought—You’d just thought—

“I-I mean,” you spluttered. “I only meant that, well… Uhm… You’re really nice to spend time with. A-And, I just…” He made you feel like you were home again. Like even though Ramshackle was empty and cold, that you could still walk into this little office and say ‘I’m back!’ to an actual, real-life person and not just the shadows that lived in your foyer.

“Let me be perfectly clear, Prefect,” he sneered. There was an undercurrent of hostility running so sharply through every word that you were left wondering frantically if you’d unintentionally trampled over a sensitive topic. You hadn’t thought it was a big deal. You just—you just really, really looked up to him. And felt safe with him. And—And—

‘I’m sorry,’ you wanted to say. But instead you just let out an odd kind of choked squeak.

“I have no intention of playing parent to anyone,” he snapped. “Let alone an untrained brat who can’t even be bothered to play civil with the people who do attempt to care for them.”

Ouch.

“R-Right,” you spluttered, swallowing around the burbling lump in your throat and the warmth prickling along your lash line. “O-Of course. I’m sorry for assuming. I—I… uhm…”

‘I’ll just go then.’

But just like with failed apology, those four little syllables just couldn’t seem to make it past your lips either. So instead you just shakily snatched your bag from the floor and bolted from his office, burrowing your stinging cheeks as far into your collar as they would go. The last thing you needed to do was give anyone at this stupid school any more ammunition against you. And ‘Cry Baby Prefect’ sounded like another nasty nickname that would stick to you like gum to a flat-heeled shoe.

It’s fine, you whispered to yourself, voice wobbling far more than you would have liked. Grim hated when you came back smelling like dogs anyways.

.

.

“My goodness, are you alright?”

You blinked, harried, and glanced around yourself properly for what felt like the first time in hours. You were… not on campus anymore. Huh. What a trip. You’d never been so upset that you’d blindly run off into an entire new town before. But you supposed there was a first time for everything. You did remember feeling too nauseous to return to your little hovel for the evening, but you hadn’t really expected your frantic pacing to take you quite this far out of the way.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

Oh. Someone was talking to you, weren’t they?

Standing in front of you was a tall, lanky, man in a tweed jacket. He was stooped down a bit to make eye contact with you, and those hazel eyes were creased with worry. His blonde hair was pushed half-off his forehead in a style that looked more haphazard than intentional, and the hand he was offering you was littered with splotches of ink. There were patches of white and black dog fur littered across his entire outfit like some horrible fashion statement, and the thought of puppies made your throat tighten up all over again.

“My name is Cliff Rogerson,” he said, steady and kind. “I’m one of the instructors at the Royal Sword Academy. Are you lost? Do you know how to get home from here?”

Do you know how to get home?

You laughed once, manic, and then promptly burst into tears.

“Oh, dear,” he sighed, his heavy brow furrowing low with concern, and patted you consolingly on the shoulder. “Oh, dear.”

You were herded into a nearby café and directed into one of the quiet, corner, booths. The lights were soft and fuzzy in here, and the pleasant warmth of fresh pastries brushed gingerly along your frayed nerves. Mister Rogerson pressed a steaming mug of hot chocolate into your hands, and placed a delicately wrapped muffin off to the side of it. It was a tempting offering, and you decided to unbury your head from your hands long enough to partake.

“So how did you end up out here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m a student at Night Raven,” you mumbled into your cocoa.

You could tell he was doing his best not to look shocked, which was at least a dozen steps above the way the rest of your stupid school would just gawk at you in outright consternation.

“Forgive me,” he smiled, gentling his apprehension into something that was more polite curiosity that anything. “But you don’t really seem like one of their usual pupils.”

So you explained your situation—the Mirror, and the magiclessness, and the homelessness. You talked about your friends, and your new demon cat/evil baby, and how much you missed stupid things like good shower pressure and fuzzy socks. Mister Rogerson listened to all of it with an attentive sort of sympathy that you hadn’t seen since, well, probably since you were dropped face-first into a school full of burgeoning war criminals.  

“That sounds like a time and a half,” he said once you’d finally tired yourself out. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all that.”

You picked at your muffin. It was ridiculously fluffy and eating it felt like pulling bits and pieces out of a cloud. A very, very delicious cloud.

“Forgive me for saying so,” he hummed, pensive. “But your situation doesn’t sound particularly safe.”

You laughed. “That’s one word for it.”

Mister Rogerson frowned, another twitch of that uneasy worry playing across his face. He ruffled around in his jacket pocket for a moment and pulled out a neat, cream colored, business card.

“It may be overstepping of me to offer, but at the same time I do think as an educator it’s my duty to try and help every student that I can,” he smiled, kind. It crinkled the skin around his eyes. “The RSA is not overly far from Night Raven College. If you ever want to stop by—if you ever need an ear to listen, or just a space to get away from it all—my door will always be open to you.”

You took the little piece of paper carefully, like it was something precious. There were swirls of colorful music notes splattered across the backdrop of it—raucous bursts of neons that were as endearing as they were ugly.

‘Tacky,’ spat a too-familiar voice in the back of your head. ‘What sort of statement was this lowlife trying to make?‘ You could practically feel the phantom distaste emanating from wherever a certain two-toned professor had camped out for the evening.

Probably at home, you thought bitterly. Because he has a home, right? And you are not at all upset that you will never be welcomed into it. And that you will probably never get to cuddle his puppies ever again. Nope. Not at all.

You swallowed the little burst of unpleasantness that accompanied the train of thought, and pocketed the card with a smile.

“Thank you. I’ll definitely have to take you up on that.”

.

.

.

Divus Crewel was many things, and unfortunately, being as cruel as his namesake was often one of them. He glanced back to the clock ticking on his wall for what was perhaps the dozenth time that hour. You hadn’t been by since his—ah—outburst a few weeks prior.

He had perhaps reacted a bit more unpleasantly than he normally would have. You’d just… caught him off guard was all. It was a bold declaration you’d made, and what? Had you really expected him to be overjoyed by the idea of forced parenthood? To swoon over the notion that someone had decided to latch onto him and his perfectly pressed suit like a leech despite the fact that he was so obviously thriving in his life of solitude?

And it wasn’t that he expected you to take his biting comments lying down. Oh no. You were fierce, and determined, and were most likely on your way here to bang down his door demanding recompenses for all your suffering. There was a tray of those too-expensive cookies you liked tucked away in his top drawer. Just in case you did show up and throw one of your tantrums, and he needed something quick to pacify you. That… That was all.

But each day that he waited for you to sneak back into his office was another spent in quiet solitude. Badun had taken to whining at the door and Jasper hardly got up from his bed at all—just tucked his black nose into his equally black paws and stared straight into Crewel’s soul. Like he was judging him.

He caught himself glancing at the clock again and forcibly turned back to his work.

This was ridiculous. You were ridiculous. And stubborn. And so, very, danger prone. Had something happened maybe? Was that why you’d disappeared—because you’d gotten caught up in some sort of trouble again?

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick—

He looked back at the clock.

Tick. Tick. Tick—

His office door flew open with a BANG and he swiveled in his chair, ready to chastise you for making such a ridiculous entrance. Instead, he ended up nearly nose-to-nose with a weeping Dire Crowley. The man wailed into his clawed hands, looking very much like he might accidentally stab himself in the eye all the while.

“HOW AM I SUCH A FAILURE OF A PARENT?!” he bawled. “WHAT COULD I HAVE DONE TO PREVENT THIS?!”

“What?” Crewel gaped, head spinning. “What’s happened?”

Crowley let out another inhuman squawk and shoved a piece of parchment into the alchemist’s crimson-gloved hands. It was torn at the top, likely from where it’d been pinned to something before the raving Headmaster had swiped it. Crewel read over the familiar script with narrowed eyes, something unpleasant twisting in his belly.

‘The Ramshackle Prefect kindly sends their regards, but unfortunately has other commitments for this evening. Please contact Professor Cliff Rogerson of the RSA music department in case of an emergency.’

“MY BABY LEFT ME!” Crowley sobbed, nearly inconsolable. “WHO’S GOING TO DO MY TAXES NOW?!”

The leather of Crewel’s gloves groaned in protest as his hands tightened into fists—his nails biting into his palm even through the sturdy material.  

“What do we even do?” the old crow lamented, sounding so genuinely crestfallen it was almost unnerving.

Jasper and Badun circled their master’s ankles wearily, eyes bright and lips twitching with nervous whines.

“I think,” Crewel grit out, the note crumpling between his fingers, “that it’s well past time that we have a chat with the Prefect about the importance of personal safety. And of the consequences of running off with strangers.”

.

.

.

[poeticlilies]

Dazai with a reader who’s really motherly with him? I feel like he secretly craves to be coddled but he plays it off with jokes for a while until a certain point where he just breaks :(

also I’m sorry if my request got sent more than once, tumblr is being silly ‼️

♡ My baby, my baby...

Dazai Osamu x Reader

Desc: Comforting Dazai. (fem reader)

TW/CW: mental breakdowns, joking about mental health, dark thoughts, suicide, self-harm, mentions of religion (usage of word "God"), usage of "Y/N", angst -> hurt/comfort

It hurt.

It hurt so, so much Dazai Osamu thought that God had finally pitied him and was letting him die.

He couldn't breathe; his lungs felt like they were collapsing in on themselves, and he sobbed, trying to let oxygen back into his lungs as they burned.

"Just get home," his mind repeated. "Just get home and you can see Y/N again."

A foreign corner of his heart quieted it's pounding; slowing down to consider the thought of keeping quiet long enough to see you. It agreed, happy at the thought of you; and after five minutes Dazai got up and walked out of the closet he had locked himself inside.

Kunikida stared at him, stopping mid-rant as concern flashed over his coworker's face; but before the blond could say anything, Dazai was out the door and on his way to see you again. The annoying ringing of his cellphone wasn't present; which means that Kunikida probably laid off of him and let him go home early.

He doesn't even remember going home, doesn't remember the sidewalk, the train ride, or the winding little path leading to the quaint little neighborhood; doesn't remember unlocking the front door and taking his shoes off, heart beginning to race again as it protests for the mind to uphold it's part of the deal.

"Y/N?.." he calls weakly; stumbling around your shared home. "Y/N!"

His mind begins to race, panicking; what if you had gotten kidnapped? or hurt? what if the Port Mafia took you? what if-- but his thoughts were cut off when the angel that is you, in your everlasting glory, appeared; dressed in shorts and a sweater, surprised (and a little concerned) to why he was home so early and stumbling around your shared house like a drunkard.

He barely hears the worried gasp of his name; barely processes anything before he's lunging for you, arms flying around your torso and coiling around it, tears coming to his eyes as he sobs in relief, crying and blubbering as he's finally back in your loving arms.

He feels the hand you have on his head caressing his hair gently as if he were a glass ornament that would break apart at the slightest touch, and he cries harder; burying his face into your stomach as he sinks down closer to the floor. He feels you crouching down with him; cradling his head against your chest as you murmur warm words that slither inside through his ears to his heart, comforting it as you hold him in your embrace.

You had never seen him like this; had always known the strong, brave Dazai Osamu; had always seen the confident, cocky, brave persona he put on. Whenever you tried to coddle him, he had brushed it off; but you never missed the slight twitch of his eyes, the lingering look in them as he turned away, the way his hand rested on top of yours for a second too long before he pulled away.

That's why you kept going; kept pushing at his walls, begging and pleading for him to let them down; that you weren't going to hurt him like everybody else, weren't going to be let in only to stab at everything in a frenzy like everyone else. No, you wanted to love him; to cherish him and to make him feel loved as you protected him from the world and it's miseries the way he did to countless other individuals.

And it worked; hence the events of today, as Dazai clings to your sweater and sobs.

"Shhh... Shhh.. baby, what's wrong?.." you murmur, finally; petting his hair as he begins to quiet down, obediently following your words.

"M-Missed you." he states, quietly, simply. "Missed y-you so much; c-couldn't think. Could-dn't do a-anything. Missed you so bad..." he whispers, tearing up again.

"Shh.." you whisper again; lifting his face up and kissing his cheeks. "Cmon, baby; you can tell me what's wrong. It's alright, darling."

And Dazai Osamu only falls deeper in love with you.

--

YAHOO!! sorry if u wanted smt else this was the way i interpreted it :(

[ganondoodle]

totk cataclysm event wasnt just a great (but utterly missed) opportunity to change the map in techincally little ways that has drastic consequences both in stakes and in gameplay (like i mentioned before, flooding the gerudo desert would have meant devastating consequences for its ecosystem- like imagine little islands of sand still poking out, acting as a sort of last doomed refuge for sandseals- but also cahnged the entire gameplay of it, good chance to introduce some neat new ways to surf on water like a new ridable creature or an ice shield freezing a path while you surf on it, the gerudo being forced to save the city from drowing in various means or now living on the roofs, trying to adapt by building boats ect - also call back to older games?? since totk loves that so much ..-, vah naboris serving as the savest refuge being high above the water, even if non functional; similarly takign away ALL water from the zora region, gaving it all dry out would imemdiately turn into something way different and could mean death for the zora- forcing them to move to the lower parts of akkala for example- maybe vah ruta is still halfway functioning bc the faith the zora have to mipha, dorephan and sidon is, while not enough to keep it fully functional, but enough to generate some water so the most stubborn or brave zora set up around it like a last oasis; i know its somewhat done with death mountain but the gorons dont really suffer from it bc their only problem is a drugged rock that makes them mean and lazy ..- what about collapsing or exploding it, leaving a large crater that over the course of the game could start to grow with plant life since vulcanic earth is so fertile- some never seen before ones that was dormant in the lava and now that its cooled off is springing to life, which might seem good at first but for the area and its wildlife means loss of their habitat; the rito freezing over, but actually having to move, maybe into the tabantha canyon, building their new makeshift homes in between the walls of it- generally just switiching things around a bit would have done so much wihtout having to edit every last detail ((seriously tho, how did this game take so long given that botw took similar but they did that ENTIRE main map as detailed as it is AND made it all coherent with itself and its themes- im ranting again ..)

-but it ALSO would have been the perfect opportunity to introduce new weather types created by the sudden change in environment, somethign like a super strong wind that slows you when walking agaisnt and lets you jump much farther when with it- a darkness thing that clouds the world in utter darkness with only little light getting through anything that is caused by mushrooms from the udnerground invading the surface and their spores snuffs out all light (which could explain the weird darkness in the ruins from botw too!!), or just simply mist! making everything misty changes the entire feel of any environment drastically- you could make vertain enemies spawn only in certain weather conditions, lessening the repetive overuse of them; and that is only on the surface- what if the sky had sunbeams so strong it sets anything on fire if you dare to leave the shadows- to comabt it get a armor with a giant hat!! the underground could have been filled with different environments in the first place, but then of course thered be those dark spores of mushrooms, an entire forest you have to carefully travers other wise making them release their spores and make it all more difficult, glowy mushrooms, MORE glowy mushroms, theres so many weird ass shrooms IRL you could take inspo from!! maybe soemthing like a forest of kelp, long flowy plants obstructing view and making you anxious by any movement- there could be one thats a mimic or infected with miasma, slightly off color and its knobs are malice eyes that open only if it thinks you cant see it

(also for the idea of taking botws stuff and recontextualizing it, the guardians or shrines, now non fucntional, could be infected my miasma sometimes, maybe randomly to keep you guessing- an overgrown shrine suddenly lifting itself up with hands clawing at you when you get too close or do sth wrong to distrub it- similar with guardians tho the effect might be less since you know them as a threat already- or sth i mentioned in another post, a tower being used as a weapon by a gigatic miasma monster- the one in the gerudo region with the bottomless pit for example, perfect for an arena for you to run around in the spiral while its swinging at you etc etc)

JUST taking what botw had and mixing it up, expanding on it, even if technically little change, it could do so much but in the actual game death mountain and rito is the only ones that saw anything of a change like it, and it largely .. didnt change anything or was reversible easily, and had no actual consquences that meant anything, neither stakes nor environmental or narratively (the gerudo felt like it at first but its also largely reversible, its just kinda .. adding a bit of city)

i hhhhhhhhhhhhhh have so many thoughts still, i am just better at holding them back .... also dont wanna annoy lmao

[leggerefiore]

I was watching some tiktoks where people call their boyfriends by their full name to see their reactions, and wanted to request, how do the submas (and grimsley because he's a lil shit) react when their s/o uses their ENTIRE full name? Do they panic?

cw: angst in Cyrus's part, fluff,

characters: Ingo, Emmet, Grimsley, Cyrus

▲Ingo▼

● The Subway Boss had come home a bit late – Work was never something easy to escape. Last-minute things arose right as he was heading out. He supposed it was best they happened while he was still there, but there was this sadness inside him over being late to get back to you. Your concerns for him simply were too much. Which is why he still rushed home despite everything – Ingo simply could not stand to keep you waiting. Yet, as he entered the home, he heard you call his name – His full name. Instantly, he tensed up. His eyes went wide. Were you upset with him? He had meant to send you a text, but it had been forgotten when with presented his tasks. You soon stood in entryway, staring at him.

● Then, he saw your smile and instantly relaxed. For a moment, he had his mind shoot back to his youth when he would somehow have his actions mistaken for something Emmet did and get scolded by his parents. Letting himself relax, he shook his head. Why would you do that? Your laughter was an answer, he knew. You walked over and gave him a hug as he let out the shaky breath he had been holding all along. You had been teasing him… He hugged you back and chided you for doing that. For a moment, he was genuinely frightened by the idea that had upset you in some manner. Of course, you had to also reassure him that it was absolutely not the case. Please be gentler to the Ingo.

▽Emmet△

○ The younger twin had opted to enjoy his day off quite simply, hanging around the apartment vacantly. Well, with his pokemon. His Joltiks had decided that he was their bed while he laid out on the couch, watching some shows. He was a bit exhausted after an especially gruelling shift the previous day, so he was glad to just let himself exist for a bit. Though, just as he was about to zone out, you suddenly called out to him. His full name, too. He nearly sprung up, ready for a long-winded rant. The only people who ever referred to him like that were his parents or Ingo when he had done something bad. The Joltiks squeaked as he sat up and pondered what he did. He did the dishes… Laundry had been put in the dryer… Emmet could not figure out why you had called his name like that. His heart raced. You appeared from the kitchen to get a look at him.

○ When he saw your face twisted with amusement, he calmed down instantly. A pout fell on his face. Why would you do that? He wanted to grumble about making him worry. You were verrrry mean. He was just an innocent Emmet trying to relax with his spiders, and you made him think that he had done something bad. At seeing his pout, you had walked over and gently stroked his cheek while nuzzling your nose against his own. He hummed. Well, maybe he could forgive you. He supposed he was not above teasing himself. His arms suddenly came around you to put you closer to him. A plan for you to make it up to him entered his mind. He giggled and buried his face into your nape. Work had been busy lately. There had barely been a moment to spend with you. Now was the time to make up for it. The Joltiks seemed to know it was time to flee.

♠️Grimsley❤️

♤ He had come home late after winning a poker tournament. While it had been an exhilarating experience that kept him more than energised for the whole of it, he felt exhausted now. It was nearly four in the morning, and the lack of sleep and few drinks he had were catching up to him. He was excited to creep into bed with his partner and sleep the day away. Though, maybe a shower was due. The smell of tobacco clung to his suit. It did not bother him, but he knew his partner would get annoyed. Spritzing on a heavy coating of cologne would not appease them either. Clicking opening the door to his apartment, he did not expect to see a light on in the kitchen nor you sitting at the table. You sat with your arms crossed. Before he had a moment to react, you called out his full name. His lips unconsciously pulled back into a carefully trained smile as a chuckle left him. A bluff? He had been calling them all night. What were you trying to do, really?

♤ Grimsley simply sat down across from you and stared deeply into your eyes, determining whether you really upset with him or simply playing some kind of game. His fingers tapped against the wood of the table. Unreadable. Fascinating. Another thing about you to capture his attention and drive him further into this madness. He called your bluff. You only shrugged in reply before strolling over to him and catching his chin to make him look at you again. Your eyes stared into each other's own for a moment before you leaned down to kiss him. He easily reciprocating the action. How silly… The only people that ever called him by his name like that had been his parents, who he cared little for, or Nanu when the old man was actually upset with him. Neither of which were you. To him, you saying his full name was like a Purrloin pawing at his leg for attention.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ He expected unpleasant things to follow, but you instead cupped his cheek gently. Your eyes stared into his own. There was no aggression on your face, simply concern. Your thumb stroked his cheek. He let the tension leave his body. Right… You were not like that. You had never been like that. Why would he think such awful things about you? The foolishness of spirit harming him again. But before he could spiral, you embraced him and softly admitted that you were trying to tease him before apologising for upsetting him. He let himself embrace you in return as a wordless apology. It was fine… You could not have expected his reaction. He held you closer to him. Cyrus avoided coming home for various reasons, but the strongest reason was his fear of your judgement. You were his largest weakness, yet he could never do anything that would upset you.

☄️ Overworking was simply second nature for the Galactic Boss. It was rare that he left on time, and many would describe him as essentially living in his office – cut off from the rest of the world to further fester on the things that haunted him. Though, he could not truly do that all the time. Someone was waiting on him, and he was not the type to allow others to suffer. So, he entered his apartment with little apprehension. A mistake apparently, since the first thing he was his full name called out. Instantly, he tensed up. Horrible memories flooded his mind. Whenever people would call his name… His parents, his teachers, other children… He swallowed. Were you upset? There were a number of things he knew that could have had you simply displeased with him. Would yelling follow? Words about his shortcomings? You appeared before him as he contemplated far too much.

[hellfirenacht]

Wing Man Part 6

Fic Summary: Steve 'the Hair' Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you'll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie. (1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9)

Chapter Summary: What DID he mean by five? The second meeting.

5.1k words

A/N: How are we feeling in a post-"Flight of Icarus" world, y'all? I knew from the beginning that I'd want to add some of the lore in and let me tell you, I LOVE Ronnie Ecker. For those of you who did not read the book, or haven't had a chance to, Ronnie is Eddie's best friend who ended up with a full scholarship to NYU. They're siblings, your honor.

Also if anyone can show me on this map where the plot is going, I'd really appreciate it.

This late at night, the only sounds in the trailer park came from the occasional dog barking and the echoes of Eddie’s tapes blasting as he pulled up to Wayne’s trailer. His uncle was working tonight as usual, which would normally allow Eddie time to hog the tv before passing out for a few precious hours before he had to get up for school. 

Tonight however, his mind was buzzing with what had just happened less than an hour ago. He liked you, he wasn’t sure how much yet but he did. You were sharp and knew your stuff about metal. It helped that you were cute. Really cute. 

He liked seeing you in the passenger seat of his car, matching wits with his friends and ranting about Ozzy. He liked seeing you laughing and the way you watched him play. He really liked the way you had fiddled with the pick he’d thrown at you at the end of the set. 

Eddie had never done that before. He’d wanted to, but never had anyone’s attention like that before- no. That wasn’t true. There had been one other person who’d listened to him play like that, two years ago. 

Was he always gonna fold to the site of a pretty girl actually paying attention to his music? 

“Of course you are.” Ronnie’s voice echoed on the phone. “And I’m gonna laugh every time you do.” 

Eddie groaned, holding the receiver to his ear as his forehead pressed against the front of the fridge. He hadn’t planned on running to her with this, but he was nowhere near able to wind down. He hadn’t even expected Ronnie to pick up the phone this late at night with the time zone difference and the fact that it was a school night. He’d have to push his stash a bit harder to pay Wayne back for the long distance call. 

The past two years had been a slow crawl of building back trust up with Veronica Ecker. The two had gone almost a whole summer without talking before Eddie had basically groveled for forgiveness outside of Granny Ecker’s trailer before Ronnie left for New York. She had forgiven him enough to let him give her a ride to the airport. 

“Last time?” He’d asked. 

“Last time.” She’d repeated. 

“So why didn’t you shack up with her tonight?” Ronnie asked. “You got her into your van, and you dropped her off like a gentleman.” 

“I don’t know, I panicked.” Eddie sighed, bonking his head against the fridge a few times. “She was right there, and she was leaning in and all I saw was Paige leaning in-”

“You know not every girl who shares your taste in music is Paige, right?” Eddie could practically see Ronnie rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. 

“Any girl that shares my taste in music ends up fucking off to the opposite end of the country.” 

This made Ronnie laugh. “You’re an idiot. Paige fucked off back to her job and I fucked off to college.”

“Fucking off is fucking off.”

“Maybe you need to fuck off.”

“I tried, remember?” 

She remembered. Both of them remembered. 

“Look, stop being a dipshit.” Ronnie said after a moment of awkward silence. “You’re graduating this year, right?”

“Uhhh...”

“Eddie.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m working on it. I just need those last stupid two classes and then I’m home free.” Eddie confirmed. 

“You can’t stay in high school forever.” Ronnie said. “And you’re gonna realize that there’s life outside of Hawkins. Have you even talked to Paige since then?”

He hadn’t, and they both knew it. Eddie gave up two months after she’d bailed him out of jail. Two months of dead air silence. He got the hint. 

“No.”

“Then stop worrying about one girl from over two years ago!” Eddie could feel the phantom pain of Ronnie punching him in the arm like she always used to. “Get laid and graduate, Munson. You earned it.”

Eddie snorted, sliding down the fridge to sit on the cool floor. “Is that the only advice you got for me, Ecker?”

“It’s the only advice you need. Did you pass that test last week?” Ronnie asked. 

“By the skin of my teeth.” Eddie sighed, leaning his head back against the fridge. 

“Your new girl graduated, maybe she can help you study.”

“She’s not my girl. She’s a girl that I’ve met a handful of times-”

“That’s turning your brain to mush.” 

“She doesn’t even know who I am, Ronnie.” He fiddled with the chord in his hand, watching the spiral wind and unwind around his fingers. It was already stretched out pretty bad, with a few spirals already tangled beyond repair like his old slinky from when he was a kid. 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Ronnie asked. “She doesn’t know you, that means she doesn’t feed into the bullshit of the rumor mill.” 

Ronnie had a point and he hated it, but that’s why he called her to begin with. Ronnie was the only person who could cut through his Munson bullshit and give it to him straight. He missed it. As much as he enjoyed the power he had to protect his little lost sheepies, they were all too intimidated to actually stand up to him and call him out the way that Ronnie would.

“Yeah, you’re right. As usual.” Eddie could hear her snort and he couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “So why the hell are you even awake right now? Up til 2 am on a school night, Ecker?”

“It’s barely past midnight, the time zone isn’t that off. I was studying for a test, but hearing you complain about your love life is a far more productive use of my time.” 

“You’re using me to slack off, aren’t you?” 

“If I have to look at my flashcards one more time tonight my eyes are gonna go square. How’s Granny doing?”

“She’s an empty nester and is determined to turn me into her replacement grandson until you visit again.” Eddie shook his head. “She threatened to give me a haircut the last time she dropped off a plate for Wayne.”

Ronnie had come back to visit a grand total of five times since she’d left, returning for holidays and summers to visit Granny Ecker and by extension Eddie. Each time she’d come back with stories of law school and how different New York is. 

It seemed impossible, everything that Ronnie had told him about going to college and about life outside their small town. She was playing Dungeons and Dragons still, having found a group that would play with her. According to her, being a rules lawyer for the game at a law school hit way different than it had their small Hellfire group in high school. No one even cared that they played outside of a few students who had better things to do than enact violence against a few nerds. 

Then again, in law school everyone was some sort of nerd. Eddie wondered if even a freak would be accepted there. Well, socially at least. He wasn’t delusional enough to think he’d be able to be accepted into law school with his grades. Ronnie had invited him up to visit a few times, but there was never time or money to do it. 

The two continued talking for another hour, catching up until Ronnie was scolding him for staying up so late on a school night. 

“Yeah? And what’s your excuse?” Eddie said. “It’s almost 4:20 am there.” 

“Ha. Ha. Again, ha.” Ronnie said. “Still not how timezones work. And my first class doesn’t start until noon.”

Right. In college you didn’t have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn every day. 

“Night, Ecker.”

“Night, Munson. Graduate and get laid.” 

“Does it matter the order?”

“Good night, Eddie.”

Talking to Ronnie had eased his nerves, but there was still something inside that wouldn’t let him lay down and go to sleep. It was late now, way later than he intended to stay up tonight. The night he played at the Hideout always had him up late, and his teacher already considered him more useless than usual on Wednesdays. It’s not like anyone would care if he slept in class, unless they were in a particularly foul mood. 

He made his way to a stack of books in his room rummaging through a pile or two until he found what he was looking for. Eddie’s copy of Lord of the RIngs was well loved at best, and completely trashed at worst. The cover of the paperback was nearly torn off, taped back together haphazardly over the years. Pages were dogeared, the spine was cracked, notes were scribbled in the margins, and his name was scribbled in messy cursive on the front page declaring that this book belonged to Eddie Munson and that he was in third grade.

Eddie stripped out of most of his clothes, tossing his jewelry on his nightstand, and hopped into bed. He turned on a small lamp and opened the book. He could probably recite the first chapter from memory if he tried, the words on the page a comfortable lullabye for his wound up mind. But tonight he flipped to a page near the end where his bookmark was. The flower made out of blue construction paper wasn’t nearly as old as the book, and only in better shape because it never left the safe pages of Tolkein’s writing. 

His eyes glanced at his arm again, your phone number a temporary tattoo on his skin until it washed off. Shit, it was going to wash off eventually. Eddie grabbed a pen from under his bed and added another scribble to the inside of the book before copying your number carefully onto the paper flower. At least this way he’d always know where it was. 

With that aside, Eddie didn’t make it through three pages of his book before he passed out with the light still on. 

Fall Semester, 1984

The PrinciPAL’s office was just as interesting and inviting as it always was, which is to say not at all. Eddie was slumped back on a chair, watching as Janice sorted through paperwork, pretending to look busy so that she could avoid any small talk with ‘that Munson boy’. He had been waiting for Higgin’s to show up for almost fifteen minutes now, because why shouldn’t he waste Eddie’s time at this point? The worst that was going to happen today is that they’d do their little song and dance, Eddie would plead his case that the flyers were absolutely serious and that Chris Morrison had every intent to run for student council, and that it was all of the club that had made the posters, Higgins would shake his head and not believe Eddie for a second (which to be fair, this would be the first time that Eddie would admit privately that it was his fault), they’d go back and forth until Eddie got some form of detention or Saturday school. 

Honestly, the worst part would be rescheduling Hellfire if he wound up in detention. 

Eddie had counted out 13 paper clips that Janice had used in her papershifting before the door to the front office opened up again. He looked up, expecting to see Higgins walk in, ignore him for another five minutes, before Janice would let Eddie go in. 

He didn’t expect to see you, pale and shaken, clutching a teacher’s note in your hand. Eddie watched as you handed the note over to Janice who read it, shook her head, and pointed at the chair next to himself. Your eyes never left the floor as you sat next to him, staring at the cheap carpet as if you could somehow burn a hole in it and disappear. 

Trouble was no stranger to Eddie, and Eddie was no stranger to trouble. In Hawkins the name ‘Munson’ might as well be in the thesaurus next to the word. This wasn’t his first rodeo, and it would be far from his last as long as Higgins stayed the princiPAL. He’d walk away with a lecture and a sigh and then it would be business as normal. 

The look on your face though, that was far from the mild annoyance he felt. You look downright traumatized at the idea of having been sent here. Eddie glanced up at Janice who deigned to make eye contact with him now. Her eyes flicked between the two of you, a disapproving look behind her purple frames as if this was somehow Eddie’s fault that you had ended up here as well. But then, as far as any of the faculty from the office was concerned, even him being enrolled at this school was a death sentence to the rest of the poor student body. Eddie was a disease that they would try to contain until they had the cure to remove him. 

The shaking of your knee made your chair (and his chair by proxy) rattle slightly. The quiet of the office and the mundane shuffling of Janice’s papers only added to the tension that was radiating off you. 

“Janice, is Higgin’s gonna be long?” Eddie finally asked, and your bouncing knee stopped for just a moment before going back to its nervous movement. 

“He’s in a very important meeting.” Came the reply over a stack of papers, still not looking at Eddie. 

He sighed again and looked over at you, trying to place where he knew your face. Your eyes were a bit red, and you looked like you were on the verge of crying. Shit, he needed to do something before he had to ask Janice for the tissue box. 

“First time?” Eddie asked, and when you didn’t respond he nudged your knee with his. 

You jumped slightly, head snapping up. It was a wonder you didn’t give yourself whiplash and it would have been almost funny to Eddie had you not looked like a deer in the headlights looking at him. 

“I... Huh?” your voice cracked slightly. 

“What are ya in for?” Eddie did his best to give you a smile which he was sure made him look more like a serial killer than a comfort. It was rare he wished that he had his dad’s smile, but in cases like this he’d make an exception. 

You looked at the paper in your hand and swallowed. “Uh... skipped.” 

“Skipped school or just class?” Eddie prompted, trying to get you to talk more. If you were talking, then you weren’t crying. That’s what he hoped at least. 

“Class.” He didn’t think you’d say anymore but you surprised him. “US History.” Eddie caught the way your eyes darted to Janice again as if to make sure she wasn’t listening in, but Janice had better things to do than to eavesdrop on two delinquents. “I wasn’t... I had a bad day. I'm having a bad day. I felt like I was going to explode and I went to the library.” 

Eddie nodded, wondering what had happened today that made you need to duck out. It wasn’t his business, and frankly Higgin’s was going to grill you enough as it was. 

“Rookie mistake.” He said instead. 

“Rookie...?” 

Eddie kept his voice low and leaned in closer to you as if telling you a secret. “If you’re gonna skip, you can’t go to the library. You might as well have walked into the teacher’s lounge and announced that you were cutting class.”

You let out a sharp breath that he swore counted for a laugh. “Thanks for the heads up, can you tell me that a few hours ago?”

There was color returning to your face now and Eddie kept going. His brown eyes scanned your face, trying to place where he knew you from. Hawkins was a small town, and there was nothing about you that screamed ‘I’m new!’. 

He liked your sarcasm though, and his ‘comforting’ grin shifted into a genuine smile. “If you’re gonna ditch, you need to go to the bathroom or go outside.” He said. “Especially for last period. Go hide outside in the woods and you can slip into the parking lot seamlessly without anyone noticing. By the end of the day the teachers are barely taking attendance anyway.”

“Have you been in the girls rooms here?” you asked, shaking your head. “I think I’d rather take my chances here than stay in there longer than I’d have to.” Eddie wasn’t sure if you were trying to make a joke or if you were serious.

“Would you rather hide in the boys room?” he asked. “I swear it only smells like piss almost all of the time and you’d end up in the splash zone even if you were in a stall.”

That got a laugh out of you, a genuine one. Your shoulders were relaxing and you looked down at the paper again and took a deep breath that you exhaled with a sigh. 

“I’ve never been in trouble before.” you said, your hands starting to bend and fold the paper on your lap absently. “I’m not good at being in trouble.”

“Well, lucky for you I’m here.” Eddie nudged your knee again with his. “Being in trouble is kind of my job here at Hawkin’s High. I’m a professional, you know. If I wasn’t here taking up all of Principal Higgin’s time he might have to actually do his job.” 

That last part was louder, as he directed it to Janice who refused to take the bait and only reached for her lilac stapler instead. 

A small smack on his arm drew his attention back to you, you were smiling at him looking astonished. “You’re gonna get us in trouble!” you whispered at him. 

“We’re already in trouble.” Eddie reminded you, his smile never fading. “Look, you’ve never been in trouble before, right? You’re gonna be fine. Just give him a good sob story about being overwhelmed with school, or about a sick pet. If you can squeeze out some tears that’s even better. The worst that he’s gonna do is give you a slap on the wrist and maybe detention if he’s in a shit mood”

You take in his words, listening to him carefully and taking in every word he was saying as if this was life or death. Eddie admittedly, had purposefully slipped into his Dungeon Master voice. It was a skill that normally only worked on his little sheepies in his club, and that was after semesters of training his players to listen and pay attention to his words or else it would be life or death for their characters. 

Having someone else listen to him like that? It felt really good. 

Your mouth started to open to say something but then the office door opened again and Higgin’s stepped in, nodding to Janice and then looking at the two of you. There was an accusatory look in his eyes as he made eye contact with Eddie again, and it was clear what that look said. Leave her alone, don’t make things worse for her than they already are. 

“Munson.” Higgins said and it took everything in him to stay still and not flinch at his last name. He was used to the weight that came with his name, but he hadn’t wanted you to know who he was. Not after he just remembered where he knew you from, glancing down at the note that you had folded into a flower in a fit of nerves. 

“I heard you missed me, Sir.” Eddie forced his eyes to meet Higgin’s. “You really should just start saying hi in the hallways instead of inviting me to these little chats every week. You’re taking away valuable learning time from me, you know.” 

If the two of them had been alone, Higgins would have snapped back at Eddie about being a smartass. But you were there, and the color had drained from your face again, and there was a shine to your eyes that was threatening to spill over your waterline. Higgins looked at you and motioned for you to follow him into his office. 

Eddie wished that you would turn and look at him before disappearing into the PrincePAL’s office. He could imagine you turning to look at him for comfort, he’d give you a smile that would put you at ease and a thumbs up. You’d give him another smile and walk in feeling brave. 

Instead it was like you forgot he was there as your figure disappeared behind the heavy wood door that shut with a heavy click. 

Of course Higgins had you come in first, even though Eddie had already been sitting here since the beginning of the period when he’d been called in. 

He was tempted to go over to the door and press his ear up against it to listen in on what he was saying to you but even Janice would scold him for that. So there Eddie sat for another ten minutes as he waited for you to step out again. 

Higgin’s was the one to open the door and let you out of the office, as if he were some gentleman instead of Eddie’s own personal warden five days a week. You walked out and to Eddie’s surprise you gave him a nod and mouthed thank you as you slipped back out the door and into the hallway. 

Eddie’s eyes followed you until he couldn’t see you anymore and it took Higgin’s standing in front of him with folded arms and saying his full government name for Eddie to snap back to reality. 

“Munson. A word about your little flyers?”

“Well, I’d say a picture is worth a thousand words-”

“In my office.”

Eddie didn’t remember much else about that talk, only remembering the white paper flower that had been carelessly tossed into the trash next to Higgin’s desk. 

“He still hasn’t called you?” Steve asked as you, him, and Robin continued your closing routine. The day had been busy, with almost everyone in Hawkins coming to rent a movie for the weekend. Robin was stocking the candy while you wiped down the sticky counter where children had been touching all day. Who’s idea was it to leave out free suckers on the counter anyway?

Oh right, that was your idea because you loved Halloween. 

“Nope.” you said, your voice a little tense. It had been almost two weeks since that night at the Hideout. You hadn’t returned to the dive bar, hoping that Eddie would call you and make the next move. Each passing day you had stayed as close to the phone as possible when you were home and you’d checked your voicemail every day when you got home for any sign that he’d attempted to reach out. 

Nothing. 

You shouldn’t feel this rejected but you did. It was far too early to tell if you had any feelings beyond initial attraction to the guy, but... you’d felt something. An enjoyment of bantering with him and an ease that came as naturally as your friendship with Robin and Steve. 

Plus, you had to admit it, he was really fucking hot. Seeing him play guitar two weeks ago had haunted your dreams and slipped into a few of your fantasies when you were alone. 

You kept that part to yourself though, that was the last thing that Steve or Robin needed to hear. Besides, that was Steve’s job to go far too into detail about his sex life. Steve had tried ribbing you about going home with Eddie but you’d told him that you were a complete gentleman with him. 

That night had left you feeling electrified, almost high as you danced around your room as you got ready for bed. Even as his odd parting rattled around your brain, you couldn’t help but to feel excited at the idea of seeing him again. 

Then a few days went by. Then a week. And now two weeks later you hadn’t heard from him. The kids hadn’t stopped by either so you couldn’t hassle them about Eddie either. Even if they had, you weren’t sure if you could ask about him, you didn’t want to come across as desperate. 

“Did you ever figure out what he meant by ‘five times?’” Robin asked, opening up a squished package of Reese's Cups. “Like, didn’t you say you didn’t know him?”

You threw your hands up before tossing the paper towels you were using to clean in the trash can. 

“I have no idea.” you said. “Either I’m bad at math, he’s bad at math, or maybe we’re both stupid.”

“He did get held back a few times.” Steve muttered to himself. 

“There’s a chance that you two have met before though.” said Robin, “I mean think about it, you’re both weirdos who went to the same school. Shouldn’t you both have bumped into each other before?” 

“You’d think so, but my group kind of kept to ourselves.” you said with a sigh. “We were private weirdos. When I DID try and make other friends-”

“Yeah, yeah, Chris Morrison shot you down.” Steve said, waving his hand. 

“Oh, you heard that story?” you laughed. “I didn’t think I mentioned it to you before.”

Steve gave you a blank stare that only made you laugh more. “I swear you keep talking about that guy more than Eddie. Maybe I should track him down and set you up on a blind date with him instead.” 

“Don’t you dare!” 

“Hey, that could be fun!” Robin added. “We’ll dress you up super hot, set you up with Chris, and then you can turn him down instead!” 

“Excuse you, Robin. I am always super hot.” you declared, straightening out your unflattering Family Video vest. “Who wouldn’t want a piece of this?”

You hadn’t done laundry in a week, and your hair had seen better days. The green polyester vest was wrinkled and if Keith saw you looking sloppy he’d probably have words about it. Not big words or even intimidating words, but words nonetheless. It was night and day compared to how you’d looked at the Hideout and the arcade earlier in the month. But it wasn’t like you had anyone to impress while you were at work anyway. 

“Hey, nerdy chicks can be hot.” Steve said. “I mean, Nancy’s an academic nerd and I was crazy about her.” 

You hummed thoughtfully and turned to Robin. “How about we get married instead?” you asked. “You, me, a fuck ton of cats, and a tax break. What do you say?”

Robin laughed and shook her head. “You aren’t my type.” Her eyes darted nervously to Steve for a split second and you sighed dramatically. 

“Guess it’s just me and the cats I’ll eventually adopt.” you said. “Not even a tax break.” 

“You know, Keith thinks you’re cute-”

“I am going to pretend that you did not just say that, Harrington.” you said firmly. “Nope, not happening. Uh-uh. Absolutely not.” 

“He’s not... that bad?” Robin said, but you could hear the pain in her voice through the laughter. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” 

“The lady is trying not to think actually.” you laugh. “We’re closed, I’m actually done thinking. I just wanna finish cleaning up and go home. What’s left?”

“Rewinding the returns,-”

“Ugh.”

“Cleaning up the kids movies,-”

“Ugh.”

“And cleaning the bathroom.”

“UGHHHHHH.” 

“Would you rather clean up the porn room?” asked Robin. 

“Yes actually, I would.” You said. “Whatever they think about doing in that room is what they do end up doing in the bathroom.”

“Gross.”

Steve sighed “Okay, I’ll be the hero and save you ladies from cleaning the bathroom. Robin, you fix the kids section, and you can rewind the tapes.”

“I thought I was in charge here.” You crossed your arms. 

“Okay, did you have a better way to divide and conquer?”

“...No.”

“Then let’s hurry up and-”

Ding!

“Who didn’t lock the door?!” you asked. 

“It was Steve’s job to-” Robin started. 

“Oh, shit. Hi.” Steve was staring at the person who had just walked in. You turned around and your heart jumped in your chest and your stomach dropped. 

“Cursing in front of customers, Harrington?” Eddie said. “Now that’s not very professional of you.”

Robin’s eyes were darting so fast between you and Eddie that you were surprised she wasn’t giving herself vertigo. You tried to give her a pointed glare but your friend either didn’t get the hint or refused to. 

“Well, we’re closed. You can’t be a customer if you can’t pay.” Steve said, putting his hands on his hips. 

Eddie looked away from Steve and made eye contact with you. It had been two weeks since you’d seen him, and you glazed at his arm for a second, trying to see if the faded remains of your phone number were still stamped on his arm. Unfortunately for you he was wearing a heavy leather jacket and you had not yet developed x ray vision. Perhaps in another genre. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” Eddie asked and you, ignoring Steve who looked mildly offended. 

You stood there in shock for a second before Robin nudged you in the rib. 

“I- uh. I have to finish closing.” you said, snapping out of it. 

“Steve and I can handle the rest of closing!” Robin grabbed Steve and shook his shoulder. 

“Guys, I’m literally in charge of you both. I can’t leave before you.” You said, already reaching for your bag under the counter. 

“We can handle it!” Steve said. 

“And I can handle Steve!” Robin added. “We close without you and Keith all the time, remember?”

You could trust Robin, and as long as Steve didn’t knock down any displays then it wouldn’t take them more than another ten minutes to finish up. You were so tempted to turn them down, make Eddie wait as you had waited for him for the past two weeks. 

But you were already stepping behind the counter towards Eddie and tossing the keys to lock up to Robin. Keith would murder you and write you up (in that order) if he knew what you were doing but looking up at the roundest pair of brown eyes you’d ever seen had you in the mood to make questionable choices. 

You shrugged off your vest and tossed it at Steve, in an attempt to make yourself look like you hadn’t spent the whole day dealing with unruly customers and screaming kids. Part of you almost wished that you had agreed to bathroom duty, if only to give you an excuse to look in a mirror and straighten yourself out. 

“Thanks, guys.” you gave them a quick nod, catching sight of Robin’s knowing smirk and Steve shaking his head before walking out the door that Eddie was holding open for you. 

The last thing you heard was the scrambling of the entrance to Family Video being locked. 

Part 7

Dividers by @strangergraphics

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[teaboot]

Your post about art vs content got me thinking about the differences between the two. To me there is no difference besides the mindsets. One is of creator and the enjoyer, the other is content and consumer it removes the personhood, the joy/emotion, from the equation. Like a writer or video creator may not see their work as art so content creator maybe a way to refer to themselves comfortably but it sounds so machine, emotionless and lifeless, like a cookie cutter recipe mass producing something verses people lovingly crafting something...then again Disney uses a cookie cutter recipe for the most part and it brings out bangers cause people lovingly make it their own so maybe I'm thinking too hard on this

Does my long-winded rant make sense?

see, I get what you mean, but I still feel like the willingness to entertain calling art of any kind "content" reduces it to the facet of consumption where in reality, the experience of consuming art is not the sole defining trait of it.

Reducing arts like music, writing, painting, dance, voice acting, theater, etc. to the role of "content"- a thing created to be consumed, measured and valued by how pleasant or easy it is to digest- I feel that it was our biggest red flag to herald the incoming tide of AI "art".

Because if art is "content", if arts are nothing but consumable matter, then obviously the key to success is to produce as much soft, tasty, edible paste as we possibly can at the lowest possible expense.

It's the same issue I have with "meal replacements", diet culture, nutrient slurries, twenty-step skincare routines, 24/7 body padding and shapewear and laxative teas and "grind culture". It's not a cause, but a symptom, of the disease that is late-stage capitalism.

Things must be produced at low cost and remain in high demand forever. Things must be perfect and palatable and the new hit trend forever. People must pay hand over fist to consume without asking anything in return, and if they start dropping like flies at the unending unrewarded thankless demand of it all, then that must be treated as a weakness. We should all take pride in how much we can spend, pay, give, produce, and think as little as possible about what we ask for ourselves.

So, who cares if, of two identical paintings, one was made by a person and one was made by a computer program? It's the same work, so what does it matter? What does it matter?

I am an artist. I make art. I ask a question, make a statement, declare something horrific or challenging or upsetting or wrong or grotesque, and when you respond, we are together experiencing a conversation. We are existing, two people living one life and reaching out and touching across time and space. No matter the work, you're at the barest minimum saying, "I'm alive, and you're alive, and at one time or another we shared this same world, and at the end of the day we aren't too terribly different. My heart is worth sharing, and your heart is worth the struggle of understanding."

An AI-generated piece, a computer-generated voice, a CGI puppet of someone long since dead and gone, they cannot speak. They have no voice. Ay best, they are the most chewable, consumable, landlord-beige common denominator possible that you can sit and listen to like the lone survivor of a shipwreck listening to the same three songs on a broken record, and at worst, they're the uncaring vomit of an empty, unloving, value-addled hack wearing the skin of someone I know over their own.

When you abandon art to say that you make content, that should not be a point of pride. That's an embarrassment. That's not sitting down for an intelligent discussion with an equal, that's kneeling at the feet of the crowd and saying, "what do you want to see me do? I can be anyone you've ever loved. I can be them, I can be anyone, as long as you love me."

I can make content. I can be consumed. What do you want to consume? I'll make myself consumable. I'll make myself just like anything you like. And I'll make so much of it that you'll never have to go anywhere else, because it'll all be right here, and under all the cut-and-paste schlock you've seen before I will sit alone in the dark and the silence and I will know that I am safe, because I am valued, because I am desired, and I need to be desired or else I am worthless like a factory that no longer churns out steel or a hen that no longer lays eggs or a cow that is too old to make milk.

Content, the most literal meaning, is something which is contained inside a container. What it is doesn't really matter, and the best it can hope to be is something worthy of being scooped out and used.

Art is an experience that transcends value. Art is something you can eat without paying for. You can make it out of anything and anyone can do it. It can be crude and vulgar and bad, and that's a strength because it means something. It always, always means something, and it doesn't matter if you like it or not. It's not content because it doesn't fill anything. It's a living, breathing thing, and whether you want to birth it or eat it, then you're going to have to be willing to put the fucking work in

[dashofmonsters]

Dreamers & Delusions- Pt. 5

merman x female reader

It's been a couple weeks now since you and Tao had started your fake dating situationship thing. He walks you to and from work as often as he can and invites you to his home more and more.

You end up hanging out with him most days and are rarely at your grandmother's except to sleep or get ready for work. On the days you don't have work and don't want to go to the beach, Tao has let you hang out at his rental. It was odd at first but you quickly got comfortable with it.

Today though, you couldn't get out of the house. The weather has gotten worse and it's been raining for two days straight. Yesterday you saw him while he was out grocery shopping, he looked a bit upset then. Over and over he kept asking if you'd be okay but you'd told him you'll be fine.

Now, you're not so sure.

It's only been two days but your grandmother hasn't shut up.

"Your looks will only last so long. You should consider doing something that will keep him on his toes. Maybe try to freshen up your wardrobe," your grandmother rants from her recliner.

"He's not interested in stuff like that. I mean he dresses like uncle Rob when he's out mowing the lawn for fucks sake. Merfolk don't care about that stuff," you roll your eyes as you fiddle with your phone.

You hear your grandmother scoff.

She wasn't quite onboard with you "dating" Tao after she found out he was a merman. She kept complaining that it would be difficult to have a normal life together and what would your kids look like. It's been never ending with her on that front but now she's back to you.

"I'm just saying, what if he does get bored with you? You'll at least be ready for someone else," she states.

"Just shut up! You don't know jack shit! No wonder you're fucking alone! Do you hear yourself," you snap at her. You feel like you should feel bad for what you just said but you don't.

Your grandmother rises from her recliner and stomps towards you with a foul glare.

"I took you in you ungrateful little bitch. Day in and day out I let you come and go as you please and this is what I get? I took pity on you because of that piss poor excuse of a daughter of mine... But I can see the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree," she seethes, spitting on your face.

Thunder roars outside and shakes the house. A flash of lightning and the power is off. You can still make out the miserable shape of your grandmother in front of you. You can still hear her breathing impatiently, undeterred by the darkness.

"You're right, the apple didn't fall too far from the tree. My mom's a fuck up who lost her husband just like you did," you spit back to her.

Your cheek stings suddenly and you realize your grandmother has slapped you. Again and again, three... four times she hits you before you grab her wrist and shove her away.

"Fuck this," you holler, stomping away from you grandmother and down the hall.

You can hear her yelling at you, cursing you and your mother. But you ignore her as you pull the door open. The rain is coming down in sheets and although it's noon, the sky is almost dark as night.

Slamming the door behind you, you take a few careful steps down the stairs and bolt across the empty street. The walk to the beach is slow but you don't care. You just want to be there, you want to feel the wind as it whips off the waves.

The rain stops for a little bit, slowing to a sprinkle as you step onto the drenched sand. Your shoes get stuck a few times till you decide to just take them off. Little by little you make your way to the life guard tower. The rain picks up again as you climb up and curl into a ball against the back wall.

Your stomach drops and you hold yourself as you start to cry. You hate feeling like this, you hate that every time you fight with your grandmother you let her get into your head.

You feel nauseous and tired, drained from yelling and running in the rain. You just wanted a fresh start away from your hometown. You wanted a better life, an easier life, but everything has been getting difficult lately.

The heaviness of the rain lulls you to sleep as you curl up with a damp beach towel you found in the tower. You're shivering cold, but you're to tired and eventually you drift to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tao:

I haven't been able to shake this horrible feeling since I woke up this morning. I dragged myself out of my tank earlier than usual and showered off. The hot water helped me clear my head as it has been every morning.

I cannot stop thinking about my dear friend and more often then not I fall asleep with her on my mind. Sweet dreams usually follow and I wake up angry at myself for thinking of her too much.

Today is different though, the shower helped long enough for me to dry off and make it to the kitchen before I started thinking of her again.

I've let her into my home so often so she can avoid her grandmother and little by little she's left bits of herself here. A jacket that I have hung next to my own by the door. A couple of her books that I've skimmed through but found it too licentious to finish. And her crown from the night we shared with the pixies.

I have placed her crown in my nest room for a reason I cannot understand. I have fallen asleep with it in my hands almost everyday. Three days ago I had thought I lost it and nearly ruined my home looking for it. I was ashamed of myself when I found it in one of its usual spots in the room.

I felt horrible that I let my thoughts of her consume me so, but today it's worse. So much worse. I feel dreadful and not because of my thoughts of her. Something deep inside of me is uneasy and restless.

My kitchen is in a state of chaos after I make breakfast, an unusual sight for me since I clean as I go. I eat quickly and quietly but I am unable to finish eating. I feel sick and I almost double over when I start on the dishes.

Bile bubbles up in the back of my throat and my chest feels heavy. That horrible feeling explodes and suddenly I find myself racing to the door.

The rain is coming down hard and I can hardly see anything in front of me but I make my way down the wooden steps. I freeze in my tracts once I get to the bottom.

Something feels off, wrong and twisted.

I allow myself a moment and another as I realize my instincts are coming alive. I sniff the air again and again until I smell it.

It's faint but it's undeniably her scent.

The rain would have washed it away already unless she has left the safety of her home.

I start running then, running for dear life towards the beach. The horrid feeling I had was for her all along, for the safety of my only friend and shoal mate. I had ignored it for too long, I just hope that I'm not too late.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You startle awake from the loud thunder clapping. The rain had gotten worse as you slept. The clouds have darkened and the wind has grown stronger. The tower groans as the wind assaults it every few minutes.

Groggy and cold and wet, you try to find another beach towel to wrap up in but you find none. You try to consider your options but your mind is so tired and you're becoming a bit anxious with the storm getting worse.

You decide then to make an attempt to get to Tao's home. You'd be safe there and far away from your grandmother.

Step by careful step you make it down the tower and your heart stops at the view in front of you. The waves are hitting the beach harder and fast. The tide is high and you're a bit too close to the water than you're comfortable with.

You look around and decide that if you can get to the houses on the other side of the beach you can worm your way through that neighborhood to his house.

Slowly and ever so cautiously you step forward. You have to balance yourself as the wind is constantly threatening to knock you down. You're teetering closer and closer to the waves as you walk towards the houses. You keep trying to walk away from them but somehow manage to find your feet right back in the water.

You're halfway there when you hear something behind you but by the time you turn around it's too late. You're knocked out almost instantly and you fall hard and fast. The waves lap at your body, slowly pulling you into the ocean.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tao:

I race up and down the beach trying to find her, my body fighting to transform under the heavy rains. I sniff the air again and again but the scent has drifted. No, it's drifting...

My heart stops as I look out into the dangerous dark waters.

I sniff again, hoping I'm wrong but I'm not.

I sprint towards the waves and jump as high and as far as I can into the ocean. I dive in and within second I smell her... I smell her blood.

I force the transformation and swim as fast as I can towards her scent. This storm will have no doubt invited several unwanted predators to this area and if they have smelled her blood...

Something heavy rams into my side and I reel back as I see a bull shark charging towards me. I harden my fist using what magic I have and punch the creature on the snout before electrocuting it. The shark shakes its massive body and tries to attack again.

I haven't the time for this.

Not wanting to kill an innocent creature, I use my magic to disrupt the currents and have the shark swept up in them.

Quickly I swim away and try to follow the scent again. It's getting further and further away but stronger. She's loosing blood and fast.

I push myself more than I ever had before and swim until I feel like my lungs might give out. The scent of her blood becomes so strong I can practically taste it.

Grinding my teeth, I move faster until I see her limp body bobbing in and out of the water. I quickly surface and see her loosely hanging onto a plastic trash bin. I quickly pull her into my arms and look around us.

I can hardly see the beach from here... She was pulled so far from land.

Gathering my strength I swim hard towards the shore. I have to be careful and keep her head above the water, it's not easy. I would give her gills like I did the night we danced with the pixies but she's not awake for it. I have to shift her ever so often as the waves threaten to pull us under and I have to use an immense amount of magic to keep the currents steady.

I almost panic when she slides out of my arms and I have to quickly swim back for her. I pray to the goddesses for the first time in a long time that I make it back to the shore with her alive.

By the time we reach land the sky is truly dark. The wind has died down and the tide has lowered. I pull her and myself up, breathing heavily as I lay us down. I look at her and I feel a mix of pain and relief. She's breathing but she's hurt.

Blood trickles down her head and there's a gash on her leg where her pants have been torn. I work fast to bring myself back to my human form. It hurts like hell forcing it and I grit my teeth. I am motionless for a few minutes after my tail has split into legs. It burns worse than ever after swimming so hard.

I shake as I force myself to stand and carefully scoop my friend into my arms. My muscles ache but the gnawing heavy dread I had felt has subsided a great deal. Holding her close to me I begin the long walk back home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's warm and quiet when you finally wake up. You're sitting on a bench covered in towels with a space heater next to you. You tilt your head back, a searing pain making you wince.

You gasp, a wheezing noise leaving your mouth. You hear someone running towards you and you feel their warm hands on your face.

"Thank the goddesses, you're finally awake," Tao says.

You can only tell it's him by his voice, your vision is still blurry and your head hurts so bad.

"Why the hell were you at the beach," you hear him yell.

You try to open your mouth but it's dry and tastes like salt. Your head lulls to the side and your blurry vision becomes slightly clearer. Tao is kneeling before you, his hands move from your face to your shoulders. He grips you and you wince, everything hurting.

"You were over a mile away from the beach when I found you! You could have been killed! For... Fucks sake you were covered in blood when I found you! Were you drinking that vile human alcohol again? Why would you go out and do something like that," Tao shakes you, still yelling and unable to control himself.

You limply raise your hand a plop it weakly over his arm. You mouth a few words begging him to stop as you begin to cry. Your voice is hoarse and your throat sore but you manage a few dry words.

"I'm sorry... please Tao... Please stop... You're hurting me," you cough and are nearly out of breath from just speaking.

Tao stops shaking you and loosens his grip on you. His hands fall to the bench before snaking around you and pulling you closer to him. He rests his head on your lap and you feel him shivering.

"I thought I had lost you... I couldn't find you and when I did... You were so far away and unconscious. You were just floating there while bleeding out. Why were you there... Why," Tao holds you closer, his nails digging into your skin.

You cough as you try to speak but it's no use. You keep coughing and coughing so hard it hurts. Tao quickly scoops you up and brings you to the kitchen where he gently sets you on the counter. He brings you a large glass of water that you chug down. You're still coughing but it doesn't hurt as bad as it did before.

Tao takes your cup and refills it and as he hands it to you, you start crying again.

This day keeps getting worse and worse and you just want it to end. First the fight with your grandmother, then you get knocked out and dragged into the ocean, and now Tao is mad at you.

A part of you wishes that you stayed lost at sea. That you might have finally found some peace and everyone would probably be better off without you. That thought consumes you till you start weeping in earnest.

"Fuck," you hear Tao curse and then you hear something break.

You begin to shake even as Tao wraps his arms around you. He holds you, not too tight but close enough that you can hear his heart beat.

"I'm sorry, please stop crying. I just-," Tao tenses up and you hear his voice crack. "You're all I have, please be more careful... please."

You hear what he's saying but you're too tired, too hurt to really register any of it. He keeps talking, his voice calming down but the words are lost on you. The pain you feel on your head is dulling but draining. You keep going in and out and Tao keeps talking.

There's a loss of heat for a moment, your eyelids too heavy to peel open to see what's going on. You feel yourself being lifted and walked somewhere. Something warm and soft is wrapped around you before you're set down on something even more soft. You limply nestle into it before allowing sleep to claim you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tao:

I pace in my kitchen for what feels like hours. I am feeling too many things at once and I cannot sort them properly. My friend is safe and fast asleep in my nest room. Her injuries were not deep but there were many. I cleaned and bandaged what I could without having to strip her but I fear I might have missed a few cuts and wounds because of that.

Her words play over and over in my head, when I asked her what she was doing at the beach. In my rage I yelled at her, again. In my desperation I accused her of being drunk even though I realized too late I didn't smell any alcohol on her breath. I have made a terrible mistake.

She might resent me now, might even fear me. She's already afraid of sharks and my mer half is similar to that creature. She was terrified the first time she touched my tail. What if she's still terrified of me but doesn't say anything?

Rage swells in my heart for what I have done, for hurting her and making her cry. I look down at my hand, my knuckles are torn after punching the wall and the skin on my fingers are slightly cut.

I am not good enough for her... I've hurt her...

That anger quickly dies down and is replaced with a gnawing sorrow. I slide to the floor and grip at my hair while grinding my teeth. Three, no four of my front teeth pop out from how hard I bite down. I spit them out and wince as I feel the back row shift forward.

This pain must be my punishment for what I have done. I must beg for forgiveness when she wakes up. I cannot bare the thought of her being afraid of me, it hurts too much.

I sit and center myself as I shed the front row of my teeth and spit them out little by little. I am covered in blood and I feel horrible. A new back row will grow in a day or two causing more well deserved pain. It will serve as a reminder of what I've done. For now though, I am tired and my shoal mate needs me to watch over her.

She ran to the beach for a reason. I was too enraged to hear her out and too impatient to let her heal before speaking.

I clean myself up and quickly change into something warm before heading to my nest room.

My friend is sleeping soundly but with tears sliding down her cheeks. I carefully place a hand over her forehead, she is cold. I have wrapped her in a large towel since she is dirty and too tired to change into anything.

I pause and try to think what she would even wear. My clothes are large and one of my shirts would fit her like a short dress. I imagine it for a moment and inhale sharply. It would be the only thing I own that would fit her and it would cover just above the knees. I slap myself for thinking of her like that.

She is my friend, she is my shoal mate, you are not good enough for someone like her.

I chant that over and over again but the more I do the more it feels like a lie.

What if I could be more than just a friend to her, what if I am good enough for her, what if she could be my-

I stop that last thought. It would be too good to be true if she could be more than just a friend, but to be my mate or my fated mate? I would pray to the goddesses everyday for the good fortune of allowing me to meet her.

But that is not the case, no matter how much I wish it.

I carefully step around her and lay by her side, gently pulling her into my arms. Hearing her breathe settles me and I feel myself purring. I chuckle remembering how I reacted to her talking about that. I know talking about purring is embarrassing but I never questioned why until after that day.

She has made me question myself, question my upbringing, and my kin more often than not to the point that I'm not sure who I really am. I've allowed myself to be defined by what I am and where I'm from that I don't know who I am. She mentioned once that she hates being judged by her work and family and I'm starting to understand that.

I hope that tomorrow I can make amends with her so that we can talk and learn each other more

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You ache everywhere when you wake up. Your head in pounding and your stomach makes an angry growl. The lights are dim when you open your eyes. You're surrounded by plush pillows and blankets that smell freshly laundered. You suddenly realize that you're in Tao's nest room.

You try to sit up but every fiber of your being is screaming in agony. You groan in pain and wince when you touch your head. Everything starts to slowly come back and the last thing you remember is Tao wrapping you up and carefully laying you down.

A cough forces its way out until you're having a fit. Your throat is on fire, dry and sore. You hear heavy foot fall and suddenly you see Tao. He helps you sit up and brings a cup to your lips. You slowly drink, some of the water not making it into your mouth.

Tao holds you as you catch your breath, the dryness in your throat has subsided but it's still sore. You loll your head till you're looking up at him and whimper a quiet apology. You feel Tao's grip on you tighten before he carefully lays you back down.

"No, it is I who should be sorry. You are injured and exhausted and I had yelled at you, again. I made a horrible accusation and expressed my anger about what had happened when you're already vulnerable and cannot speak. I am ashamed of myself," Tao admits, his voice despondently.

You limply pat his hand, "As long as you're not mad at me or hate me we're good."

Tao takes your hand in his and lightly squeezes it, "I will never hate my friend but I am upset that you put yourself in danger. What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't," you say then cough. "I was running on pure emotions and spite. I-" you cough again and again into another fit. Tao helps you drink once more and tells you that you can talk once you're better.

But you ignore him, needing to get this all off your chest.

"I got into another fight with my grandmother. She was being a class A bitch about some shit and then she brought you into the conversation and I lost it," you explain, clearing your throat afterwards.

"So you ran to the beach in the middle of a storm," Tao asks dryly.

"Like I said, wasn't thinking. I just wanted to get way from her and my feet just took me there. I stayed up in the guard tower where I passed out, emotionally exhausted and when I came to, I decided to make my way to your place," you say, pausing to let Tao help you drink some more water.

"I don't know what happened but the next thing I knew I was bashed in the back of the head! I came to a few times when I was being dragged further from land... I remember getting scrapped up and screaming from the pain. I probably passed out again afterwards. Then you found me. You saved me," you can't help the tears that start coming on then.

As you cry you start to remember being helplessly dragged miles away from shore. Too sore to move and terrified that you might drown or become fish food. You screamed so much your throat became raw. You remember your leg being torn by a rock and being whipped against a buoy so hard your back bruised immediately. Everything hurts and feels sharp and dull all at once. Worst of all, you're starving and your tummy is not being quiet about it.

"What is that sound," Tao asks.

"My stomach... I haven't eaten anything since the day before my grandmother and I fought. So it's protesting and-"

Tao quickly sets you back down and scrambles out of the room. You hear chaos unfold from the kitchen and before you know it he's back with an armful of snacks.

"Please eat these while I go cook you something warm," is all he says before rushing off again.

He's deposited the snacks in front of you, all of them being your usual favorites that you munched on when you hung out here. You always brought them over and never really stored any here. You don't want to think too much into it aside from him practicing to be a good mate to someone else. You'd get your hopes up for no reason otherwise.

You happily tear into a bag of chips and chow down. Three bags of chips later Tao returns with a large bowl of soup. It smells so good your mouth starts watering.

Tao helps you sit up and piles a few pillows behind you. You reach for the bowl only for Tao to move the tray with it on his lap.

"You're shaking too much, I'll feed you," Tao states.

You glare at him for a moment and then at yourself, "Fuck."

"Eat and then I'll take you to the bathroom so you can bathe yourself and clean whatever wounds you can or I couldn't get to," he says, scooping some soup up and bringing it to your lips.

You take a bite, trying not to be awkward in this situation, "What wounds? And I don't even have a change of clothes what would I even wear?"

Tao makes you take a few more bites while he mulls over your question. He's clearly uncomfortable about something an it shows as plain as day.

"Tao, let's not be weird about this. We're both adults buddy," you say after finishing another amazing bite of soup.

"I didn't get to the wounds on your back or thighs since... since touching or getting to either spot would have been highly inappropriate," he answers, looking away from you though.

"Ok, I appreciate the chivalry but what if I had a really really bad injury on either spot of I don't know some weird fish venom you would have had to strip me and I would have been alright with that. I trust you dude and not once have you creeped me out," you tell him.

He finally looks back at you and the whites of his eyes slowly turn black. "I do not feel worthy of such trust my friend, not after what I did."

"Well guess what, you have my trust regardless of loosing your shit and rightfully so! You were scared, I get it. You don't have to keep beating yourself up over it," you reach out and lightly pat his arm.

"Are you certain? I hurt you and yel-"

"I said it's fine, jeeze! Water under the bridge. Forgive and forget. Less sadness, more soup," you pat his arm again and make a face.

Tao chuckles and shakes his head, "How is it that you're torn up and still as talkative as ever."

"My mouth doesn't have an off switch man, I could ta-"

Tao shoves a spoonful of soup into your mouth.

"I do believe I just found the off switch for that mouth of yours," he grins.

You swallow hard and as mad as you feign to be you can't help but to laugh, "Ya got me, feed me good food and I shut right up."

With that Tao feeds you another bite but it's a bit much and some of the broth slides down your chin. Before you have a chance to clean it off, Tao wipes it off with his thumb before cleaning it off with his tongue. Your brain blanks out for a moment and you feel your cheeks heat up.

"I uh think I'm getting full... Don't want to eat too much in one sitting," you try to play it cool but your voice cracks and you want to crawl under a rock and bang your head against a wall.

"Understood, I can save the rest for when you're hungry again. I'll put this up and draw a bath for you," he nods before standing up.

Your stomach sinks when you remember that you have nothing to wear after you get out of the bath.

"Oh uh yeah hey Tao buddy, um I don't have a change of clothes so...," you start, making a few nervous and fiddly gestures with your hands.

Tao stops in his tracks and visibly tenses up, "Right, I uh... I put one of my larger shirts for you to wear in there. Unfortunately that's the only thing I own that would fit you so..."

There's an awkward silence between the both of you that is blessedly broken by a loud roll of thunder that shakes the windows.

"That's fine," you finally squeak.

"Alright," Tao nods.

"Ok then," you pat your knees.

You scream internally and beg the universe to help you not make this day any weirder and wilder than it's already starting out to be.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Disclaimer in advance: I haven't watched season 4 or 5 in their entirety, nor do I intend to, so maybe I'm missing info. Most of my knowledge comes from lurking in the fandom.

Why do you think the show was seemingly allergic to allowing their main characters to make any sort of meaningful progress? At the end of season 1, Ladybug comes into possession of the Miraculous grimoire, a major clue that "Hey, Hawkmoth is probably Gabriel Agreste" and then the Collector immediately ends with her and Adrien placing him completely above suspicion (I actually don't mind this, it makes sense for Gabe to throw the two off the trail, but to the best of my knowledge, this is the only time the protagonists make any headway toward Hawk Moth's identity. I wish they had done more active investigation.)

The power up potions show up during Syren, except... they don't do much in the way of a "power up." They're used exceedingly sparingly, and really only let LB and CN compensate for environmental challenge. Nothing else, no actual evolution. This could've been a way to show LB getting more in sync with her powers, being able to create specific solutions to her problems. You could've had similar moments for Chat Noir, upgrade like the ranged cataclysm Chat Blanc could use, or something to do with bad luck. Instead, it was a cheap gimmick.

The temp heroes start getting called in beginning with Sapotis, except that most of them are called in because... you're here and I need this incredibly specific power, which you just so happen to be perfectly suited for. Shut up and do nothing follow orders. (The episode Party Crasher and King Monkey being the most egregious example, imo. Then again, i havent watched Penalteam, and I'm told that episode is far worse). The temp heroes don't really add anything to the plot (Save Rena suddenly being Ladybug's confidant, but that's a rant for another day.), except to cause conflict with CN, and they're all gone as of the Season 4 finale anyway.

Speaking of season 4, the charms. Finally, concrete progress, a way to limit hawkmoth, to cut him off from potential vic— wait what the hell is a megakuma? Why do this? What was the point? This is what I was talking about with Syren, Ladybug coming further into her powers, finally being able to start pushing Gabriel into a corner, and it's undone that same season. Apparently transmission is more powerful than creation, despite repeated assurances the Ladybug (and Marinette) are special.

And then there's the alliance rings. Why can Tomoe and Gabriel make these? No idea. What it means, though, is that LB and CN have no chance of reclaiming the lost miraculous, and just have to passively react to whatever the hell Monarch is up to... again.

I'm told that for the big finale, Marinette wasn't even the one to discover Gabriel's identity, Felix straight up told her, and then Gabriel won. He made his wish. The hero of the story failed to save the day, after doing practically nothing.

Whats extra annoying is that on the Villain side, Gabriel is absolutely allowed to push the status quo. First we get Scarlet Moth and mass akumatization, then the peacock comes out, then it gets fixed, and then Gabriel straight up steals all the Miraculous (save LB and CN's of course, and then they steal the rabbit back because the writers realized "time travelling villain" was a horrendous idea. And Felix is allowed to keep the Peacock, because ??? Gabriel has to my knowledge not given up any other power, before or since). And he's always held the power, he's never been at risk of losing his own miraculous because he doesn't need to go out in person, so why does he keep getting stronger and raising the stakes while the heroes can't do anything.

Sorry for being so long-winded, just... needed to get my thoughts out.

Put on your tinfoil hats, folks! We're gonna make some educated guesses as to what is going behind the scenes with Miraculous, but remember that these are, ultimately, guesses. I don't know the full story and I probably never well.

I've mentioned before that writing for TV can suck because you're not allowed pure creative freedom. There are a lot of hands in the pot limiting what you can do because TV shows cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to make. Some even cost millions. That means that final product needs to be considered commercially viable unless you're independently wealthy and have money to burn. This doesn't mean that passion projects can't be commercially viable, it just means that they're generally not approached with the idea that commercial viability is the most important thing.

Writing for children's shows can especially suck because you're heavily limited by the intended audience and by what large corporations deem acceptable for that intended audience. If you're not totally on board with keeping things Disney's version of kid-friendly, then you're not going to have a fun time.

This brings us to Miraculous.

I have often assumed that there were some wacky hi-jinks going on behind the scenes that would explain why the show is such a mess because I don't think that Miraculous is anyone's ideal version of the core concept. The wonderful @nixthelapin recently confirmed it for me by sending me a link to a translation of a lecture given by Miraculous' writing director.

In that interview, we get hard confirmation that the core members of the writing staff originally wanted to tell a darker story for adults or teens, which may explain all the random dark stuff that the show will include but totally fail to explore. We also got this:

Sebastien sold the Miraculous series to broadcasters as a formula show. A person gets angry, is akumatized, then marinette transforms into Ladybug then frees the person from the akumatization and… The End. It's also for this reason that Marinette tries to confess her love for Adrien in every episode, but is unable to do so. But he tried to go against what he had planned with TF1, by slipping little extra stories into certain episodes. Audiences were receptive to these slightly hidden stories. The TV channel even asked Sébastien if there really were hidden things in the series, but he denied everything.

So there you go. There's the hard confirmation of my theory. Miraculous was sold as a formula show so it's mostly written like a formula show, but the writers want to do more than a formula show, so they're adding in all these hints of something more, leading to massive fan frustration when those things don't lead to satisfying plots because, if they did, then it wouldn't be a formula show!

I get the temptation to do what they did, I really do, but I don't think that it was a good move. They would have been better off trying to make an awesome formula show or by being a lot more selective in what greater story elements they wanted to include. There are things that you can develop in formula shows while still keeping them formula shows. One thing that comes to mind is subtle character development. For example, they could have set up all of the temp heroes by giving them strong roles in one-off episodes. Roles that established their heroic potential. What you can't do well in formula shows is complex character development like the mess that was everything with Chloe and Lila.

This may also explain why we get baffling statements like this one from that interview that the writers gave at the end of season five:

Mélanie says that he "could become Chat Blanc" and the others add that even though he does not remember and has never lived it, Chat Blanc still has an influence on his actions.

Are they trying to let Chat Blanc effect the plot without breaking the formula element? If so, then dear gods, this is not how you add subtle continuity to your formula show!!! But that may be what they were trying to do here and in many other places. After all, we also get gems like this:

They note that Marinette's nightmare at the beginning is reminiscent of the episode Weredad from season 3. At this point, we can see that Marinette starts to understand who the villain is although she's not fully conscious of it yet. Thomas says that you can read it in two different ways: if you don't take the previous episode into account, she's starting to intuitively link things together but if you did see Representation, you know that she knows who Monarch really is.

I'm seeing a common thread. What about you?

While the writing director interview doesn't say this, I'm assuming stuff like the charms, the powerups, and the additional heroes come from a similar type of issue. My best guess is that these weren't elements that the writers wanted to add. They were things that marketing made them add to sell toys and so the writers shoehorned these items in because they couldn't find a way to organically fit these elements. I'm not blaming either side for that issue, btw. There isn't really a clear right side in the fight of creative freedom vs a show needing to make money to keep being made.

Since we're talking about that interview, I'll point out that we also got confirmation of another wacky writing rule to add to the list of poor writing choices:

The driving force behind the series is that there must always be a secret between Marinette and Adrien. The lovesquare can never be broken, otherwise there's no series.

"Our main couple can never be fully honest with each other or else there's no story" is a pretty awful rule, but it's what they're going with and that's a big part of why the love square is a mess. It's also a rule that I've often assumed was there based on the writing, but it's nice to get official confirmation of it.

None of this is to absolve the writers of blame nor is it to say that everything is their fault. The point here is that Miraculous' problems are a complex mess of everyone trying to make a good final product without being on the same page with what that final product should look like, resulting in a show that will never live up to the full potential of what anyone wanted for it.

[lemotmo]

Hi!! First, I just wanted to say I always enjoy checking out your posts because you have such great takes and treat every single ask with such respect. Even when it’s something that you may disagree with, you always take the time to ensure everyone that it’s just your opinion and respect the other person’s point of view! :) It’s so refreshing to see because I feel like over hiatus especially the fandom has become somewhat of a dumpster fire…lol.

Also, I agree completely about Oliver. He always says that he trusts Tim and his writing so I don’t think he would necessarily ask to have Lou leave or for BT to end abruptly or anything. And as much as we all say “oh he hates that man” we truly don’t know. What we do know, at least by his tweets at the time, was there was some tension in his friendship with Ryan several years back. Like it’s crazy to think during the shooting arc and will scene and Eddie breakdown arc in s5 that there was so much tension offscreen. It just goes to show how much of a professional he is! I also don’t think the other side is true either where Oliver is apparently purposely not promoting BT or interacting with Lou on social media to “protect him from the buddie fans.” I just think Oliver isn’t super active on social media for his own reasons and people look waaayyyy too much into things. Anyway, sorry this was so long winded LOL I just wanted to point out that we truly don’t know Oliver or his thoughts and feelings and some people making these inferences sound almost more like headcanons and it’s giving parasocial.

First of all, thank you Nonny. That means a lot to me. I always do my very best to try to stay respectful towards people and ships on my blog. That doesn’t mean that I don’t give my very honest opinions and critical takes on certain topics, but I don’t feel the need to yell over it and use more explicit language. I also avoid specific shipping tags for ships I don’t like and character tags for characters I don't like. I find that being respectful like that ultimately gets you further.

Now, that also doesn’t mean that I don’t get frustrated with some takes in fandom. But I mostly -and wisely- choose to rant about that to some of my Tumblr mutuals/friends in private. Throwing out all of my more hateful frustrations in public would only generate more hate and I try to avoid that. My inbox is so much more interesting when I get positive asks. I admit that I get so many asks these days that it has become impossible to answer them all.

Now, I do want to reply to your ask because you talk about a few topics that are near and dear to my heart and -of course- I have some opinions about. 😊

I first want to address The Ryan part of your ask. I was around in fandom during those days. It wasn’t pretty, but the way people talk about this now is a complete overreaction. The cast’s reaction to this event totally gets blown out of proportion. There was some tension for a while there, sure. Oliver deleted some of his tweets/Instagram posts that had to do with Ryan and then he unfollowed him.

But it was obvious that it didn’t take Oliver and the rest of the cast too long to move on. I’m pretty sure that, by the time the shooting arc came along, followed closely by the breaking down arc, Oliver and Ryan were on good terms again. Maybe not as close as they were before at that specific moment, but still on good terms. Both men are professionals and they did such a fantastic job when it came to those amazing scenes.

Now, don’t get me wrong, what Ryan said was inappropriate and disrespectful, I agree. However, the man apologised immediately and he has been working hard since then to become a better and lighter version of himself. And he has succeeded as we can all see how well he gets along with the entire cast and especially the POC in the cast that have completely moved past his mistake.

These days Ryan and Oliver are like two peas in a pod. They have always been close and they have always had insane chemistry, but ever since the beginning of season 7 it has all been ramped up. I’m one of the people convinced that they got the news that Buddie is finally happening. That they got the green light to go there. Which is something they have wanted for a long time now.

Now, second… as to Oliver not liking Lou? I’m afraid that I’m going to have to disagree with you on this one. I really do think that Oliver doesn’t like Lou all that much. If he was upset and angry over what Ryan said in one video a couple of years ago, I can only imagine his horrified reaction to all those terrible, disrespectful and inappropriate Instagram posts Lou made, for which he hasn’t apologised at all by the way. That interview he did with Lou also doesn’t help. Oliver wasn’t comfortable at all. His body language screamed: “I don’t want to be here.” And Lou just kept on talking about himself. I don’t know why Oliver was even there. BT was hardly even mentioned.

So, while I don’t think that Oliver would ask Tim to get rid of Lou, I only think he wouldn’t ask in function of the Buddie arc they are telling. If Tommy’s presence is necessary in that arc? Oliver will suck it up like the professional he is, because if there is one thing he wants more than anything for Buck, it’s Eddie. If Tim were to tell Oliver that he wanted to take the BT relationship further in any way, I do think he would protest and say ‘no’.

Oliver not promoting BT or Tommy has to do with the fact that he knows that Tommy isn’t sticking around as Buck’s love interest. Tommy is a plot device. He has always been a plot device. That is the way the show set him up. He is meant to have a purpose in the Buddie arc. What that purpose is? We don’t know. But it’s all there in the narrative for those who are willing to look at it logically and from a writer’s point of view.

A few seasons ago Oliver just stopped talking about Buddie. In some of his latest interviews he confessed that he stopped talking about them because he didn’t want to lead the fans on. He knew it would never happen under FOX. As soon as the show came into the hands of ABC, he started yapping about Buddie again. Him and Ryan were so vocal about them. It was clear that something had shifted. They knew that they were finally going there. Buddie was happening, but it would take some time to get there.

When they got renewed it was obvious that Tim decided to take his time for Buddie and put a temporary break on their development, so he could do it right in season 8. That didn’t stop him from putting them together in every other scene they were in. 😉

Now, like with all good slow burn couples there has to be a narrative foil. And in comes Tommy. Tommy who seems interested in Eddie. Buck who clearly gets jealous over the fact that Tommy is stealing Eddie (and Chris) from him. And then Tommy realising that he won’t get far with Eddie, but Buck (who is completely confused about his own emotions at this point) seems a little interested, so why not give it a go?

So, why is Oliver not talking about Tommy or engaging with anything BT while he still talks about Buddie and interacted with Buddie stuff up until the finale? Because he knows where the story is heading. History is repeating itself. Oliver doesn’t want to lead the BT fans on, so he simply doesn’t react or interact with anything Tommy or BT. And there is also the element that it is very clear right now that both Oliver and Ryan are actively rooting for Buddie and only Buddie. They know what their characters need. Love that for us! 😊

None of this is about headcanons by the way. It has been said -in words- time and time again, by Oliver himself (and Ryan as well) that he would love Buddie to happen, if it was written well. He shows it in everything he does on social media. Him and Ryan talked about reading fan fiction and watching video edits. I mean, he couldn’t make it anymore clear that he wants Buddie and not BT. So, this is not a headcanon. This is fact.

This is also not about parasocial relationships. We all like Oliver and Ryan, but most of us admire them from afar. We don’t go into their inboxes to message them or we don’t send them weird messages. I know that there are always some more outspoken fanatics in every fandom and the Buddie fandom is not an exception to that. It sadly cannot be avoided, but overall we have been pretty good as a fandom I would say.

That brings us to Lou and his army of goons…

Mind you, I’m not talking about the many normal and lovely sane BT fans and multi-shippers who genuinly like Tommy. Ship and let ship and all. Most of these fans fully realise that Tommy’s time on the show is probably limited. Anonymous OP shoutout!

I’m talking about the select few (the more outspoken and loud fandom fanatics I mentioned before) who accused Buddie fans of hacking one of their Twitter accounts and who thought it was a swell idea to DM Tim with a too long video about strings of fate (which Tim later admitted to never watching)  and ask him about Tommy’s age and other stuff. That is just crazy and a big no no in any fandom. Leave the show runners and actors alone. I don’t care who you ship. Just leave them alone.

The biggest problem is this: Lou made up a bunch of nonsensical headcanons about Tommy and BT that go against every single thing we have seen in canon so far. Canon has shown us, time and time again, that Tommy isn’t really interested in Buck for a loving relationship. Everything he says is reduced to sexual innuendo. And no, I am not a little quivering virgin lady who is afraid of sex and who doesn’t understand the dynamics between two adults in a sexual relationship. I am, in fact, an adult who has had sexual relationships and who knows exactly how relationships work between two adults in their thirties or forties.

Fully grown adults have paid hundreds of dollars to listen to Lou spout his nonsense. These people have all bought the same shirt Lou was wearing in one of his cameos. They call it the Louniform. These people believe every single thing that comes out of Lou’s mouth and take it as gospel. They have extensively hated on Ryan and Eddie. And lately they have even been hating on Oliver because he doesn’t support BT enough in their eyes.

Now that, THAT is a textbook example of a parasocial relationship with an actor.

They call the Buddie shippers ‘homophobic’ for not liking a character. I myself have received some asks in my inbox accusing me of being homophobic. I’m sorry, But WHAT? Look, I have never lied about not vibing with Tommy. I don’t like him as a character. I’m not hateful about it. I don’t spew my dislike for Tommy all over the BT tag or something like that. I just respectfully talk about how he isn’t right for Buck on my own personal blog. This is called ‘Having an opinion and sharing it.’

Tommy is just not my kind of guy at all. I don’t vibe with his demeanour and behaviour. I don’t think he is a good match for Buck. I don’t like the way he treats Buck. And yes! I am a Buddie shipper! So of course a part of why I don’t like him is rooted in the opinion that he is the wrong guy for Buck. But there is so much more to it than only that. Now all of this is not me being homophobic. It is just me being critical and actually using my brain to understand what the show is ultimately really trying to tell me: Tommy is a plot device and we are not supposed to like him!

I’m tired of being accused of something that I am not, over disliking a character that we aren’t even supposed to like in the first place. It’s crazy behaviour. It needs to stop!

Anyway, I’m sorry Nonny. I didn’t mean to end up venting like this on your ask, but it just happened. Now I’m the one being long winded. Sorry.😊 I’m not mad at you or anything like that. Don’t worry.

On the contrary, you helped me get some of these things out in a well written, but still respectful way. You got me writing about all of the fandom things that have been bugging me lately. I was on fire. So, in a weird way: Thank you for your assistance. ❤️